Out of that older godfatherdom, the '30's, this is a lot of scenario (not as classy as Sam Ross' The Fortune Maker, 1970) which proceeds with a brassknuckled momentum to itemize the career of Joey Solomon, a Jewish boy who started out in the fiefdom of Capone's Middle West. Emerging from prison to effect a quarter of a million dollar snatch, Joey has enough to move west (Los Angeles) and in on the action there. He kills one of Mafioso Don Casino's men -- sends him a finger as a memento. (There's lots of brutalizing violence and forthright lust.) In time Joey has control of the track, the tables and the wire service; cold as cement (except re his father who won't acknowledge him or his brother who will be killed) Joey does seem capable of some kind of love for Myra Lawrence, a film star, which never really seems to burn itself out even if it becomes impossible after she kills her nymphet daughter. Alone again, Joey builds the great palace in Las Vegas, his first legitimate operation which ruins him altogether. This is patently popular stuff for a certain audience -- finger it and they'll turn the pages with sweaty palms.