I told you my experience when i went to london. It was such a good memories of my life which i eant to share with you friends.

                 From Monte Carlo we went to London. We couldn't find any more cabbies willing to join the casinos to sign us in as guests, so Pat stood outside the entranceways in his suit, pitching whatever he had to in order to get us in. At the Victoria Club, London's largest casino, he convinced a member coming out that his long-lost brother whom he hadn't seen in ages was inside gambling and that he wanted to surprise him at the roulette wheel. He introduced me and Balls as two more of his brothers. We got in, Balls popped a straight-up on the number for Pat, who got paid but with steam-from both the casino and the member, who noticed nothing brotherly going on at the bottom of the victimized roulette table.

                 At the Stakis casino on Russell Square, Pat flirtatiously invited an exiting woman member back inside the club with a dinner offer. For dessert, she unknowingly check-bet and watched us clip the estab- lishment for £3,500. We got into a third casino but were tossed out before we could buy chips. Evidently, the steam from the move at the Victoria had caught up with us.

                  In Amsterdam we spent more time in the red-light district than in the casinos. None of us went inside the women's windows, but we did look around a lot. From a pay phone on one of those narrow streets I dialed Jerry's number in Missouri. I wanted to see how he was doing. I don't know why I chose to call him from Holland; maybe because I'd thought of that first European trip I'd been on with him, Duke, and Joe.

                I received a shock. She told me Jerry had died, a cocaine-induced heart attack. I was numbed upon hearing that. Jerry had been more than a partner; he'd been a close friend. My relationship with him had always meant more than how I felt about Duke. I still miss him.

              We flew to Dublin, Ireland. Pat had suggested that leg of the trip. There were no casinos in Ireland; he just wanted to see his "roots." Ireland is a fabulously beautiful country, and I was glad to have gone there. In the Irish pubs wherever we went, Pat got along splendidly with his "cousins," and we were all welcomed by some of the nicest but rowdiest people in the world. We stayed there for two weeks before flying back to New York. From JFK we took a chopper down to the Resorts Steel Pier in Atlantic City. Outside the Taj Mahal on the boardwalk, Pat said to me, "Johnny, remember the fudd you found here a few months ago?"

I nodded. I knew where he was going.

"Things have changed a little bit since then, haven't they?" I nodded again.

"Now I'm gonna go inside this Taj Mahal and show Donald Trump a thing or two. Are you in for that gig?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

               What Pat really wanted to do was move the bigger thousanddollar orange chips under twenty-five-dollar greens, but he settled for doing fifteen-twenty-fives with three purples. I was watching him get paid on his first table when a well-built older man with a fullpate of startling silver hair leaned over to Pat and whispered something in his ear. I had the feeling I had seen the man before but just couldn't place him. Just as fast as he'd appeared, he walked away. My eyes followed him down the pit until he was out of view. Then I eared Pat from the table, signaling him to come out on the boardwalk. I wanted to discuss what had just transpired. As Pat got up, I could tell by his expression that whatever that man had said affected him, too.