Gowdy said: “I’ll stick around.”
Kells and Hanline went out, down in the elevator. Hanline got off at the fifth floor.
Kells stopped at the desk, asked for the house detective. The clerk pointed out a heavy, sad-eyed man who sat reading a paper near the door. Kells went over to him and said: “You needn’t hold the man Fenner was going to file charges against.”
The man put down his paper. He said: “Hell, he was gone when I got upstairs. There wasn’t nobody there but Mister Dillon.”
Kells said: “Oh.” He scratched the back of his head. “How’s Dillon?”
“He’ll be all right.”
Kells went out and got into a cab.
7
Ansel’s turned out to be a dark, three-story business block set flush with the sidewalk. There were big For Rent signs in the plate-glass windows, and there was a dark stairway at one side.
Kells told the cab-driver to wait, went upstairs.
Someone opened a small window in a big heavily timbered door, surveyed Kells dispassionately.
Kells said: “I want to see Ansel.”
“He ain’t here.”
“I’m a friend of Dickinson’s — I want to see him.”
The window closed and the door swung slowly open. Kells went into a very small room littered with newspapers and cigarette butts. The man who had looked at him through the window, patted his pockets methodically, silently.
Another man, a very dark-skinned Italian or Greek, sat in a worn wicker chair tilted back against one wall.
He said: “Your friend Dickinson — he is very drunk.”
Kells said: “So am I,” and then the other man finished feeling his pockets, went to another heavy door, opened it.
Kells went into a very big room. It was dark except for two clots of bright light at the far end. He walked slowly back through the darkness, and the hum of voices grew louder, broke up into words:
“Eight... Point is eight, a three way... Get your bets down, men... Throws five — point is eight... Throws eleven, a field point, men... Throws four — another fielder. Get ’em in the field, boys... Five... Seven out. Next man. Who likes this lucky shooter?... ”
Each of the two tables was lined two-deep with men. One powerful green-shaded light hung above each. The dice-man’s voice droned on:
“Get down on him, boys... Ten — the hard way... Five... Ten — the winner... All right, boys, he’s coming out. Chunk it in... ”
Kells saw Dickinson. He was standing at one end of one of the tables. He was swaying back and forth a little and his eyes were half closed, and he held a thick sheaf of bills in his left hand.
“Seven — the winner... ”
Dickinson leaned forward and put his forefinger unsteadily down beside a stack of bills on the line. The changeman reached over, counted it and put a like amount beside it.
“Drag fifty, Dick,” he said. “Hundred dollar limit.”
Dickinson said thickly: “Bet it all.”
The change-man smiled patiently, picked up a fifty-dollar bill and tossed it on the table nearer Dickinson.
A small, pimpled old man at the other end of the table, caught the dice as they were thrown to him, put them into the black leather box, breathed into it devoutly, rolled.
Kells elbowed closer to the table.
“Eleven — the winner... ”
Dickinson stared disgustedly at the change-man as a hundred dollars in tens and twenties was counted out, lain down beside his line bet. The change-man said: “Drag a C, Dick.”
“Bet it!” Dickinson said angrily.
Kells looked at the change-man. He said: “Can you raise the limit if I cover it behind the line?”
The man glanced at a tall well-dressed youth behind him for confirmation, nodded.
Kells took a wad of bills out of his trouser pocket and put two hundred-dollars down behind the line. Dickinson looked up and his bleary, heavy-lidded eyes came gradually to focus on Kells.
He said: “Hello there,” very heartily. Then he looked as if he was trying hard to remember, and said: “Kells! How are ya, boy?”
At mention of Kells’ name it became very quiet for a moment.
Kells said: “I’m fine.”
The little, pimpled man rolled.
The dice-man said: “Six — the easy one... He will or he won’t... Nine — pays the field... Six — right... ”
The change-man picked up Kells’ two hundred-dollar bills, tossed them down beside Dickinson’s bet.
Dickinson grinned. He said: “Bet it.”
Kells took a thousand-dollar note from his breast pocket, put it down behind the line.
Dickinson said: “Better lay off — I’m right... ”
“Get down on the bill.” Kells smiled faintly, narrowly.
“—damned if I won’t.” Dickinson counted his money on the table and the money in his hand: “Four hundred, six, eight, nine, a thousand, thousand one hundred and thirty. Tap me.”
The tall young man said: “Hurry up, gentlemen — you’re holding up the game.”
Several men wandered over from the other table. The little man holding the dice-box said: “—! I don’t want... ”
Kells was counting out the additional hundred and thirty dollars.
Dickinson said: “Roll.”
“Eleven — the winner.”
The change man picked up Kells’ money, cut off a twenty for the house, threw the rest down in front of Dickinson.
The little man raked in the few dollars he had won for himself, walked away.
The dice-man picked up the box.
Kells said: “Got enough?”
“Hell, no! I’ll bet it all on my own roll.” Dickinson held out his hand for the box.
“Make it snappy, boys.” The tall young man frowned, nodded briefly at Kells.
Dickinson was checking up on the amount. He said. “Two thousand, two hundred and forty... ”
Kells put three thousand-dollar notes behind the line. The dice-man threw a dozen or more glittering red dice on the table — Dickinson carefully picked out two.
“Get down your bets, men... A new shooter... We take big ones and little ones... Come, don’t come, hard way, and in the field... Bet ’em either way... ”
Dickinson was shaking the box gently, tenderly, near his ear. He rolled.
“Three — that’s a bad one... ”
Kells picked up his three notes, and the change-man raked up the bills in front of Dickinson, counted them into a stack, cut off one and handed the rest to Kells.
“Next man... Get down on the next lucky shooter, boys... ”
Kells folded the bills, stuck them into his pocket.
Dickinson looked at the tall young man. He said: “Let me take five hundred, Less.”
The young man didn’t look at him; turned and walked over to the other table.
Kells gestured with his head and went over to a round green-covered table out of the circle of light. Dickinson followed him. They sat down.
Kells said: “Can you get the paper out by tomorrow morning?”
Dickinson was fumbling through his pockets, brought out a dark-brown pint bottle. He took out the cork, held the bottle towards Kells. He said: “Wha’ for?”
Kells shook his head, but Dickinson shoved the bottle into his hands. Kells took a drink, handed it back.
“Bellmann was fogged tonight and I want to give it a big spread.”
“The hell you say.” Dickinson stared blankly at Kells. “Well wha’d’ y’ know about that!” Then he seemed to remember Kells’ question. “Sure.”
Kells said: “Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute. Let’s have another drink.”
They drank.
Dickinson said: “Listen. Wha’d’ y’ think happened tonight? Somebody called me up and offered me ten grand, cold turkey, to ditch Lee.”