Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [26]
“Less see your fifty,” Billy said. Jack wanted to laugh out loud. What pefect timing! What a deadly insult!
Case looked over at Kol Mano, who shook his head.
“Make it for ten,” Case said. He pulled out a handful of bills, all ones, and spread them on the table.
“You mean eight, don’t you?” Billy asked innocently, moving the bills around with the tip of his finger.
“Awright, goddammit, eight. You want to play or don’t you? You going to quit on me, like a chickenshit?”
Billy looked disappointed, but Jack could see that underneath he was tense and excited, perhaps even frightened. “Aw,” Billy said, “you callin me names. An I thought this was a friendly game.” Then he pretended to get mad. “For eight dollars? Are you kidding?”
Denny chanted, “The game... is... over!”
John the houseman appeared out of the crowd of watchers, took down the time card and scribbled on it, glancing over at the clock by the entrance. “Be a dollar even.”
“You lost, pool shark,” Billy said to Bobby Case. “You pay the time.” He left the table, put his cue in the wall rack, and went into the men’s room. Bobby paid John his dollar and came over to Mano. He grinned boyishly, like a ten-year-old caught stealing at the Five-and-Dime.
“You blew it,” Mano said.
“Billy was shootin the eyes outen them balls,” Denny said. “You didn’t have a chance.”
Jack felt let down. He had won twenty dollars, of which he honorably owed half to Denny. The bills were in his pocket, but he knew they wouldn’t buy him much, even if he didn’t split. It was enough to have fun on, but not enough to get him out of his bind. “Rat shit,” he said distinctly.
“What’er you bitchin about?” Mano said, his finger to his throat. “You win twenty, an I’ll bet you the whole twenty that’s all you got.”
Jack stood up over Mano, his hands in his hip pockets. “I won’t bet you. You’re broke, probably.” Even Mano laughed.
“Did somebody say somethin about a party?” Case asked. “Let’s go do something.”
“That’s tonight,” Denny said. He pointed to the clock. It was five to three. “What’ll we do for the afternoon?”
“Is that all?” Case said. “Jesus, I thought it was about eight. I been up all day.”
“You should have stayed in bed,” Mano said dryly. “You cost me eighty hogs.”
“I’m sorry; I just lost my stick,” Case said. He looked young and shy, all his former anger gone.
“You lost your head, you mean,” Mano said.
Billy returned from the toilet. “Am I still invited to that party?”
“Hell yes, man,” Denny said. “But that’s tonight. What’ll we do now? I can’t stand this fuggin poolhall.”
“I got to see a man,” Billy said. “Whyn’t I meet you here about seven or eight?”
“No, hell, let’s go to a movie or somethin,” Denny said lamely.
Jack and Kol Mano exchanged a knowing look: they knew that Billy wanted to get away and stash some of the money, and Denny knew it and didn’t want him to get away.
“What about that poker game?” Mano said, not to anybody in particular.
“Hey, yeah,” Denny said. “Do you play?” he asked Billy.
“Never played in my life,” Billy said. Everyone knew from the way he spoke that it was a damned lie. “I’ll see you guys tonight, huh?” And he walked out, small and jaunty, his white windbreaker a flag of victory.
“You got to admire the little cocksucker,” Mano said. “He’s not only got talent, he’s got brains enough to keep hold of his money. I’ll bet nobody whipsaws him the way we did yesterday. He was just nervous and wanted to prove himself; it won’t happen again.” To Case he said, with some severity, “You take a lesson, punk: don’t lose your temper. Your money goes with it.”
“Fuck you,” Case said dully. He was not holding a cue; he looked lost.
“I know what,” Denny said brightly, holding up one finger, “Levitt’s got twenty; let’s go to the Model Hotel an get fucked.”
“On my twenty?” Jack said.
“On my twenty,” Mano amended. “Good plan. Share the wealth.”
“You guys go ahead,” Bobby Case said.
“What’s the matter, won’t they let you in?” Denny asked.
“I just don’t feel like it.”
“Good boy,