Chance Elson

by Ballard, Todhunter, 1903-1980

  "The kiUing was a damn good thing." Some man Chance could not identify spoke from the far end of the table.

  "Bad or good," Kern said, "it is a problem. From what the Crime Commission tells me, there was a meeting of the gang overlords in Havana, Cuba, last week."

  Chance looked up. This was the first he had heard of that meeting.

  "Now why does this Cuban meeting interest us? Perhaps Nevada was not even discussed there, but one thing we know,

  This group advanced something like four million dollars for Danzig to build his hotel, and they are not the type of men to sit back quietly and lose four million dollars."

  The assemblage stirred. Men shifted as if they suddenly found their chairs uncomfortable. Kern poured himself a glass of water. His voice was hoarse. Then he went ahead reviewing his long-held fear of a Syndicate invasion.

  "When Danzig built his hotel," he went on, "I thought we had lost. I thought the gangs had taken over. Now, his death gives us a reprieve. If in some way we could prevent Danzig's Eastern associates from taking over the hotel, if we could keep them from getting a foothold . . ."

  "They're in already, aren't they?" one of the state legislators interrupted. "Four million in."

  Someone laughed. The laugh sounded hollow.

  Kern made his point. "Not if we form a local group to pay oflF the obligations and take over the hotel. I would not suggest this if I did not firmly beheve that the place can be made to earn out, and that we have a man, here in this room, who by the management of his own place has proved himself able to handle an operation of this scope."

  Chance could not quite mask the feeling of pride. To be so singled out by John Kern ... It was probably the high moment of his life.

  Kem motioned to him. "Tell them the score. Chance."

  For an instant Chance had a wave of stage fright. Then he stood with a growing conviction that he understood the problems involved better than any of these men.

  He talked intently. "First I think it important that we all realize how Vegas is mushrooming. Down there we are in a boom such as we never dreamed of before the war.

  "The country is flooded with black-market money to the point where the federal government has requested all banks to list depositors who present large bills.

  "Black-market operators are caught with money they cannot spend without inviting embarrassing questions from the revenue department. Much of this money is flowing through Vegas. In my own place we have customers daily who pxu"-chase stacks of chips with hundred-dollar bills, lose two or

  three chips at the tables and cash in, receiving tens and twenties for their remaining stack. In effect, they are paying me ten per cent to change their questionable money into bills they can spend without arousing suspicion. I don't know who they are and have no way of finding out. The same thing is happening in all the clubs.

  "This explains part of our boom, and it will not last, but there is a much soHder foundation for our surge of business. Hollywood has adopted us, and all the Western states are gaining heavily in population. Our potential number of customers is therefore an ever increasing figure. Now, if you people of Nevada will take over the Peacock, you might not only prevent some gangsters from entering the state, but you can maintain the moral tone of operations, by setting an example in the operation of the biggest hotel."

  The ex-governor said slowly, "You are almost saying that Danzig set a moral tone for the town."

  "That's exactly what he did."

  He saw surprise and disbehef in their eyes, and tried to convince them. "Why do you think so few gangsters have come to Vegas? Because Danzig kept them out."

  He paused, suddenly reahzing that they did not understand what he was saying, that they did not want to understand. To them he was still a foreigner. They were jealous of Vegas, of the upstart city which threatened to eclipse Reno in both size and importance.

  He set his jaw grimly. He'd tell them whether they be-heved or not. "Nothing hke Vegas has happened in modem America. Vegas was really bom the day Benji Danzig opened the Peacock.

  "Without tourists it would shrivel and die overnight. It owes nothing to Nevada save the gambling laws, for it draws its customers from the four corners of the earth. And Danzig led the way. Danzig showed that you can safely spend money on a mirage. Danzig held off the Syndicate single-handed until they killed him. If his associates get the hotel, I don't know what will happen. Maybe the whole point of view of the town wiU deteriorate. That's why I'd like to see the Peacock in Nevada hands."

