Nerves whispered that it was a bad throw. Screamed silently that he'd goofed off a week's careful finagling and a wad of expense money in one bad moment.
He watched hopelessly as the cubes spun across the blanket, seeming to spin forever and ever. An eternity-a split second. They turned over twice in unison. Stopped with an imperceptible backspin.
Two deuces peeked up from the blanket.
Before the three men could react, there was a sudden furious banging on the door. They turned toward it automatically, and Mitch swept up the money and stuffed it into his pockets.
It was the contractor's room. With a curse, he strode to the door and yanked it open. "Now, what the goddam hell-?"
"Wh-at? What! Don't you curse me, you-you thing!"
Red stormed into the room, giving the contractor a shove that sent him stumbling backward. Her angry gaze scorched the other two men, then settled witheringly on Mitch, who seemed to wilt beneath it.
"Uh-hah! There you are!" She allowed herself to see the dice. "And up to your old tricks again! You just wait until I tell papa! You just wait!"
"Aw, now, sis-" Mitch squirmed childishly. "These here fellas are just-"
"Bums, that's what they are! Just bums like you! Now, you march right out of here! March!"
With her red hair, her white high-cheekboned face, she was every inch the termagant; obviously a dame to steer clear of. But there was a fidget of protest from the three losers. Mitch had almost all their money, and they were entitled to a chance to win it back. And the lady could see that for herself, couldn't she? And she could see that they weren't bums, either.
"I've got offices in Amarillo and Big Spring, and-Ouch!" The contractor fell back, rubbing the side of his face.
Red ran at the other two, hands wickedly clawed. Voice rising, she threatened to scream. "I'll do it!" Her eyes blazed insanely. "I'll call the police!"
She threw back her head, mouth opened to its widest. Mitch grabbed her in the seeming nick of time.
"I'll go! I'm comin' right now, sis! Just you calm down, an'…" He urged her toward the door, grimacing over-the-shoulder apologies. "Sorry, fellas, but…"
But they could see how it was, couldn't they? What could you do with a crazy woman like this?
He closed the door on the dazed silence behind him. He and Red went swiftly down the hall to the elevator.
She had already checked them out of their rooms, of course, and a black-shirted porter stood waiting with their baggage at the side entrance of the hotel. As a cab sped them toward the railroad station, she moved close on the seat to whisper to him.
"I got us a stateroom together. Okay?"
"What?" He scowled in the darkness. "We're registered as brother and sister, and you-"
"Now, honey…" She was a little hurt. "I didn't get it through the hotel."
"You were late tonight."
"Me? Why, I don't see how I could have been."
"What difference does it make whether you see it?"
She moved away from him. It would take very little more to get her truly angry. Which would not be something to enjoy. But he was pretty burned up himself. She'd been late on the take-out, dammit, a whole two minutes late. He'd had to sweat, in danger of losing the dough and getting a schlamming, just because she couldn't be bothered to check the time. What the hell had she been doing, anyway? What was she- a woman with a kid's head?
Red said very quietly, "You'd better shut up, Mitch."
"But, goddammit, you were late! I don't mean to talk rough to you, honey, but-"
"And don't honey me!"
As they followed the' redcap to their train, he looked up at the station clock, then took a startled glance at his watch. Fast-by almost two minutes. So the mix-up was his fault. Red hadn't taken him out late, as he should have known. As he had known. But hustling the heavy scores kind of drained a man dry, and until he filled up again he didn't have anything but crap for anyone. Probably, Mitch supposed, it was that way with any big-time frammis, even the legitimate ones. At least, most of the big-timers he knew had screwed up personal lives. If you were willing to settle for some gig like working for the park department and saving tinfoil as a hobby, you could stay loose. But on the hard- hustle, uh-uh. No matter how much you had on the ball, there was still a limit to it. And if you blasted it off, you couldn't spread it out.
In their stateroom, with the roadbed whispering swiftly beneath them, his hunger for Red suddenly became a raging thing. And knowing that it was no use, he began a roundabout apology, mentioning acquaintances, real and imaginary, whom stress also made unreasonably unreasonable.
"There was my dad, God rest him…" He forced a reminiscent chuckle. "He was a special-editions promoter, you know; traveled around the country putting out special editions of newspapers. He'd run a boiler room all day, bossing a bunch of phone men and closing the tough babies himself, and by the time night came you could hardly say hello to him without getting socked. Why, I remember…"
Mitch sighed, letting his voice trail away, silently cursing her for being as she was. He'd hardly said a thing to her- nothing at all compared to the guff he had to take from people. Yet apologies, coaxing, were obviously a waste of time.
She intended to stay sore; the well-stocked commissary of her flesh was closed until further notice. He was sure that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. That was apparent from the single stateroom she had booked. But it was also apparent, from her manner of undressing, that she was prepared to make him suffer, and to hell with her own sufferings.
Normally, she was almost prudishly modest. Forced to undress in close quarters, she would do so under her nightgown, primly urging him not to peek as she worked out of her clothes. But when she didn't intend to let him have anything, then she put it all on display, everything that she wasn't going to let him have.
No pro could do a more tantalizing strip tease than an offended Red (right name Harriet, for God's sake!). She would pull her panties halfway down around her hips, casually turning this way and that to give him a glimpse of what could be glimpsed, fore and aft, with her panties pulled halfway down. Then, the brassiere was loosened, and the breasts carelessly allowed to come into view. Pink-tipped, traced through with fine blue veins-their abundance seeming to bow her frail-looking shoulders. (She damned well wasn't frail!) Then, if she was feeling particularly mean, she would lift them up and examine them, critically and lengthily, until his tongue felt as big as a ball bat.
She was very down on him tonight, so he got the breast bit in full. Then, disdainfully, she discarded the last wispy fragment of her underthings, and stood naked with her feet slightly apart, her head thrown back to let the red mass of hair spill down around her shoulders. She raised her hands and began to fluff it, her breasts moving delicately with the movements of her arms. Finally, she ducked her head forward, bringing her hair over her shoulders, letting it spread silkily over her breasts. It parted perfectly on either side of her beautifully shaped head, and at last she looked at him; the look of a wicked angel. And spoke to him huskily.