"That's what I came from, Mitch. From there to here. From there to Zearsdale Country Club."
"Yes," Mitch nodded, still puzzled. "That's quite a story, Frank, and I appreciate your telling it to me. But-"
"I'm up for membership in the club."
"Membership! But-uh-why, that's fine, Frank. I-"
"It's a joke," Downing said flatly. "You know, like taking a whore to church. Tee-hee, ho-ho, ha-ha, just look who we've got in our club! It's a joke-but who's the joke on? I want in. I can't let you or anyone else get in the way."
Mitch wanted to know how he could do that. The gambler spelled it out for him.
"We're both pros. You kratz yourself up, and it could rub off on me. Like, say, we were working a frammis together."
Mitch argued with him, declaring that Downing was really reaching for it. Downing said that he'd been really reaching for a long time, all the way from the Dallas river bottoms. It was true that Mitch wasn't known as a pro. But he could get known. It was also true that Mitch wasn't the kind to kratz up. But that could change, too.
"The point is, Mitch, there's always a chance when you take chances, and on you I don't have to take any. So I wish you hadn't rushed off so fast. I was going to tell you goodbye, but I see you've already gone."
He nodded, grinned satirically and started to rise. Again, Mitch detained him.
"I'm holding light, Frank. Red doesn't know it, but I need to hit."
"Yeah?" Downing obviously didn't believe him. "If you hadn't already left, you could see my collar was on frontwards."
"I mean it, Frank. I've just about got to hit."
"Oops!" Downing pointed. "There he goes!"
"What?"
"The chaplain. He just ran out the front door," Downing said. "Probably couldn't stand to see a man crying. For that matter, neither can I."
Mitch knew he had blundered. He reversed himself immediately. "All right," he laughed. "I'm here, and I want to get my feet wet. Now, suppose I never touch the dice myself. Just fade, and try to make out with the odds. That couldn't possibly do any harm, could it?"
Downing hesitated. Aside from liking Mitch, he believed in doing favors where no cost to himself was involved.
"You're asking me to put you in the game," he said.
"No, I'm not. Of course, I figured that you'd probably want to watch me…"
Downing said that it worked out to the same thing. Mitch denied it. "We'll all go in together, sure; you and Red and I. You can make talk with her while I'm at the table. But that doesn't add up to putting me in the game. You know everyone, and we're just a couple of more people that you know."
"Well…" The gambler half-nodded. "You don't push yourself, now. You can't do it here."
"I wouldn't do it anywhere."
"And you only fade. No shooting."
Mitch agreed. They arose, Mitch grinning to himself. Tonight he would simply break the ice, get himself known to the high-rollers. Then, another night, after making sure that Downing was no longer in town, he would come back for another visit..
They reached the door of the room. Downing suddenly turned on him, with a curse. "Why, you sneaky-! It went right past me, and I didn't see it!"
"Yes?" Mitch said innocently. "Something wrong, Frank?"
"You didn't have any intention of playing! You didn't even know where the action was!"
"We made a deal, Frank."
"I know. But watch yourself, Mitch. Make that the last fast one of the evening."
Red saw the by-play from the bar. She coupled it and colored it with their earlier encounter with the gambler, and the result was not flattering to Downing.
She bared her teeth, rather than smiled, as Mitch introduced them. He started to help her down from the bar stool, and her elbow pulled firmly from his grasp. His brows raised slightly. Ironic humor twinkled at the back of his eyes. He had been around for a very long time, and was a very long way from his place of origin. The situation appealed to him, and he knew how to make the most of it.
The action was on the third floor. Downing guided them to a private elevator, and its operator gave them one unobtrusively searching glance, photographing them in his mind. Debouching from the car, they were met by another man, a suave but huskier version of the elevator operator. And again there was that swift photographing glance.
He opened a door on the opposite side of the hall, stood back, with a little bow, and pulled it shut after them.
The room was approximately octagonal in shape; sunken, a few feet from the entrance, by three broad steps. There were no windows. A bar-buffet, with a Negro attendant, half-circled a corner of the room. Flanked by four long, low lounges, set back at a comfortable distance, was an oblong dice table.
A half-dozen people stood around it, one of them a stout middle-aged woman. With a nod to his companions, Mitch wandered over to it. Downing and Red sat down on a lounge.
Laughing inwardly, the gambler gave her a confidential wink. "How about a good stiff drink, honey? You look like a gal that could slug it down."
Red shook her head. "No, thank you!"
"It don't cost nothin'," Downing said craftily. "Get yourself pie-eyed, and it won't cost you a penny."
"No!"
She tried to ignore the gambler, keeping her eyes on Mitch, watching the easy way he made himself one with the group around the table. But Downing would not be ignored. He kept up the dumb act, even nudging her with his elbow, until be again had her exasperated attention.
"… and you know somethin'?" he was saying. "I think you're a heck of a pretty gal."
"Gee, Dad!"-she gave him an icy grin. "You're a daisy!"
"It's sure been a hot day, ain't it?" Downing went on. "Sweated so bad I had to wash my feet."
"Why you poor thing, you!" Red said. "Didn't it make you awfully sick?"
"Well, yeah it did kind of. You know what I always say? I always say it ain't the heat but the humidity."
"Do you?" Red said. "Do you always say it ain't the heat but the humidity?"
"Yep. Yessir, that's what I always say."
"Well, you'd better write it down somewhere," Red said. "You might forget it, and then where would you be?"
Downing pulled a look of heavy suspicion. He asked her if she was trying to razz him or somethin'. "I'll bet you are," he said. "I'll bet you're tryin' to razz me or somethin'."
"An intelligent gentleman like you? Perish the thought!"