“I only had to kiss him five times,” Sinatra said, prompting obedient chuckles.

“Wow, Vegas drinking is a whole different order of business,” Charlie said, rubbing his head. He stood. “Aspirin?”

“Give him an aspirin, Dago,” Sinatra said.

“Sure,” Martin said. He handed two white pills and a cocktail to Charlie. “And a little hair o’ the proverbial canine. Come on, why don’t you play a hand or two?”

Charlie was dimly aware he was past the point of good judgment, but he downed the aspirin, then made his way unsteadily to the poker table and sat down.

Giancana extended a meaty right hand. “Sam Hill,” he said, his eyes at once menacing and dull. Charlie was too drunk to care what the man called himself.

“I think you know Handsome Johnny and Wassy Handelman,” Sinatra said.

“We weren’t formally introduced,” Charlie said, nodding to the two men he’d seen at the Daisy. “I think you know my father,” Charlie said to Giancana. “Winston Marder?”

Giancana didn’t look up as Sinatra dealt him two cards.

“Rings a bell,” Giancana said. He had a high voice. Girlish.

“Say, speaking of rings,” Sinatra growled, “where’s that ring I gave you, Momo?”

“In your mother’s wazoo,” Giancana said.

“Ah, come on, Momo, why you gotta bring his sainted mother into it?” Martin asked.

“Seriously, that was a nice ring,” Sinatra said.

“What’s this?” asked Charlie.

“Star sapphire pinkie ring Frank had made for Sam,” said Martin.

The dark-haired woman appeared at the table, and Sinatra looked up at her appreciatively. “Let me smell your hair, Judy,” Sinatra said.

“Smell your own hair, Frank,” said Judy.

“Yeah, Frankie, want me to take it off and hand it to you?” Giancana asked.

Sinatra waved at him dismissively and offered a tight smile; he looked like he was making a great deal of effort not to show how angry he was. Something in the way the Chairman of the Board had crudely flirted with Judy reminded Charlie of something, but he wasn’t sure what, something about his dad from long ago…but the memory was hazy and just out of reach. The people of questionable character around the table also evoked Winston, a man who, like Sinatra, had risen high above the streets he’d come from, who dined with senators and foreign leaders but never lost touch with the rougher men who muscled control of businesses and unions, who made things happen and made problems and people disappear.