Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Fenced-In Woman

The bellboy grinned. “They’re paid to look snaky. She’s the snakiest. The one on the right.”

“Thanks,” Mason said.

Mason walked through the milling crowd of sightseers and gambling customers to the far end of the room.

The young woman who had her back toward him was wearing a glittering, dark gown which fitted her like the skin on an onion. She turned as Mason approached, surveyed him with large, dark eyes that looked him over with a trace of impudence in their depths.

The gown followed the line of cleavage between her swelling breasts in a low-cut V that started wide then narrowed until it seemed to stretch almost to her waist.

“Hello,” Mason said.

“Hello,” she said.

“I’m looking for Genevieve.”

“You’ve found her.”

“My name is Mason.”

“Don’t tell me the first name is Perry?”

“It’s Perry.”

“I thought I’d seen your picture somewhere. Now what in the world brings you to Las Vegas?”

“I’m looking for amusement.”

“You’re standing in the exact geometrical center of some of the best amusement in the world. Only don’t make any mistake about me, I’m a shill, sucker bait, window dressing. I’m not for sale.”

“Or rent,” Mason said casually.

She smiled. “One might consider a long-term lease,” she said, her large dark eyes looking up to the lawyer’s rugged features and making no attempt to veil their interest.

Mason said, “I want to talk. Are you permitted to talk during working hours?”

“That’s my business. I could lead you to a gambling table and...”

“My attention might become engrossed in other things,” Mason said. “Could we have a drink?”

“That is not encouraged,” she said, “except as a preliminary, but under the circumstances I think it might be done.”

“In a booth?” Mason asked.

“In a booth,” she said, “but there again remember that I’m on duty and in circulation. I’m supposed to lead customers to the gambling tables, to see that everyone is happy and once in a while to take a stack of chips and show the gamblers how easy it is to win.”

“Is it easy to win?” Mason asked.

“If you know how,” she said.

“And how does one learn how?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

She took Mason’s arm, led him over to the roulette table.

“Give the man twenty dollars for a stack of chips.”

Mason handed over twenty dollars and received a stack of chips.

“Now then, I’ll make a bet with your money,” she said. “You get the winnings.”

She watched the wheel for a moment, then put chips on the number seven.

The wheel stopped on number nine.

“That easy?” Mason asked.

“Hush,” she said, “I’m getting the feel of the thing. Put a couple of chips on twenty-seven and put some on double-zero. Put five chips on the red and three chips on the third twelve.”

“At this rate,” Mason said, “twenty dollars will last fast.”

“And then,” she said, in a half whisper, “I’ll be free to go to a booth with you. They’ll know I’m cultivating a customer.”

The ball clicked into a pocket. “See,” she said.

Mason watched the croupier push out the chips.

“Now,” she said, “you have a lot more than when you started.”

Mason gravely handed her half of the winnings. “Could I make you a free-will offering?” he asked.

She accepted only a part of the chips, made quick bets around the board, leaned against him as she reached for the far end of the table so that Mason could feel her breast pressed against his left arm. Her lips were close to his ear. “I’m not allowed to cash chips,” she said, “but cash is always acceptable later on after you’ve cashed in.”

Mason said, “This is all rather new to me, Genevieve.”

“When you’re winning,” she said, “press your luck. When you’re cold, quit.”

“That’s the only recipe for success?”

“That’s all there is to it. The trouble is the customer can’t do it. When he gets cold, he starts trying to force his luck. When he’s hot, he tends to get a little conservative. You’re hot; shoot the works.”

Mason watched her spread chips around the board.

Twice more the croupier handed out large piles of winnings.

Following Genevieve’s lead, Mason started scattering chips in various places around the table and from time to time more chips were pushed across toward him.

People who were wandering aimlessly around came to watch the phenomenal success of the pair at the table. Soon the table was ringed with players so that spectators were crowded back into the second row. The play became so heavy that it took the croupier some time in between rolls of the wheel to rake in the chips, pay off the winners.

For a while Mason seemed to hit almost every third roll of the wheel, then there were five consecutive rolls during which he won nothing.

Abruptly the lawyer crammed the remaining chips into the pockets of his coat.

“Come on,” he said to Genevieve, “I want a recess. I want to have a drink, I’m thirsty.”

“You can have a drink served right here,” she said so the croupier could hear her.

“I want to sit down and drink leisurely. Can I pay for it with these chips?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, “or you can cash the chips in at the cashier’s window and come back and buy another stack.”

Mason followed her over to the cashier’s window, handed in the chips, which were carefully counted, and received in return five hundred and eighty dollars.

The lawyer took Genevieve’s arm, surreptitiously pressed a one-hundred-dollar bill into her palm, said, “Is that acceptable?”

“That’s quite acceptable,” she said without looking at the amount of the bill.

She led him past the bar over to a section of booths, slid in behind a table, smiled at the lawyer with full, red lips parted to show pearly teeth.

“You’re a gambler,” she said.

“I am now,” Mason told her. “I’ve been initiated. Is it always that easy?”

“It is when you’re hot.”

“And what happens when you’re cold?”

“When you’re cold,” she said, “you get mad. You start plunging. You get to feeling the board owes you money. Then you look at me with a jaundiced eye and think maybe I’m a hoodoo. About that time I slip one of the other girls the wink and she sidles over to the table, gets interested and makes a bet, leans up against you so she’s pressing her form against you, says, ‘Pardon me,’ and smiles. You say something to her, and I’m sort of pushed into the background. Then if you don’t do something to recapture me, I drift away and you have another hostess on your hands.”

“And she collects a tip?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “No one who is losing gives anyone a tip, but when a man is winning he gets generous.

“My gosh, I’ve even seen ‘em tip the croupiers down in a joint in Mexico until their pockets were bulging.”

“Can the croupier control what happens?” Mason asked.

“How you talk,” she said, laughing.

“I was talking about down in Mexico,” Mason said.

“I know you were,” she said, smiling at him invitingly.

A waiter paused by the table.

Mason raised his eyebrows inquiringly and Genevieve said, “Scotch and soda please, Bert.”

Mason said, “Gin and tonic, double, please.”

Genevieve adjusted her dress beneath the table, lowered her eyes, then suddenly raised them with an expression of surprise. “That was a hundred dollars you gave me,” she said.

“Right,” Mason told her.

“Well... bless your soul,” she said, “and thanks.”

“I may as well tell you that I want something,” Mason said.