Spill the Jackpot

Chapter Eighteen

My telephone rang two minutes after the alarm went off. I picked up the receiver. It was Bertha on the other end of the line. “Are you awake, lover?”

“I am now.”

“Bertha didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“What is it?”

“Mr. Whitewell called up. Apparently, he’s stuck for about forty thousand dollars on the shortage.”

“Too bad.”

“He’s asked me to meet him at my office at eight o’clock so he can make a complete settlement.”

“Why so early?”

“He’s going to have to go to San Francisco on the ten o’clock plane.”

“I see.”

“And I wanted to call you up to be sure I had all your expenses — that trip of yours to Reno, and all those incidentals.”

“I made an account, itemized it, and put it in an envelope on your desk. You’ll find it there.”

“All right, that’s fine.”

“If you want to talk with me,” I said, “you can call me at the Golden Motto. I’m going there for breakfast.”

“All right, lover.”

“You had breakfast?” I asked.

She said, “I’m only taking fruit juice for breakfast these days. I just can’t seem to get my appetite back.”

“All right, I’ll be in the office after breakfast.”

I hung up the phone, took a shower, shaved, dressed leisurely, and walked down to the Golden Motto.

The woman who ran the joint was looking rather groggy.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked on through to the back room and took a seat at my favorite table.

The waitress came for my order. “Ham and, easy over,” I said. “What’s the matter with the madam?”

She laughed. “She’s having a fit. Don’t worry, she’ll be around to tell you about it. Tomato juice?”

“A double tomato juice with a shot of Worcestershire. Bertha Cool may call for me. If she does—”

“Okay, I’ll tell her you’re here. I — here she comes now.”

I looked up as Bertha Cool came marching through the door with that determined, bulldog set to her chin, her eyes glinting.

I got up and did the honors, seating her on the other side of the table.

Bertha heaved a sigh which seemed to come from her boot tops, smiled at the waitress, and said, “I have a hell of a disposition when my stomach’s empty. Makes me feel like snapping somebody’s head off. Bring me a double order of oatmeal, ham and eggs easy over, a big pot of coffee, and see that there’s plenty of cream.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”

The waitress moved silently toward the kitchen. “Congratulations,” I said to Bertha.

“On what?”

“You seem to have got your appetite back.”

She gave a snort. “That old fool,” she said.

“Who?”

“Arthur Whitewell.”

“What did he do?”

“Tried handing me a lot of bull about how attractive I was.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I didn’t mind it,” she said. “In fact, I suppose I lapped some of it up, while it was just social, but when the damn fool tried to spread it on thick in order to wheedle me into making a low charge for our services, I saw through the old buzzard right away. I guess I’ve been a little foolish, lover. I guess a woman likes to hear those things, and if business hadn’t entered into it, I might never have realized what a hypocrite he was.”

“You got the dough all right?” I asked.

“Did I!” she said with her eyes glittering.

The waitress brought my tomato juice. I drank it, then while I was waiting, fished a couple of nickels out of my pocket and started over for the slot machine.

The woman who ran the place came rushing over to me. “Get away, get away,” she said. “It’s out of order.”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“I don’t know, but a man and a girl came in here and played it about an hour ago, and won three gold awards inside of five minutes. Think of it. Three gold awards, to say nothing of the shower of nickels they dragged out of the machine. Something’s wrong with it.”

“Why,” I said, “what makes you think there’s anything wrong with the machine? You’ve always told me about the people who came in and won—”

“Well,” she snapped, “this is different. I’ve telephoned for the service man to come over. You keep away from it.”

I went back to my seat at the table.

“What is it?” Bertha asked.

“Nothing,” I said, “except that someone will probably deliver my car to me today.”

“Oh, it’s already delivered,” she said. “I forgot to tell you. The attendant at the parking-station said a girl had left a car there for you. It’s an awful-looking jalopy, lover.”

I didn’t say anything.

The waitress brought food and placed it on the table. Somehow I didn’t feel hungry. I kept thinking about the breakfasts on the desert and in Reno.

Bertha scraped the last yellow drop of egg yolk from her plate, looked up at me, and said, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel hungry.”

“Bah. You should always eat a good breakfast. You can’t keep up your strength if you don’t have food in your stomach.” She snapped her fingers at the waitress. “Bring me a Milky Way,” she ordered, and then turned to me to say, “I’ll keep it in my purse in case I have that all-gone feeling around ten o’clock. Bertha’s been awfully sick, lover. Awfully sick.”

“I know it,” I told her, “but you’re completely cured now, aren’t you?”

Bertha opened her purse, took out the blue-tinted check, and regarded it fondly.

“I’ll tell the world,” she said, “Bertha’s all cured.”