them every four or five rolls – and another houseman pushed the rest of Dan's winnings to him. It made a messy mountain at his corner of the table.
Dan said to Grofield, 'Cover don't-come for me. I'm through. I can feel it.'
'Done.'
Dan threw a five. Grofield covered don't-come, and Dan threw a seven. He won some and he lost some. 'That's it,' he said. He passed the dice to the red-haired man to his left, and he and Grofield filled their pockets with chips and went over to the cashier's window to turn them in.
It came to twelve-thousand eight-hundred dollars. Dan looked at his watch and said, 'An hour and ten minutes. That's not bad wages.'
'Not at all,' Grofield said.
Dan looked at him, stuffing money away. 'You don't gamble at all?'
Grofield thought of the fourteen nickels. 'Sometimes I take a whirl,' he admitted. 'I never had a night like you, though.'
'I believe I'll go back to the hotel and pack,' Dan said. 'Nice to see you again.'
'Sure. You hear of anything else, keep me in mind.'
'That I will.'
They went outside and took separate cabs to their separate small-time motels far from the Strip.
4
They kicked the lock off the door and came in with their hands full of shotguns. Two of them, in black hats and anonymous black raincoats with the collars turned up. Also black handkerchiefs across their faces, like stagecoach robbers.
Grofield had been sitting there going over a play he thought they might do this summer. He'd come back to the motel, got himself a bite to eat, called the airport to arrange for a morning flight to Indianapolis via St. Louis, and had been sitting there ever since with the yellow-jacketed Samuel French edition of the play open on the writing desk in front of him. Then they kicked the lock off the door and came in and pointed shotguns at him, and he dropped his red pencil, put his hands up in the air, and said, 'I'm on your side.'
'On your feet,' the tall one said. The other one was shorter and fatter.
Grofield got to his feet. He kept his hands over his head.
The tall one kept a shotgun pointed at him while the short one searched the room. He went through Grofield's suitcase, and the closet, and the bureau drawers. Then he searched Grofield. Grofield recoiled slightly; the guy had bad breath.
Finally the short one stepped back and picked his shotgun off the bed and said, 'It isn't here.'
The tall one said to Grofield, 'Where is it?'
'I don't know.'
'Don't waste time, Jack, we're not playin' a game.'
'I didn't think you were. Not with guns, and kicking the door in and all. But I don't know what you're looking for, so I don't know where it is.'
'Ho-ho,' said the tall one. It didn't sound very much like a laugh. 'You won almost thirteen grand tonight,' he said.
'Sorry,' Grofield said. 'Not me.'
'You,' the tall one said. 'Cough it up.'
'You got your choice,' the short one said. 'You can be alive and poor, or dead and rich.'
'I'm sorry,' Grofield said. 'I hate to be killed because of somebody else's mistake, but I didn't win any money tonight.'
They looked at one another. The short one said, 'We picked the wrong one.'
'We
'Yeah, that's what I meant,' the short one said. He turned back to Grofield. 'Turn around,' he said. 'Face the wall.'
Grofield turned around and faced the wall. He knew what was coming, and hunched his head down into his neck, trying to make his skull soft and resilient. It didn't do any good. The lights went out very painfully.
5
'I'm drowning!' Grofield yelled, and thrashed his arms around, trying to swim; his nose was full of water.
'You aren't drowning, you bastard. Wake up.'
Grofield woke up. He rubbed water from his face, opened his eyes, and looked up at the angry face of Dan Leach. 'Christ,' he said.
'Not even close,' Dan said. 'Sit up.'
Grofield lifted his head, and the back of it made a commotion like it was glued to the floor. 'Ow,' Grofield said. He snorted water out of his mouth, and wiped his face with his sleeve. 'My head.'
'Your head. My dough. Do you sit up, or do I beat the crap out of you right here?'
