the table.
“Float ‘em,” Buzini demanded again, and Luke grabbed the dice off the table, first checking them under an ultraviolet light for the stripe of color, and then dropped them in a glass of water. Buzini leaned in and watched closely. They didn’t roll.
“The Price Is Right,” Duffy trumpeted. “My lucky dice. Harry wants them bones.” Duffy now started to shake slightly in the seat of the chair. He looked very sick. His head was lolling, he was losing control of his convulsing arm.
“Sir, I think you should see a doctor,” Buzini said.
“I’m winnin’, so I’m grinnin’. Gotta go. Gotta go. Luck’s on my side. Let ‘er ride.”
Buzini was looking at the pile of gold chips on the table. He knew that one house roll would bring the casino back to even. He also knew this was loser’s logic, but he didn’t know what to do. “Get Tommy on the phone,” he said to Luke. Buzini didn’t want a million-dollar loss on his shift report. He wanted to be taken off point. He’d get Tommy Rina to approve the action.
Luke looked at his watch. “It’s three-forty-five A.M.,” he said.
“There’s half-a-million bucks on the table. Call him. He’ll wanna know.”
Luke started to dial while they all waited.
“Gotta go, gotta go. What’s the problem? Gotta go,” Duffy complained, stirring the crowd, most of whom were also now betting and winning with him.
“Who the fuck is this?” Calliope’s sleep-filled voice said over the phone. She was in the bed in the large private villa Joe owned, adjacent to the hotel.
“This is Luke, in the casino. Gotta talk to Tommy. Put him on.”
“Tommy ain’t here, the little prick. God knows where the fuck Tommy is,” she said, and slammed down the receiver.
Luke looked at Buzini and shook his head.
“Gotta go, gotta go. Let’s do it … gotta go,” Duffy started shouting. Buzini didn’t know what to do.
“For God’s sake, let him shoot. He’s getting so excited he’s gonna have a grand mal. You haven’t seen anything till you’ve seen one of those fuckers,” Beano warned.
“Okay. New dice. Let’s roll ‘em,” Buzini said, as two Pit Bosses from ajoining tables wandered over to watch.
They brought out a new set of casino perfects. Buzini checked them, then dropped them on the table. They were pushed over to Duffy.
Duffy tapped them on the green felt then rolled a six.
“Point is six. Good point for the shooter,” the Stick-man droned.
And now, under the careful scrutiny of three sets of eyes, Duffy went to the arm of the wheelchair and performed his short hand magic, switching the dice as the trained Pit Bosses stared directly at his hands. They never saw the switch, never saw it happen. He put the loaded dice in his palm, held them, heated them and rolled them.
“Six, a hard-way winner,” the Stick-man said, and now Duffy had a million dollars in chips. There were so many, they couldn’t lie in front of him on the green felt and still leave the table clear for play.
“Let ‘er ride,” Duffy wheezed and the twenty or so spectators cheered.
“Get Joe in New Jersey,” Buzini said, sweat starting to form on his forehead.
Luke grabbed his phone and called the emergency number for Joe Rina.
“Let ‘er ride.”
“No, sir, you can’t bet a million until I get an approval.”
“Whatta buncha ass wipes,” Duffy growled. He wheezed, his arm quivering on the table rail where it was resting.
Joe came awake instantly when the phone rang. It was almost four A.M. He knew this call had to be important. Nobody would call him at four in the morning unless it was a wrong number, a disaster, or somebody looking to get his face rearranged.
“What is it?” he said.
“Just a minute, sir,” Luke said. “I have Arnold Buzini from the Sabre Bay casino.”
He handed the phone to Buzini, who cleared his throat and watched as Duffy and Beano argued about his medicine. “Sir, we have a little situation here,” he said softly. “We have a big winner on the number three crap table. He’s hit us for over a million dollars … in less than an hour. This guy is white-hot. And a buncha other players are slip-streaming with him.”
“You check the dice?”
“Yes, sir. They’re okay … least they seem to be.”
“Tommy’s down there. Get Tommy.”
“We can’t find Tommy, sir. He’s not in your villa. We don’t know where he is.”
Joe sat up in bed. Sometimes Tommy’s lack of responsibility was startling. He was great when it came to wet-work, great at clipping