Charlie blinked at him. “Why?”
“Set ’em up,” Eddie said. “Put ’em like they were. I’m gonna bet you twenty bucks I can make that shot just like I made it before.”
Charlie blinked again. “Don’t be stupid, Eddie,” he said, gravely. “You’re drunk. There’s nobody gonna make that shot and you know it. Let’s play pool.”
Eddie looked at him coldly. He started setting the balls on the table in approximately the same positions as before. Then he looked around him at the crowd, which was very attentive. “How’s that?” he said, his voice very serious, his face showing drunken concern. “Is it right?”
There was a general shrugging of shoulders. Then a couple of noncommittal “I guess so’s.” Eddie looked at Charlie. “How is it by you? Is it okay, Charlie?”
Charlie’s voice was completely dry. “Sure, it’s okay.”
“You gonna bet me twenty dollars?”
Charlie shrugged. “It’s your money.”
“You gonna bet?”
“Yes. Shoot.”
Eddie seemed greatly pleased. “Okay,” he said. “Watch.” He started chalking his cue, overcarefully. Then he went to the talcum powder holder and noisily pumped a great deal too much powder into his hands. He worked this up into a dusty white cloud, wiped his hands on the seat of his pants, came back to the table, picked up his cue, sighted down it, sighted at the shot, bent down, stroked, stood up, sighted down his cue, bent down again, stroked the ball, and missed.
“Son of a bitch,” he said.
Somebody in the crowd laughed.
“All right,” Eddie said. “Set ’em up again.” He pulled a twenty out of his billfold and then, ostentatiously, set the still bulging wallet on the rail of the table.
“Okay, Charlie,” he said, “set it up.”
Charlie walked over to the rack and put his cue stick away. Then he said, “Eddie, you’re drunk. I’m not gonna bet you any more.” He began rolling down his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs. “Let’s get back on the road. We gotta be at that convention in the morning.”
“In the morning’s ass. I’m gonna bet you again. My money’s still on the table.”
Charlie didn’t even look at him. “I don’t want it,” he said.
At this moment another voice broke in. It was the bartender from behind the bar. “I’ll try you,” he said, softly.
Eddie whirled, his eyes wide. Then he grinned, savagely. “Well,” he said. “Well, now.”
“Don’t be a sap,” Charlie said. “Don’t bet any more money on that damn fool shot, Eddie. Nobody’s gonna make that shot.”
Eddie was still staring at the bartender. “Well, now,” he said, again, “so you want in? Okay. It was just a friendly little bet, but now you want in it?”
“That’s right,” the bartender said.
“So you figure I’m drunk and you figure I’m loaded on the hip so you want to get in, real friendly, while all the money’s still floating.” Eddie looked over the crowd and saw, instantly, that they were on his side. That was very important. Then he said, “Okay, I’ll let you in. So first you set up the shot.” He set the two balls on the table. “Come on. Set it up.”
“All right.” The bartender came out and placed the two balls on the table, with some care. Their position was, if anything, more difficult than it had been.
Eddie’s billfold was still on the rail. He picked it up. “Okay,” he said, “you wanted to get some easy money.” He began counting out bills, tens and twenties, counting them onto the middle of the table. “Look,” he said, “here’s two hundred dollars. That’s a week’s commission and expenses.” He looked at the bartender, grinning, “You bet me two hundred dollars and you get a chance at your easy money. How about?”
The bartender tried to look calm. He glanced around him at the crowd. They were all watching him. Then he thought about the drinks he had served Eddie. It must have been at least five. This thought comforted him. He thought, too, about the games he had watched the men play. This reassured him.
And the young man had an honest face. “I’ll get it out of the till,” the bartender said.
In a minute he had it, and there were four hundred dollars in bills out on the table, down at the end where they wouldn’t affect the shot. Eddie went to the powder dispenser again. Then he got down, sighted, took aim awkwardly, and stroked into the cue ball. Now there was only the slightest difference between that stroke and the stroke he had used all evening—a slight, imperceptible regularity, smoothness, to the motion. But only one man present noticed this. That man was Charlie; and when every other set of eyes in the poolroom was focused in silent attention on the cue ball, an amazing thing happened to the set features on his round face. He smiled, gently and quietly—as a father might smile, watching a talented son.
The cue ball came off the rail and hit the fourteen with a little click. The fourteen ball rolled smoothly across the table and fell softly into the corner pocket…
4
When they got in the car Eddie was whistling softly between his teeth. He threw his coat, gaily, in the back seat, slipped behind the wheel, and started fishing the crumpled bills, mostly fives and tens, from his pants pockets. He smoothed them out on his knee, one at a time, counting them aloud as he did so.
Charlie’s face and voice were, as ever, expressionless. “Look,” he said, “it’s two hundred profit and you know it. So let’s drive.”
Eddie gave him an especially broad grin. He enjoyed doing this, knowing that the charm had no measurable effect on Charlie. “So who’s in a hurry,” he said, enjoying the simple pleasure of victory. “This is how I get my kicks. Counting the paper.”
The car was an incredibly dusty Packard sedan of middle age. After tiring of the money Eddie folded the bills neatly, slipped the roll into his pocket, and started the engine. “That poor guy behind the bar,” he said, grinning. “He’s gonna have a time explaining to the boss where that deuce went.”
“He asked for it,” Charlie said.
“Sure. We all ask for it, everybody. We all oughtta be goddamn glad we don’t get it, too.”
“He was greedy,” Charlie said. “I could see when we walked in he was the greedy type.”
They drove along the highway for about an hour, silently except for Eddie’s whistling through his teeth. He played the radio for a while, listened to some very bad music, was admonished to drink Mogen David wine, drive safely over the weekend, drink Royal Crown Cola (best by taste test) and buy bonds. After this last hustle Eddie flipped the radio off and said, “So how’re we doing?”
Charlie fished out his cigarette case and automatically pulled out a cigarette for Eddie before lighting his own. Then he said, “You got about six thousand now.”
Eddie seemed pleased with this, although he, of course, already knew where they stood. “That’s pretty good,” he said, “for a beginner. Four months out of Oakland; six thousand. And,” he laughed, “expenses. Hell,” he lit his cigarette with one hand, the other holding the wheel, “if I hadn’t of been a damn fool and dropped that eight hundred in Hot Springs we’d have seven thousand. I should of let that guy quit, Charlie, like you told me. I can’t give every hot shot I come heads up with two balls in a bank pool game.”
“That’s right.” Charlie lit his own cigarette.
Eddie laughed. “Well, live and learn,” he said. “I’m pretty good, but I ain’t that good.” Abruptly, he rammed the accelerator, cut the wheel and began shooting past a line of cars they had been dawdling behind for maybe ten minutes. Passing the fourth car he spotted a truck approaching and brake-squealed back into line.