  "It's a terrible town." A rancher stood up. "I wouldn't invest a nickel in the place."

  Chance wanted to argue, to point out that despite its huge floating population, Vegas' crime rate was not high. He wanted to point to the new homes building, to the increased schools, to a hundred other things.

  What was the use? Only Kern seemed to understand that the Peacock should be bought, because it was important to both the town and the state that the hotel be run right, that by the example of its operation it could set a standard for all future development.

  Chance tried to push them. 'Various interests are scrambling for control of the Peacock. A firm offer at the moment, covering the debts and mortgages, would be snapped up now. In a few days it wiU be too late."

  The ex-governor asked, "There are other hotels being built. Do you know who is behind them?" "No."

  "How many hotels do you think Vegas can support?" "None. The tourists support hotels, and one properly run will bring in more toinists. It will create business. There is a limit, of course, but barring a depression, I don't think we will reach that limit soon."

  He sat down. He knew he had failed to make them comprehend his belief in the magnitude of Vegas' possible futin-e. He said as much to John Kern after the meeting. "I'm afraid I made a hash of things. I'm afraid I'm not much of a salesman, John."

  Kern said tiredly, "You had a hostile audience. They don't understand the forces in Vegas. I'm not certain I do myself. JBxit you, you love the place, don't you?"

  Chance stopped pacing, in front of Kern's desk. "I guess so. It's kind of hard to put into words. There's a drive about the place. Danzig felt it, I think. He sacrificed everything for that hotel."

  "I wonder who will get it?"

  Chance did not know. It hurt to think that Cellini or someone like him might take it over. He said, "I've got a funny

  feeling. I think Danzig would rather I took it over than anyone else."

  "And if the racketeers get it, will they take over the town?" Chance shook his head. "I don't believe so. Five years ago, yes, but not now. Vegas has changed. It's a city with a Rotary, a Kiwanis, a Lions Club. It has a civic pride and the whole picture is different. The future owners of the gambUng clubs will be graduates of Harvard's School of Business Administration. The day when a hoodlum can run a big hotel is going. When you first voted gambling in, the only people who could run your clubs were people like me, who had got their training outside the law. That isn't true any more. I've got three college men working for me, boys who never had anything to do with the rackets, who never carried a gun in their hves."

  "Is that the kind of people you'd hire to run your hotel?"

  "My hotel." Chance's laugh was a nasty sound. "I've quit dreaming, John. My last dream was that we might buy the Peacock. I'll dream no more."

  "StiU have that land on the Strip?"

  Chance nodded.

  "Still have your plans?"

  Chance nodded again.

  "How much would your restaurant bring?**

  "We were offered eight hundred and seventy-five thousand six months ago. I turned it down."

  "Could you get it now?"

  "I think so. A group of club-owners made the offer."

  "Would you sell and throw the money into a new hotel?"

  Chance swallowed slowly. "What are you getting at, John?"

  "Would you?"

  Chance's lips were suddenly dry. "You know I would. But what does that mean? I'd need at
least three milfion more."

  "I'll back you."

  Chance stared at him. "I don't get it, John. You have all the money you need, that you'll ever need. You don't want to be in the gambling business."

  Kern shrugged. "You've played my game for years. It did not work out the way we hoped, but then the thing we both

  feared hasn't happened yet, either. Nevada is still free. I think that a big hotel, independently owned, well and honestly run, will act as a check on any racketeers who try to come into Vegas. Maybe Tm doing it for you. Maybe I'm doing it for Nevada. Who knows?"

  They shook hands solemnly. Chance wondered if any deal of this size had ever been consummated so casually. Leaving Kern's oflSce, Chance knew the impulse to celebrate. Kem had asked him to come out to his house for dinner, but he did not want to. Anything they said to each other would be anti-climactic.

  At the moment, there was only one person he wanted to talk to—Judy. He went back to his hotel and called her Los Angeles apartment. There was no answer. He checked planes for Los Angeles. He could not get one until the following morning. Hell, he'd better get back to Vegas. But first he'd phone Doc.

