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The Hottest Game in Town

\o7 Pai Gow \f7 Injects 'Action' and Pathos Into California's Revived Casinos

July 28, 1991|MICHAEL J. GOODMAN, \o7 Michael J. Goodman, a writer based in Los Angeles, is a former Times investigative reporter. Times researcher Dorothy Ingebretsen and staff writer Sonni Efron contributed to this article\f7

THE OLD WOMAN CAREFULLY PICKS HER WAY among the crowded tables of the Bicycle Club card casino in Bell Gardens. She is small and pudgy and wears baggy black pants and a drab green silk jacket. Her watery brown eyes blink owlishly behind thick, round glasses. Her cheeks sag against the corners of her mouth, forming sad, droopy creases. A tan leather purse is slung over her right shoulder. She clutches it tightly.


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The purse is heavy with gold--wedding bands, bracelets, chains, watches, earrings, bridgework, cuff links--so say those who have glimpsed inside of it. She is known as Pawn Shop Woman. She offers on-the-spot jewelry loans at 10% interest (called \o7 juice\f7 ), payable every five days until the jewelry is redeemed--or is forfeited.

A younger woman approaches, whispers and drops a gold chain and bracelet into the hand of the old woman, who hefts it to gauge the weight and nods. The two women go into the restroom.

Another customer, a man in a rumpled dark-blue suit, waits outside. He has been gambling without sleep for two days and has borrowed his limit from casino loan sharks. Only Pawn Shop Woman can help him now. He huddles with the old woman and slips off his watch. The other gamblers pay no attention.

"Everybody owe her juice," says Mary Wang, 40, a club regular. "Old woman greedy, sister greedy," Mary mutters. "She give me $200 for solid gold watch I pay a thousand for. She wants $20 juice a week. I say, 'OK.' She sees me gambling. She say, 'Mary, you winning. Pay me $10 extra.' I say, 'OK, but you get 10 less when I lose.' She walk away."

Mary glances at her wrist. "My watch still in her purse. Already pay $80 juice. Still owe $200." Mary nods toward a tall, rangy young man in an oversized sports coat and pegged pants. "People don't pay, maybe hit men--gang members--come by their home. Old woman greedy."

Mary nudges her acquaintance. "Sister come," she whispers. The old woman's sister has arrived. She is younger, chunkier, a bit taller. She is called Pawn Shop, too. They work in shifts. The sisters are from Cambodia; the man and woman who hocked their jewelry are from Vietnam; Mary is Chinese and was born in Vietnam; the "hit man" is Chinese, probably from Taiwan or Hong Kong. The other gamblers, the dealers and the waitresses are a mixture of immigrants and refugees from across Asia.

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