I got a dollar changed into nickels, went over to the slot machine, and started playing. It seemed as though every time the wheels clicked to a stop a lemon would be staring me in the face.
A woman was playing a two-bit machine halfway down the bank of machines. She was in the thirties, and her face was touched up like a desert sunset. She didn’t register as Helen Framley. I was down to my last nickel, when two cherries clicked coins into the metal pay-off cup. Just then, a girl came in.
I said to the machine in a voice loud enough to be distinctly audible to the girl, “Don’t get generous now.”
She turned, looked me over, walked past without saying anything, and dropped a dime in the ten-cent machine. She got three oranges, and dimes cascaded into the cup in a jingling tune.
I could have made her Helen Framley; but she stood looking at the machine with a dazed expression of “What-do-I-do-next?” so I decided at once she was no old hand at the game. She played another dime.
A jaunty chap with quick, restless eyes and head that, seemed perfectly poised on a muscular neck paused in front of the quarter machine. I watched his hands as he dropped the coin and slammed down the lever. Not a wasted motion. Everything was as smoothly graceful as hough his arms had been pistons working in an oil bath.
The girl over at the dime machine called, “Oh, I must have broken something.”
Her eyes shifted over toward me, but the other chap was nearest. He beat me to it. “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I dropped a dime in the machine. And I guess I must have broken something. Dimes spilled out over everything — all over the floor.”
He laughed easily, and moved over toward her. I noticed particularly the broad, supple shoulders, the straight line of his back, and the thin waist and narrow hips.
“You didn’t break the machine — not yet. But if you keep on being lucky, maybe you will. Ion just won a jackpot.”
He glanced over at me, and winked.
“Wish she’d show me how it’s done,” I said.
She laughed uncertainly.
The young chap got down on his hands and knees, picked up a couple of dozen dimes, scooped a handful out of the cup, arid said, “Now, let’s make certain there aren’t any back up in there.”
His fingers explored the cup.
“Nope. Everything’s swell.”
I caught the reflection of light gleaming from a dime on the floor’. I picked it up, handed it to her, and said, “Don’t overlook this one. It may be lucky.”
She thanked me with a swift smile, said, “Well, I’ll see if it is.”
I felt someone watching me, turned around, and saw an attendant, wearing a green apron with change pockets in it, eyeing us in scowling suspicion.
The girl dropped the dime into the machine, and jerked the handle. The woman who had the gaudy face was walking out past us. She coughed as she caught the eye of the green-aproned attendant.
Apparently, it was a signal.
He came walking swiftly toward us as the whirling dials of the slot machine went “clack” — “click” — “bang” — “chunk” — “jingle”!
A tinkling shower of dimes spilled into the metal cup and overflowed into her hands.
The attendant busied himself at a machine right behind us.
The young man said, “That’s the way.” His laugh was easy. “Go to it, sister. You’re playing a run of luck. Only you don’t know it. I’ll see what I can do on the two-bit Machine while you tickle the dimes.”
He dropped another quarter in the two-bit machine, spun the lever, and called to me, “How you doing, stranger?”
I said, “I’ve got this machine fed up to a place where it’s bound to start paying off. It’s so full of nickels now, it’s ready to bust.”
I put in a nickel and pulled the lever.
The three discs whirled in a bewildering kaleidoscope. With a click the left-hand disc stopped. A half second later, the middle one snapped into position.
I saw two bars.
The third one jarred to a stop.
A metallic click emanated from the inside of the machine, and the floodgates opened. Nickels poured out into the cup, out from the jackpot, dancing a merry jig as they spilled over my hands and dropped to the floor.
I grabbed a double handful, but they kept coming. I pushed coins down into my side pockets, cleaned out the cups, and then started looking for nickels on the floor.
The attendant said, “Perhaps I can help.”
He leaned over me. Suddenly his hands shot out, and his fingers gripped my wrists.
“What’s the idea?” I asked, and tried to fight free.
He said, “Come on, buddy. The manager wants talk with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you want to come the easy way, or do you want to come the hard way?”
I tried to shake myself loose and couldn’t. I said, “I’m going to get these nickels on the floor. They’re mine.”
“Just a minute,” he said.
His fingers slid up my sleeve, felt around my forearm.
I jerked one arm free and made a swing. He brushed the blow aside, stepped in and grabbed the lapels of my coat, pushed down so that my coat was halfway down my arms, holding them pinioned. For the moment, I was helpless. The weight of coins in the side pockets became swinging pendulums of weight which struck against me as I moved.
Back of me I could hear sounds coming from a machine, and a light tinkle as a shower of dimes hit the metal cup. A moment later, there was another clack, and this time twenty-five-tent pieces cascaded out.
The attendant twisted his fingers into my coat collar, and, getting his weight behind me, gave me a push which sent me over toward the other machine.
“Okay, buddy,” he said to the man, “I’ll take a look up your coat sleeves.”
“Mine?” the young chap said.
“Yours.”
I said, “What’s the matter with this guy? Has he gone crazy?”
The man who was standing at the two-bit machine weaved slightly back and forth, just an inch or two at a time as he shifted his weight, on the balls of his feet.
The girl said, “I’m going to quit,” and started for the door.
The attendant said, “Just a minute, sister,” and grabbed.
She eluded him. People were crowding around.
The attendant said, “You three crooks are going to get yours right now. The law has a date with you.”
“Not with me,” I said.
He moved his right shoulder. I saw a blur of motion. Something hit me on the side of the jaw. The blow jarred me all the way down my spine.
“Try that, wise guy,” he said.
My eyes were jarred out of focus; but I started both fists swinging and waded in. A left landed somewhere on his face. A right grazed his temple, then a mule kicked me. I went back against the machines and felt as though a ten-story building was using me for a basement.
I looked through eyes that kept showing double distorted images of what was happening. I saw the attendant lash out with a quick right, and the weaving shoulders of the other man slid past the blow and inside. I saw his back grow rigid. I heard a meaty sound as though a butcher had slammed a leg of lamb down on the chopping-block. The attendant’s head shot up in the air. His feet left the floor. For a moment, it seemed as though he was taking off like a skyrocket, and I looked to see him go through the roof.
He rocked the whole bank of slot machines as he hit.
I heard a policeman’s whistle, then some big man had me by the arm. He slammed me around some, and I tried to fight back.
A man’s voice came through to my consciousness. “—one of them. We’ve had an eye on ’em for two weeks now. They’ve looted the place clean. Working a cup. It’s a racket.”