Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

She cupped his hand with hers as he lit the Camel. She glanced up at him as their skin touched, but he wasn’t looking at her, with good reason. He waved the match dead and plunked it with the other wreckage into the ashtray. Then he sat back and watched her smoke. She did it well.

She said, “One girl I knew at the factory got killed in an accident. And I lost a brother and a cousin in the war. One in Germany and one in France. They’re buried over there. I want to make enough money to go see their graves and put flowers on them,” she added, her expression growing even more somber, but her eyes lifted to his. “You lose anyone in the war?”

“Just almost myself.”

“Right,” she said, apparently disappointed by this.

“So Hollywood then?” prompted Archer. “Your dream?”

“Yes. And don’t give me a hard time about it,” she added in a pouty voice that Archer didn’t much care for. Women, he’d found, did that to move men one way or another.

The dealer suddenly barked, “Hey, lovebirds, you gonna bet or you gonna give up your seats, ’cause that’s the choice you got to make. And do it before I die of old age, will ya?”

Callahan looked at the man with an expression that gave Archer pause. It was akin to a snake sizing up its next meal. He didn’t like it, but he could understand it. With a slow, methodical, full-of-meaning motion, she pushed her remaining chips onto twenty-two black.

“You sure about that, honey? Just that one bet,” said the dealer, giving her an eye back as though to evaluate her mental acuity.

Turning to Archer she said, “It’s the year I was born, 1922. And I like black better than red, always have.”

Archer slid all of his roulette chips next to hers.

She jerked so violently her Camel came close to hitting her in the eye.

“Archer, that’s too many chips for a single ride on the wheel. Soften the blow with other bets on white, black, even, odd. Don’t be a dummy, spread the risk.”

“Lady’s talking smart,” said the dealer.

Archer finished his highball and sensed the others at the table watching him, wondering whether he was mad, rich, just stupid, or all three. “Thing is, I didn’t earn it. I just followed a guy over at the craps table and got out before I lost it all. For me, it’s free money.”

“Ain’t no such thing, buddy,” barked the dealer.

Archer eyed him. “You in the business of not taking bets, buddy ?”

The man chuckled and spittle ran down his chin. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “Your funeral, pal. So just to be clear, you’re doing a straight up bet on twenty-two black with no outside odd or even, red or black column bets? How about some inside splits, corners, street, double street? Last chance, amigo.”

“If I knew what any of that meant, I’d answer you,” said Archer. “But all I know is if that little ball drops on twenty-two black, we win.”

“You know the odds?” asked the dealer nervously.

Archer glanced around the bowl. “You got thirty-six numbers.” Then he noted the zero and double zero slots that were in green felt rather than red or black.

“What are those numbers?” he asked.

The dealer grinned. “That’s where the House gets its advantage, pal, didn’t you know?”

“You mean, it doesn’t count for the odds?”

The grin deepened. “Nope, just two more numbers to add to the thrill. See, that’s what advantage means.”

“So thirty-six minus one means the odds are longer than the road from heaven to hell and the payoff is thirty-five to one, although the wheel has thirty-seven opportunities to lose.”

“You’re picking it up real fast, pardner,” said the dealer, eyeing the big stack of chips on twenty-two black. His eyebrow twitched and a sweat bubble sprouted over this twitch like a mushroom after a hard rain. “Like taking candy from a baby,” he said, but there was no spirit behind it.

“So you gonna spin the wheel and drop the ball, or do I have time for a smoke break?” asked Archer.

Callahan gripped Archer’s hand under the table and gave him a pointed smile that showed all teeth and the jacketed crown that now looked more white than pewter.

The dealer looked around the table and then glanced to the ceiling and muttered something Archer couldn’t hear.

The wheel was spun, the dealer sent the ivory ball spinning in the opposite direction, and Archer and Callahan waited for what seemed an eternity for the game to do what it was designed to do.

The bona fide absurdity of the endeavor was not lost on Archer. He watched a dozen reasonable-looking adults eyeing a little ball like it was the most important thing they would ever witness in their entire lives.

It’s a damn miracle we won the war and aren’t speaking German.

“No more bets,” barked the dealer.

A moment later, Callahan shrieked, “Omigod,” as the ball dropped into the slot for twenty-two black.

She threw her arms around Archer and kissed him on the lips, almost knocking him out of his seat.

“Damn,” said the dealer, shaking his head.

“How much did we win?” asked Archer quietly. “I mean in money, not wafers.”

The dealer eyed the bets and then the markers and said mournfully, “Little over four grand for you. Two hundred and eighty bucks for the lady.”

“Holy Jesus,” exclaimed Callahan.

“We’ll cash out now,” said Archer, giving the dealer a dead stare.

The man slowly counted out a number of regular casino chips. He slid a small pile to Callahan and a far larger stack to Archer.

Archer took his stacks of chips, split them evenly, and handed one stack to Callahan.

“What are you doing?” she said, bug-eyed. “You won those, not me.”

“I just followed your bet, Liberty. I would’ve won nothing except for you. So a fifty-fifty split seems fair.” He lit a Lucky Strike and eyed the dealer through the mist. “After all, it was free money.”

“Do you…? I mean, are you…? Oh, Archer.” She kissed him again, this time on the cheek and not with as much fury, so he held firm in his seat.

The dealer said, “Hey, look, the night’s young. You folks sure you won’t let me try to win some of that back? My boss ain’t gonna be happy with me.”

Archer flipped him a fifty-dollar chip. “He might still be unhappy. But you won’t be, amigo.”

The man caught the chip and looked surprised. “Didn’t figure you for a class act. My mistake, buddy.”

“I think you figured me just right, but four grand can bring class to any bum.”

After Archer and Callahan reclaimed their hats from the hat check girl, they turned chips into dollars at the cashier’s desk, and Archer carefully folded the money over and put it through a slit in his hat’s lining. Callahan’s stash disappeared into her purse.

“How about a drink?” she said. “To celebrate? On me? Not here. They water everything down. I know a place.”

He studied her for so long she finally said, “What!”

“Works for me.”

“What took you so long?”

“The guy usually does the asking, not the girl.”

“Well, I’m the other way around, Archer. You hang around me long enough, you’ll figure that out.”

“Maybe I will. Or maybe I won’t. But let’s go get that drink,” he added with a measure of calm bordering on ambivalence.

“You’re a strange bird. Most folks after winning all that would be sort of giddy.”

“I don’t think I have any giddy left.”

Chapter 5

IT’S RIGHT DOWN THIS STREET,” said Callahan as they turned off the strip. “A friend told me it used to be a speakeasy back when they had Prohibition.” Callahan slipped her arm inside his. “Isn’t life just grand sometimes, Archer? I mean, five minutes ago we had nothing, really. And now look at us.”