The Only Girl in the Game (17 page)

“You’ve talked to Temp?” Hugh asked.

“Yes, and there’s a problem and Shannard isn’t too happy. Maybe you can help out a little, Hugh. Maybe you better explain it, Dan.”

The slightly older-looking one spoke. As he spoke he had the disconcerting habit of staring fixedly at Hugh’s necktie rather than at his face. “The properties look like the sort of thing we can be interested in. In one week we could make certain they have not been misrepresented in any way, and we could put the deal through on a cash basis. But your friend wants something we’d never give, because it’s against policy. We have no need for or use for partners in any investment enterprise. If the properties check out, we’ll pay him two hundred and twenty thousand dollars for his equity. This represents a slight overevaluation, and we’re making the offer merely because we’d like to expand the resort-investment program in that area.

“Shannard is in a bind. He says that the money would not quite cover his outstanding obligations. He wants to retain partial ownership so he can share in the profits from development, or sell his share out after development. We couldn’t be less interested in his personal financial problems, or what he wants or doesn’t want. He seems to have the idea we’re trying to bargain with him. He has something to sell. We’ll buy it. We’ve named the price. Somebody has to convince him that we never bargain with anybody. We don’t have to. If you can convince him that all he can do, dealing with us, is sell, we’ll pay you a ten-thousand-dollar finder’s fee.”

“I told Al I didn’t get mixed up in this to make money off a friend.”

“Then take your fee and turn it over to him, and it will give him two thirty instead of two twenty—if you’re so hot on the friendship bit. But the point is, will you talk to him?”

“I don’t know if this is the right thing for him to do.”

“I’d guess that so far as doing anything else is concerned, his time has run out. He’s done a lot of stalling. For your private information, Darren, I phoned a contact in Nassau. He phoned me back fifteen minutes ago. They’re waiting to serve Shannard with a lot of unpleasant papers the minute he steps off the plane.”

Al said, “But these boys aren’t putting the squeeze on him, Hugh. It’s a good price. It’s a cash deal. It’s quick. Where can he go and get it the same way?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Hugh said. “I’ll find out how he feels about it. It was his idea, coming out here. I didn’t suggest it.”

“He made that clear,” the spokesman said. “We’ve always got the same kind of problem the depletion-allowance boys have—putting money to work and getting the diversification that makes sense, protectionwise. I admit we’re moving fast enough so we’re always running short on management talent, but we’re not so short yet we’ve got to cut up the pie to attract it. This place, for instance. We got you here, Darren, without giving you a piece of it. And if you’re smart you’ll know it isn’t a dead end. We’ve got resort areas we’re developing. When the time is right, we can move you into something bigger.”

“Thanks,” Hugh said, “but … I’ve got the idea of owning my own show.”

The spokesman shrugged. “Like they say, the dream of every man, huh? But it can end up like Shannard, right? Then where are you?”

“Would you hire Temp to operate those properties?”

“Offhand I’d say it wouldn’t work out. He’s been his own man too long.” He looked at his watch. “We got a flight to catch. Shannard can tell Al what he decides.”

It was dismissal with no attempt at cordiality, no slightest concession to the social amenities.

Hugh, wondering why the attitude should make him feel indignant, went off to find Temp and Vicky Shannard. Their suite did not answer. He had Temp paged, but he was apparently not in the hotel. Hugh put a note in their box.

He had been at his desk about five minutes when John Trabe, his manager of liquor sales, came in to see him. John had the pouched mournful face of an aging spaniel, the wary watchful eyes of a bank guard, and an astonishingly sweet, transforming smile.

“That bartender I mentioned, Hugh, that Chester Engler, I got him outside, and I swear I don’t know whether it would be smart to get rid of him right now.”

“He’s worth a special effort?”

“He’s a damn good man. He
was
a damn good man. I haven’t talked to him about this last deal. I thought maybe if you could sit in on it.…”

“Bring him in, John.”

Chester Engler was in his early thirties, overweight, with a round pink face, receding blond hair, blue eyes. He was obviously nervous, with a dew of perspiration on his upper lip in spite of the air conditioning.

