The Honest Dealer

Chapter Seven

When Johnny awakened one of the floor lamps was lighted. He sat up on the bed and looked across the room at Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan, who was seated in an armchair beside the floor lamp, reading the evening Las Vegas Nugget. As the bed creaked, he put down his paper.

“Hello, Fletcher,” he said. “Somebody hang one on you?”

“Believe it or not,” Johnny retorted, “I bumped into a door.” He touched his face and discovered that the mouse had practically disappeared. The spot felt sore, as did his chest where Jim Langford’s foot had caught him, but on the whole the sleep he had had made up for everything. He felt pretty good.

“I hear you’ve been killing ’em,” Mulligan continued.

“Only slightly,” Johnny replied. “I wonder what time it is by my watch in the Kansas City hock shop.”

“Almost nine o’clock, since it’s seven here.”

“Then I ripped off seven hours.” Johnny looked over at the other bed. Sam was still sound asleep, but his snoring was negligible.

Mulligan pointed at the yellow checks on the dresser. “Careless. The door wasn’t even locked.”

“I didn’t think there was any danger,” Johnny said. “They tell me the cops are very good in Las Vegas.”

“Everybody’s got his price,” said Mulligan.

“What’s yours?”

“It was a quarter of a million six years ago.”

Johnny looked at him sharply.

“My third wife,” Mulligan said calmly. “That’s what she paid me.”

“And you got rid of a quarter million in six years?”

Mulligan laughed without humor. “I went through it in a year and a half. I dropped the last hundred thousand in LV. That’s why I’m a cop here.”

“Memories are tough.”

“Not mine. I’ve lived. I was a big game hunter and I wrote a book that sold a million copies. I made a movie and I made a movie star. I had a regular table at the Stork Club and I spent a weekend in the White House. I was married to a woman worth fifty million bucks. We had a house in New York, a cottage at Bar Harbor, an estate on Long Island, a place in Florida and a ranch in New Mexico. What else can a man have?”

“A woman who hasn’t got fifty million.”

“I’ve got her; my fourth wife. She does the washing herself.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“Maybe you will.” Mulligan folded his newspaper. “What do you want, Fletcher? I mean, here in Las Vegas?”

Johnny thought for a moment. “I was driving into Death Valley last night. There was a man staggering along beside the pavement... he’d been shot...”

“Yes?”

“He died. But before he cashed in, he gave me this...” He drew out the pack of playing cards and the purple check. Mulligan got up, and coming over, took them from Johnny’s hand.

He took the cards out of the box riffled them out, then put them back into the box. The purple check he turned over and over. “What was his name — this fellow in Death Valley?”

“He never got to tell me.”

“What’d he look like?”

“About fifty. I guess he would have weighed about a hundred and forty.”

“Where does Nick come in?”

“Nick?”

“You’ve been asking all around town about a guy named Nick.”

“Well, that’s all he said. Gave me the cards and the purple check and told me to send them to Nick in Las Vegas. He tried to give me his whole name, but he couldn’t.”

Mulligan’s face was screwed up in thought. “I don’t place him, Johnny — not from your description. And I know at least twenty men here named Nick. You... searched him?”

“Yes. That was all he had on him; the cards and the check. Except these paper matches...” He tossed them to Mulligan.

Mulligan looked at the matches and nodded. “So that’s why you wanted to stay at this place.” He handed the articles back to Johnny. “But why?”

“The man in Death Valley was murdered.”

“But you’re not a cop. Or are you...?”

“I’m a book salesman. Sam Cragg—”

Sam’s bed creaked and he sat up. “Yeah!”

He blinked and looked around.

“Hello, Sam,” said Mulligan.

“Jeez, it’s night,” exclaimed Sam. Then suddenly he groaned. “You’ve had time to lose all that dough, Johnny!”

“I didn’t lose it.”

“Naw? Lemme see.”

Johnny took the roll from his pocket. “It’s all here, see.” He nodded to the dresser. “And there’re a few yellow checks.”

Sam Cragg sprang up and crossed the room. He grabbed up a handful of checks. “Are these five-dollar checks, Johnny?”

“Twenty-five...”

“Holy cow, there must be a hundred here. That’d be...”

“Around twenty-five hundred...”

