Nothing In Her Way (15 page)

She quieted down a little. “What do you suppose he’s up to, Mike? I mean, having those other two men with him?” It was the first time she’d ever shown any inclination to regard Donnelly as anything but a stupid punk, and now she wasn’t scared so much as curious.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t like it.”

It scared me to think about it, but there wasn’t anything to do but sweat it out. We couldn’t give up on Lachlan and run. That was unthinkable, even before, but now he had over five thousand dollars of our money besides. We had to stick, and every day my nerves would be drawing nearer the snapping point. There wasn’t only Donnelly to think about; there was always Bolton. How did we know Lachlan wasn’t putting on an act? If he had been tipped off, he’d know we would let him win the first one. The time the police would close in would be just after he’d handed us the money for the big deal.

She saw Lachlan nearly every day, at lunch or in the bar. He was getting the money together. He was thinking bigger all the time; at first it had been fifty thousand, and now it was a hundred thousand he was talking about. And she was needling him with the complete impossibility of it. How could they get that much money bet in the few short hours they’d have to do it? And suppose she didn’t find out the name of the horse at all? She was slowly driving him frantic. She’d dangled the easy money there before him, and now she was keeping it tantalizingly just out of his reach, pulling it back bit by bit.

Raising that much cash wasn’t easy. Of course, he had plenty of money, but nobody keeps amounts like that lying around in cash. And he had whopping alimony and income-tax payments to meet all the time. He was working on it, though, she said, and could put his hands on sixty thousand right now.

But how was he going to bet it? That was the thing she was driving him crazy with.

Monday night she broke it. She came in from a ride with Lachlan and said, “He’s ready, Mike.”

“He’s not half as ready as I am,” I said. “I can’t stand much more of this.”

“It won’t be so bad now. There’ll be plenty to do. Your trouble is that you can’t stand inactivity and suspense at the same time.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not that much.” She smiled. “It’s just a war of nerves. All you have to do is outlast the opposition and make him give way first. It’s intriguing.”

“Sure,” I said. “So is Russian roulette. Don’t you ever think about what Bolton said?”

“I thought you were a gambler, Mike. It’s a calculated risk with the odds on your side. A hundred to one he was bluffing.”

“I’m just a piker,” I said. “All I ever gambled with was money.” I went on wearing the same old groove in the carpet. “But if he’s ready, let’s go. I’d rather be dead than alive and waiting for it.”

She smiled again. “We’re already off. You can start looking for the race any time.”

“You’ve already told him, then? I mean, about betting the money?”

She nodded. “Just a few minutes ago. All I had to do was hint at it and he was ready to climb all over me like a big dog. He has eighty thousand dollars in a safe in his apartment and he’s going to give it to me in the morning.”

I tried to fight off the chill. That would be the moment. “Where?” I asked.

“In the bar. I’m going to meet him there around ten.”

“That much cash would be in large bills,” I said.

“Probably thousands, mostly. I thought about that—the serial numbers, I mean. That’s one reason I suggested the bar, at ten o’clock in the morning. It should be practically deserted, and if there’s anybody around I’m not sure of, I can always back out and not take it.”

“They might be outside. Or in the lobby.”

“I’ve thought of that. There’s nothing I can do about the lobby except to look it over before I go into the bar. But you can watch the front of the building from here. If anybody shows up who doesn’t look right, phone me.”

I couldn’t sleep at all that night, and in the morning, a few minutes after ten, when she started down to the bar I could feel the butterflies holding a death dance in the cavern where my stomach should have been.

I stood by the window and watched while time came to a slow crawl and died. What did a plain-clothes cop look like? Like sixty million other men. If anybody got out of a car and started into the bar or into the lobby, could I possibly get through that switchboard to her in time? Nobody came and nothing happened.

After a long time she came back up to the apartment. She had a brown Manila envelope with her and she took it into the bedroom and emptied it out on the bed like a bag of dirty clothes.

I looked at it. It was the first time I had ever seen eighty one-thousand-dollar bills, and the way I felt, I never wanted to see another one. A knock on the door would have sounded like a hand grenade going off.

