Johnny looked sharply at the policeman. “You caught what gorilla in what Congo?”
“My name’s Mulligan. Remember? Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan?”
Johnny stared at the policeman. Mulligan laughed shortly. “Yeah, me, Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan; I’m a cop in Las Vegas. Eight years ago I was the toast of New York and Hollywood. But you can’t eat toasts.”
“You can’t eat books, either,” Johnny said.
“You’ve got a car; you can sell that.”
“The Finance Company wouldn’t like it.”
“You can sell your equity in it...”
“Yeah,” said Johnny, “I guess I could at that.”
“That is,” added Mulligan, “if you’re not behind in your payments and you got permission from the Finance Company to take the car out of California.”
“Oh, sure!”
Mulligan laughed without humor. “ ’S’ll right, I work for the city of Las Vegas, Nevada — not for the Finance Companies in California.”
Sam by this time had put on his shirt, tie and coat and he now picked up the books and chain. He took them to the car. Mulligan followed Johnny.
“Look, Mister,” he said, “when I was hunting wild animals in Africa, I gave it all I had. I always do — whatever I’m doing. I’m a cop now, a good cop. You violated a traffic law this morning, you broke another law just now and you’ve been going all around town asking about some guy named Nick...”
“Nick who?”
“Don’t try that on me, wise guy. I could take you down to the Blue Room and point out to you the error of your ways. But you don’t look like such a bad guy, so I’m just going to give you a friendly tip. There’s an awfully good road going east and another one going south. Get on one or the other...”
“Our gas tank is empty.”
Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan scowled. “I’ll give you a buck for one of those books.”
“The regular price is $2.95.” Johnny reached into the car and brought out one of the books. “But for you... one silver dollar!”
Mulligan had already produced the cartwheel. “Buy some gas,” he said, and turning, walked abruptly back into Mike’s Club.
“Say,” said Sam, “he wasn’t such a bad guy.”
“Come on,” said Johnny.
“Where—?”
“What good’s a buck?”
Sam grabbed Johnny’s arm. “But you heard what the guy said, Johnny...”
Johnny grinned frostily and stepped into Harry’s Club, which was right next door to Mike’s Club. He headed for the crap table and laid the silver collar on the pass line. A big man in shirt sleeves had the dice in his hands. He shook them up and rolled them down the length of the table, so they hit the rubber cushions and bounced back.
“Seven,” the dealer announced. He added a silver dollar to Johnny’s. He collected other dollars, paid out a few. The big man rolled the dice again.
“Seven, with a six-ace,” droned the dealer. He put two dollars on top of Johnny’s two.
The player rolled an eight for a point, made two inconsequential rolls and made the eight. The dealer added four silver dollars to Johnny’s pile.
Johnny reached out and pushed the stack from the pass rectangle to the one lettered “won’t pass.”
The swarthy man promptly rolled a twelve and the dealer raked in Johnny’s sixteen dollars and replaced them with six blue checks and two silver dollars. Johnny smiled at him. Sam began breathing hoarsely down Johnny’s neck. “Pinch, Johnny, pinch...”
Johnny ignored him. The man with the dice threw ten for a point and sevened out immediately afterwards. Johnny’s stake was now sixty-four dollars.
The dealer gathered up the dice with his stick, added a dozen or so from in front of his place and slid the entire group over to Johnny.
“Your dice, Mister.”
Johnny selected two green dice from the lot and the dealer snaked back the rest. He looked inquiringly at Johnny. Johnny nodded.
“There’s a gambler in the house,” said the dealer, “he lets it ride.”
Johnny shook up the dice and rolled them out. They stopped on six-five.
“And he made it!” cried the dealer. He measured out chips and silver dollars, then pushed the stack over to Johnny’s side. “Two hundred’s the limit.”
“Shoot it,” said Johnny. He counted out eleven checks and one silver dollar and shoved the rest back on the pass line. He picked up his dice and tossed them out, carelessly. They came up six-one.
Five minutes later, Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan entered Harry’s Club and approached the crap table. He looked at Sam Cragg, then at Johnny Fletcher, then down at the chips in front of Johnny. There were a few blue checks in the pile, but most of them were a bright pink.
“Just the man I want to see,” said Johnny. He raked over his chips and found a lone silver dollar at the bottom of the pile. “Here’s your buck, Captain. The book’s on me. And thanks.”
Mulligan took the dollar, looked at it, then put it into his pocket.
Johnny rolled the dice toward the dealer. “I’m getting bored. Cash these in, will you?”
The dealer rang a bell and began stacking up Johnny’s checks. The manager of Harry’s Club came over to the table. “Gentleman cashing in,” said the dealer.
“How much?” asked the manager, indifferently.
The dealer finished stacking up the checks. “Eighteen-eighty, I made it.”
Johnny reached across and picked off a pink chip. He tendered it to the dealer. “Eighteen fifty-five.”
“Thanks, Mister,” said the dealer, putting the check into his pocket.
The manager went to the cashier’s desk and returned in a moment with a two-inch stack of bills. “Come again,” he said.
Johnny turned to Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Later. You’re staying in town now, I suppose?”
“If I could get a room.”
“Where do you want one?”
“El Casa Rancho — but they’re full up...”
“Follow me out there,” said Mulligan, heading for the street. Johnny and Sam followed, but once they were in their car, Sam exploded.
“Let’s scram, Johnny. We’ve never been this rich before and...”
“It’s only a measly eighteen hundred dollars. I can run it up to eighteen thousand...”
“Oh, no!” Sam howled. “Don’t try it. Please, Johnny! I don’t like Nevada. I want to go back to New York.”
“So do I. But I want to get there with a roll.”
Chapter Five
Sam was still complaining when they entered the lobby of El Casa Rancho.
Mulligan was standing at the desk.
“Mr. Bishop tells me he’s just had a cancellation.”
Johnny smiled frostily. “How nice.”
“It’s a very lovely room in one of the cabanas,” said Mr. Bishop.
“Too bad, you didn’t make that bet when we were here before.”
Mr. Bishop looked a little downcast. He tapped the bell and a bellboy wearing a satin Spanish costume popped forward. “Nick, take these gentlemen to Number 24.”
Johnny signed the register for himself and Sam Cragg. Catch ’Em Alive Mulligan leaned forward and examined their signatures.
“See you later, fellas.”
Nick the bellboy led Johnny and Sam through the casino, out through a rear door and across a driveway to one of the cabanas, an elongated building shaped roughly like a banana. There was a veranda along the front and, judging from the doors, the cabana contained three rooms.
Nick went to the center door and unlocked it. “Here you are.” He led the way into one of the nicest rooms Johnny had ever seen; all new furniture — twin beds — bright Navajo blankets on the floor and walls and a bathroom, all gleaming and white.