The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [186]
“Well, Mr. Picton!” Mr. Canfield said. “Feeling up to a night at the tables, are you? Or is it just Columbin’s cooking that brings you up?”
“Canfield!” Mr. Picton said, with heartfelt good cheer. “No, I have some houseguests for a time, and I told them they couldn’t leave the county without seeing our greatest contribution to modern American culture!” Mr. Picton made a quick round of introductions, and Mr. Canfield greeted us all in the smooth way what marks the successful gambling magnate. But there was something more in it, too; it seemed like the simple fact that we were Mr. Picton’s guests meant that we’d get some kind of special treatment.
“Mr. Picton was a big help at a particularly dicey time,” Mr. Canfield explained, as if he could hear the thought what was in my head. “During the town’s nasty little reform fit, he argued to the county that Saratoga could shut down all the smaller houses it wanted to, but that it had to let ‘establishments of quality’ like the Casino stay open—unless it wanted to go back to depending on mineral water for its livelihood.”
“I don’t know that I was quite so instrumental, Canfield,” Mr. Picton said. “Even the staunchest of the reformers eventually saw that they were cutting their own throats. How’s the crowd tonight?”
“Oh, they’re all here,” Mr. Canfield answered, starting to walk us toward the dining room. “Brady, Miss Russell, Jesse Lewisohn—and Gates is upstairs, still determined to set a record.”
This lineup had me speechless: the names of Diamond Jim Brady, the railroad supply magnate with a stomach six times normal size and an appetite for food that was almost as big as his lust for precious stones, and Miss Lillian Russell, the famous entertainer and Brady’s constant companion, were, of course, well known to the world at large back then, as they still are; but in gambling circles, the names of Jesse Lewisohn—“the sporting banker”—and Mr. John Gates (who’d soon earn the nickname “Beta-Million” for losing and then winning back almost that sum—all in one day—at Saratoga) were just as legendary, and cause for even greater excitement.
“Brady’s in the dining room, of course,” Mr. Canfield went on. “Been through half of Columbin’s stock already, and he’s calling for more. I’ll get you a table away from him—even with the diamonds, he doesn’t do much for other people’s appetites at moments like this.” Signaling to a waiter at the entrance to the dining room, Mr. Canfield shook Mr. Picton’s hand again. “Albert’ll take care of you all—I’ll see you in the gaming room. I assume you won’t want any action upstairs?”
Mr. Picton shook his head with a smile. “On my salary? Not a prayer, Canfield. We can injure ourselves quite sufficiently in the public room, thanks.”
Mr. Canfield paid his respects to the rest of us and then started to disappear back into the crowd; but then, seeming to remember something, he stopped.
“Oh, by the way, Picton. Word’s going around that you’re going to reopen that case—the one where the kids got shot?”
The rest of us couldn’t do much to hide our surprise; but Mr. Picton just smiled and shook his head.
“All right, Canfield,” he said. “I’ll try to keep you posted.”
“You know how it is,” Mr. Canfield answered with a respectful shrug. “People in this town’ll bet on anything, and do—there’s bound to be a line on the manhunt and the trial. I’d just like to be able to set some reasonable odds.”
“Two to one on the manhunt, for now,” Mr. Picton answered. “As for the trial, I’ll let you know.”
Mr. Canfield gave that what you might call an appreciative look. “Two to one? Confident.