“Fine.” He counted out a thousand dollars of Mickey Tallant's money and shoved the rest back in his pocket. He walked back to the poker table and slid into the vacant seat. The dealer shuffled and blended cards in a blurred whirr of celluloid and set them down on the table. “Game's jackpots,” he said briskly to Johnny. “Five, twenty-five, and fifty. Passed pots stop at four. No limit on raises at any time. You can go to the banker at any time. Any questions?”
“Coffeehousin' go?” Johnny asked him.
“Anything goes,” the dealer replied with emphasis. “You're not among friends.”
Johnny pushed his thousand dollars toward the dealer. “Let 'er rip.” He stacked up in front of him the twenty white chips, sixteen reds, and ten blues he received in return. He ran an appraising eye around the table. At five dollars for a white chip, twenty-five for a red, and fifty for a blue he could see a conservative twelve to fifteen thousand dollars in chips on the table. He drew his chair in a little tighter beneath him. His nostrils tested the familiar electricity in the air. He wished he had a cigar.
For thirty minutes he threw in hand after hand, sizing up the players in the game. He drew once to two pair after raising right behind the opener and driving everyone else out. The opener caught another pair and beat him. For the amount of money involved it was a looser game than he expected. Raises were frequent and there weren't too many folded hands. Two or three calls were not unusual. There was only one man in the game playing as tight a game as himself, a gray-haired man with a weather-beaten face.
On a four-time passed pot the deal came up to the man in front of Johnny. Under the gun, Johnny looked at his cards singly as they came off the top of the deck. The first three were nines, and he stopped looking. “Pass,” he said when the cards had stopped falling.
“Open,” the man behind him said. He tossed in two blue chips.
“Raise it once,” the next man said. He threw in four blues.
“Stay.”
“Out.”
“Out.”
“Up again,” said the dealer confidently. One by one he dropped six blues onto the pile.
Johnny felt the finger of excitement on his spine. Three hundred to play. He picked up his hand and spread his cards. He hadn't made any mistake. The three nines were there.
The next card was a king.
The last one was the fourth nine.
CHAPTER VI
“I'll stay,” Johnny said.
“I'll raise it again,” the opener said right behind him. His words tripped over themselves. His voice was taut.
The man who had raised originally frowned at his cards. He folded them, hesitated, opened them up for another look, and removed four blue chips from the diminished pile in front of him. “Stay,” he said.
“Stay,” the next man said. His eyes were upon the dealer who immediately confirmed his worst fears.
“Up once more,” the dealer said silkily. “Let's make it a good one, boys.”
“Stay,” Johnny said. He pushed the last of his blue chips into the center of the table.
The opener debated. “Stay,” he said finally.
“Stay,” the original raiser said stubbornly.
“Stay,” the whipsawed man to the dealer's right said resignedly.
“Cards, gentlemen?” the dealer inquired cheerfully.
“I'll take one,” Johnny said. He lifted a corner of the card dealt him and looked at it. It was a ten.
“I'll play these,” the opener announced. A straight or a flush, Johnny thought. He's out of it.
“Two,” the man who had raised first said unhappily. The pat hand had obviously shaken him.
“One,” the next man said. “Make it the right one and I'll burn up all your asses yet.”
The dealer set down the deck with a thump. “No cards to the dealer,” he said. “What does the opener do?”
The opener was staring at the chips in the pot. Johnny didn't blame him. On a hundred dollar open five men had followed four raises to draw cards. With the ante money, there was over twenty-six hundred dollars in the pot already. “Opener checks,” he said huskily.
“Check,” said the man who had drawn two. He didn't help his three of a kind, Johnny thought.
“I'll bet,” said the man who had asked for the right card. He said it triumphantly, tossing two blues into the center of the pile of chips. A flush, Johnny thought. Probably ace-king or ace-queen high.
“I'll raise,” the dealer said immediately. He's not afraid of a flush, Johnny decided. Must be a pat full house. Or could he have stayed pat with four of a kind?
“I'll raise it again,” Johnny said. The bet took all but two of his red chips. Four pairs of eyes were riveted on him. They hadn't even realized he was in the hand. He could see each in his mind's eye reconstructing his play. Under the gun, no open, no raises, one card draw. What the hell can he have?
The opener stared desperately around the table. He played with his chips but he knew he was beaten. Reluctantly he folded his cards and flung them into the discards.
Right behind them came the cards of the original raiser, the man who had drawn two cards. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said softly.
“Call,” said the man who had been so happy about his one card draw. He said it soberly.
“Try you one time,” the dealer said with an eye cocked at Johnny. He raised again.
Johnny took the balance of Mickey Tallant's money from his pocket and laid it on the table. “Chips,” he said.
“Don't hold up the game,” the opener said impatiently. “I'll mark it. What're you doin'?”
“Up again,” Johnny said.
The one card draw cursed and sailed his hand into the discards. The dealer studied Johnny. “Once more,” he said finally.
“And again,” Johnny said. Even if the man had fours he had to have jacks, queens, or aces to win. Johnny had had a king and a ten.
The dealer wet his lips. “One card draw,” he said slowly. “One card draw.” His hand hovered over his chips, retreated, advanced again. “One more time.”
“Back at you,” Johnny said.
“Call the man,” the dealer ordered himself. His grin was feeble. “I call.”
“Two pairs of nines,” Johnny said, and showed them.
“Wins,” the dealer said miserably. One by one he turned over three queens and two fours. Johnny stuffed Mickey Tallant's money back in his pocket and raked in the pot. He was doing mental arithmetic in his head. Twenty-six hundred in there before the draw. Three men had thrown in three hundred each afterward, plus three head-to-head raises and a call. It had to be a forty-six or forty-eight hundred dollar pot. Of course thirteen hundred of it had been his own. Still a good day's pay.
“Best pot in the last six months,” a voice said reflectively.
“Don't deal me any more pat straights on four-time passed pots,” the opener said emphatically. He turned to Johnny. “You caught one?”
“Had 'em goin' in,” Johnny told him.
“Man, man, you had to have brass-bound guts to play it that way.” He shook his head. “You sure as hell led all the little pigs right up to the trough,” he added grudgingly.
“Hell with the post mortems,” one of the noncombatants on the hand just past said briskly. “Deal the damn cards.”
In the next two hours Johnny won only three small pots but he drew cards only six times. He played ironclad poker. He had it now and he intended to get out of there with it. He threw in pairs, inside straights, double-ended straights, and fourflushes. He threw in two pairs unless he was the dealer or the man in front of the dealer. In the two hours he dropped a little ante money. That was all.
He had made up his mind to stay another thirty minutes and then to pack it in when he raised his eyes across the table and did a doubletake. Standing behind a player's chair with his eyes fixed directly upon Johnny was Mayor Richard Lowell. Johnny half-rose, incredulous, from his chair. “Deal me out of this one,” he said harshly.
He circled the table and took Dick Lowell roughly by the arm and led him aside. “You crazy?” he demanded in an undertone. “How can a public official like you walk into a bustout joint like this?”