None of the suggestions Umney had offered appealed to Frost. Some other time, he might give the massage parlour a twirl. He had heard of Jap girls, but Marcia had so drained him, any form of exercise was strictly out.
‘Nothing right now, Ross,’ he said. ‘Thanks all the same. I guess I’ll get moving... some other time, huh?’
Umney looked alarmed.
‘Hey! You can’t walk out on us, Mike! Marcia would have my balls.’ He laughed. ‘Are you interested in shooting?’
Frost regarded him.
‘That’s one thing I’m tops at... why?’
‘Excuse me for asking, but are you really good?’
‘That’s what I said. Why?’
‘We have a guy here who thinks he’s a male Annie Oakley,’ Umney said. ‘He drives me nuts. He’s offering a thousand bucks to anyone who can outshoot him with a .38 at twenty yards. I can’t find any takers. Do you think you could take a grand off him?’
Frost hesitated. He had been the best shot with a handgun and a rifle while in the Army, but that had been some time ago. A thousand bucks?
‘Who’s this guy?’
‘A club member. He practically lives in the shooting range. I could fix up a match right now. If you’re as good as you say, it’d be an easy way of picking up a grand.’
‘And an easy way of losing it,’ Frost said cautiously. ‘What age guy is he?’
‘He’s an oldie... around fifty, and he has only one eye.’
‘Fifty and one eye?’ Frost grinned. ‘Sure, I’ll take him on.’
‘Here’s what we do, Mike. We wouldn’t want you to lose a grand. You’ll be doing us a favour by taking him on. You beat him and the grand is yours. He beats you and we pick up the tab... what do you say?’
Frost grinned again.
‘What have I to lose?’
‘Let’s go down to the range. He’ll be there right now.’
They found Lu Silk in the well-equipped basement shooting range, talking to Moses, the coloured attendant, who kept the range clean, changed the targets and acted as scorer when there was a shooting match on. There were no other sportsmen. Silk had had the range closed to other clients. He wanted Frost on his own.
Umney made introductions, and Silk offered what seemed a flabby hand which Frost shook.
Among Silk’s many talents was the ability to convey the impression that he was a little feeble, and edging into premature senility. Frost regarded him searchingly, and was completely taken in by Silk’s act. He decided this was going to be a pushover, and, he began to wonder what he would do with the thousand dollars he was going to pick up.
Umney was saying, ‘Mike’s a good shot, Mr. Silk. He would like a match.’
Silk nodded, then looking at Frost, he said, ‘Have you got a thousand, sonny? I don’t take on a match with a piker.’
Frost bristled.
‘Are you calling me a piker?’ he snarled, his face flushing.
Silk appeared to shrink a little.
‘Forget it... just so long as you have the money.’
‘I’ve got the money,’ Frost snapped, ‘and another thing... don’t call me ‘sonny’, or I’ll start calling you grandpa... right?’
Umney said hastily, ‘Now, gentlemen...’
Silk retreated a step.
‘Sure... sure, Mr. Frost. Forget it... suppose we start shooting?’
Moses came over with a long leather case containing six .38 police specials.
‘Take your pick, Mr. Frost,’ Silk said. ‘I have my own gun.’
Frost took his time. He examined each of the six guns. Finally he selected one of them that sat well in his hand.
Moses ambled down the range and set up two targets.
‘We toss for the first shot... best out of five,’ Silk said, and promptly won the toss. This suited Frost. He wanted to judge just how good this one eyed fink thought he was.
Silk took up his position. Watching, Frost decided he had an old-fashioned stance. His feet were spread wide and he extended his shooting arm, the gun pointing like a finger. His left hand hung by his side. Strictly for the birds, Frost thought.
The gun exploded into sound.
Moses peered, then pressing a button signalled ‘Outer 25.’
Silk muttered under his breath and then stepped aside. Grinning, Frost swung up his gun, holding it in both hands, right leg forward, a perfect balance. He fired.
Moses signalled ‘Inner 50.’
Should have been a bull, Frost thought. The gun throws to the left.
Silk fired.
‘Inner 50.’
Frost aimed a trifle to the right.
‘Bull 100.’
They shot three more times. Silk failed to score a bull. Frost scored a bull, an outer and an inner.
Moses computed the scores. Frost 340. Silk 225.
His hatchet face expressionless, Silk took out his wallet and produced two five hundred dollar bills.
‘You’re quite a shot, Mr. Frost,’ he said, then as he was about to give the bills to Frost, he paused. ‘Suppose we try again? Five thousand evens. Give us both an incentive, huh?’
Frost hesitated.
Silk went on, ‘I’m getting to be an old man. I need a leak. I’ll be right back,’ and he walked away to the toilets.
Frost grinned. This was taking a dummy out of a baby’s mouth. Now he had the feel of the gun, he was sure there would be no problem.
Umney said, ‘Don’t risk it, Mike. You’ve won your grand. Forget it.’
‘This guy isn’t with the scene,’ Frost said. ‘Of course, I’ll take him.’
‘Look Mike, you’ll be on your own. If he beats you, I can’t ask Marcia to finance you for five grand. Forget it.’
‘I can’t lose, Ross. I’ve already taken a grand off him. I’d be out of my mind not to take five more off him. I’ve got this fink taped.’
‘Okay,’ Umney said. ‘You have a point.’
Somewhere in the range, a telephone bell rang. Moses ambled away, and while Umney was lighting a cigarette, Moses called, ‘You’re wanted upstairs, boss. Mr. Seigler.’
‘I’ll be right back,’ Umney said. ‘Good shooting.’
As he hurried to the elevator, Silk came from the toilets.
‘Well, Mr. Frost, do we have a match?’
Frost nodded.
‘Five evens?’
‘Sure.’
‘Sure.’
While they were talking, Moses was cleaning the guns and loading them.
‘Where did you learn to shoot?’ Silk asked.
‘The Army.’
‘Fine training.’ He accepted his gun from Moses. ‘You have the first honour. Suppose you have your five shots? I’ll follow you... right?’
‘Sure.’ Frost took the gun, balanced it in his hand and waited for Moses to put up two new targets. When he got the green light, he steadied himself. Five thousand! A dummy from a baby! He took his time, aimed fired, aimed fired, paused, then fired three more times. Then he stood back. He heard Moses whistle, then the figures came up on the board: 452.
Beat that, you old fink, Frost thought. The five thousand was as good as in his pocket.
Silk wandered up, the gun slack in his hand.
‘Damn good shooting, Mr. Frost. Well... let’s see what grandpa can do.’ Suddenly, his thin body seemed to come alive, his feet spread, his arm came up and five shots hammered out: bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
Frost gaped. This old fink must be out of his mind! He hadn’t even taken aim. He wouldn’t be even near the target at that speed.
Then as figures appeared on the board he saw 500, a chill ran down his spine.
‘Let Mr. Frost see my target,’ Silk said.
Moses came running up, grinning and thrust the target into Frost’s hand. The bull had been completely cut away. He stood staring at the target. He had been conned! He had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the world, and he was in the hole for four thousand dollars!