When the Winner Lost/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
A WARNING.
BEFORE leaving, Hoffman cashed a check for one thousand dollars at the hotel cashier's desk and had me do the same, indorsing my signature. Then he called a car and led the way to the street.
I noted that the machine left the Loop district, threading northward over the Chicago River. When the traffic of the markets and lake-shipping docks were left behind, it turned west.
“We're going out to a joint kept by an ex-prizefighter. It's three or four miles yet, on Milwaukee Avenue,” Hoffman explained. “On the way I'm going to give you a few instructions.”
“Ready!” I replied, smiling. I was happy to be out again and anxious for the fireworks to begin.
“Well, I am putting a difficult task up to you,” he began. “If you know gambling pretty well, it won't be so bad, though. I want you, from now on, to be a consistent loser!”
“Fairly easy, in most games,” I could not help remarking.
“Yes, if money means nothing to you.” He gazed at me squarely. “You named your own salary. The money you lose will not come out of that: therefore it means nothing to you. Simply obey instructions.”
“Very well!” I replied. “Tell me how much you want me to lose, what the game is, and I'll do it.”
“I think they shoot craps out here.”
“That's why I have a tuxedo on, eh?” I asked ironically. “Of all the games of chance I care the least for craps. It always has struck me as a game for guttersnipes.”
Hoffman smiled. “Never mind that part. They'll be 'passing' for perhaps five dollars, which is a fairly steep game for Milwaukee Avenue. You lose thirty or forty.”
“I may not be able to do that at craps,” I objected. “The play is all on the table.”
“Not with these chaps,” he retorted. “You'll see what I mean, but don't let on. You just lose.”
“All right!” I said grimly. One of the main reasons that I hated the game of craps was because there was always so much opportunity for crooked work in handling the bones.
Our car did not stop in the street, but drew up in an alley near a billiard parlor. The back room, shut off by swinging doors, concealed the tables, of which there were three in full operation. They were not “house” games; that is, while the proprietor took a certain toll for each person during an hour of play, the dice were not managed by him. The game was open, and Hoffman and I had no difficulty horning in. He seemed to be accepted as a habitué, and on his whispered recommendation I was accorded a chair.
The clientele was despicable. Whereas perhaps one-third of the men assembled might be called gentlemen by stretching the term, the remainder were the calloused, hard young rowdies of the neighborhood—the same nonworking element that has thrown the clean games of billiard and pool in disrepute all over the country by the mere fact of its continued loafing in these havens of refuge.
Concealing my disgust, I joined immediately, while Hoffman contented himself with a half dollar or a dollar on each throw. I waited until two or three had indicated their desires, and then I took the rest. The man with the dice was naming the total amount, which usually was five dollars, except when the thrower was nearly broke. Then the crowd allowed him to pass for two or three, if he wished.
After fifteen minutes I had lost eighteen dollars. There was no particular secret about it. One chap had the dice all of the time, and while he occasionally failed to roll seven or eleven on his first throw, he invariably ended by making his point. Each time he threw the bones he glanced at the faces held between his thumb and forefinger, and attempted to manage the speed and direction of each dice. Finally he failed on “Little Joe”—a pair of twos—one of the dice rolling over just too far and killing him on seven.
The next two men did not last as long. When my turn came with the dice I was an even twenty dollars to the bad, while Hoffman, having recouped once, was only six dollars out. I immediately proposed a toss for twenty, hoping to end it quickly, but I had no takers. I had to stick to the five-dollar pass. Eleven turned up. I was only fifteen out. The next time I dropped a two and a one, making craps, and lost the dice.
At that second policemen flooded the joint. I heard Hoffman's exclamation as he grabbed for my arm and drew me to one side. We started for the side door, but two blue-coated huskies confronted us. A squad at that moment, with ready clubs, marched through the back entrance, facing us forward.
“This will ruin us!” Hoffman whispered in my ear with agitation.
“Let's make a break,” I suggested. “These cops won't expect it.”
I saw a grin of pleasure come to the corners of his mouth, and he nodded. A second later, as we were being huddled aboard a wagon like sheep into a dipping runway, Hoffman jumped suddenly sidewise. Without difficulty I broke the hold on my collar and followed him at a fast sprint.
A clamor broke out behind us, and a shot was fired—I presume, in the air. The pounding steps of one uniformed heavyweight followed, but we distanced him, hopping on to a moving car, and rode downtown. Probably because of the number of prisoners taken, the police made no serious effort to pursue us.
“You'll do,” Hoffman commented explosively as we made ourselves comfortable to await the return of breath. “That will be the last—the last of places like that.”
“Suite me!” I rejoined. “What now?”
Hoffman held back further explanations until we alighted. Hailing another taxi, he entered, beckoning me to follow.
“That was narrow,” he concluded, when the door was closed. “If Selwyn Trask had been arraigned for shooting craps in that place he would have had to vanish back to Australia. Well,” and I felt the grip of his fingers on my shoulder, “that was simply preparatory. Now we start.”
For some moments he said nothing more, and I had time to note that the car was running south on Michigan Avenue. “It will come hard,” he went on finally, “but in all the gambling you do from now on you must not win any considerable sum of money. Our whole project and your life depend on your strict obeyance of this principle. Because I am not going with you all the way I shall not attempt to act the same, but you must see to it that you establish a reputation for possessing more money than sense. When you lose a hundred dollars, assume a careless manner. Act as if cutting cards for anything under a thousand merely bored you.”
“May I ask just what I am supposed to attain by doing this?”
“Yes.” Hoffman leaned toward me, and his tone was deadly serious. “We believe that if you do exactly as stated you will attract the attention of one or more men who will be on the outlook for chaps of the stamp of Selwyn Trask.”
“Sharks?”
“Well, yes, in a way.” Hoffman weighed his words. “Not the ordinary steamship-cabin variety, however. If any one of the men with whom you play invites you anywhere, go!”
“I see. I am attempting to attract some sort of invitation.”
“Yes,” answered Hoffman grimly. “From then on I shall not be with you much of the time, but close tab will be kept on you just the same.”