The big act was coming up now, the ticklish one, the one that had to go just right. There couldn’t be any mistakes from here on out. We had the money, but we had to get out from under without Lachlan’s screaming for the cops. We knew how we were going to do it—we hoped.

The angle she had worked out for Lachlan to get his money bet was simple enough. Since there was no way of knowing for certain whether she’d find out when there was another race coming up and what horse was rigged to win it, the thing they had to do was to get me to bet the money when I bet mine. And of course it had to be done without my knowing it, since I was a hard guy who’d cut their throats in a minute if I suspected it. So she had told Lachlan she knew the three betting commissioners who handled my money for me, and had sounded them out on taking some for her. They had agreed, of course, and were willing to bet hers—the whole wad of it—when I telephoned my bets in. Lachlan presumably didn’t know—and she was playing it like a dumb chick, pretending not to know—what would happen if somebody began trying to dump eighty thousand dollars on some long shot the morning before a race. That was the gimmick, the thing that was supposed to get us out of the fire.

Actually, Lachlan probably did know, or would if he stopped to think about it, but he had the easy-money fever now and a man isn’t completely rational when he’s under its spell. He had intimated he knew it, that day when he’d been trying to break down my resistance in the bar, when he’d said he wouldn’t talk and he wouldn’t bet too much. He was forgetting or ignoring it now, with the lure of the big killing leading him on, but if everything went off according to plan, he’d be reminded of it—but good.

What would happen is simple enough. Nothing scares a bookie like a lot of money on a long shot, unless it’s more money on a longer shot. They get fat off favorites, playing the old percentage year in and year out, but they can be wiped out by getting caught with a big bet on some long shot that happens to win. Most of them won’t pay track odds above twenty to one, but even that can be disastrous if they get caught with a wad, say a thousand or two thousand dollars’ worth.

They’ll take it in small amounts, but when somebody starts trying to shove chunks of it in on some horse that figures to go to the post at a long price, they get suspicious and scared and start laying it off—that is, betting it on the horse themselves with bigger bookies who handle that sort of thing. And a lot of it winds up back at the track, being bet through the pari-mutuel windows, which of course drives the price down. If the horse does win, then, they’ve saved themselves in two ways: they’ve hedged their bets, and they’ve driven the price down to where it isn’t disastrous.

And she and Lachlan—so Lachlan thought—were going to unload eighty thousand dollars on the horse and not upset the applecart. It was a laugh.

She had to make several trips downtown to make all this look good, and of course I couldn’t go with her, just in case Lachlan was keeping an eye on us. I’d be in the wringer every minute she was gone, thinking of Donnelly, and I made her take a taxi every place she went and keep the cab waiting for her.

We had to have the right race now. Tuesday night there was nothing that looked good. A mile-and-a-sixteenth was the longest race on the next day’s card, and that was a handicap for high-class horses, which wouldn’t do at all. Wednesday night we drew another blank, the only race at any distance being at Fairgrounds, and that wouldn’t do because we were supposed to be operating in Florida. We had to get something soon. Every day of delay was an agony of sheer suspense. Thursday night I hung around the stand that sold the Form, waiting for it to be flown in from Los Angeles. It was late again, and didn’t come in until around ten. I grabbed one and went back to the apartment. This time I found it. It looked fine.

Again, it was the eighth, a mile-and-one-half claiming race for three-thousand-dollar horses. There were only eight entries, and nearly all the public selectors liked Torchy and Smoke Blue, with Tanner’s Girl getting a nod here and there. Tanner’s Girl looked like what I was after. She was a seven-year-old mare who’d won only three out of nineteen starts last year and one out of eight so far this year, all of them in two-thousand- and twenty-five-hundred-dollar claimers. But the race she’d won this year had been the last time out, a little over two weeks ago right there at Hialeah, just managing to hold on to take the winner’s end at a mile and a furlong, and that was what I wanted. It meant she should have a lot of support at the track. A lot of horse players seem to have the idea that a horse that won last time should win again, an idea that helps in keeping them broke. What we had to have was a horse that would go at a comparatively short price and finish somewhere up the track, and Tanner’s Girl looked as if she could do both.

