Brett Halliday
Nice Fillies Finish Last
CHAPTER 1
Tim Rourke sneaked another look at his hole cards. Satisfied, he took a long pull at his warm highball.
“I think I’m going to raise that five dollars.”
It was two-thirty A.M. on a pleasant January night, in Rourke’s Miami apartment. The ice cubes had given out around midnight, but his guests weren’t letting that interfere with their drinking. Judge Benson, on Rourke’s left, always much too optimistic at this time of night, contributed five chips, on the theory that a miracle could happen on the final card. Ad Kimball, a sports writer on the Miami News, folded. So did the next man, a canny cabdriver named Schwartz. Michael Shayne, the big redheaded private detective, counted out ten blues and said calmly, “See that and raise you five.”
Rourke squinted down at his friend’s open cards. He couldn’t see much there except a pair of threes. The lanky reporter was well aware that, after the amount of whiskey he had packed away, he was in no condition to weigh the odds. That didn’t mean he was going to let himself be panicked by a small pair.
“And five more,” he said.
The phone rang. Ad Kimball picked it up as the dealer flipped a seventh card, face down, to the four players still in the game. Rourke gathered up his down-cards and looked at them carefully. He was pleased to see that he had a third ace to go with the two aces and two kings he already had. A full house, by God! By concentrating hard, he managed to look serious but not elated.
Kimball said, “Somebody named Joey Dolan, Tim, calling collect from Pompano Beach. Do you want to take the charges?”
“Dolan!” Rourke exclaimed. “Damn right. Good friend of mine. He feeds me tips on the harness horses up there, and he generally knows what he’s talking about, too.” He pushed ten blue chips from his dwindling stack into the middle of the table. “I’m still high man on the board. High man bets ten bucks.”
Shayne saw him and raised him another ten, and at that point Rourke’s mood changed abruptly, for the worse. Apparently the redhead, who was the luckiest poker player Rourke had ever run across, was going to beat him out of the first halfway decent pot he had had a chance at all evening. It cost him another ten dollars to make sure. Grinning, Shayne turned over a second pair of threes to go with the two he had showing.
Rourke made a disgusted sound and took the phone.
“What’s the matter?” Joey Dolan’s voice said, aggrieved. “If you didn’t want to talk to me, all you had to do was tell the operator.”
“What did I do, groan?” Rourke said. “That wasn’t meant for you, Joey. I just dropped fifty clams on a full house, aces and kings. Got beat with four measly little threes. Does that sound fair?”
“Oh, poker,” Dolan said. “I didn’t know what for a minute.”
“Yeah, and it’s not nearly as satisfying as losing money on the trotters, which gets you out in the fresh air. What have you got for me, Joey, anything good?”
“Maybe,” Dolan said. “It could be so good I don’t like to chatter about it on the phone. Can you come up?”
“Like when, around dinner time tomorrow?”
“No, no. Immediately if not sooner. Be worth it to you, Tim. Excuse me, my throat’s dry. Time for a small nip.”
Rourke had known Dolan for years without ever seeing him sober, whether at two-thirty in the morning or two-thirty in the afternoon. He heard a faint gurgle as liquor went out of a bottle and into Dolan.
“Dust gets into everything out here,” Dolan complained. “But you can’t pave a racetrack, can you? The horses wouldn’t like it.”
His voice faded, and when it came back it was much too loud. “The seats they put in these phone booths! Unless you’ve got the hind end of a robin, it’s hard to stay on. Tim, this could be it. It really could be it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Rourke said. “But what’s wrong with telling me on the phone? It’s an hour’s drive, if I felt like driving, And I don’t, frankly.”
“I’ll need some cash. What do we do, usually? I keep my ears open around the barns, I hear about a hot horse and I pass it on. You buy two ten-buck tickets across the board, one for you, one for me. How about the information I gave you lately, it stood up pretty good, didn’t it, buddy?”
“Damn good. Hold on a minute! — Deal me out the next hand,” he called to the poker table.
Mike Shayne stood up, stretching. “We’re breaking up, Tim.”
Rourke protested, but the players who were still at the table were settling with the banker. Shayne, as usual, was the big winner.
Rourke returned to the phone. “The bums are running out without giving me a chance to get even.”
“Don’t let them walk away with all your cabbage, Tim. I’ll need about-oh, five or six hundred ought to cover it.”
“Joey, be serious. Those four little threes cleaned me out. I’m in the red at the bank and I don’t get paid till Friday. I don’t say I couldn’t raise it, but they’ll have to know what it’s for. I know you’re not trying to fast-shuffle me, but to them you’re nothing but a name.”
“OK,” Dolan said sadly. “I’ll tell you what I think, only Jesus, I hate to.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think somebody’s trying to beat the twin.”
“The twin double?” Rourke said in disbelief. “Come on.”
“Yeah,” Dolan insisted. “That pool has been running close to two hundred G’s most nights. That’s something to shoot at. I have a pretty good idea how one of the races tomorrow night is going to turn out. One of the twin- double races, and the horse is a long shot. Tim,” he said impatiently, “are you in or not? Because if you don’t want to bankroll me, I’ve got to make some more phone calls. I want to start spending money as soon as it’s daylight.”
“You still haven’t told me what you need five hundred for.”
“To spread around. The twin double, that’s four races, thirty-two horses, thirty-two drivers. I want one other winner out of those thirty-two, and with any luck at all I can find one. If I don’t, we can forget the twin and bet on that long shot and cover expenses, more than cover expenses. I can’t guarantee anything, but the odds! What we’ll get is maybe an even-money chance to break into the twin-double payoffs, and about the lowest they ever pay is a couple of hundred to one. Look. If you’re going to borrow from some jerk who never heard about the twin double, you’ll have to explain it.”
“Wait till I get my drink.” Rourke reached out and Shayne gave it to him. “Go ahead.”
“Say somebody has the winning horse in the ninth, all things being equal, no accidents, no interference. For one reason or another, Joe Doakes in the grandstand never heard of the horse, and it stands to go off at phone- book odds. All right. You can win a nice bundle on him, but if you bet any real dough, you’ll shorten the price. Not only that. Joe Doakes is going to look at the tote board and see that something’s cooking. The company line has the horse at, say, seventy-five to one. When you make your bet, all of a sudden the win pool takes a big jump and the price drops to fifty. Uh-oh. So there’s stable money going in on the horse, is there? Everybody in the grandstand rushes to get aboard. The horse wins. When you go to the cashier’s window, you find he’s only going to pay you a crummy ten spot for a two-dollar bill.”
“I know that, for God’s sake,” Rourke said.
“So what you do, you put your money in through the twin double, where it doesn’t ruin the odds. You locate another winner in the twin-double races. Two winners out of four is all you can honestly hope for, because you know what harness racing’s like, it’s full of surprises. You wheel your two winners with all the horses in the other two races. That costs you a hundred and twenty-eight bucks to get one winning two-dollar ticket. But if a couple of those winners were long shots, you can cash in your two-buck ticket for upwards of ten grand. And those long odds stay on the board so Joe Doakes don’t know what’s happening to him.”
