Микки Спиллейн - The Delta Factor

“Russo Sabin?”

“For a guy what just got here you seem to catch on quick.”

“I got to, pal.”

“Then keep it in mind. That fat snake can get you killed as quick as look at you. Him and his crew don’t take no interference with their pleasures. If you got a record back home, chances are he has a file on you in his office right now. Matter of fact, we’re being watched right now, so if anybody asks you about our little conversation, tell ’em it was baseball. I’m a nut on the game, so play along. I like my job. It’s better’n making license plates in a prison shop.”

“Can do,” I said. “But I’m still curious about the Gordot dame.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Regis.”

“Check her out with Angelo, the bell captain.” He squinted at me again, puzzled. “Damn, I know you, buddy. Got a name?”

“Down here it’s M. A. Winters.”

“What’s it back home?”

I grinned at him. “Morgan the Raider.”

“Damn,” he said. “I’m talking to big time.”

“Forget it,” I said.

He laughed and filled my glass again. “Already did. Have one for the road.”

The picture was taking on some queer little highlights. It could be that they were trying to box me in, but the reason wasn’t clear yet. Lisa Gordot led to Russo Sabin; he led to Carlos Ortega and where they were leading to could be the forty million I supposedly had. The only hitch was the murder attempt. They’d know damn well I wouldn’t keep that kind of cash where it could be grabbed very easily and I was smart enough to make it tough for them to find it if they went after it on their own. Then there was Ortega’s attitude. He didn’t like someone trying to knock me off either.

On the other side, there was still Victor Sable to consider. If, as the Washington boys suspected, he was playing footsies with the Reds, they would be in the picture too. Their own espionage network was big enough to suppose they could possibly have a dossier on Kim and if they played the obscure angles, might figure she was using me as a cover to get here with the hope of springing Sable somehow… or of knocking him off so they couldn’t get their hands on him. The assassination try could have been for her.

It all sounded smooth enough until the other factor came in. Bernice Case was in the morgue and that was because I had started my own probe to run down that fat bundle of government money.

But there was something I could find out for myself if my lucky streak hadn’t run out.

Lisa Gordot pinched a small stack of chips between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes watching the cubes flash across the dark green felt of the crap table. Twice she played the pass line, lost, then came back even when she dropped a couple on a field number. She had changed into a black sheath and had done something different to her hair, but this time there was no gaiety in her eyes and little worried lines touched her forehead as she scanned the table and the players.

I moved in next to her and without looking, said, “Still think I’m lucky?”

First, only her eyes moved, ready to cut me off, then she recognized me and a smile brightened her face. It was the look of relief a drowning person has when he grabs a floating plank. It was there for only a second before she disguised it and it was something she never knew I read and understood, but it was my jungle too and I had been up too many trails and could spot all the signs.

“Well,” she said blithely, “my benefactor has returned to the wars. I was beginning to think the laws of chance and not of fortune regulated this fascinating sport.”

“It does,” I told her.

She showed me her chips. “This says not.”

“Want a system?”

“I thought you were brilliant enough to stay with your luck.”

“Let’s try the laws of chance first. I’ll show you something.”

“I’m willing to learn.” She slid her hand through my arm and gave me an impish grin. “I’ll try anything once.”

“Like what?”

“What would you like?” The grin was still there.

“Let’s stay with the dice first,” I said. “How many times do the field numbers hit?”

Her eyebrows raised in thought a moment. “Not too often.”

“Because the wipe-out numbers come more often. Now, wait until the shooter misses four field numbers in a row. From that time on the law of averages says the field will show. It may take a while, but give it a try.”

“Play with me?”

“Why not?”

So we held our places and watched the game. It took thirty-five minutes, but the combination came up three times. The guy rolling the dice was fast enough to show the pattern and after four misses at the field we scored. Once we had to double to recover, but it came up good. I sweated out six passes to stretch it, laid six big chips on the longest odds on the table, laughed when it went into the pocket and laughed again when Lisa picked up the stack that was shoved her way.

“You’re right, my wild friend. It’s a winning way, but it can take a long, long time and they have limits here.”

“Okay, so I’ll take the dice.”

Her hand squeezed my arm. “How did I ever find you?”

“Luck,” I said. “Not law of averages.”

A couple at the table remembered me from the last hot streak and it didn’t take long for word to get around. I threw two sevens and the big money came out with a babble of happy voices, everybody shoving to get their chips on the table. Lisa let out a bright squeal of pleasure, let everything ride behind me, chewed her lip when I was making my points and was quivering with excitement by the time I was on my fourteenth lucky roll.

But there was no fifteenth roll. The short, stocky manager was there beside me smiling a sick, oily smile and waved his hands out to the stickman and said, “I am sorry, sir, this table is now closed.”

The anguished moans and indignant voices all started in at once, but he was adamant behind his smile and the protests went right past him. He gave me a short bow, still smiling, and said, “Simply a house policy, sir. You may resume play at another table. Unfortunately, you have broken the bank at this one.”

“Sort of blows my streak though, doesn’t it?” I laughed and threw the cubes back on the table. “Forget it. I got enough for this time around. How about you, Lisa?”

She finished stuffing the chips into her handbag, picked up two more handfuls, clutching them to her breasts, the excitement like a fine sheen of sweat on her lovely face. “Whatever you want, big man. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

I laughed again and reached for my chips. “Then let’s cash in and see how far ‘anything’ goes.”

Lisa’s totally uninhibited play had gotten her a little over twelve thousand dollars. I had stayed on the conservative side and cleared three, but some of the others had gone overboard too and cleaned up the bank at the table. I stuck my cash in my pocket, but Lisa didn’t want to carry hers or leave it in her room, so she excused herself, went to the desk and after a lengthy conversation with the clerk, passed him several bills and put the rest in an envelope for deposit in the safe.

Apparently she had paid off her bill, because the desk clerk was full of smiles when he passed her the receipts. I stood at the bar toying with a drink and watched her leggy stride take her to me, her blond hair a golden, fluffy crown she tossed as she walked. It was all there, the invitation, the promise, the pleasure, the way she held her hand out to me and squeezed when I took it.

“Lovely man,” she told me. “My lovely Mr. Winters and I don’t even know your first name.”

“Er… Morgan,” I said.