Fifty-to-One

Frankie and keep her mouth shut.

“You’ve seen the book, right?” Charley said. “Well, that’s what I know. Nothing more, nothing less, just what I read in there.”

“You working with the cops?” Barrone said.

“Pfff.” Charley blew a half-hearted raspberry. “Only if by ‘working with’ you mean ‘wanted for assault and battery by.’ There are two cops wearing bandages because of me, and that’s just the past day’s worth. I have a police record going back to 1950.”

“He does,” Tricia said. “I saw the mug shot.”

“Oh, a mug shot,” Barrone said. “You must be some sort of big-time criminal.”

“I wouldn’t say big time,” Charley said. “But then I wouldn’t say criminal either. I’d just say the cops don’t see the merit in everything I do.”

“Well, that’s the cops for you,” Barrone said. He rotated his gun to point at Tricia. “And you’re Colleen’s sister?” She nodded hopefully. “You know your sister’s been squeezing me for months now?”

Tricia’s face fell. “Squeezing?”

“First she wanted the car,” Barrone said. “Then it was money. Then it was introductions to people I know in the fight business. Or else.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing, and she meant every word.”

“I think you’re wrong, Mr. Barrone. My sister’s a good person. She’s not some sort of...blackmailer.”

“Some sort of blackmailer is exactly what she is.” The gun rotated back to Charley. “And you. Did you really take Sal at Fifty-to-One?”

“We played a hand,” Charley said. “I got lucky.”

“I don’t buy that. No one gets lucky at Fifty-to-One.”

“One in fifty people should,” Charley said. “If you think about it.”

“You don’t leave something like that to luck,” Barrone said, “not when your life’s at stake. If you beat him at his game, you had a way to beat him. What’s the trick?”

“No trick,” Charley said.

“What’s the goddamn trick?”

“No trick,” Charley insisted.

“My son,” Barrone said, “hasn’t been seen for a month. Now I find out he’s dead. The man who killed him likes playing an insane little game with his enemies that I’ve never heard of anyone surviving—except you. The way things are going, I may find myself playing that game before too much longer, and if there’s a way to beat it, I want to know what it is.” As he spoke, Barrone dug into a little well in the armrest beside him, dropped one item after another on the seat—a balled-up handkerchief, a couple of cellophane-wrapped hard candies, a corkscrew. Finally he came up with a pack of cards. “Now show me how the hell you did it,” he said.

“I wish I could,” Charley said. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier. But I can’t.”

“How about this,” Barrone said, flicking the top card off the pack with his thumb. It landed on the seat next to him. Four of clubs. “Tell me what the next card is or I’ll blow your girlfriend’s brains out.”

Tricia blanched as Barrone’s gun swung toward her once more. The barrel gaped between her eyes. Such a big opening for such a small fistful of metal. She wanted to run, but where? She couldn’t even make it to the door, never mind through it, before he could pull the trigger.

“Her?” Charley said, affecting a desperate little laugh. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just some girl who came to audition today. We’re casting for the new Comden and Green revue—”

“—and you take all the girls who come in for auditions to the toilet for a little fun.”

“Absolutely. Every one I can,” Charley said. “Wouldn’t you? Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s me.”

“Nice try,” Barrone said. “But I saw her face when you kissed her. I see your face now. She’s not just ‘some girl’ to you.” He cocked the gun. “So I say again, name the next card, or I’ll ventilate her.”

“Charley!” Tricia said.

“All right,” Charley said. “All right. I’ll tell you. The cards we were playing with were marked—a mechanic’s deck. I had them on me when Nicolazzo grabbed me. I was just lucky he used my cards instead of a deck of his own. That’s the big secret. Now leave her alone. Shoot me if you’ve got to shoot somebody.”

“Okay,” Barrone said, swinging his gun around.

“No, wait, wait—I said ‘if.’ If you have to shoot somebody.” Charley put up his hands as though they might repel bullets. “But why would you have to shoot anybody? Least of all us. You could get life for that, if they didn’t put you in the chair. We’re not worth it.”

“That’s a point,” Barrone said.

“We’re not even worth the stain on the upholstery,” Charley said.

“That’s a point, too,” Barrone said.

“We’re not even worth the bullets it would take,” Charley said.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Barrone said. “You’re worth the bullets.”

“The point is,” Charley said, “the person you really want is Nicolazzo, right? Well, that’s just fine with us—we don’t have any love for the man ourselves. In fact, we were getting ready to go after him—it’s what we got the guns for, the ones you took away from us. If you want to do something smart, why not let us finish what we started? Give us back the guns and we’ll get rid of him for you.”

Tricia gave him the sort of look you’d give to a relative who’d suddenly proposed skinny-dipping in the fountain in front of the Plaza Hotel.

“You?” Barrone said. “With your mug shot and your marked cards and your fumbling around in toilets? Sal would eat you for breakfast.”

“Yeah? Seems to me he had the chance and here we are, still uneaten.”

“You said yourself, you got lucky.”

“So maybe we’ll get lucky again,” Charley said. “Or maybe not, maybe we’ll fail, but if so you’re no worse off—if he kills us we’re just as dead as if you did it, and at least that way it’s one less pair of murders you have to answer for.”

“What if he doesn’t kill you? What if he captures you, makes you talk, and you tell him about me to save your rotten life?”

“You think he’d believe us?” Charley said. “Or do you think he’d believe we were just making things up to save our rotten lives?”

Baronne seemed to be mulling it over. His finger was still on the trigger, though.

“And that’s if we fail,” Charley said. “But maybe we won’t fail. Maybe we’ll succeed. Right? It could happen. And then...”

“And then what?”

“And then whatever you want,” Charley said. “You can move up, take his place. You can stop being a lackey, running a tenth-rate used car lot while he’s hobnobbing with stars at swanky nightclubs. You’re the man’s brother- in-law, aren’t you? You’re married to his sister. When do you get what you’re due? Well, we can help you get it. But only,” Charley said, emphasizing the critical point, “if you don’t shoot us.”

Barrone thought about it for a while, during which time Tricia felt sweat running down her back and sides in rivulets. She’d never been this frightened in her life, not even when she’d been climbing down the rain gutter from twelve stories up. The widening stains on Charley’s shirt suggested he was feeling some anxiety himself.

After letting them stew a while, Barrone lowered his gun, released the hammer. “You’d have made a good salesman, Borden. If you do things half as well as you talk about them, maybe you’ve got a chance.” He shook his head. “Maybe. But never forget you’re one wrong step away from a bullet in the back.”

“Trust me,” Charley said, “that’s not the sort of thing I’m likely to forget.”

In the seat beside him, Tricia started breathing again.

Barrone sat back, slipped his gun inside his jacket. “Marked cards,” he said. “You little sneak.” He waved the deck at Charley. “Want to see how you would’ve done with a straight deck?”

Charley said, “Not really.”

“Come on,” Barrone said. “Just for a lark.”

“Fine,” Charley said, staring at the back of the topmost card. “Six of diamonds.”