Mulligan looked at him. “I thought so, too, but I got to thinking... What the hell, I had a hundred thousand bucks once. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
Gilbert Honsinger came up to the desk. “So you’re leaving us, Fletcher.”
“There’s a difference of opinion about that. The police are satisfied, but my bill is thirty-two fifty and I’ve only got this purple check. I always thought this was worth something and it is — twenty-five dollars. Mr. Bishop says I can’t leave unless I scrape up another seven-fifty... and I can’t do it.”
“Well,” said Honsinger, “it’s against the rules of the house, but in view of, ah, everything that’s happened, I guess I’ll just have to let you go.”
“That’s mighty white of you, Mr. Honsinger,” said Johnny mockingly.
Honsinger held out his hand, but Johnny pretended not to see it. He crossed to Nick, the bellboy. “Nick, old boy, you don’t happen to have a stray buck or two on you, do you?”
“Gee, Mr. Fletcher,” said Nick. “I put every nickel I had into my piggy bank last night.”
“That’s fine, Nicky. Keep that up and you’ll own a joint like this yourself some day.” He smiled and patted Nick’s cheek. “Good-bye, now...” He waved to Bishop, the clerk. “You, too, Mr. Bishop!”
He left the hotel and got into the car, where Sam was already waiting for him. Sam didn’t say a word. Not until they had turned south on Fremont Street and were rolling out of Las Vegas.
Then Sam could restrain himself no longer. “So we’re broke again!”
“Not quite,” said Johnny. He took a silver dollar from his pocket. “I was holding this out.”
“A buck,” said Sam bitterly. “And yesterday we had twenty thousand... We lost twenty thousand bucks...”
“Oh, no, Sam. We only had a dollar when we started. And we’ve got a buck now.” He laughed. “We broke even!”