Sam’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You mean, with what we won uptown, we got around forty-five hundred...?”

“Plus ten thousand,” said Mulligan. “On a single dollar...”

Johnny grinned. “Help yourself, Mulligan.” He pointed at the yellow checks.

Mulligan shook his head. “What would I do with them?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam gasped.

Mulligan smiled crookedly. “You tell him, Johnny.” He went to the door. “I’ve got to look around. See you later...”

He went out. Sam whirled on Johnny. “We’re rich, Johnny, we’re rich!”

“Still chicken feed.”

Sam stuffed a handful of the yellow boys into his pocket. “You said it. We’ll run this up to a hundred grand...”

“Have you forgotten that you wanted me to stop at eighteen hundred?”

“Me?” He rubbed his big hands together. “I had a fine sleep and I feel like a million bucks. Let’s go out and have some fun.” He stabbed a finger at Johnny. “That blonde, Johnny. You liked her. Maybe she’s got a friend.”

“She’s got a husband,” said Johnny. “He showed up.”

“Huh? I thought she was divorcing him.”

“She is, but I guess he came over to try for a reconciliation...”

“Recon... reconcil... what’s that?”

“He wants to make up with her.”

“He coulda done that weeks ago, couldn’t he? She’s here now, gettin’ a divorce. You ain’t gonna let a little thing like that stand in your way, are you?”

Johnny touched the bruise on his face. “We had a little discussion about it... I lost...”

“He bopped you?”

“I hit him. Then he hit me.”

Sam growled deep in his throat. “If he’s still around, point him out to me.”

“I intend to do just that, Sam.”

Johnny was peeling off his clothes. As he draped his coat over a chair he bumped the pocket and was reminded of the deck of cards the man in Death Valley had given him. He took them out, riffled them and studied the backs.

Sam watched him. “Marked?”

“If they are, I can’t find the markings.”

“Don’t they sometimes mark them at the factory?”

“Yes, but it’s in the design and I’ll swear that the designs on the backs of these all match.” Johnny exhaled wearily. “You know, in blackjack, all you have to know is which is a low card and which a high one.” He shook his head. “But that won’t work, because they have a rule here — they hit sixteen or less; seventeen they stand. Always. It wouldn’t make any difference if they knew what you had.”

“You mean if the dealer knew you had eighteen and he had only seventeen, he still wouldn’t hit?”

“That’s the house rule.”

“Then what’d be the point in their using marked cards?”

“That’s it — there isn’t any point.” Johnny opened a drawer and dropped the cards into it. He took off his trousers and shirt and in his shorts went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and slipped out of his shorts. He took a quick cold shower, then came out and put on the same clothes he had taken off, with the exception of a clean shirt.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll get some clothes,” he told Sam.

While he dressed Sam showered. Then Johnny waited for him to put on his clothes. Johnny distributed the yellow checks into several pockets so none of the pockets would bulge too much. Sam also helped himself generously to checks.

It was seven-thirty when they entered the casino and found it so crowded they couldn’t even get to the tables. There were women in evening dresses, men in tuxedos, cowboys in from the range, Army officers... and cold-eyed gamblers. From the dining room beyond came the music of an orchestra.

Sam’s eyes sparkled as he looked around the casino. “Whatta joint!”

“Let’s eat,” Johnny said.

They went through the hotel lobby to the dining room and found the velvet rope up, with a dozen people waiting for a table. But Mr. Bishop, the hotel clerk, saw them standing there, and leaving the desk, came up.

“Good evening, Mr. Fletcher,” he said unctuously.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Bishop.” Johnny grinned frostily, then took two yellow chips from his pocket. “About that bet we made this morning... I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided that you really won it, after all...”

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher, I knew you’d see it that way... have you told Albert that you made a reservation for dinner?”

“We didn’t...”

“Just a moment...”

Mr. Wilson slipped through the crowd to the velvet rope and signaled to the headwaiter. Sam, watching, growled. “I wouldn’t a given him the fifty, Johnny...”

“What’s the diff? Somebody told me today that everybody has his price. It seems that fifty dollars is Bishop’s price... Yeah...”

Mr. Bishop was turning, signaling to Johnny. They pushed through the crowd. “Albert has the table you reserved, Mr. Fletcher...”

