Heller was reading the winning numbers of that wheel for the rest of the afternoon and evening! And he was recording them to the exact second on the pad!
He couldn’t lose!
Oh, the Atlantic City Mafia would kill him if he won the quantities he inevitably would!
Heller started on the second table’s wheel. He was advancing the time-sight knob a minute or two at a time. He was writing without looking at the pad and he was doing it so fast I was missing most of the numbers.
Heller had finished the second wheel and was working on the third when voices sounded behind him. He did not look around. He was almost finished.
I recognized Mamie Boomp’s hoarse tones and very American accent. “The mayor? Oh, I had the date all right, dear. But his wife was raising so much hell with him, he couldn’t do a thing. That’s why you find me singing here in this dump. And if they don’t come across with our pay tonight, there won’t be any floor show. Bunch of hoods.”
Heller had completed. He turned around. Before Krak could even introduce him, Mamie said, “So this is the sailor. Oh, man, you can pick ’em, Joy.” To Heller she said, “How’s the fleet?”
Heller said, “I hope okay.” He courteously seated the girls at the table.
Mamie said, “So Bonbucks Teller worked out. Well, I’m really glad. I can’t afford them myself. Maybe I ought to find me a sailor and settle down. Do they pay you well, these days, young feller?”
“I haven’t seen any Fleet pay for quite a while,” said Heller.
“Hey, that’s no good,” said Mamie. “That’s two of us. If these hoods don’t cough up . . . Oh, oh. We’ve got company.”
Two very tough-looking men had come up to the table. One said, “What you doin’ with that camera, sonny?”
Heller said, “It has no film in it.”
The second tough mug said, “Can we see it?”
Heller opened it in front of them. “See? No film.”
The mug said, “Well, put it away, kid. We don’t allow no pictures in here. What’s this? An adding machine?”
“I got a system,” said Heller. “The numbers come in on the celestial spheres and I add them up.”
The first tough mug let out a barking laugh and looked at the other one as though to say, here’s another one. The second one said, “Well, figure out anything you like, kid. But put the machinery away. Have fun.”
“Oh, I will,” said Heller.
They walked off.
“Well, kids, I got to go on shortly. We only do two shows this afternoon and if we don’t get paid, there won’t be any tonight. Sailor, would you like to buy us some dinner around six?”
“I’d be charmed to,” said the perfectly mannered Royal officer, getting up as she rose.
“I’ll be on that stage way over there to the end of the hall,” said Mamie. “So listen good.”
She was gone and Heller sat back down.
“She’s nice,” said the Countess.
“You’re nicer,” said Heller. “Now, pay attention, dizzy dame. Here is your list. The times are by that big clock up there on the wall—the one with the gold cupids. Here is $1,000. Go down to that window and buy $1,000 worth of chips. Go to a table and put down your bet. Bet on whole numbers only. Never bet more than $285 at a time.”
“Why?”
“The win on a whole number is thirty-five to one. Your winnings must not exceed more than $10,000 at a time. IRS takes note of who wins more than $10,000 and they record it, but up to that they don’t. So every time you win, cash in your chips. Then go back to a different table and bet on a whole number.”
“It is chicanery,” said the Countess. “What is this list?”
“The winning numbers with their times for each of those three roulette wheels. For some reason, all play stops at 10:21 tonight on all wheels. But until then, those are the numbers that win. Now, here is a plastic bag. If your purse overflows, start using the bag. Ready?”
“And if we win enough money, we’ll be that much closer to going home?” said the Countess.
“Right.”
“Let’s go,” said the Countess.
She went directly to buy her chips but Heller—stuffing the rest of the garbage bags under his belt out of sight—checked his case at the cloakroom, bought some chips and then went to another table than the one the Countess was standing by.
She watched a couple of spins to see what the game was all about. She looked at her list for that table number, verified that it really had just come up with the numbers on her list, glanced at the time and then put $285 worth of chips on the next list number, 0.
