“Now-come-on-TEN!” Buddwing shouted, and rolled.
“Eleven,” Harry said.
“You’re close, baby,” Grace said.
“Three to two, no five.”
“Bet.”
“A hundred on any craps.”
“Eight to one, you’re covered.”
“Here we go, ten, baby,” Buddwing said, and rolled.
“Six,” Grace said. “Where’s that ten, baby?”
“Coming up, sweetheart, just for you.”
“Roll it, baby, give it to me.”
He did not know how many times he threw the dice in the next five minutes without rolling either a ten or a seven. He only knew that the action around the blanket was frantic now, and that thousands upon thousands of dollars were being wagered on each successive throw. The big gamblers had been betting Buddwing wrong from the moment he had rolled the ten, giving the odds, and had lost thousands more in addition to their initial investment, the fate of which was still undecided. Moreover, the balance of power seemed to have shifted somewhat. Iris and the young man who needed a shave and the thin man with the rimless spectacles and the Irishman were all holding fistfuls of crumpled thousand-dollar bills and trying to drum up some action. Reluctantly, the quiet blond man gave Iris eight-to-one odds on the hard ten, and she handed him her thousand-dollar bill and then turned to Buddwing and said, “Now really do it, man. Two fives for me.”
Grace looked at the blond man and asked, “May I talk to those dice a minute?”
“Go ahead, talk to them.”
She was reaching onto the blanket for the dice when Alfie shifted his cigar in his mouth and said, “Are you rolling or is he?”
“Why, he is,” Grace said.
“Then leave the dice alone.”
“Your friend said I could talk to them.”
“Let her talk to them,” the blond man said.
“How do I know she won’t switch them?”
“With that dress she’s wearing, would you mind telling me where she could hide another pair of dice?”
“You tell him,” Grace said, smiling, and picked up the dice. She held them between her thumb and forefinger and rubbed them lightly over her crotch. Then, with a wide grin, she said, “There. I just talked to them, baby. Now, shoot.” She threw the dice across the blanket to Buddwing, and they rolled to a stop near his knees, one die showing a five-spot and the other showing a two-spot.
“You just took the seven off the goddamn dice!” Alfie said angrily.
“That’s just what I did, mister,” she answered, grinning. She turned to Buddwing. “Now give me my ten, baby.”
“I told you we shouldn’ta let her touch the dice.”
“They’re the same dice,” the blond man said.
“She took off the seven.”
“So go say a novena. What the hell are you, a gambler or a witch doctor?”
“You want to inspect them again maybe?” Hank asked.
“Oh, roll the goddamn dice and get it over with,” Harry said.
“Damn guy’s been rolling since last Tuesday,” the blond man said.
“Okay, here we go,” Buddwing said, picking up the dice. “I’m making that ten, and then I’m going home.”
He glanced at Alfie, and then Harry, and then the blond man, hoping for some sort of indicative reaction to his statement, testing them. If he did roll his ten, he would pick up five hundred and thirty thousand dollars from the blanket, and obviously that would be the time to say good night. But would the three gamblers allow him to bust open the game and then simply leave?
“Come on,” he said, “I want to go home,” and he began shaking the dice in his fist, watching for a reaction.
“Make your ten first, mister,” Alfie said, “and then we’ll see about going home.”
“Make it the hard way,” Iris said. “Come on, honey, two sweet fives.”
Buddwing shook the dice again. He was sweating heavily, and he was very thirsty, and it occurred to him suddenly that this was hard work and that even if he won he might wind up with a hole in his head.
“Don’t wear out the spots.”
“Roll ’em.”
“Ten, baby,” Grace said.
“Here we go,” Buddwing said, “ten now, give me a ten now, give me a TEN!” and he hurled the dice against the wall. They struck soundly and bounced back spinning.
“We want a ten,” Iris intoned as the dice continued spinning, “two fives, two fives, two fives.”
The dice continued spinning.
“The damn things are trained,” Alfie said.
“Come on, lay down,” Harry said to the dice, and one of the dice fell at his command, showing a five-spot. The other die was still spinning, but no one was talking now. They watched its whirling motion breathlessly, their fists clenched, their bodies tense. The die was slowing now, wobbling, it seemed ready to fall, it gave a short death rattle and then rolled over onto its side. It was showing another five-spot.
“You did it!” Grace shouted, and threw herself into Buddwing’s arms and kissed him full on the mouth. At the same moment, Hank reached onto the blanket and picked up their winnings. He turned to them quickly, pulled them apart, and steered them away from the blanket. The three gamblers were busily paying off bets around the blanket, but the blond man looked up as Buddwing approached the door, and then very quietly said, “You going someplace, mister?”
Buddwing turned. “Yes,” he answered. “We’re leaving.”
“You’re taking an awful lot of money out of this game,” the blond man said softly.
“That’s right.”
“Ain’t you gonna give us a chance to win it back?”
“Would you give me the same chance?” Buddwing asked.
“Well, now, a gentleman would.”
“There ain’t no gentlemen in crap games,” Hank said.
“I’m just concerned about you, that’s all,” the blond man said softly. “That’s a lot of money to be carrying around with you at this time of night.”
“We’ll be all right, don’t worry,” Buddwing said.
“I think he’ll be fine,” the young man who needed a shave said, and he walked away from the blanket and took up a position beside Buddwing.
“So do I,” the Irishman said, and went to join them.
“I’ll help see you home,” the thin man with the rimless spectacles said, and walked to where the others were standing in a small defiant knot.
“What the hell is this?” Alfie asked. “Are all the winners quitting?”
The blond man kept staring at the group near the door. It seemed to Buddwing that he was trying to decide whether to shoot them on the spot, or let it go until a later time, or perhaps postpone it indefinitely. Harry and Alfie were flanking the blond man now, their feet widespread, their hands hovering about the openings of their suit jackets. Buddwing was certain they were carrying pistols. He hoped they were good shots because he preferred not to crawl out of there a cripple. At the same time, he hoped the blond man — who had seemed fairly reasonable throughout the course of the game — would be just as reasonable now. And while he was waiting to be shot or pardoned, it suddenly occurred to him that he and Grace now owned five hundred and thirty thousand dollars. He wiped the sweat beads from his lip.
“I know guys on the bottom of the river,” Harry said menacingly.
“Argh, shut up with your guys on the bottom of the river,” the blond man said. He looked at Buddwing again. “Double or nothing on the five hundred thousand,” he said. “Highest roller.”
“No,” Buddwing said.
“You’re just gonna walk out like that, huh?” the blond man said. “Without so much as a fare-thee-well?”
“Fare-thee-well,” Buddwing said, and opened the door.