Tony Fingers story as told at the Marina Bay Sands, January, 2019
He wasn’t an odd person, just perverse. I didn’t know him a long time, but for the short time we were together, I came to love his directness and aplomb in the face of ambiguity.
The story that follows I wrote just after visiting the Gardens by the Bay which is located about 1/4 mile behind the Marina Bay Sands hotel and Casino. It’s a place I love with the most beautiful drink Robots, yes robots, in the world. Here’s what they look like:
The story that follows I wrote just after visiting the Gardens by the Bay which is located about 1/4 mile behind the Marina Bay Sands hotel and Casino. It’s a place I love with the most beautiful drink Robots, yes robots, in the world. Here’s what they look like:
So much for Robots: enough talk-story. Now let’s get back to Tony’s tale and my involvement. It was the best job I ever had.
Our job was simple: collect money owed by gamblers, bums, losers, fornicators, welches, shop lifters and roustabouts. Our route was a simple one and our job direct: but our clients didn’t look forward to our visits. I wonder why? Collection people are just like everyone else: somebody asks us to do a job, offers us some money: usually 1/4 up front, the rest on resolution of the debt, and occasionally our benefactors would grace us with a bonus when a particularly recalcitrant debtor finally paid up. Our methods were simple: we find the personwherever he might be - this took usually some time and a little good luck, as folks in this world don’t like to pay up - and we apply appropriate, sometimes gradient pressure on the perp on behalf of our client. I never saw Tony angry: upset, slightly disgruntled maybe. But he never lost his cool. And our collection rate was close to 100%. Wow, you might say, what an exceptional collector you are. No, au contraire, we simply made the client an offer he or she couldn’t refuse.
Our job was simple: collect money owed by gamblers, bums, losers, fornicators, welches, shop lifters and roustabouts. Our route was a simple one and our job direct: but our clients didn’t look forward to our visits. I wonder why? Collection people are just like everyone else: somebody asks us to do a job, offers us some money: usually 1/4 up front, the rest on resolution of the debt, and occasionally our benefactors would grace us with a bonus when a particularly recalcitrant debtor finally paid up. Our methods were simple: we find the personwherever he might be - this took usually some time and a little good luck, as folks in this world don’t like to pay up - and we apply appropriate, sometimes gradient pressure on the perp on behalf of our client. I never saw Tony angry: upset, slightly disgruntled maybe. But he never lost his cool. And our collection rate was close to 100%. Wow, you might say, what an exceptional collector you are. No, au contraire, we simply made the client an offer he or she couldn’t refuse.
Let me run through a recent incident to elucidate the genius of our method. Greg was an inveterate gambler. He would bet on anything. In Manila 2 weeks ago, he and his pal Ferdi were outside at a cafe having a cup of hot tea in the midday sun. “Ferdi: I’ll bet you $500 US that a fly will land on my cup before he hits yours!” He thought he had a lock on the bet, as he had lined the rim of his cup with sugar. “Easy, peasy,” Ferdi said. “Let’s double it!” A live one he thought. And so the bet was on. Ferdi called his attention to the waitress and as he turned his head, he pulled out his jar of flies and set one flying directly to a sugar cube in the bottom of his cup. In a moment the bet was over. Greg turned around to see the fly hovering over his opponent’s cup and there was no turning back. He lost the bet. Little did he know he had been hustled.
“Ok, dude, I’ll pay you tomorrow”, and tomorrow never came.
He split for New Orleans where both lived and hoped to go underground. Ferdi was impatient to get paid and after 2 weeks gave Tony a call. Tony happily accepted the task and asked me to join. Now the fun begins. After a couple of hours at the race track we saw Greg and made contact. “Well, my friend, seems your pal Ferdi wants to get paid off for your last bet with him and so he sent us to collect.” Greg was rather squeamish and at first tried to walk away pretending not to acknowledge us. We followed him to the men’s room in the Club house, waited outside the stall where he was hiding, and finally made contact again. “It seems, Greg, that you don’t want to pay your debt, is this right?” “He hustled me, I know it. He must have had a handful of flies in a jar waiting for the right moment. He knows I love to bet on these things. And I don’t begrudge him anything, its just that I just lost my last money on that damn horse Bucket of Bolts in the last race. His trainer told me he was a cinch, had trained like an Olympian and was running against seriously inferior horses. I bet my whole wad on him, and he threw his jockey in the gate. What kinda luck is that, I ask you?” “Bad luck, but if you aren’t up to paying Ferdi off by tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’m gonna have to ask you for a finger.” “A finger? A finger? For what?” “Simple: I’m gonna take a couple of your fingers, chop them off, cauterize the remaining stumps, then stick it up your asshole! Simple, easy and a lesson you’ll remember!” Greg blanched and ran back into the toilet, stricken on the spot by a massive attack of diarrhea.