Of course, we could have cut out the risk by not letting Lachlan know what horse it was until after the race was over, to be sure the horse we “bet” on didn’t win, but that would spoil the whole plan. He had to know in advance which horse it was, and before we got through he’d know why she lost.

In the morning at nine o’clock we cut it loose and let it roll. She called Lachlan.

“Hello?” she said eagerly. “He just left. A few minutes ago… Yes…Yes. It’s wonderful news. He got a telephone call from Miami at eight-thirty, and I heard it this time. It’s a horse called Tanner’s Girl in the eighth race. The minute he left, I called the betting people. They’ve already started. The only thing is...” She hesitated.

Then she went on hurriedly, and a little apologetically. “What I mean is, it all came up so suddenly I didn’t get all the money placed with those men. There’s ten thousand I was going to give to another one… Martin, please. I couldn’t help it I tell you I did my best… But—But Martin, can’t you see? It’s still all right That’s the reason I called you. You still have three hours or more. I’ll bring it down and meet you in the bar and give it to you right now. And if that’s the way you’re going to act, you can bet your old money yourself,” she wound up defiantly, like a little girl on the verge of tears.

She was silent for a moment, listening. “That’s all right. I didn’t mean it either. Of course I’ll help. You wait in the bar, and I’ll bring it right down.”

She hung up and winked at me, grinning. “Let him get around that,” she said.

That was another reason we had to let him know the horse in advance. She was giving back ten thousand dollars of it to make him bet it himself. It was costly, but she was buying a psychological advantage that would be worth it. Take your old money and bet it yourself. I don’t want anything to do with it. And when it was coupled with the snapper ending she had worked out, it might get us off the hook. Might, I thought. San Quentin was full of guys who were sure they were off the hook.

She took ten of the bills out of the envelope and went down to the bar. In about ten minutes she was back. That was the way it was supposed to go. Once she was down there she suddenly remembered she couldn’t go downtown looking for bookies because that’s where I was and she might run into me. He’d have to do it alone.

I stood by the window and watched him leave. Unless he broke that wad into a lot smaller chunks, he was going to leave a trail of very suspicious bookies behind him—that is, if he found any bookies. A man who appeared to be in his right mind trying to unload ten thousand dollars in one piece on a nag like Tanner’s Girl might start them laying off what Tanner’s Girl money they already held. Bookmakers have remarkably little faith in the inherent nobility of man. And anything being bet back at the track would help to knock the price down.

We went over the timing for the last time, and then I left for downtown. It was a little after ten. The race should be off at around two-thirty-five. I bought a scratch sheet at a newsstand on Market and looked it over while I had a cup of coffee. Only one horse had been declared. The ideas of the public selectors were about the same as those in the Form, with Torchy and Smoke Blue getting most of the notice. Tanner’s Girl was mentioned a few times, but never at the top.

I went over to the bookie joint. A few men were sitting around reading scratch sheets. Tanner’s Girl was eight to one on the Morning Line, down in the fourth spot in a field of seven. Torchy was the favorite at three to two. I began to tighten up now. Too damn much depended on it. It wasn’t money we were playing with now; it was freedom. Suppose Tanner’s Girl won? We should have done it the other way and not told Lachlan the horse until after the race. But no, I thought, we couldn’t get out of the fire that way. It would be too obvious. It would smell.

I started getting the jitters about Tanner’s Girl. She had won the last time, hadn’t she? For God’s sake, I thought, I’m beginning to sound like a two-dollar horse player trying to make up his mind. I couldn’t quit worrying, though, and bought another Form to check again.

She couldn’t win. Any fool could see it. She was seven years old and she’d have lost any semblance of form she’d had two weeks ago when she won at a mile and a furlong. You couldn’t keep a horse that old up to racing edge more than a few days. And God knows she hadn’t had much then. She’d been losing ground all the way through the stretch and just managed to last. And this race was three eighths longer. It was ridiculous; she didn’t have a chance. It didn’t do any good, though. I’d been around long enough to know about the horses that couldn’t win and the horses that couldn’t lose. They ran in bookie joints, not on race tracks.

