The Mugger 87th Precinct Series, Book 2 - By Ed McBain Page 0,17

eminence when it was dumped into a dark-blue suit. Donner still looked immense, but immense now like a legendary giant, magnificent, almost regal in his bearing. He shook hands with Willis, during which ceremony a ten-dollar bill passed from one palm to another, and then they headed for the warehouse, the craps game, and Skippy Randolph.

A skinny man at the side door recognized Donner, but took pause until Donner introduced Hal Willis as “Willy Harris, an old chum.” He passed them into the warehouse then, the first floor of which was dark except for a lightbulb hanging in one corner of the room. The crapshooters were huddled under that bulb. The rest of the room was crowded with what seemed to be mostly refrigerators and ranges.

“There’s a fix in with the watchman and the cop on the beat,” Donner explained. “Won’t anybody bother us here.” They walked across the room, their heels sounding noisily on the concrete floor. “Randolph is the one in the green jacket,” Donner said. “You want me to introduce you, or will you make it alone?”

“Alone is better,” Willis said. “If this gets fouled, I don’t want it going back to you. You’re valuable.”

“The harm’s already done,” Donner said. “I passed you through the door, didn’t I?”

“Sure, but I could be a smart cop who even had you fooled.”

“Gone,” Donner said. And then—in a whisper so that his heartfelt compliment would not sound like apple-polishing—he added, “You are a smart cop.”

If Willis heard him, he gave no sign of it. They walked over to where the blanket was spread beneath the lightbulb. Donner crowded into the circle of bettors, and Willis moved into the circle opposite him, standing alongside Randolph. A short man with a turtleneck sweater was rolling.

“What’s his point?” Willis asked Randolph.

Randolph looked down at Willis. He was a tall man with brown hair and blue eyes. The knife scar on his temple gave his otherwise pleasant face a menacing look. “Six,” he said.

“He hot?”

“Luke,” Randolph replied.

The man in the turtleneck sweater picked up the cubes and rolled again.

“Come on six,” someone across the circle said.

“Stop praying,” another man warned.

Willis counted heads. Including himself and Donner, there were seven men in the game. The dice rolled to a stop.

“Six,” the man in the turtleneck sweater said. He picked up most of the bills on the blanket, leaving twenty-five dollars. He retrieved the dice then and said, “Bet twenty-five.”

“You’re covered,” a big man with a gravelly voice said. He dropped two tens and a five on to the blanket. The man in the turtleneck rolled.

“Come seven,” he said.

Willis watched. The dice bounced, then stopped moving.

“Little Joe,” the turtleneck said.

“Two-to-one no four,” Willis said. He held out a ten-spot.

A man across the circle said, “Got you,” and handed him a five. Turtleneck rolled again.

“That’s a crazy bet,” Randolph whispered to Willis.

“You said he was luke.”

“He’s getting warmer every time he rolls. Watch him.”

Turtleneck rolled a six and then a five.

The man across the circle said to Willis, “Take another five on that?”

“It’s a bet,” Willis said. He palmed a ten, and the man covered it with a five. Turtleneck rolled. He got his four on the next throw. Willis handed the $30 to the man across the circle. Turtleneck left the fifty on the blanket.

“I’ll take half of it,” Gravel said.

“I’ve got the other half,” Willis said.

They dropped their money, covering Turtleneck’s.

“You’re nuts,” Randolph said.

“I came here to bet,” Willis answered. “When I want to knit argyles, I’ll stay home.”

Turtleneck rolled a seven on his first throw.

“Son of a bitch!” Gravel said.

“Leave the hundred,” Turtleneck replied, smiling.

“You’re covered,” Willis told him.

From across the circle, Donner eyed Willis dubiously. Gravel’s eyebrows went up onto his forehead.

“We’ve got a sport with us,” Turtleneck said.

“Is this a sewing circle or a craps game?” Willis asked. “Shoot.”

Turtleneck rolled an eight.

“Six-to-five no eight,” Willis said. The men in the circle were silent. “All right, eight-to-five.” Six-to-five was the proper bet.

“Bet,” Gravel said, handing Willis a fiver.

“Roll,” Willis said.

Turtleneck rolled.

“Boxcars,” Randolph said. He looked at Willis for a moment. “I’ve got another eight bucks says no eight,” he said.

“Same bet?” Gravel asked.

“Same.”

“You’re on.” He handed Randolph his five.

“I thought this guy was getting hot,” Willis said, smiling at Randolph.

“What gets hot, gets cool,” Randolph replied.

Turtleneck rolled his eight. Gravel collected from Willis and Randolph. A hook-nosed man across the circle sighed.

“Bet the two hundred,” Turtleneck said.

“This is getting kind of steep, ain’t it?” Hook Nose asked.

“If it’s too steep for you, go