“Sit right there, Chet,” John Trabe said. “I want Mr. Darren to get the background on this. How long have you been tending bar in this state?”

Engler looked down at his hands. “Four years in Reno before I came here. Nine years altogether.”

“You’re married, own your own home, have a car.…”

“The car is gone.”

“You’ve got two kids, two girls in grade school. It’s a pretty good life. Or it seemed to be a pretty good life, up until four or five months ago. Chet, you’re smart enough to take a long look at yourself. You know damn well that the people who live and work in this town don’t gamble. And you also know that every once in a while somebody will start. You’ve known guys who have. And you know how they drop right out of sight, after everything is gone. It’s … one of the hazards of working in Nevada. And you’ve said—I’ve heard you—that it’s a foolish crazy thing for a man to do. But now you’re gambling. And you’re in trouble. You promised me you’d quit. I happen to know that you spent sixteen hours playing blackjack before you came on duty yesterday. How did you make out?”

Engler sighed and shrugged. “Not so good.”

“Where do you stand right now?”

“Not so good.”

“How much have you dropped?”

“About … twelve grand, John.”

“Where did you get the money?”

“The savings went, and then I cashed in the insurance, and then the car went and I remortgaged the house and got some that way. And … I’ve sold some stuff. Lila took off with the kids. She said she couldn’t take it. She went to her folks in Amarillo. She said she’s going to get a job and her mother can watch the kids.” His voice had been dead, but suddenly it strengthened and he looked at John Trabe. “But I nearly got out of the whole jam, John. Honest to God. Last week. It was what I’d been waiting for. It had to turn. I was eleven grand in the bag until then, and I built it back, almost all of it, I swear. I was damn near ten grand ahead, and I swore I’d quit forever the minute I got even. I meant it, John. I hung on, staying right about the same place for an hour. And then it went bad again.”

“And you gave it all back.”

“I shouldn’t have started betting bigger. That’s where I made the mistake.”

“You made the mistake when you started gambling. You
know better, Chet. What happened to you? We used to shake our heads at the guys who got hooked. For nine years you’ve been learning you can’t beat the house.”

“Some do.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Don’t insult my intelligence and yours, Chet. You know its asking for trouble to keep a gambler on the payroll. You’ll be looking for some cute way to pick up extra money to feed across the table.”

“I’m no thief!’ Engler said hotly.

“That’s the next step. Why should you be any different?”

“I tell you I’m no thief!”

Hugh interrupted, his tone quiet and reasonable. “What are your plans, Engler?”

The man nibbled the corner of his thumbnail. “I don’t know. I mean … hell, I’m so far behind now.…”

“You think gambling is the only way you can catch up?”

“What have I got to lose? Right now I got no equity left in the house. I’m as far down as I can get. So how can I get hurt?”

“By continuing?”

“The way I see it, I can save up a couple hundred bucks at a time and keep trying. If I drop it, nobody is hurt Sooner or later I’ll make out, and then I can get well. That’s all I want. I don’t want to make a fortune. I just want to get well again. There’s no law against that, Mr. Darren.”

Hugh glanced at John Trabe. John shrugged almost imperceptibly. Hugh said, “I think we’d better let you go. Engler. You’ve done good work here. We’ll see you get a good letter of recommendation. But, on the basis of past experience in similar situations you’re a risk we can’t afford.”

Engler said bitterly, “Thanks a lot. You’re a couple of real nice guys to work for. Thanks for everything. Should I finish the shift?”

“You better just go clean out your locker, Chet,” John Trabe said, “and turn the hotel equipment in, and wait for me out in the staff lounge I’ll bring you your check to date, with three weeks in advance.”

Engler got up and walked out without a word.

“What happens to them, Hugh?” John Trabe asked sadly. “They get hooked. They throw everything away. They drop out of sight as if they’d never existed. They forget you can’t beat the casinos. They live for the time they can buy at the tables. Whenever they’re away from the tables they act semiconscious. They do bad work. And sooner or later they dream up some crazy scheme to tap the till so
they can play oftener and heavier. People who stay immune can make a good living here and have a damn fine life.”

“How did he start? Do you know?”