“Round and round the little ball goes,” said the man at the wheel. “Where she stops, nobody knows. All bets down.”
The metallic sizzling of the ball slowed. It went into number 5, then with a clink, dropped into 0.
The croupier raked in all other bets than 0, tabbed it and shoved a stack of chips at the Countess.
She promptly picked them up, went over to the window and cashed them in. She dropped $9,975 into the sack. She was going to bypass her purse from the start.
Heller, at another table, had placed a bet on 13 and 13 came up. He took his chips and went over and cashed them in and dropped the money in his sack. He, too, was going to bypass inadequate things like pockets.
The Countess looked at the clock, went to a different table, looked at her list and bet on 5. It came up. She took her chips to the window and cashed them in. She dropped her second $9,975 into her sack.
Back and forth they went, always a different table from the one they had just played.
I was certain somebody would catch on. The crowd was fairly thick and it was not too badly dressed. But Heller in his gray lounge suit, blue silk shirt and blue polka-dot ascot really stood out. He was taller and blonder than any of the men around.
The tunic the Countess had been wearing under the chinchilla was bright metallic blue to match the wide-bottomed pants, and even though it seemed very unfrilled, she stood out like a spotlighted model amongst the furs and dowdy dresses of the rest.
How long could they keep this up without the house getting wise?
After about an hour, two men were suddenly confronting Heller. One of them looked him up and down. “How old are you, kid?”
“Old enough,” said Heller.
“Kids under eighteen aren’t allowed in here,” said one. “You got any ID?”
“Right here,” said Heller. He pulled out a driver’s license and passport. He handed them over.
“Johnny Cattivo,” read one of the floor men. “Twenty-two.”
“Hey,” said the other one, “there’s a Cattivo in the Faustino mob. Any relation?”
“We had a breakup,” said Heller. “We were wrenched apart.”
The two men looked at Heller rather oddly. They gave him back the ID and walked off. I suddenly remembered Cattivo was one of the mob that had tried to kidnap Heller at the garage in Spreeport.
Meanwhile, a dopey croupier at table two suddenly realized he had paid Krak several times. He gave a signal to the man at the wheel. That one suddenly threw the ball in the opposite direction around the rim and quite obviously reached down to tamper with the result, probably a magnetic device under the table.
The number came up exactly where Krak had her money—on 5. Heller’s system was even beating a crooked wheel!
Three men and a woman had caught on that Heller always won. They started placing bets alongside of his, riding his coattails.
Heller let it go that time and they all won. But the next time at the next table, still followed by the four, he put a thousand-dollar chip on the wrong number and with a great demonstration. It lost. They stopped following him.
Back and forth, back and forth. The big sacks were getting fuller and fuller.
There was a wait at one of the several cashier windows for Krak. Suddenly two armed guards rushed into the cage and handed the man there a flat case full of money. The cashier signe
d for it and then paid Krak.
Back and forth, back and forth. Win, win, win, win, win!
By half past five, each had a bulging sack. They met.
“This is hard work,” the Countess said. “Can we go to dinner now? I got so involved, I didn’t even hear Mamie sing. I’ve got these new boots on and my feet are killing me! I never knew before that winning all the time required that you walk fifty miles, too!”
Heller said, “All right. We’ll refuel and get back at it again. I don’t think there’s more than half a million in each of these two bags. If we can push it to two million tonight, we’ll have Izzy out of the woods.”
“Won’t they run out of money here?” said the Countess.
“I’ve seen them bringing some in from the bank or their other casinos,” said Heller. “That’s their problem. Let’s eat.”
PART THIRTY-EIGHT
Chapter 6
Mamie Boomp had already nailed down a big booth in the far corner of the large, posh dining room. She waved them over. They threw their sacks down on the semicircular red leather seat and sat down, one on either side of her.
“I didn’t hear you sing,” said the Countess.
