"I'm gonna miss that old Irish bastard," he said quietly.
"A pretty good guy, wasn't he?"
"The best."
"Evidently somebody around here didn't think so," I said. "Who do you think had it in for him?"
Gabby gave me a challenging look.
"Who do you think for godsake?"
"Hell, I don't know. I just started here, remember?
"Come off it, Thax. I know about you and May. Word gets around."
"That's what everybody keeps telling me." I looked over at Bill Duff. He was up on his bally spieling.
"Duff's big mouth has been going, huh?"
Gabby shrugged. "Did I say so?"
"You didn't have to. Well, it doesn't matter. Let's back up a couple of sentences. So you know me and May. So what?"
"So I know what everybody else around here knows. She was a knife-thrower when she first came to this lot. Before she put the hooks in Rob and became Mrs. Big."
I was surprised when he said that much. As a rule carny people never show any interest in a crime that happens in their backyard. They become deaf and dumb. They pointedly keep their noses out of it and volunteer nothing. It's the law's worry not theirs. And Gabby was not a talkative man.
"You don't like May much, huh?" I prompted.
"Name me somebody here that does."
"Cochrane must have."
"Rob was easy. He liked everyone. He was a pushover for her."
"So now this word that gets around so fast has it that May turned the trick, huh?"
Gabby made a noise in his throat. "She's a cinch for it."
Could be. But what did it mean to me-except that I didn't like May and had liked her husband? It still wasn't any of my business. I just worked there. That was all.
Gabby took me around back to a little tented area and handed me my working togs-the flowered vest, the plastic bow tie, the derby and bally stick, and a final admonition.
"Remember, Thax. Atmosphere only. Don't send away any sore loser. May can afford the orchids."
That's right, I thought. It's May now. The whole kit and caboodle belongs to the little girl who came from the she house on D Street.
"I'll work out a routine," I promised him.
I arranged the three walnut shells and the little ivory pea just so and made a couple of practice passes to see if my hand was still in. The shell game has long been abandoned in favor of more ingenious and less discreditable methods of robbery, but it still holds a certain degree of fascination for today's so-called sophisticated marks. I started drumming up trade.
"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen! Carnival croquet, the preacher's pastime. Who'll risk a quarter to win an orchid? A bee-utiful laelia flower shipped from the Brazilian jungles at great expense to the management."
I grinned at the marks to show them I was just kidding.
"Step up and take a trip on the rolling ivory. It's a healthy sport, a clean game it's good for young and old! A child can understand it."
The marks were starting to gather. I gave them a free treat and made three passes with the shells, so rapid that even a missile-tracker couldn't have figured out where in hell that pea was.
The girls giggled and the young men grinned and hated my guts while they were grinning. You see a real pro do something that you couldn't hope to do in a million years and it's natural you should hate him even if you admire him. Especially if your girl is with you. Fall on your face, you showoff bastard, you silently pray.
"Gimme a quarter, hon," a cute little thing said to her boyfriend.
I smiled at the cute little thing and made a slow pass-left over right and middle under left and finished a figure eight. Sightless Sam could have followed the pass. The cute little thing didn't. She unerringly chose an empty. I had to thumb my spare pea into it to help her win.
"The little lady wins and the gambler loses," I announced and I handed her an orchid. "Now then, we're off on another journey. Who'll ride with me this time?"
I always let them win, sooner or later. Every so often a smart ass would give me some lip service and I'd hit him for sixbits before I'd donate an orchid to his girl. Working a shell game for fun can get to be a drag after a while, but it was good practice. And what the hell, it was a job.
"Three walnut igloos and an educated pill! Here we go again. Shoot a quarter, men, and win your girl or wife or secretary a priceless oncidium orchid straight from the wilds of the West Indies. A mere quarter. The fourth part of an overtaxed dollar."
There was a blonde thing who looked like she would have trouble spelling cat, and she thought I was the nuts. Every time I'd make a mildly naughty remark she'd come unstitched with the giggles. Her boyfriend was a sailor and he didn't think I was the nuts at all.
"We got a guy aboard ship who can do that better," he said in a quarterdeck voice. "All you need to beat him is a good eye."
It might cost me my job but it was worth it.
"Step aside, folks," I said. "Let the sailor see the pea." Barnacle Bill rolled up and gave me a one-cornered smirk.
"Go ahead," he said. "Shove 'em around."
I showed him the pea. I placed it under the middle shell. I shoved them around. His eyes followed like magnets.
"Slower," he ordered. "Like you do it for the bitches."
That sailorboy was simply begging for it. I raised one of the shells and let him see the pea again, and then I made a nice slow figure-eight pass. I practically had a signpost on the pea shell.
Quick as a wink he tapped the right one. I took the shell between my thumb and forefinger and made an imperceptible forward motion as I turned it over and palmed the little pea betweeen my third and fourth finger.
Popeye the sailor man stared at the empty shell.
"Every now and then the gambler wins a little," I said as I placed his quarter in my vest.
"You palmed it," he said, real mean.
I said nothing. I placed the empty shell down on the board and opened my hand, widespread. With my other hand I raised the far right shell and let him gaze at the pea.
"Around and around it goes, where it stops God only knows. Just an innocent little ivory ballbearing, friends. But it needs oil. Who's next to grease it or fleece it with a quarter?"
A goodnatured Pa-type mark started to make with a coin, but the sailor wasn't having any of that. He elbowed the Pa aside.
"Let's try that again." A very deadly Alan Ladd voice.
"You've forgotten something, haven't you, brother?" I suggested. I was egging him to grandstand. He did. He tossed a five dollar bill on the board.
"Match it."
I pretended I was stupid. "I'll have to give you your four seventyfive in quarters, friend."
"I didn't say nothing about change. I said match it."
I leaned over the board to confide in him.
"Sorry. This is only a quarter game. I'm not supposed to-"
"No guts, huh?" he sneered.
I pretended to think about it. "Very well, sir. If these other good people have no objection we'll call it an off the record sidebet. One Abe Lincoln it is."
I showed him the pea. I covered it. I made a pass like molasses in January. His eyes rode on the correct shell from beginning to end. Quick as a shot he covered the shell with a protecting palm. I looked at him. He grinned at me.
"This one," he said.
"Well, well," I said. "The groans of the gambler is sweet music in the winner's ear."
"Ain't it though?" He was getting a big kick out of my discomfort. "Care to double up?"
"No. I don't think I'd better."
"No," he sneered, "I didn't think you would. Better start counting out five bucks in quarters."
He turned the shell over. I didn't have to look to see that it was empty. I'd made sure of that before I let him cover it with his hand.
"Every now and then the gambler wins a little," I said as I gravely pocketed his five. Then I handed the giggly, placidfaced blonde an orchid. "Compliments of the management," I said.