  He heard Doc answer and said, "This is Chance. What's new?"

  He expected Doc to say, "Nothing." Then he would say, "You're wrong. There is something new. Doc. I've got our hotel."

  There was a pause at the Vegas end of the wire, then Doc's voice, sounding strained, sounding as if Doc's necktie was pulled too tight. "I just had a wire from Judy. She married Red Tooker in Tia Juana this afternoon."

  Chance sat stunned. Doc sounded worried. "Chance, you still there? You all right?"

  He managed to say mechanically, "Of course I'm still here. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

  "Well, you didn't say anything and . . ."

  "What is there to say?"

  Doc could have been crying. "Why did she have to marry that jerk? Why?"

  Chance knew why she had married Tooker. If he had gone to Los Angeles when she'd called, instead of worrying about the damned hotel. . . . He hung up and buried his face in his hands. The phone rang and rang. It was probably Doc caUing back. He made no move to answer.

  Suddenly he started to laugh, wild laughter with a note of hysteria. This was the crowning irony. A moment before he had thought that everything he had wanted in hfe was within his grasp—the hotel, Judy. Without her the hotel did not seem to mean much.

  It was a shame Benji Danzig couldn't have lived to see the trick fate had played on him. Danzig was the only man he had ever known who wanted things with the same deep intensity that he did. Danzig would appreciate the irony. Benji had gotten his hotel, but Benji wasn't here to laugh. Benji was dead.

  He walked across the floor as if he were drunk. He stood at the window, looking down at the river, fists knotted at his sides. Why in hell had the meeting been on this particular day? Why did Judy suddenly have to make up her mind, to need his counsel, today? Damn Red Tooker. He'd himt the man down and kill him, the silly supercilious bastard. If Judy had to marry someone other than him, why had she chosen Tooker? It would have been easier to take if she had married someone he could respect, but that clown hom-tooter with his ridiculous clothes and his crazy way of talking. . . .

  Chance got his hat and went down to the bar. He took three quick drinks, fast. They did not touch him. He went into the gambhng rooms. The floorman knew him and came over to shake hands. He did something he had never done before in his hfe. He lost five hundred doUars from the customers' side of the table.

  He went back to the bar, took three more drinks. They had no more effect than the first three had. He went out and wandered up the street, finally turning into that department store of gambling, Harold's Club. He stayed twenty minutes, watching. He bought a bottle of hquor and went back to his hotel room.

  Through the night he killed the bottle, searching and measuring himself as he never had before. Doc had been so right. Success could be empty. He had his hotel, and that was all he had.

  S^^t^itex f7

  Chance broached the deal to Doc and Dutch an hour after his plane from Reno had landed.

  First he asked Doc what was new at the Peacock.

  Doc shook his head. "Nothing certain. The town is full of rumors. Goldham, Danzig's brother-in-law, came back with a lawyer and got a court order allowing him into the place. The report is that more people have come out from the East, but no one seems to know what is going on. What happened up north?"

  They were in the oflSce of the restaurant. "Kern tried to get a group to buy the Peacock. Most of them were from Reno, the north. They don't like Vegas."

  "I didn't think it would work. Shame Kern dragged you up there for nothing."

  "It wasn't for nothing. Kern offered to back us in a hotel, on my ground on the Strip."

  Dutch said slowly, "What would we do with this place?"

  "Sell it."

  Dutch frowned. He liked things the way they were. Not only was he making more money than he had ever expected to have, but he had a position in the town. And Dutch had always been hesitant about change.

  From past experience Chance knew that Dutch would grumble but in the end would go along. It was Doc he had to sell. Doc had never hked the confinement of the restaurant. Doc did not really hke Vegas. You settled down in Vegas, and built homes and put down roots. Doc was stiU afraid of roots, they threatened his freedom.