“I didn’t sing,” said Mamie. “We’re going on strike until we get paid. There’s only thirty of us in the stage show but, Mafia or no Mafia, we can take them on. Four other casinos belong to the same crowd and they’ll be walking out too, tomorrow. Let’s eat. It may be a long time between pheasants under glass.”
As they were a bit early, they had no trouble getting served. They had steamed clams and broiled lobster and Heller showed Krak how you used a fork and how you used a claw-cracker and a lobster meat pick. Mamie was so busy piling up the clamshells she didn’t even notice that it might seem strange that Heavenly Joy Krackle from Sleepy Hollow, New York, thought it was pretty primitive not to have electric knives and suction-plunger tongs and proper spray cans to season the food correctly.
Krak was being a good sport about it. “If you kind of pretend you’re camping out,” she said, gesturing with a fork at the posh and ornate dining hall, “it’s kind of fun. And this is delicious seafood. Do they cook it on the beach? I can taste the sea salts.”
“It comes from the sea,” said Heller.
“Really?” said Krak. “Not from proper tanks? Hey, now, they must have boat people that fish in the sea! Say, Jettero, I just remembered that there were some boat people that came with Prince Caucalsia. They must have settled here. That’s why it’s called Atlantic City. Mamie, you know all the answers. Is that a fact?”
“You bet I do know the answers,” said Mamie. “That’s why I’m advising you to order cherry tarts. I’m on a diet and have to watch my sweets. Call the waiter over, sailor. I’ll have to content myself with half a coconut custard pie to wash down my coffee.”
Finally, having attended fully to her diet, Mamie at last sank back with a sigh. “Well, the condemned enjoyed her last dinner, thanks to you, sailor. Now, tell me what you kids have been up to.”
“I’ve worn myself out with walking,” said the Countess Krak. “Never wear new boots when you’re gambling, Mamie. Use some old gymnasium shoes.”
Heller said, “Miss Boomp, how would you like to make some money?”
“Do bees prefer honey? What a silly question. What are you up to?” said Mamie.
“Ripping off the Atlantic City Mafia,” said Heller.
“Goody,” said Mamie. “Turnabout is fair play. Not only they haven’t paid us, I could have had a job in pictures but I passed it up for this, and the winter season is a long time between jobs.”
“All right,” said Heller. “I have a list of the winning numbers for the rest of the night on roulette tables one, two and three in the casino upstairs. You bet them like I tell you and you can have ten percent of your winnings.”
“Really? You some kind of a seer? You got a system?”
“I got a system,” said Heller and told her how it worked and how to cash in every winning bet. He took out the pack of black garbage bags and tried to give her a thousand dollars for starting money.
But Mamie looked at the bulging sacks they had thrown on the seat beside them, opened one, peeked in and then extracted a fat fistful of bills. She shoved them into her bosom. Then she reached over and picked up the whole carton of garbage bags.
“Ten percent, eh?” said Mamie. “You got yourself a deal, sailor.”
She got up and sped out of the dining room, not impeded in the least by her vast dinner.
The Countess got up. She picked up the two fat garbage sacks. Heller, who had already risen to let Mamie out, followed along behind her. She went ahead and got interested in some display photographs of Miss Americas who had won the Atlantic City beauty contest in former years.
Heller stepped up to the cashier counter with the check and was paying the bill. His change had just been laid out when his hands flashed suddenly.
He turned.
His left hand held the wrist of a waiter in a red jacket and that waiter held Heller’s .45 automatic!
The waiter had lifted the weapon out of Heller’s back belt holster!
But the .45 was being gripped by nerveless fingers.
Heller’s left hand closed tighter. The .45 dropped into Heller’s right hand.
The waiter—who probably was no waiter at all, judging by the silk shirt he wore—was staring at Heller with very agonized eyes. It was obvious that only the way Heller was supporting the wrist was keeping the man’s knees from buckling.
