Роберт Фиш - The Wager

It was only a few minutes past eleven at night, usually the height of the evening at the exclusive Quinleven Club on East 63rd Street in Manhattan, but the slashing rain drumming in sheets in the street outside, combined with the normal lesser-activity-anyway of a Monday in midsummer, had left the club quite deserted. In the cloakroom only a few dripping umbrellas marred the almost military precision of the rows of ready hooks, testifying to the fortitude of their owners, while the kitchen had long since given up hope of late customers and had locked its doors. In the reading room several members restlessly rustled newspapers, waiting for the deluge to end, while the lone attendant stood at a window staring morosely out at the creeping cars; in the billiard room a member aimlessly batted balls around, unable to find anyone for a game. But it was in the cardroom, with its empty bar and bored bartender polishing glasses and trading idle gossip with an equally bored waiter, that the difference from normal evenings was most easily noted. The oasis of darkened tables made the few cones of light illuminating the scattered tables in use stand out starkly.

At one table two men were playing a desultory game of some sort, with none of the usual enthusiasm that might have been developed by a more crowded room or by noisier surroundings; and in a corner quite near to the two another pair were playing blackjack, while a third man watched their play from the shadows.

The faces of the two blackjack players were calm, as if they were merely passing time until the rain would subside and allow them to escape the mausoleum the club had become that particular night; but the expression on the face of the watcher in the shadows was less easily explained. There was a frown on his face and for some unknown reason he appeared to be disappointed in something; one might almost have assumed he had a stake in the game, although the stakes had been most modest by Quinleven Club standards, never exceeding fifty dollars a hand.

Until, that is, the deck was nearly depleted. Then the player facing the dealer smiled in friendly fashion across the table.

“Ten thousand dollars on the next hand,” Kek Huuygens said pleasantly.

The look of disappointment on the face of the onlooker in the shadows disappeared instantly. He nodded slightly, the merest tilting of his bulletlike head, obviously pleased. There was a glint of appreciation in his slightly hooded eyes.

The reaction of the dealer was more pronounced. He had been in the act of dealing a card to his opponent. Now he paused, replaced the card back on top of the deck, and stared across the table.

“ What ?”

“I said, ‘Ten thousand dollars on the next hand,’” Huuygens said gently. “Any objection, Max?”

The dealer placed the deck on the table, folded his hands across his ample stomach, and frowned at his companion.

“That’s quite a jump from your last few bets,” he said. His voice was not complaining, merely noting a verity. “Did you get an inheritance while we were playing that maybe I didn’t notice?”

Huuygens merely shrugged modestly.

“You’re really serious?” Max nodded and then answered himself. “Yes, you’re serious. What brings on this?”

Huuygens shrugged again. “It’s getting late. I’m ready to call it a night.”

It wasn’t getting late at all, but the unnatural silence and the emptiness of the normally crowded room could easily have made it seem later than it was. Huuygens suddenly frowned and studied the dealer with apparent concern.

“Is the bet too large for you, Max? If it is, of course I’ll cut it.”

The man facing Huuygens was probably the wealthiest member of the club, and rumor had it he once lost $300,000 in a single evening at Vegas and had slept like a child the same night. He smiled across the table.

“It isn’t too large.”

“Then you don’t mind taking it?”

“If these weren’t house cards, and if I wasn’t the one who was dealing, you could bet that much and more that I’d mind,” Max said decisively. “I think I can manage to pay if I lose. My worry is what will happen to you when you start buying Anita her jewelry at Woolworth’s.” He unfolded his thick fingers and drew the deck toward him. “Well, if instant bankrupcy is your aim, far be it from me to stand in your way. Do you want a new shuffle for that fancy bet of yours?”

“Those will do fine,” Huuygens said. “Anyway, it’s going to be my last hand.”

“Probably for a long time,” Max said with ominous humor. “You’ll be pitching pennies with the kids down the block for excitement after this deal, friend.” He dealt a closed card to his opponent and to himself, dealt Huuygens a second closed card and then flipped over his own second card. It was an eight. Max smiled widely.

Huuygens tipped the corner of each of his two cards, looked over to study the broad smile on the face of his opponent, and sighed deeply. He leaned back, frowning.

“Trouble?” Max asked softly. “I could have told you I never deal myself anything under eights.”

“If there’s trouble, it’s nothing that’s irretrievable,” Huuygens said, and made up his mind. “I’ll stay with these.”

“You’ll be sorry,” Max said expansively. “Did I ever tell you on any bet over fifty cents, I cheat?” He flipped over his hole card. It was a second eight, matching his exposed card. He sighed and shook his head.

“Trouble?” Huuygens asked softly.

“Nothing that’s irretrievable,” Max said, and put down the last card with a gesture. A seven stared back at him. The sight of it brought a wrinkle of disgust to the dealer’s nose. “Slightly over,” he said, and shook his head. “The story of my life. Max Fogelman, God’s gift to gamblers.” He reached into his wallet, brought out a blank check, scribbled a moment, and handed it over. “Did anyone tell you you were luckier than a guy with three balls, Kek?”

“Constantly,” Kek said. He winked at his opponent and came to his feet, tucking the check into his outside jacket pocket.

Kek Huuygens was a man in his middle to late thirties, with shoulders so broad as to appear slightly out of proportion to his slim, athletic, six feet of height. His thick dark curly hair was already beginning to be touched with gray; women considered it gave an extra-romantic air to his strong, cleanshaven face. Mercurial eyebrows slanted sharply over steady gray eyes that could glint with good humor at any of the pleasantries life could come up with at a moment’s notice. Such as winning a ten-thousand-dollar bet at blackjack. He raised a hand in a brief salute, smiling.

“I’ll be seeing you, Max.”

“I should hope,” Max said, in a liberal mood. “Suckers like me don’t grow on trees. Anyway, anytime, Annie. Blackjack, poker, or slot machines at three feet. Only don’t spend that dough you just won in any big hurry; I may just get lucky next time I get you here at the club.”

He started to shuffle the cards idly, and then glanced over his shoulder, as if to invite the stranger in the shadows to pick up the game where Kek had left off, but the man had come swiftly to his feet and was hurrying after Huuygens. Max shrugged and started to lay the cards out for solitaire, mentally giving himself house odds against his own winning. With his luck it was the only way he figured he could come out ahead.

“ M’sieu Huuygens! Un moment, s’il vous plaît —”

Kek paused, surprised to hear himself addressed by a complete stranger, even more surprised to hear himself addressed in French, albeit French with an odd accent, but most surprised of all to hear his name pronounced correctly. The manner in which telephone operators and hotel clerks managed to mangle what Kek considered a reasonably simple name, were many and unamusing. He turned and studied the man more carefully. He had been well aware of the exceptional attention the other had paid to the card game, and Kek’s more-than-normal curiosity had made him wonder why. Since Kek’s more-than-normal curiosity had either saved him from disaster on occasion, or on other occasions had led him into situations that resulted in profit, he had a tendency to allow it free rein whenever opportunity presented itself. It seemed very possible it was about to present itself once again. He nodded politely.