“Thanks,” said Johnny.

The headwaiter raised the rope and they went into the crowded restaurant. “I have a nice ringside table,” Albert said. He led them to a table which almost touched one at which Jane Langford was having dinner with a blonde young giant. Johnny slipped Albert a yellow check, seated himself and smiled across at Mrs. Langford.

She returned the smile. “Mr. Fletcher, I’d like you to meet Mr. Halton.”

Johnny got up and shook hands with the young giant.

“You’re the man who’s been breaking the bank,” Halton exclaimed. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

Albert said smoothly, “Shall I move the tables together?”

Mrs. Langford gave smiling consent. Johnny said, “You know my friend, Sam Cragg, Mrs. Langford... Mr. Halton, Mr. Cragg...”

“Harya, pal,” said Sam. He gripped the big man’s hand, put on the pressure. A startled look came into Halton’s eyes. He returned the pressure and then Sam put on more. Halton winced and jerked his hand out of Sam’s.

“Where’d you get a grip like that?”

Sam grinned. “Your own grip ain’t bad, for a kid.”

“Kid?”

“Mr. Halton is the former All-American,” said Mrs. Langford.

“Where’d you play?” Halton asked Sam.

“Me?! Oh, the old Hippodrome in New York, the Coliseum in Chicago...”

“The mat,” Johnny explained.

“I did a bit of wrestling myself,” said Halton. “Intercollegiate heavyweight champion, nineteen thirty-six...”

“College stuff,” said Sam deprecatingly.

“We wrestled for sport,” said Halton, his eyes glowing. He sized up Sam. “I’d like to go a fall with you some time.”

“Anytime, pal. I’m always in trainin’...”

Johnny was studying Mrs. Langford. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. And how do you feel?”

Johnny shrugged. “Like silk.”

Her eyes remained on him. Then she said irrelevantly, “Chuck — Mr. Halton, was explaining his system just before you came up. I told him about this afternoon...”

Halton turned away from Sam. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Fletcher, I’d like to exchange systems with you...”

“You’ve got a system?”

“Naturally. That’s why I’m here, to try it out.” He reached into his breast pocket and took out a folded paper. He unfolded it to full letter size and placed it down on the table. Johnny saw that it was covered with figures.

“It’s the Esquire system,” Halton went on. “Infallible...”

“How does it work?”

“Why, as you can see, you have to play different amounts, depending on what is transpiring at the moment. You increase the bets when you’re losing and decrease when you’re winning.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “How much have you won so far?”

Halton winced a little. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t won anything yet...”

“You’ve lost?”

“Just a few hundred. But then I’ve only been playing the system four days. I’m bound to win in the long run.”

“Sure.”

Halton cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to use this system.”

Johnny waved it away. “I think I’ll stick to my own.”

“What is your system?”

“I keep the dice.”

“Eh?”

“That’s it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s my system. I keep the dice. As long as I’ve got them I can’t lose, can I?”

“No, of course not. But you must have a system for betting.”

“Sure. I put down the money and roll the dice, then pick up the money.” Halton flushed. “Of course if you don’t want to tell...”

“I’m telling you. That’s all I do — put down the money and pick up the winnings.”

“You mean you haven’t got any system? You’re just... lucky...?”

“Yep!”

“And you won fifty thousand dollars this afternoon?”

“Fifty thousand?”

“Isn’t that the amount?”

Johnny coughed. “More or less.”

“I won eight hundred,” interposed Mrs. Langford. “What’s the term — riding with him?”

“Speaking of riding,” said Johnny. “Did your horse get back all right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you’ll be riding again in the morning?”

“Why not? I’ve only got two more days.”

Halton regarded her sulkily. “You’ll be glad to leave Las Vegas?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’ll mean I’m free...”

A waiter came up with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of Mr. Chatsworth...”

“Chatsworth?” exclaimed Johnny. “I don’t know any Chatsworth...”

“The champagne is for the lady,” said the waiter.

But Mrs. Langford was already smiling and nodding to somebody behind Johnny. Johnny turned in his chair and picked him out — a sleek man in his late forties, three tables away. He was wearing a tuxedo and as Johnny looked, he got up from his table and came forward.

“The traffic’s getting heavy,” Johnny remarked sourly.