Delta Factor, The

by Mickey Spillane

  But there was something I could find out for myself if my lucky streak hadn’t run out.

  Lisa Gordot pinched a small stack of chips between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes watching the cubes flash across the dark green felt of the crap table. Twice she played the pass line, lost, then came back even when she dropped a couple on a field number. She had changed into a black sheath and had done something different to her hair, but this time there was no gaiety in her eyes and little worried lines touched her forehead as she scanned the table and the players.

  I moved in next to her and without looking, said, “Still think I’m lucky?”

  First, only her eyes moved, ready to cut me off, then she recognized me and a smile brightened her face. It was the look of relief a drowning person has when he grabs a floating plank. It was there for only a second before she disguised it and it was something she never knew I read and understood, but it was my jungle too and I had been up too many trails and could spot all the signs.

  “Well,” she said blithely, “my benefactor has returned to the wars. I was beginning to think the laws of chance and not of fortune regulated this fascinating sport.”

  “It does,” I told her.

  She showed me her chips. “This says not.”

  “Want a system?”

  “I thought you were brilliant enough to stay with your luck.”

  “Let’s try the laws of chance first. I’ll show you something.”

  “I’m willing to learn.” She slid her hand through my arm and gave me an impish grin. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “Like what?”

  “What would you like?” The grin was still there.

  “Let’s stay with the dice first,” I said. “How many times do the field numbers hit?”

  Her eyebrows raised in thought a moment. “Not too often.”

  “Because the wipe-out numbers come more often. Now, wait until the shooter misses four field numbers in a row. From that time on the law of averages says the field will show. It may take a while, but give it a try.”

  “Play with me?”

  “Why not?”

  So we held our places and watched the game. It took thirty-five minutes, but the combination came up three times. The guy rolling the dice was fast enough to show the pattern and after four misses at the field we scored. Once we had to double to recover, but it came up good. I sweated out six passes to stretch it, laid six big chips on the longest odds on the table, laughed when it went into the pocket and laughed again when Lisa picked up the stack that was shoved her way.

  “You’re right, my wild friend. It’s a winning way, but it can take a long, long time and they have limits here.”

  “Okay, so I’ll take the dice.”

  Her hand squeezed my arm. “How did I ever find you?”

  “Luck,” I said. “Not law of averages.”

  A couple at the table remembered me from the last hot streak and it didn’t take long for word to get around. I threw two sevens and the big money came out with a babble of happy voices, everybody shoving to get their chips on the table. Lisa let out a bright squeal of pleasure, let everything ride behind me, chewed her lip when I was making my points and was quivering with excitement by the time I was on my fourteenth lucky roll.

  But there was no fifteenth roll. The short, stocky manager was there beside me smiling a sick, oily smile and waved his hands out to the stickman and said, “I am sorry, sir, this table is now closed.”

  The anguished moans and indignant voices all started in at once, but he was adamant behind his smile and the protests went right past him. He gave me a short bow, still smiling, and said, “Simply a house policy, sir. You may resume play at another table. Unfortunately, you have broken the bank at this one.”

  “Sort of blows my streak though, doesn’t it?” I laughed and threw the cubes back on the table. “Forget it. I got enough for this time around. How about you, Lisa?”

  She finished stuffing the chips into her handbag, picked up two more handfuls, clutching them to her breasts, the excitement like a fine sheen of sweat on her lovely face. “Whatever you want, big man. Anything you want.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  I laughed again and reached for my chips. “Then let’s cash in and see how far ‘anything’ goes.”

  Lisa’s totally uninhibited play had gotten her a little over twelve thousand dollars. I had stayed on the conservative side and cleared three, but some of the others had gone overboard too and cleaned up the bank at the table. I stuck my cash in my pocket, but Lisa didn’t want to carry hers or leave it in her room, so she excused herself, went to the desk and after a lengthy conversation with the clerk, passed him several bills and put the rest in an envelope for deposit in the safe.

  Apparently she had paid off her bill, because the desk clerk was full of smiles when he passed her the receipts. I stood at the bar toying with a drink and watched her leggy stride take her to me, her blond hair a golden, fluffy crown she tossed as she walked. It was all there, the invitation, the promise, the pleasure, the way she held her hand out to me and squeezed when I took it.

  “Lovely man,” she told me. “My lovely Mr. Winters and I don’t even know your first name.”

  “Er ... Morgan,” I said.

  “Morgan.” She said it with a caress and squeezed my hand again. “You have made me a very happy person, Morgan.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to it sooner.”

  “You were in time. It was close, but you came just in time.”

  “Drink?” I asked.

  “Must we here?” The tip of her tongue moistened her lip and her eyes crinkled at me. “I told you I was a pursuer. My suite is amply stocked with all the necessities to see the evening out.”

  “No obligations, kid.”

  “No obligations, Morgan.” Her hand slid easily under my arm and her fingers eased the glass out of my hand. “Come.”

  I put a bill on the bar, grinned at her and walked to the bank of elevators across the lobby. Halfway there a jockey-sized bellboy intercepted us with an apology and said, “Señor Winters, there is a message for you at the desk if you wish to take it.”