“I didn’t call for anything,” said Heller smoothly. He slipped his gun back into its holster under his coat. Then he proceeded to pat the man’s side and chest. He reached into the jacket and drew a handgun from a shoulder holster. He looked at it. It was a Taurus .38 Special double-action revolver, nickel plated. He gave the cylinder catch a flick with his thumb, let the cylinder swing out, checked the bullets and then, with a snap, all only with one hand, flipped the cylinder back into place.
“Thank you,” said Heller, “for calling attention to the fact I’d dropped my gun.” He put the Taurus in his own pocket.
“Your change, sir,” said the cashier.
Heller was still holding the “waiter’s” wrist. The man seemed paralyzed. Heller turned and picked a dollar bill out of the change. He put it in the paralyzed hand and then closed the man’s fingers on it. Heller let go. The “waiter” went almost to his knees, recovered and in a zigzag course made his way back toward the kitchen.
Krak had gotten too far ahead to notice the action.
Heller joined her and they went up a wide, carpeted stairway to the mezzanine. They came to the place Heller had first chosen. There was no one else on this level but the casino floor below was swarming. An evening crowd, better dressed than that of the afternoon and far more numerous, made a jostling kaleidoscope of color below.
“Look at that!” said the Countess Krak.
Over against the wall, on a high stool behind the backs of the croupiers at tables one, two and three, Mamie Boomp was sitting.
She had money in one hand and the lists for the tables in the other. And in a loose congregation around her were the show people. She was giving each one a series of numbers and the money to bet and to some she gave a black plastic bag.
SHE HAD THE FLOOR-SHOW PEOPLE WORKING!
Heller laughed. “That’s quite a friend you’ve got there.” He turned to Krak. “You see that corridor directly behind us? You put your money sacks down just inside it and you sit on them and rest your pretty feet. And I’m going to sit right here and watch the shearing of the wolves.”
PART THIRTY-EIGHT
Chapter 7
The dice tables were crowded. The chuck-a-luck cages flipped. The endless rows of slot machines whirred. The keno numbers kept pouring through the speakers. But Heller’s attention was mainly on the roulette tables below.
Round and round the little ball went and where it would stop, he and the floor-show people knew exa
ctly. And there were always bets on the winning numbers.
Because there were so many floor-show people and because they kept changing, other players at the table did not get much chance to ride anyone’s coattails.
The stream of actors to the cashiers’ cages was a continuing circle. There seemed to be a young man who had more hair than face circulating along this line and Heller watched him.
Suddenly, the young man turned and came bounding up the mezzanine stairs. He was carrying a huge black bag.
He paused near the rail, looked down and across the hall at Mamie and pointed to Heller. Mamie nodded.
The young man came closer. “So you’re the sailor with the crystal ball,” he said. “I’m Tom-Tom, the drummer of the Dingle-Poop Rock Band. They won’t let me work the tables because I can’t count above four. So I got the job of collecting the money and bringing it up here. Where do I put it, man?”
Heller pointed at Krak, sitting just inside the corridor at the back. She took it. Tom-Tom stood staring at her.
“Well?” said the Countess.
“Nothin’, beggin’ your pardon, but I was just surprised, kind of. I didn’ know no Miss America was in on this deal. Excuse me. I’ll be right back with more bread. Lots more.”
She touched her collar. She said, “Jettero, why do so many girls have the same name here on this planet?”
The signal came through to Heller thirty feet in front of her at the mezzanine rail. He touched his collar and said, “It’s probably some family they named the country after.”
“Well, I was looking at some pictures of them down in the dining room foyer and two or three look a lot like some of the girls in Atalanta Province. Some of Prince Caucalsia’s court must have brought their wives. Is this where he landed, Jettero?”
“He apparently landed on a continent out in that ocean and it got drowned when the poles melted or something. The survivors got to a place called Caucasus above Turkey and you can’t go there because the Russians are holding them prisoner and won’t let them defect.”
“Well, some of them must have swum west and landed here, then,” said Krak. “Thanks for clearing that up.”