Mulligan was sitting with his back to the safe, facing the front of the trailer; that is, the part with the officers’ desks. The tellers’ counter was to his right, the two locked doors to his left. He sat with his legs spread wide, both feet flat on the floor, and watched Dresner deal him a five of hearts up. He looked at his hole card, and it was the two of spades. Morrison bet a nickel — it was nickel limit on the first card, dime after that, twenty cents on the last — and when it came around to Mulligan he very quietly folded. “I don’t believe this is going to be my night,” he said.
It wasn’t. By one-thirty in the morning he was losing four dollars and seventy cents. However, Fox occasionally dealt draw poker, jacks or better to open, and at one-thirty he did it again. In draw, each player anted at the beginning, so they started off with a thirty-five-cent pot. When no one could open and Fox had to deal out another hand, they all anted again. Still no one could open, and when Mulligan looked at his third hand and saw three sixes in it there was already a dollar five in the pot. To top it off, Fenton on his right opened, with a quarter, the maximum bid. Mulligan thought of raising, but decided to keep as many players in as possible, so just called. So did Garfield and Block. Two dollars and five cents in the pot now.
It was time for the draw. Fenton, the opener, took three new cards; so he had only the one high pair, jacks or over, to begin with. Mulligan considered; if he took two cards, they’d all suspect he had trips. But he was known to be a man to try for straights and flushes, so if he took only one card they’d think he was at it again. In addition to the three sixes, he had a queen and a four; he threw away the four and said, “One card.”
Garfield chuckled. “Still trying, eh, Joe?”
“I guess so,” Mulligan said and looked at another queen.
“An honest three,” Garfield said. So he, too, was starting with only a pair — probably aces or kings, hoping to just beat out Fenton’s openers.
“A dishonest one,” Block said. Which was either two pair, or an attempt to buy a flush or a straight.
After the draw, the maximum bet was fifty cents, and that’s what Fenton bet. So he’d improved.
Mulligan looked at his cards, though he hadn’t forgotten them. Three sixes and two queens — a very nice full house. “I believe I’ll just raise,” he said and plucked a dollar bill from his shirt pocket and dropped it casually among the coins in the pot.
Now there was three fifty-five in the pot. Mulligan had put in a dollar-forty, meaning he could win two dollars and fifteen cents if nobody called his raise.
Garfield frowned at his cards. “I’m kind of sorry I bought,” he said. “I’m just gonna have to call you, Joe.” And put in his own dollar.
“And I’m just gonna have to raise,” Block said. He put in a dollar and a half.
“Well, now,” Fenton said. “I bought a second little pair, but I suddenly don’t believe they’ll win. I fold.”
The pot now had four dollars and sixty-five cents in it that Mulligan hadn’t put in there. If he just called — and if he won — he would be within a nickel of breaking even on the night. If he lost, he would be down another two dollars and forty cents, all in one hand.
“The hand of the night,” Morrison said disgustedly, “and I’m not in it.”
“I’d just about trade places with you,” Mulligan said. He kept staring at his hand and thinking. If he actually raised another half dollar, and got even one call, and won, he’d be ahead on the night. On the other hand.
Well, what did those two have? Garfield had started with a high pair and had taken three cards and improved — meaning more than likely either triplets or a second pair. In either case, nothing to worry about. Block, on the other hand, had taken only one card. If he’d been buying to a straight or flush, and if he’d bought, Mulligan’s full house would beat him. But what if Block had started with two pair and had bought a full house of his own? Mulligan’s full house was based on sixes; that left a lot of higher numbers for Block to come up with.
Garfield, sounding nervous and irritated, said, “Are you going to make up your mind?”
It was, as Morrison had said, the hand of the night. So he ought to play it that way. “I’ll raise half a dollar,” he said.
“Fold,” Garfield said in prompt disgust.
“Raise you right back again,” Block said, dropped a dollar in the pot, and smiled like the cat that ate the canary.
A higher full house. Mulligan was suddenly very depressed. It couldn’t be anything else; it had to be a higher full house. But he’d come this far … “I’ll call,” Mulligan said wearily and shoved in yet another half dollar.
“King high flush,” Block said, spreading the cards out. “All diamonds.”
“By God!” Mulligan cried and lifted his hand over his head to slap it down in the middle of the table with the full house showing; but just as his arm reached the top of its swing, he was suddenly jerked backward, up over the chair and onto the suddenly bouncing floor. And as he went flailing back, his legs kicked up into the under part of the table and sent it too flying; nickels and dimes and cards and guards exploded in all directions, and a second later the lights went out.
17
At this hour on a Thursday night there were three police dispatchers on duty down at the station house. They sat in a row at a long continuous table, each one equipped with three telephones and a two-way radio, all three facing a big square panel of lights built into the opposite wall. The panel was four feet on a side, edged with a wooden frame, and looked like the kind of thing hung in the Museum of Modern Art. Against a flat black background, sixteen rows of sixteen frosted red bulbs stuck out, each with a number painted on it in white. At the moment none of the bulbs were lit, and the composition might have been titled “Tail Lights at Rest.”
At 1:37 A.M. a tail light lit up — number fifty-two. At the same time, a very annoying buzzing sound started, as though it were time to get out of bed.
The dispatchers worked in strict sequence, to avoid confusion, and this squeal — which was what the fuzz called the buzz — was the property of the man on the left, who pushed a button that stopped the noise, at the same time saying, “Mine.” Then, while his left hand reached for one of the phones and his right hand switched the radio to send, he quickly glanced at the typewritten list on the table in front of him, under a piece of glass, and saw that number fifty-two was the temporary branch of Capitalists’ & Immigrants’ Trust.
“Car nine,” he said, while with his left hand, still holding the phone receiver, he dialed the number seven, which was the captain’s office, currently occupied by the senior man on duty, Lieutenant Hepplewhite.
Car nine was the regular patrol car past the bank, and tonight the men on duty were Officers Bolt and Echer. Bolt was driving, very slowly, and had driven past the bank just five minutes ago, not long before Joe Mulligan was dealt his three sixes.
Echer, the passenger right now, was the one who answered the call, unhooking the mike from under the dashboard, depressing the button in its side, saying, “Car nine here.”
“Alarm at C and I bank, Floral Avenue and Tenzing Street.”
“Which one?”
“It’s on the corner of both of them.”
“Which bank.”
“Oh. The temporary one, the new one, the temporary one.”
“That one, huh?”
Ambling, it had taken five minutes to come this far from the bank. Flat out, siren screaming, red light flashing, it took less than two minutes to get back. In that time, Lieutenant Hepplewhite had been informed and had alerted the men downstairs on standby, who were playing poker as it happened, though nobody had had a full house all night. “The colds are card,” Officer Kretschmann said in disgust at one point, and the others hardly even noticed; he did that kind of thing all the time.