  I nodded, excused myself for a second and followed the bellboy. The message wasn’t at the desk. It came from his lips that didn’t move at all when he said, “I am Angelo, Señor Morgan-Winters. Max has told me of you. He is the bartender you spoke to earlier. I wish to suggest to you that you be careful with the Señorita Gordot. Señor Russo Sabin has men who have already reported to him and at the moment he is in the patio bar.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  He faked the act by handing me a note that simply stated I was to call my room, took the tip and walked off while I crumpled the paper and went back to Lisa. “Trouble?” she queried.

  “A business matter I have to take care of. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  “Room 310, Morgan.”

  I pushed the button, waited until the doors opened and ushered her into the elevator. To anyone watching I was simply saying good night to a friend. Then I went back to the bar where I nursed a few drinks through some conversation with the bartender and two tourists.

  It didn’t take long to spot the pair who had been detailed to keep me in sight. Even in tuxedos they had a certain military arrogance they couldn’t conceal. When they were certain I wasn’t noticing them, one went to the desk and picked the scrap of paper from the wastebasket I had thrown there, scanned it briefly and threw it back. A wry face and a shrug explained to his buddy that it was of no consequence and I grinned at their reflections in the back-bar mirror.

  But there was another one I had picked up even earlier. There was nothing recognizable about him or his actions, as much as I could see. It was his position that bothered me. A potted palm interrupted the planes of his face and general configuration, but from where he stood he could see me plainly enough if he wanted to. Apparently he was watching the players at a roulette wheel, but at the s
ame time, could keep me under surveillance too.

  Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have bothered me, but my mind kept referring to the one other time tonight my eyes had picked up the same sort of self-camouflaging when I was rolling the hot dice. I had been too busy to catalog the incident then, but now it came back to me.

  I watched him covertly, making small talk with the tourist, then saw him turn and walk away, the palm still screening his figure. Hell, I thought, I’m getting spooked by nothing at all. How many others could be standing in positions just as commanding as his?

  The tuxedoed pair watched me for another ten minutes, then lost interest until I said so long to everyone and went to the elevator. I gave my floor number to the operator, knowing they’d watch the pointer above the doors or check back with him later. When I got off I headed in the direction of my suite until I heard the elevator doors click shut behind me, then took the stairs down to the third floor and knocked on the panels of 310.

  She had made good use of the time. Her hair was fluffed in a carefully touseled way, the blonde highlights a stark contrast to the sheer black nylon negligee that hugged her body with a static crispness. Behind her on the table a bottle of champagne was cooling next to two glasses and the wall radio gave out the soft rhythm of a sensuous Latin tune.

  With nothing more than a warm, direct look, she invited me in, then shut and locked the door. “Intimate,” I said.

  “It’s supposed to be. Drink?”

  “You pour. I want to use your phone.” I picked up the receiver, got Kim on the second ring and told her where I was and if anybody called there looking for me, she was to tell them I was in the shower and would ring them back. Then she was to call me. I didn’t want to explain with Lisa listening, but I didn’t want to take any chances on Sabin checking up on my whereabouts.

  When she handed me the champagne, Lisa said, “Is it wise to tell your bride about your ... present engagement?”

  “You seem to know a lot about me.”

  “One hears many things in this place, Morgan. A woman can tell a lot of things about other women.”

  “I’ve a very understanding wife.”

  The champagne was cold and sparkling and I looked at her over my glass. “I hope the same thing can be said about your suitor.”

  Her glass stopped midway to her lips. “Oh?”

  “Russo Sabin. I hear he considers you his property.”

  “So you hear many things too, Morgan.”

  “I make it a point when I’m interested in somebody.”

  “Then don’t concern yourself with him. Russo Sabin is a ... a pig. An animal.” A touch of ice showed in her eyes. “He is difficult to discourage. Impossible. He is the one who ...” She stopped there.

  “Who what?”

  “It is nothing,” she said. I held my glass out and let her fill it again. She knew I was watching her, looked up and smiled ironically. “You probably have heard everything about me.”

  “Only in broad outline. I’m still interested.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Sabin might have something going against me too.”

  Lisa put the bottle back in the ice and perched on the arm of a chair, one lovely leg swinging idly, unconscious of the way the negligee fell away from her thigh with each motion. “You are a strange person, Morgan. I don’t know what it is, but you are something you are not supposed to be.”

  “Don’t let it worry you.”

  “I’m not. It might be a help to me. So far you have been the only one that has been useful.”

  “Me and my lucky streak,” I grinned.

  “It will get me away from this damned place.” A harsh tone gave her words a bite. “Since you are no doubt aware of my past, perhaps you really are interested in my present.”

  “Very much since it has Sabin in it.”

  She got up then, walked to the couch and sat down again, her crossed legs showing the same contempt for clothing. “I came here originally as a tourist,” she said. “In reality, I was escaping certain consequences ... legal action a government wanted to take against me. They would very much like to have me back to make a public scandal that will embarrass the opposition party. At least here I was safe for a while. I was hoping to find a ... ah, sponsor who would enable me to eventually reach South America, but made the mistake of attracting the attention of Senor Sabin. He has made sure no such sponsor appeared.” She sipped her drink and moved her shoulders in a small shrug. “That left me only the laws of chance at the gambling tables to finance my plans.”

