Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006
- Автор: Бетанкур Джон Грегори, Jr. William J. Carroll,
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines/Crosstown Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006». Краткое содержание книги:
“What about my earlier winnings?” I asked.
“Give me your chips,” said Harvey.
I did so. Harvey counted them quickly, took a lockbox from his drawer, opened it, and peeled seven crisp thousand dollar bills and six hundreds from a roll. Without comment, he passed them to me.
“Thanks.” I tucked them into my billfold.
“Come, Pit,” said Mr. Smith with a smile. “A fortune awaits!”
My bodyguard still hadn’t returned. Uneasy and suddenly self-conscious, I settled down in the well-padded leather highboy seat at the left side of a high-stakes table in the center of the casino. Velvet ropes cordoned the players off from the general public, and floodlights bathed our seats in a warm yellow glow. Overhead, a blue neon sign blinked HIGH STAKES PLAYERS ONLY — $100,000 minimum. I was the only player.
A young guy with his blond hair in a crew cut nodded to me, then began unsealing fresh packs of cards. As he shuffled, an elderly man with a string tie and cowboy hat settled into the highboy next to me. A girl brought him a tray with a quarter million dollars in chips. A few seconds later, an Arab — complete with robes and bodyguards — took the seat farthest right. I noted how the casino staff called him “Your Highness” and brought him drinks and bowls of green and red Christmas M&m’s without being asked. He had to be a regular.
I definitely felt out of my league.
Cowboy-hat seemed to sense my uneasiness. He jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow and said, “First time here in the spotlight, huh, son?” He had a slight drawl. I noticed the heavy silver ring on his left index finger said A&M — probably Texas A&M University.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Internet money?” he asked.
“Mob money.”
Cowboy-hat got real quiet after that. I shifted uneasily in my chair. Then Smith returned and patted me on the shoulder.
“Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks. You’re not playing?”
“I’ll check back later. I have other duties.”
“Of course.”
Our dealer cleared his throat. “Ready, gentlemen?”
I threw out a thousand dollar chip. Time to get the ball rolling.
If only it had been my money. Never had I seen such a lucky streak.
I won my first six opening hands as I began to count cards. I won most of the middle hands where I knew enough to guess what might turn up. I won all the late hands, where the odds had shifted in my favor. Weird, wacky, wonderful Luck — where were you when I needed you, when that taxi ran me down?
My winning streak continued throughout the first hour. Shoe after shoe, I beat the house consistently. The dealer began paying me in ten thousand-dollar chips. I hadn’t even known that denomination existed. My money grew... half a million, then nearly a million. Mr. Smith would never doubt me again.
And Smith had been right about the buzz a big winner created. Behind the velvet rope, a crowd gathered to cheer me on. I started to sweat; the whispers and bursts of applause pushed my senses toward overload. Those three watery scotch and sodas helped, but not nearly enough.
Suddenly I noticed Bob Charles at the front of the gawkers. He looked pale and shaky. He must have recovered from his sudden “stomach ailment.”
“Mr. Smith says you need a drink,” a voice said at my elbow. It was the same girl who had drugged Bob. She held out a tray. “Compliments of the house, sir.”
“Thanks.” Since everything in front of me belonged to the casino, I had no worries about being drugged.
It was another scotch and soda; I gulped it down. Strong this time, the way I liked.
“Bring me another?” I asked.
“Of course, sir.” She vanished.
Tex leaned in close and said, “Better watch that stuff if you expect to keep winning. Gotta stay sharp, son!”
“Drink or die,” I said unhappily. “I can’t function sober.”
He laughed. “Then maybe I should take up drinking, the way my luck’s running!”
His stack of chips had been cut in half over the last two hours. Farther down the table, the prince barely held his own.
I bet fifty thousand — and got a blackjack. Cowboy-hat drew to a twelve and busted. Too many face cards still in play... with the dealer showing a five, I would have stayed.
My new drink came, and I downed it fast. The rising tide of voices began to grow muted; my hands stopped shaking. My world narrowed down to the cards.
But first, I reminded myself, I had to take care of Bob.
“I have to take a bathroom break,” I said to the dealer. “May I leave my chips here?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Don’t worry, son,” said Cowboy-hat. “I’ll keep an eye on ’em for ya!”
“Thanks.” I smiled wanly at him.
I rose, leaning heavily on my walking stick, and gave Bob a glance and a subtle follow-me jerk of my head. Then I limped to the men’s room.
It was moderately busy inside. We stood side by side at the urinals, waiting until we were alone. Then I handed him my billfold with the $7,600 still inside.
“I have my million,” I said. “There’s a travel agency across the street. Buy two one-way tickets to Rio de Janeiro. I doubt if there’s a direct flight from Atlantic City, but we should be able to make it with a couple of connections. Cut it as close as possible. When it’s time to go, signal me. I’ll cash out and we’ll run for the plane. As fast as a cripple like me can run, anyway.”
“Got it,” he said.
I returned to the high-stakes table and found Mr. Smith had replaced Cowboy-hat. My chips had not been touched. Fortunately for me, most of the watchers had dispersed.
Our dealer began shuffling new decks of cards.
“Is everything going as planned?” Smith asked.
“I think so.”
“I saw your friend leave. You should have let Mr. Jones remove him for you, you know.”
“Human life has value,” I said.
“You should watch out for yourself, not someone who’s trying to kill you.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps I made a mistake. But I like him, and I think he’s basically a decent guy. He just took a wrong step somewhere.”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“I’m more stubborn than sensible. Besides, it’s almost Christmas. ’Tis the season of brotherly love, and all that mushy holiday stuff. I couldn’t have his ‘removal’ on my conscience.”
“What’s next?” Smith asked.
“Bob is out buying tickets to Rio de Janeiro. He’ll be on the afternoon plane. That’s where you come in.”
“I suppose he needs a lift to the airport?”
“I’m going to cash out when he returns. I’ll give instructions at the cashier’s booth for the winnings to be wired into a nonexistent Brazilian bank account. Then, on my way out the door, someone can grab me, force me into a car, and drive off with me. Bob will think I’m being kidnapped and take off for Brazil alone.”
“Why would he?”
“Because,” I said smugly, “he’s going to have my little black notebook with all the passcodes and bank account numbers. He’ll think he’s struck it rich.”
“Until he gets there and finds out there’s no money.”
“Right.”
“Then he’ll come back, hunt you down, and kill you for making a fool out of him.”
“He’ll stay there. I’m sure he’ll call once he gets to Rio and finds out he’s been duped. I’ll simply tell him he’ll be arrested for conspiracy to commit murder if he returns to the United States. I imagine you still have that recording.”
“Of course.”