“He was what we call a dollar player, Hugh. A dollar player is a guy who will take his wife out for the evening, and when she goes to the women’s room, he’ll change a five or a ten into silver dollars and drift over to a crap table or a blackjack dealer and make a few bets. If he doubles his money he’ll quit and tell his wife she was a cheap date. If he loses, he’ll mentally chalk it up as part of the cost of the evening out. A dollar player isn’t hooked, but with some people it can all of a sudden turn into a snake.

“The way I got the story, Chet and Lila went out one evening and they had a hell of a fight over something or other, one of those marriage battles, and she went home in a cab. He knew the fight was his fault, but he was too stubborn to follow her home right away. He played dollars at blackjack and made out well, and then started playing two hands and switched to five dollars a hand, playing with house money he had won. He kept winning, and switched to ten bucks a hand, and finally cashed in eleven hundred bucks. He used it to buy Lila a mink stole as a peace offering. About two weeks later he decided he’d try to win himself a new car. A month or so after that fiasco, he sneaked out of the house with the mink and sold it for four hundred bucks so he’d have money to play with. Now he’s played himself right through everything he owned, and right through his marriage. He knows he’s being criminally stupid, but he can’t quit. He doesn’t even
want
to quit.”

“Some psychiatrists say, John, that a man like Engler wants to lose. He has a compulsion to lose and punish himself by losing. It’s a sort of symbolic suicide.”

John Trabe stood up. “I don’t know how the shrinkers have it figured. All I know is we’re doing the right thing in letting him go, but I’ve lost one of my best men. Joan and I have had dinner in their house, Hugh. The four of us have had a lot of laughs. She cried on Joan’s shoulder before she took off. It’s like somebody had died.”

“Or caught an incurable disease.”

“Yes. A disease. That fits better. I’ll have this check sent in for signature, Hugh. By the way, I’ve been thinking we ought to stock a wider range of wines in all price levels. It’s moving better lately, and if I can grab more storage space, we can make a hell of a saving on big purchases.”

“And print new wine lists?”

“We’re going to have to print up more pretty soon anyway.”

“Are you thinking of any offbeat brands?”

“Hell, no! I want things we can be sure of reordering with no problems. I’ll have a written recommendation ready by next week some time.”

“So far it sounds good, Thanks, John.”

“And thanks to you for listening to Chet. Because he’s been a friend, I couldn’t.…”

“I know.”

At nine-twenty
P.M.
on that Sunday, the seventeenth day of April, Hugh Darren was making ready for bed. It was a rare luxury to fold so early. The hotel was full. For once every department for which he was responsible was running smoothly. He had made a final tour of inspection before deciding to turn in early. For once there were no special instructions to relay to Bunny Rice.

He soaked away his tensions in a long hot shower and slid gratefully into bed. Just as he was reaching to turn out the bedside lamp, his phone rang and he changed the direction of his reach and picked it up.

“Hugh?” the familiar voice said. “Vicky here.”

“Well, hello, stranger. I left a note for you gadabouts, but.…”

“Perhaps Temp picked it up, because I don’t know anything about it. Hugh, I’m so upset. A dreadful thing is happening, and I can’t stop it. I really don’t know what to do.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m on one of the house phones right now, in the lobby. It’s Temp, Hugh. He’s gambling.”

“For heaven’s sake, Vicky, he’s not a child. He can gamble without upsetting you, can’t he?”

“You don’t understand. He’s been drinking ever since he had that conference today with those horrid men. They upset him dreadfully, you know. And I can’t seem to communicate with him at all. He’s gambling heavily and he’s losing heavily, and I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing. They’re honoring his checks on the account he established in New York, and I have no idea what he’s lost, but I really think it might be a great deal. I can’t make him stop. I can’t even make him listen to me. I’m hoping you can do something with him. It’s really very frightening.”

“You stay near the house phones, Vicky. I’ll be down in about three minutes.”

He dressed hastily. When Vicky saw him walking toward her she advanced to meet him. She took his hand in both of hers and he noticed her fingers were moist and cold. She looked trim in a severe black suit that had a slimming effect, but small flaws in her grooming testified to her agitation. The lipstick had been chewed from her underlip and some golden strands of hair were awry.