A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(4)
“Thanks, but I think I got something lined up.”
“The Golden State is growing, all right, why people like you are rushing to get there. Me, I’m more than content with this piece of the pie.”
“Who’s she?” asked Archer, indicating the Bird who had given him the eye.
“Liberty Callahan, one of my best. Sweet gal.” He pointed a finger at Archer. “No ideas, son. She wants to get into acting. Don’t think she’ll be here long, much to my regret.”
“I’m just passing through, like I said. I’ve got no ideas about her or any other lady.”
Shyner leaned forward, his look intense and probing. “You like to gamble?”
“My whole life’s been a gamble.”
“I mean, in a casino?”
Archer shook his head.
Shyner drew a fist of cash from his pocket and peeled off fifty dollars in sawbucks.
“You take this, with my compliments, and go try your luck at the Wheelhouse. It’s my place.”
“You give out folding money to all the folks passing by?” said Archer. “If you do, you might want to stop before you run out.”
Shyner leaned in more so Archer could smell the champagne on the man’s breath and Old Spice cologne on the ruddy cheeks. “Little something you need to know about casinos, young fella. No matter what the game, the casinos have the edge. With blackjack and roulette it’s a little less, with craps and slots a little more. But there’s no game where the House doesn’t have the advantage. My job is to get folks into my place. Even if I have to front them a bit. In the long run it pays off for me.”
“Well, with that warning, aren’t you defeating your purpose of recruitment?”
Shyner laughed. “You forget the element of human nature. I give you a little seed money and you’ll pay that back and more on top in no time.”
“Never got the point of gambling. Life’s uncertain enough as it is.”
“Gambling will be here long after I’m dead and buried, and you too. People are born with weaknesses and they pass them on. Sort of like Darwinism, only the stupid survive.”
“I might try your place, but I’ll do it with my own coin, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Sure as I’m sitting here with a man who owns a casino.”
Shyner put the cash away and lit up a short, thin cigar and blew wobbly rings to the high plastered ceiling. “You surprise me, Archer. I’ve done that fifty-dollar bit more times than I can remember and you’re the first to turn it down.”
“So what about all those casinos in Las Vegas? Don’t they give you competition?”
Shyner waved this concern away. “In twenty years it’ll be a ghost town and no one will even remember the name Las Vegas, you mark my words.”
His steak and asparagus came, and Archer ate and washed it down with another two fingers.
“Can I at least comp your meal, Archer?”
“What do I have to do in return?”
“Just go to my casino. Two blocks over to the west. You can’t miss it.”
Archer laid down a dollar for his meal and drinks.
“So you’re not going to the Wheelhouse then?” said Shyner in a disappointed tone.
“No, I am. Just on my terms instead of yours.”
“Action doesn’t start up till around ten. You’ll want the full picture.”
As he left, Archer gave Liberty Callahan a tip of his hat as she was singing a solo while reclining on a baby grand piano that had been wheeled onstage. She hit him with a dazzling smile and then kept right on singing without missing a beat. Her voice sounded awfully good to Archer. She waved bye-bye with her fake feather as he left the nest.
Archer had to admit, he liked the lady’s style.
THE WHEELHOUSE WAS LOCATED in a building about as big as an aircraft carrier, but with nicer furniture, no portholes, and enough booze to launch her. Inside an army of gamblers was looking to win big, although almost all would lose what they had brought plus what they hadn’t brought. Archer didn’t need Shyner to tell him the odds favored the House. Somebody had to pay for the liquor, the neon, and the ladies, and the chubby old man who owned it all and liked his champagne and fifty-dollar suckers.
Pretty much every game of chance invented was being played in the main room as cocktail waitresses in black stockings and low-cut blouses made their rounds with drinks, smokes, and the occasional teasing look that hinted at additional services available after hours for those few with any cash left. The bar set against one wall was packed because the liquor was half price, or so said the sign overhead. Drunk people no doubt increased the casino’s odds even more, figured Archer.
As ten struck on his timepiece, he checked his hat and strode across the main floor to the cashier booths. He had never gambled in a casino, but Archer had gambled. First in prison, and then in private games where the odds were a little better than at this place, the booze came out of flasks or thimbles masquerading as shot glasses and the only ladies present were housewives coming to drag their no-account hubbies home while they still had twin nickels to their names.
He paid for ten bucks’ worth of chips, then ambled over to a craps table and from a distance studied the bets on the board until the table opened up for new action like the jaws of a prowling gator. He continued to watch three guys crap out after two tosses each. Then two more rollers in the wings fell out, one passing out drunk, the other blowing his whole stake on the last throw of the dice.