I couldn’t sit still any longer. I looked at my watch. It was nearly twelve. The results of the first race at Hialeah were already posted. I went out to the bar and drank a glass of beer and then went to the telephone booth.

I looked up the number and dialed Pan American Airways. “Hello,” I said. “I have to go to Japan. I wonder if you could tell me what I’ve got to have in the way of papers and shots and so on, and whether I have to get a military permit of some kind…No, I’m sorry, I can’t hold on right now. I’m late for an appointment. But would you call me at three o’clock sharp with the list? It’s important. Dr. Rogers, at the Montlake…That’s right. Thank you.”

Then I called Braniff and made the same request about Ecuador, and threw in two travel agencies, just to be sure. At least one of them should call right at three p.m. It didn’t make any difference who it was, as long as the telephone rang.

I tried to eat some lunch, but it wouldn’t go down. My throat was dry and I felt the way a matador does watching the door of the toril swing open and seeing the dust boil in the shadows inside as the bull lunges, ready to come out. This is not for me, I thought, staring longingly after the people hurrying back to their offices and desks. All they had to do was go back to work for four hours; they didn’t have to stand still and wait while a bunch of little men braided their nerve ends into twitching coils.

I called Cathy. “Yes,” she said. “He just called me. He’s back. He got some of it bet. Don’t worry, Mike. He’ll be here. I’ve already told him you’re staying downtown. Mike, please don’t stew about it. Of course he’ll be here.”

He had to be at the apartment when the results came in. She had left the door open by telling him I’d be downtown and that she didn’t feel like coming down to the bar or going out. He’d get around to inviting himself in so they could wait for the results together. Or at least, he was supposed to.

I went back to the horse parlor and sweated it out as the races at Miami slowly became history chalked on a blackboard in the rear of a saloon. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth. I watched them, telling myself Tanner’s Girl couldn’t win. At two-fifteen the betting on the eighth had begun at the track. I watched the first and second run-downs. Tanner’s Girl was seven to one, then five to one, and the odds on Torchy and Smoke Blue were going up. Then Tanner’s Girl was nine to two and it was five minutes before posttime. I had to move now, and move fast.

I flagged a cab. We got caught in a traffic jam crossing Market, and I kept looking at my watch and cursing. It was two-thirty-five now and they should be off. In ten minutes or less they’d have the winner. We crawled up Powell, got clear on California, and went on fast. I got out a block from the Montlake and went into the neighborhood bar I had picked out beforehand. It had a telephone booth, and it was only a minute’s fast walking time from the apartment.

I ordered a Scotch and looked at the time again. It was two-forty-one. They wouldn’t have it yet. They might not have got away before two-forty. I held the drink in my hand in the deserted quiet dimness of the bar, and then in spite of myself I was moving toward the telephone both. I was dialing. “Naw. Naw,” the voice said. “Nothing from Florida yet. They’re off. That’s all.”

In the apartment Lachlan would be calling one of the places where he’d made his bets. I had to get it by the time they did and get up there within a minute or two. But that was assuming Tanner’s Girl didn’t win. If she did, then what? I clawed for the dial again. The line was busy.

I waited while thirty seconds stretched into a year and tried again. This time I got it. “Yeah?” the bored voice said. “The eighth at Florida? Yeah, we just got it. Nag by the name of Seven Sharps.”

“Tanner’s Girl! What about Tanner’s Girl?” I yelled. She hadn’t won, but I couldn’t seem to get my mind to accept it. Maybe I’d have to go down there and get him to draw me a picture.

“Out of the money. No prices yet. Y’welcome.”

I was out in the street. Lachlan and Cathy would have it now and Lachlan would know he had lost close to eighty thousand dollars. A lot depended on how long it took for the initial shock to wear off and for the thing to begin to soak in, and I had to get there in a hurry. We had to put him on the defensive before he could get set to attack.

It was a minute and a half including the elevator, and I fought hard to get hold of myself. I came down the corridor whistling something and clicked the keys a little as I pushed one against the lock. It didn’t fit, and I tried the next one, taking my time, fighting for coolness. Everything depended on the next few minutes and what I saw when I opened the door.