After about 10 minutes he emerged: white faced, shaking and definitely lighter on his feet. “What was that?” “You heard me, and you know I don’t like repeating myself. Either you show up at the Cafe du Monde at 10 a.m. or we’ll find you. And when we find you, we’ll be ready to make good on our promise to you, and on our’s to Ferdi. Don’t be late!” And with that quick statement we split.
Now I’ve never seen Tony do this to anyone, but I’ve only worked with him for 2 months. I understand that he’s had to apply this sort of pressure to several gents in the last year. The last time it made front page news in the Times-Picuyane, right before Mardi Gras. Obviously they didn’t show the person’s swollen anus, but there were a couple of color shots of 2 stumps on his left hand where fingers used to be.
Greg was worried, and I was worried more as I staked out his apartment in the Treme from midnight that night. Sure as the sun rises in the East, Greg was up and running ‘round the streets by 7 the next morning trying to call in every favor he could think of. Izzy the Spliff was no help, nor was Kermit the Frog. It was now 8:30 and he had less than $250 to his name. Rounding Rampart to St. Philip he found Igor the tout who was fresh out of prison and had his get-out-of-jail money with him: all $200. A quick bop on the head with his blackjack, and hewas almost 1/2 the way there. But that was as far as he got. After visiting Art Gonzalez, the local loan shark, he was still $350 short, and the bells of the cathedral at Jackson Square had just chimed 10. I gotta meet them he said to himself and put myself on their mercy: I’ve got almost 2/3 of the money and they can’t be that mean, can they.
“Ok, dude, I’ll pay you tomorrow”, and tomorrow never came.
He split for New Orleans where both lived and hoped to go underground. Ferdi was impatient to get paid and after 2 weeks gave Tony a call. Tony happily accepted the task and asked me to join. Now the fun begins. After a couple of hours at the race track we saw Greg and made contact. “Well, my friend, seems your pal Ferdi wants to get paid off for your last bet with him and so he sent us to collect.” Greg was rather squeamish and at first tried to walk away pretending not to acknowledge us. We followed him to the men’s room in the Club house, waited outside the stall where he was hiding, and finally made contact again. “It seems, Greg, that you don’t want to pay your debt, is this right?” “He hustled me, I know it. He must have had a handful of flies in a jar waiting for the right moment. He knows I love to bet on these things. And I don’t begrudge him anything, its just that I just lost my last money on that damn horse Bucket of Bolts in the last race. His trainer told me he was a cinch, had trained like an Olympian and was running against seriously inferior horses. I bet my whole wad on him, and he threw his jockey in the gate. What kinda luck is that, I ask you?” “Bad luck, but if you aren’t up to paying Ferdi off by tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’m gonna have to ask you for a finger.” “A finger? A finger? For what?” “Simple: I’m gonna take a couple of your fingers, chop them off, cauterize the remaining stumps, then stick it up your asshole! Simple, easy and a lesson you’ll remember!” Greg blanched and ran back into the toilet, stricken on the spot by a massive attack of diarrhea.
After about 10 minutes he emerged: white faced, shaking and definitely lighter on his feet. “What was that?” “You heard me, and you know I don’t like repeating myself. Either you show up at the Cafe du Monde at 10 a.m. or we’ll find you. And when we find you, we’ll be ready to make good on our promise to you, and on our’s to Ferdi. Don’t be late!” And with that quick statement we split.
Now I’ve never seen Tony do this to anyone, but I’ve only worked with him for 2 months. I understand that he’s had to apply this sort of pressure to several gents in the last year. The last time it made front page news in the Times-Picuyane, right before Mardi Gras. Obviously they didn’t show the person’s swollen anus, but there were a couple of color shots of 2 stumps on his left hand where fingers used to be.
Greg was worried, and I was worried more as I staked out his apartment in the Treme from midnight that night. Sure as the sun rises in the East, Greg was up and running ‘round the streets by 7 the next morning trying to call in every favor he could think of. Izzy the Spliff was no help, nor was Kermit the Frog. It was now 8:30 and he had less than $250 to his name. Rounding Rampart to St. Philip he found Igor the tout who was fresh out of prison and had his get-out-of-jail money with him: all $200. A quick bop on the head with his blackjack, and hewas almost 1/2 the way there. But that was as far as he got. After visiting Art Gonzalez, the local loan shark, he was still $350 short, and the bells of the cathedral at Jackson Square had just chimed 10. I gotta meet them he said to himself and put myself on their mercy: I’ve got almost 2/3 of the money and they can’t be that mean, can they.