  "Who tor

  "That group of club-owners who tried to buy a few months back. I'll see them in the morning. I'll ask one million. Maybe we can get nine hundred thousand. Capital-gains tax will take a fouirth, but it will still leave us six to seven hundred

  fhousand—Kern will guarantee our loans up to three million, and it will be ours.** But there was no exultation in his voice.

  Doc looked at him thoughtfully. This was what Chance had wanted from the first, the biggest joint in town. Doc sighed. It was hard enough trying to get away from the restaurant. What would it be trying to get away from a hotel?

  He knew that the thing for him to do was to get up right now, to walk out, to make his interest over to Dutch and Chance. He didn't actually care about the money. But he knew that he was not going to run out on Chance. If Chance had ever needed him, it was now, with Judy gone.

  He was worried about him. Chance looked bad and had not mentioned Judy since his return. It wasn't natural to keep yourself all bottled up the way Chance did. You should talk things out once in a while, like a boiler blowing oflF excess steam.

  But he did not want to say anything in front of Dutch. Dutch never knew much more about what was going on than Joe did. In some ways, Joe and Dutch were lucky. They seldom worried because they did not have sense enough to know there was anything to worry about.

  He did not have an opportunity to talk to Chance about Judy until the following afternoon. Chance had spent the whole morning with the prospective purchasers. He had made the deal, nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Doc whistled when he heard it.

  The agreement called for Doc and Dutch and Leon to stay at the restam-ant for six months, to help the purchasers break in the new staff. Chance was more like himself when he came in. "IVe got a date with the architects at eight tonight. I want some changes in the plans, things I noticed at the Peacock. We should have the first contracts let by the middle of next week.**

  Doc was uncomfortable. "Sit down a minute. Let's talk."

  Chance looked at him. Chance knew what was on Doc's mind. Sometimes he could read Doc like a book. "Let's don't."

  "Yes," said Doc. "It hit you pretty hard, hearing about Judy. I could tell it over the phone, even if I hadn't known it would.**

  "So, it hit hard."

  "Look, for Christ sake. You don t have to keep your guard up with me. I'm supposed to be a friend, remember."

  Chance came over and gripped his shoulders hard. "Of coiurse I remember. No one ever had the kind of friend you've been to me. I'm damn lucky, but I just don't want to talk about it, even to you." />
  "It won't last. Judy's too smart to be tied to that idiot.**

  "So, it doesn't last."

  "You won't hold it against her, will you, that she married someone else first? A kid in that crazy business is hable to get carried away and—"

  Chance said gently, "It wasn't Judy's fault. Doc. There's nothing to hold against her. If anyone was to blame it was me. Now, let's just wait and see what happens, and let's don't think about it."

  Doc went out, shaking his head. Chance stumped him. There wasn't a doubt in Doc's mind that Chance loved Judy. But the boy never let go. He kept his emotions under such a tight rein that Doc feared he would blow up sometime.

  Chance considered what Doc had said. That it would not last. The thought had not occurred to him before. He was not religious, but to him there had always been something permanent about a marriage.

  No, it might not last, but he was certain that the memory of Red Tooker would always linger in his mind, that he would never feel quite the same about Judy again.

  His fists clenched and he lowered his head against them. Damn it aU, he had to get a grip on himself. He'd just about gone to pieces in Reno. He couldn't do that again. He had a lot of things to do, he had to keep his mind clear. He couldn't spend his time thinking about Judy, no matter what he felt.

  It was two months before the plans were set, the first building loan arranged and the contracts let. In these two months a lot happened in Las Vegas. The timnoil over the Peacock had settled into a kind of uneasy truce. CeUini had done his thirty days in the San Bernardino County jail and was much in evidence. But according to Chance's detectives, who still

  held their positions at the hotel, Cellini had made no attempt to take over either the ownership or the management. The Peacock had been sold by Danzig's wife and heirs, represented by Goldham, to a group headed by the manager of one of the big motels. This group's components were not annoimced pubHcly, but it was announced that they had paid one million and a half in cash and assumed obhgations between six and seven miUion.