“I trust this large loss won’t disconcert you, Mr. February.”
“Uh? Oh, no. Just a flea bite, uncle. Tomorrow I’ll have it back.”
As they climbed into the taxi, the four of them, Tomlinson said, “Should it make any difference to you, Mr. February, let me state that you could not have lost money to any more worthy venture.”
“You win it for a church?”
Tomlinson laughed dryly. “Oh dear me, no! Not at all for a church.”
They went to the hotel where February lived. The envelope was taken out of the safe and given to February. At that point the two young men became very wary, very alert.
Nat pulled Tomlinson over into a corner, shielded the transaction with a big padded shoulder. “Uncle, these are tired old thousands because the new ones are poison. I got ’em folded in packages of ten each with the rubber band on ’em. Here’s one, three, seven, eight, nine. Now check those.”
“Ninety thousand,” Tomlinson said. His voice shook a little.
“Plus one, two, three, four, five, six. Now the hundreds. These I get outa my billfold. One, two, three, four. And here’s the change. A twenty. Ninety-six thousand four hundred and twenty dollars. Correct?”
“Ah — I’m not acquainted with these things. The wager was at thirty to one. Don’t I get my original wager returned?”
“Thirty to one to make it simple. You wanna be that accurate I should have told you twenty-nine to one, plus getting your bet back.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Well, I — ah — hmm, I guess I didn’t need the satchel after all. Just a joke, was it?”
“I can see you got a great sense of humor, uncle. Now don’t go running away. Don’t you think you otighta tell me how you know that clown was going to clobber Freedon in the first?”
Garfield Tomlinson gave Nat February a look of utter surprise. “But my dear fellow! He couldn’t possibly have failed to do otherwise!”
Tomlinson turned and walked out into the night. Nat handed the slimmer envelope back to the desk clerk. One of the guards licked his lips and stared hungrily after the old gentleman.
“Ah-ah-ah!” February said warningly. “No naughty thoughts, children.”
He sighed. “Kinda cute, wasn’t he?”
And to leave it there would have been fine. But Nat had a reputation as a wit and charming dinner companion.
By noon of the next day he was saying to a table of eight at Lidnik’s, “This little old guy comes to me and what does he want but to bet his wad on a knockout by the kid in the first. Naturally I tried to talk him out of it. Candy from babies, yet. And so—”
Jake was talking in a peculiar way. His teeth were wired together. His two managers, squat men with ugly expressions, stood by his bed.
“I tell yah,” Jake mumbled, “I never see the punch coming. Not at all. I know, I’ve been hit before, but then I seen it when it was too late to duck. This time I never even knew I was hit. I’m moving in and boom — I’m walking up the aisle with rubber knees.”
“An investment we had in you,” one of them said with disgust.
“Come on, Joe,” the other said.
They walked out and left Jake Freedon staring hopelessly at the ceiling.
In a grimy suite in a Forty-first Street hotel of a little less than third class, a tall young man glowered at Lew Karon. Taken as a whole, Sam Banth’s face was well proportioned, almost handsome. But each individual feature was oversized, heavy. The big lips rested together with a hint of ruthlessness and brutality. Pale eyes protruded slightly, and they looked coldly incapable of any change of expression. His neck and sloped shoulders were ox-heavy. In contrast to the extreme cut of sharp-nosed little Lew Karon’s clothes, Banth was dressed in quite good taste.
“Just tell me this, Lew,” Sam said, “tell me why on a sixty to one shot you didn’t cover it the other way.”
“Take it easy, kid,” Lew said loftily. “Take a look at the record. I hire you to help my collection department. You do good. You get a little stake. So I let you buy in. The piece you got of this business doesn’t give you no right to tell me how to handle the bets, does it?”
“Just tell me why, Lew,” Banth said. “That’s all.”
“Look, kid! Some sucker wants you to lay him fifty to one the Empire State Building falls down tomorrow at noon sharp. I ask you, do you cover a bet like that?”
“But it wasn’t a sucker, Lew. It was Nat February. Couldn’t you smell some kind of a fix?”
“After the investment they got in Freedon? And after the pounding everybody’s been giving the kid? It doesn’t figure, Sam.”
“How do we stand? Can we stall February?”
“I’d rather bust J. Edgar Hoover in the nose. We pay off, in full. That’ll drag the kitty down to about eleven thousand. You own a fifth of that.”
“Twenty-two hundred,” Banth said disgustedly. “I put in ten thousand.”
“These things happen,” Lew said philosophically. “All the time they happen. Look, Sam. For your own good. You got an education. Why don’t you go back to that steady job you had?”
“Maybe I’m restless.”
“I’ll give you your twenty-two hundred, Sam. You look like you don’t like the way I handle things.”
“I don’t.”
“Here. I’ll count them out right here. Three fives and seven ones. Twenty-two hundred. Better luck next time.”
Sam studied little Lew Karon for a moment. He knew what the play was. Lew wanted him to back down, refuse the money, continue the arrangement. He picked the money up, folded it casually, shoved it into his pocket.
“Get yourself a new boy, Lew. I can do better with this than you can. I thought you were shrewd.”
“Walk out! See if I care! You’ll be broke in a week.”
Sam Banth realized that he had been restless lately. Progress with Lew Karon had been too slow. The hard ambition that drove him was satisfied at first. Working with Lew had been more interesting and more profitable than work in the brokerage house. But Lew had his limitations. Sam had no intention of halting his climb at the petty gambling level.
“You’ve taught me a lot, Lew.” He moved toward the sharp-featured man.
“Stick around and you’ll learn more, kid.”
“You’re pretty happy about that slim patrician nose of yours, eh, Lew?”
“Huh? Nose?”
“Here’s for what you did to my first ten thousand bucks, Lew.”
He yanked the man close, striking as he did so. He let go and backed away, smiling without humor. Lew fell to his knees, gasping with the pain. His eyes ran tears and blood came between his fingers as he held his hand flat against the smashed nose.
Sam Banth walked to the door. He ignored the half-screamed threats of Lew Karon. Out in the sunlight he squared his shoulders, smiled warmly at an at tractive girl, hailed a cruising cab and gave the name of the restaurant where he was most likely to find February.
“I know you,” Nat said. “You’re Lew’s boy.”
“Was. I heard talk about an old man who nicked you for that first-round knockout. I was wondering about him. What’s his name?”
“Garfield Tomlinson, he said. He acted like it was the first bet he ever made in his life. He sure had the right dope.”
“By the way, where can I find the kid?” Sam asked.
“Over in Jersey someplace. Find Bull Willman at Conover’s Gym and he can tell you exact. You looking for a job? I got two horse players give one of my partners bad checks. Shake it out of ‘em and you can have ten percent.”
“Haven’t you got your own people?”
“Sure, but Lew’s been bragging so much about how you operate on collections I wanted to see you work.”
“Later, maybe.”