Oh yes they can. As Greg approached the cafe he could see Tony waiting and then saw me shadowing him. “Tony, I’ve done the best I can do: here’s what I got, and offered him $500”. “Are you sure that’s all you got?” “Yes, of course, I would never lie to you!” “Good, said Tony, let’s go over to Ferdi’s and see what he says.” Greg was feeling better, but couldn’t take his eyes off Tony’s satchel. “What you got there, Tony?” “Tools of the trade, that’s all, nothing special.” Greg felt relieved and within 5 minutes they were ascending the stairs to Ferdi’s lair. “Welcome, welcome”, Ferdi said. “Are we together?” Tony stepped up and said, “He’s a little short. He says he’s got only $500, but Willy says he picked up $650 total this morning from 1 hit and a couple of low life’s. Isn’t that right, Greg?” Ferdi was getting agitated now, and Greg wanted to visit the commode: his condition was making havoc with his underwear.
“Well, folks, I would have been much more amenable if you were honest, Greg, so I’m gonna make you an offer: give me the 650 and I’ll let you have another day to get the rest. Or, I’ll just take 1 finger. Your choice!” Greg ran into the bathroom, tried to jump out of the window but was caught by Tony and me. “You’re not playing well with others, our little friend. That’s it.”
We’re not surgeons, but know our way around knives and anesthetic. First we put a towel soaked in ether in his mouth then laid him spread-eagle on the plastic covered bed. A quick shot of sodium pentothal, some Vaseline, lidocaine and a few towels and our patient was done in 5 minutes. We cauterized the stump (as kindness overcame Ferdi and he chose to delete only 1 digit) and we put some gauze up his anus to dress it and keep the finger intact in its new home. It was a clean and simple task. Then we walked our drowsy friend out to Jackson Square, put him on a bench and let him sleep. Ferdi gave us all the money, saying that we did a good job and that he probably would pay the rest really soon, with interest.
The next day’s paper, however, didn’t take such a benign view of a man with 3 fingers, 1 thumb and 1 stump on his right hand, and announced the Police Department was starting an extensive search through the quarter for some sect of crazy devil worshipers who loved to defame people’s bodies. Within 3 days four likely suspects, all with previous mutilation raps, were collected and are currently detained in the City jail. Greg sent a box with 10 Benjamins to Ferdi the next day, and Tony and I went down the coast to Pensacola. Someone there was misbehaving and we just couldn’t let bad manners rule the Gulf Coast.
Ferdi was last seen in the Castro in San Francisco playing the same trick, and just might be calling us any day. "Never been there, "Tony said, with a smile." Love to check it out. Wanna come?"
I had to leave Tony that week, as I heard of a great backgammon tournament to be held in Singapore with all the big baccarat whales, and I just couldn’t miss that for the world. Here’s my parting shot: the Marina Bay Sands, 11:00 P.M. January 18, 2019.
“Well, folks, I would have been much more amenable if you were honest, Greg, so I’m gonna make you an offer: give me the 650 and I’ll let you have another day to get the rest. Or, I’ll just take 1 finger. Your choice!” Greg ran into the bathroom, tried to jump out of the window but was caught by Tony and me. “You’re not playing well with others, our little friend. That’s it.”
We’re not surgeons, but know our way around knives and anesthetic. First we put a towel soaked in ether in his mouth then laid him spread-eagle on the plastic covered bed. A quick shot of sodium pentothal, some Vaseline, lidocaine and a few towels and our patient was done in 5 minutes. We cauterized the stump (as kindness overcame Ferdi and he chose to delete only 1 digit) and we put some gauze up his anus to dress it and keep the finger intact in its new home. It was a clean and simple task. Then we walked our drowsy friend out to Jackson Square, put him on a bench and let him sleep. Ferdi gave us all the money, saying that we did a good job and that he probably would pay the rest really soon, with interest.
The next day’s paper, however, didn’t take such a benign view of a man with 3 fingers, 1 thumb and 1 stump on his right hand, and announced the Police Department was starting an extensive search through the quarter for some sect of crazy devil worshipers who loved to defame people’s bodies. Within 3 days four likely suspects, all with previous mutilation raps, were collected and are currently detained in the City jail. Greg sent a box with 10 Benjamins to Ferdi the next day, and Tony and I went down the coast to Pensacola. Someone there was misbehaving and we just couldn’t let bad manners rule the Gulf Coast.
Ferdi was last seen in the Castro in San Francisco playing the same trick, and just might be calling us any day. "Never been there, "Tony said, with a smile." Love to check it out. Wanna come?"
I had to leave Tony that week, as I heard of a great backgammon tournament to be held in Singapore with all the big baccarat whales, and I just couldn’t miss that for the world. Here’s my parting shot: the Marina Bay Sands, 11:00 P.M. January 18, 2019.
