Stone watched her bedroom door close, then he rose and headed to his room, unsure of what the morning would bring.
CHAPTER 30
REUBEN DROPPED over a hundred bucks for drinks and dinner with Angie, but he figured it was a good return on his investment for he learned some interesting things. The two guys who’d ended up in the hospital and the one who’d disappeared completely had evidently displeased their boss, Jerry Bagger. How, Angie was not quite sure, but it seemed to come down to money. Unfortunately, Angie didn’t know why Bagger had gone to Washington, only that it had happened all of a sudden.
Over her third “Dark and Stormy,” a rum and ginger beer concoction that Reuben tried a sip of and almost retched as a result, Angie said, “Funny stuff going on around here lately. Got a buddy in finance for the casino. He told me he was under strict instructions to do everything he could to delay a routine Control Commission inspection of the casino’s books.”
“This Bagger guy in money trouble?”
She shook her head. “Don’t see how. The Pompeii Casino is like the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. It’s a gold mine, and Mr. Bagger is the smartest operator in town. Tough with a nickel, and he knows how to make a buck.”
“Something must have happened, then,” Reuben said. “Maybe the guys who got hurt and the one who disappeared screwed up somehow with some of the casino’s cash. Maybe they were ripping him off, and Bagger found out and brought the hammer down.”
“Mr. Bagger ain’t dumb. You don’t break knees anymore; you just sic the cops or lawyers on cheaters. So this must’ve been something really big, and he took it personally.”
“Cops looking into it?”
She looked incredulous. “Mr. Bagger knows what palms to grease. And do you know how much tax revenue the Pompeii generates for New Jersey?”
Reuben nodded thoughtfully. “He probably paid off the pair in the hospital. And the other guy’s not gonna be squealing to the police.”
“Dead men don’t talk, you’re right.” Angie had scooted closer to Reuben in the booth they were sharing. She patted his thigh with her hand and then kept it there. “So enough shop talk, tell me about yourself. Did you use to play pro football? You look big enough.” She squeezed his leg and leaned into him.
“Played some in college. Did a couple tours in Nam. Won some medals, collected some shrapnel.”
“Really? Where? Here?” She playfully poked a finger into his chest.
“Let’s just say I won’t be having any more children.” Reuben couldn’t believe he was telling this lie to a woman who obviously wanted to go to bed with him, but he had other things on his mind.
Angie’s jaw fell so far, it was in jeopardy of smacking the table.
“Check, please,” Reuben called out to the waiter as he passed by.
CHAPTER 31
WHILE REUBEN WAS DISAPPOINTING Angie, Milton was trying out a system he’d read about for the craps table. So far he wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped. Granted, he had gone up eight thousand dollars fairly early on in his run; however, he had higher standards than most people. Still, fellow gamblers were lined up around the rail, telling him he was hot, he was on fire. Over two dozen players were riding bets on his coattails desperately hoping he would lead them all to riches, or at least allow them to recoup some of the cash they’d lost thus far to Jerry Bagger.
Women with their boobs falling out of their halter tops and sipping cocktails crowded around him, pushing their bosoms into his shoulders and splashing liquor on his shirt. They also pestered him with silly questions as to his technique. Milton didn’t know they were casino ringers whose job it was to break the concentration and hopefully the streak of any hot roller. Yet it didn’t matter. It would take far more than multiple pairs of inflatable breasts and inane queries to interfere with Milton Farb’s focus.
The two croupiers and the stickman running the table scrutinized the action, accounting for bets and keeping an eye on all that was going on, including those hovering around the rails and players looking to get in on the action. At this point there was little room at the rail, but if someone caught the eye of one of the croupiers and flashed enough chips, he might get in. And this was a table everyone wanted to join.
The stone-faced pit boss hovered in the back taking this all in too. He was the court of last resort in case there were any problems, and it was his job to see to the casino’s well-being at all times while putting on a front of being fair to players. The casino world was not a touchy-feely one; there was only one god here and his name was money. And at the end of the day the casino had to keep more of it than it paid out. Yet this pit boss was worried, because he’d been doing this long enough to know a truly hot shooter when he saw one. The Pompeii was going to take one on the chin; he just had a bad feeling.
The table had a $50 minimum bet and a ten grand maximum, and Milton was laying his bets with surgical precision. He’d long since figured out all the statistical probabilities and was putting that knowledge to good use. He’d rolled a seven on his very first throw, the only time that number could be a winner. He’d won $500 on that fling of the dice with an aggressive initial bet and never looked back. He was leveraging his behind-the-pass-line bets, maxing out the fives, sixes and eights up top, then the nines and fives and the most lucrative, but least likely odds-wise, tens and fours, with the finesse of a decades-long craps impresario. He’d nailed a hard four twice and hit a hard eight and ten once each. He’d rolled his points six times now and the heat just kept building.
Finally, the nervous pit boss ordered a change in the table crew. The croupiers and the stickman were more than a little upset about this and their sour expressions showed it. Tips were laid on the house at the end of a shooter’s run, so these folks wouldn’t be seeing a dime of Milton’s winnings. Yet the pit boss’s command was law. He’d done it to cool down Milton and the table. But such a move, while allowable under the gaming rules, was always unpopular, and howls of protest erupted from around the rail.
Two security gents drifted over to the table after receiving a call from the pit boss over his headset. After seeing the hulking figures approach, the crowd quickly calmed down.
The pit boss’ ploy didn’t work because Milton hit his points three more times over an array of intricate bets. He was now up over twenty-five grand. Unless he rolled the dice off the table, the croupier couldn’t change them on him, so the nervous pit boss really had few tricks left to pull. He just stood and watched as Milton continued to mow down the Pompeii Casino.
A stunned quiet hit the table when Milton laid $500 down on a one-time horn bet that he would roll a three. When the one-two combo flashed up the bet paid off with fifteen-to-one odds, turning his $500 into $7,500. He was now up $35,000.
The sweating pit boss was forced to play his final card, subtly nodding his head at a ringer stationed at the table. The man immediately laid down a bet on number seven. This, in effect, was betting against Milton, for if he rolled a seven now, or craps, he was done as shooter and all bets on the table lost. In the gambling world it was generally believed that betting against the shooter generated bad karma, siphoning the energy off the table and causing the shooter to lose his steam. The crowd immediately started growling at the ringer betting craps. One man at the rail even bumped him, but the security stepped in and quelled this mini-riot.
Milton was unfazed by the casino’s obvious move to derail him. With the stunned crowd looking on, he calmly laid a thousand dollars’ worth of chips on boxcars, or the combination of six and six. This, along with betting snake eyes, was the most aggressive move one could make on a craps table, for it paid off thirty-to-one. However, because it was a one-time bet only, if he didn’t roll double sixes on the next throw, Milton lost the cash. Thus, betting a thousand bucks on boxcars was considered insane.
Absolute silence prevailed at the table. There wasn’t one square inch of free space at the rail and the