  “And you couldn’t beat the odds,” I put in.

  “Quite. The odds were all in Señor Sabin’s favor. He has waited me out, knowing I was rapidly becoming impoverished. His attempts to force his attentions upon me have been increasing. He knows very well that sooner or later I will have to capitulate in order to survive.”

  “Then I came along.”

  “Exactly.”

  I hooked a chair with my foot, dragged it close to her and slouched in it. “That bundle you picked up tonight should get you clear, kid.”

  She gave me a wistful smile. “No, I’m afraid not. You see, when I get to my destination there will be certain parties with government influence that will have to be ... paid off. That will take a good deal more. About fifty thousand dollars more.”

  “How long can a lucky streak hold out?”

  She put the glass down and lounged back, watching me with sleepy eyes. “I have a great deal of confidence in yours, Morgan. You are very lucky for me.”

  “Then maybe you can help me stretch it.”

  “Just ask.”

  “You may not like it. Play Sabin along a little. He has me spotted with you. See if he has anything on me and what he’s interested in.”

  “He might make some trouble for you.”

  “I’ll worry about that later. Right now I want an inside track on that guy.”

  Lisa frowned, thinking. Then: “But if he thinks you are interested in me .. or I am in you ... then he will find a way to make you leave and my luck will be gone.”

  “Don’t count on it, baby. I’ll make sure it rubs off on you. There are other ways beside a crap table.”

  For several seconds she didn’t say anything. Then she held out one graceful arm and said, “Come here, Morgan.”

  I got up and walked to the couch, put my glass down and reached for her.

  She shook her head, slowly and deliberately. “Wait.” I watched while she stood up slowly, yanked at the sash that held the negligee shut, saw it flare open with a motion of her arms and fall to the floor at her feet. She was naked and beautiful, lithe as a young tree, but molded with superb artistry from the high rise of her breasts to the sloping channel of her stomach.

  My fingers gently traced the soft curve of her body just once. Just so briefly it was almost to see if she were real or not, and that was as far as it went.

  Behind me Kim said, “Damn you!” and exploded across the room going for Lisa like a cat coming out of a bag and I grabbed her in an armlock and held her so tightly she couldn’t move. She was too mad to do anything but hiss between her teeth.

  Lisa had never moved. She watched it all with an amused smile, then let her eyes dart to mine. “I think you had better take your bride home, Morgan. I can’t blame her for being angry. But you had better not lock her in a closet. She seems to have a way with locks.”

  “She’s an expert,” I said.

  I let her stalk across the room rubbing her arm where I had twisted it, watched her build a drink and toss it down too quickly. “Okay, Kim,” I said, “What was that act for?”

  She spun, facing me with a white face full of anger. “We’re not here to play games, you idiot!”

  “How do you know what I was playing?”

  “What do you call it, Morgan? Standing there with a bare-assed broad ready to trip you up and beat you to the ground. That’s all we need ... all we need to knock this whole package flat on its back. We gave you credi
t for having more sense ... at least to pick anybody better than that... that piece!”

  “Who do you suggest?” I said flatly.

  Both of her hands were clenched into fists, her shoulders heaving with her heavy breathing. She never heard what I said. “Not a damn thing on ...”

  “You could have knocked, baby. You didn’t have to pick the lock. You gave away more of the show with that bit than I did.”

  Her eyes glared at me. In the light from the single lamp her teeth were an even flash of white in the scarlet frame of her mouth and she looked like a beautiful panther ready to pounce. “This isn’t going to be a favorable item in my report. From now on you’re not getting any leeway from me at all.”

  “I can act on my own volition, kitten. They told you that too.”

  Her voice was a soft, deadly purr. “Only if I prefer it to be that way, Morgan. There won’t be any more nonsense like this. And of all people, Lisa Gordot.”

  “I asked you before. Who do you prefer?” I took a step forward, slowly, then another, until I was right in front of her. Almost imperceptibly she moved back.

  What she saw on my face made her drop her hand to her side where she kept the gun and I shook my head. “I could take it away again, girl. I could even get to mine first if that’s the way it had to be played out.”

  She stiffened and her eyes got cold again. “You could only try.”

  “Not so, girl. You wouldn’t use it on me anyway. If you had you would have gone for me instead of Lisa just a few minutes ago.” I grinned at her then. “Thanks.”

  Puzzlement changed the expression on her face. “What for?”

  “Being jealous, my lovely wife. Downstairs you were just plain jealous. Now you’re trying to justify it.”

  Her hand never landed on my face as she intended it to. I grabbed her wrist again, twisted and jerked her to me and wrapped my fingers in the midnight sheen of her hair all in one motion. The startled gasp that rounded her mouth blended into a kiss that went wild with the suddenness of an explosion and turned into a shudder of pure delight as she felt me flip open the buttons of her blouse.