“Is there anything else I can do?”
Mason emptied his glass and savored the warmth of the liquor scorching its way down to his belly. “Can you loan me twenty thousand dollars?” he asked.
“I can go as high as three.”
“Really? I was just joking about the money.”
“You need it and that’s no joke,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind helping you out.”
Leaning one elbow against the bar, Mason turned to face her directly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . why?”
“Why help you?”
“I appreciate the thought, but we only just met. That seems like an awfully big favor.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been on the gambling circuit for a while myself. I took a few losses that seemed they would be the end of me . . . in more ways than one. The worst of those seemed pretty close to hopeless. Frankly I thought I might be . . .” She trailed off and shuddered slightly. Watching her, Mason knew exactly how she felt. If he somehow clawed his way out of this hole, he was sure he’d shudder when looking back on it no matter how many years had passed.
Putting on a brave smile, Maggie said, “It was a bad time and someone helped me out of it. Someone I didn’t know very well. Someone who came through for me when people I’d known for years only thought to run for cover.”
“Sounds like you were in quite a pickle,” Mason said.
“To say the least.” She tapped the bar with her glass so the man tending it would return with the bottle again. “I’d thought the man who was helping me was only doing it so he could . . . so I would . . . well . . .”
“I understand,” Mason said before she was forced to relive even more of what were clearly unsavory memories. “I’ve often marveled at how boorish men can be where the fairer sex is concerned.”
The way Maggie laughed, it seemed she didn’t know whether Mason was saying that honestly or was just trying to put on a kind appearance for her. Her features softened right before she looked away from him, and when she spoke, it was in a softer, more familiar tone. “I’m ashamed to admit, when I thought this man’s motives were the same as almost every other man’s, I was still ready to accommodate him if it meant getting the money I needed.”
“Must have been even worse than I’d imagined.”
She nodded, started to lift her drink to her lips, and then paused with the glass halfway raised. Then Maggie smiled. “Before I threw myself at him like an idiot, he handed over the money.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I asked why, much like you just did, and he told me he did it because he could.”
“I’ve heard that explanation given before,” Mason said. “Usually it’s to justify wickedness instead of generosity.”
“Yes. I’ve heard it too and I kept waiting for this man’s wickedness to show through. It never did, though. He was no saint, but he meant what he’d told me and was true to his word. I took the money he offered because I couldn’t afford not to. I repaid what I could and he moved on before I could settle even half of my debt to him. Before he left, he told me to do the same for someone else someday.”
“I can’t believe I’m the first man you’ve met at a card table who was in need of money from a generous stranger.”
“Not by a long shot,” she said. “But you’re one of the few that deserve it. Also, you’re the only one who deserves it and just so happened to be there when I have enough money to make this offer.” Straightening up and speaking in a crisper, more businesslike voice, Maggie explained, “I did well tonight and I’ve got a few men in my sights who should enable me to do even better. Take the money, Abner.”
For once, Mason didn’t mind hearing his first name used in a conversation with someone who wasn’t a blood relative. “How long will you be on the Jack?” he asked.
“I like it here. I don’t have any plans to leave for a while.”
“Good. I’ll accept your more than generous offer, but on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t go anywhere until I get a chance to pay you back. If you do have to disembark,” he added, “kindly leave word for me so I’ll know where to find you.”
She lifted her glass. “From what I’ve seen of you in action, I’d guess you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“I do like the way you think, Maggie.”
Their glasses clinked together and their eyes met in a very promising way. Before he could be too distracted, Mason spotted someone else who held promise of a different sort.
Being someone who was well versed in reading any man in front of her, Maggie immediately saw the change in Mason’s face and followed his line of sight directly to what had caught his attention. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“You see that fellow over there?”
“Yes. The one at the craps table. Is he one of Greeley’s men?”
“No, no,” he chuckled. “Nothing like that. He’s someone I’ve been keeping my eye on for a short while.”
Maggie nodded. “Ah, I see. You heard he’s had a run of good luck and doesn’t exactly know how to keep a firm hold of his money.”
Snapping his eyes back to her, Mason asked, “How could you possibly know all that just by looking at him?”
“That’s Virgil Slake,” she said, which surprised Mason even more. “Dell may not exactly be the best when it comes to cutting a woman’s hair, but he does have a lot of interesting stories to tell.”
“And here I thought he only told those stories to his best customers.”
“He does. Considering how long he took while sweeping the few clippings from the front of my dress, I’d say I’m one of his favorites.”
“What did he tell you about that one over there?” Mason asked while nodding in Virgil’s direction.
“Pretty much what I told you. He wanted payment for any more than that, and I figured I could get information about another gullible little fish in this pond for free.” Smiling in a way that would have warmed any man’s heart, she added, “I was right.”
“Yes, well, I did pay for the extra information and I believe I may be able to get my hands on some more of that money I needed.”
“Mr. Mason, I hope you’re not going to make me part of something illegal.”
Mason winced at the tentative sound of her voice, which Maggie seemed to find very amusing.
“I’ve fleeced plenty of men before and not just at the card table,” she said. “What do you have in mind for this one?”
“Something of a loan.”
“Something of one?”
“Yes,” Mason replied. “Except he doesn’t know he’d be loaning it to me. I sincerely doubt he would be as kindhearted as you.”
Just then, as if to bring Mason’s point fully across, Virgil howled angrily before slamming a fist down on the craps table in front of him. When one of the other men there tried to have a word with him, Virgil responded by shoving the man back and tossing his beer into the man’s face.
“I can see how one might not consider that one to be very kindhearted,” Maggie said.
The next bets were quickly placed, the dice were rolled, and Virgil announced the outcome by howling again. This time, he raised his voice in celebration and clapped on the back the same fellow he’d just pushed.
“How do the blowhards find a way to be just as obnoxious when they’re happy as when they’re angry?” Mason groaned.
“It’s a gift they all have,” Maggie said. “The good thing is it makes it so much easier for people like us to knock them down a few pegs. Speaking of which, tell me some more about this loan you’re proposing.”
“Dell told me Mr. Slake over there has been doing significant damage to the faro table as well as that craps game.”
“He’s been here for days and he’s still ahead? Just p
laying faro and craps? That’s almost unheard of.”
“Not if he’s cheating.”
Maggie nodded. “That would fall in line with what I heard as well. What would you like from me?”
“Think you could distract him for a while?” Mason asked. “Maybe for half an hour?”
She adjusted her posture so her natural assets were on even more prominent display. Pulling a few strands of hair to hang in front of her face and releasing her braid so the rest of it flowed over her shoulders, she said, “I think I can manage that.”
Chapter 13
Maggie was so good at her appointed task that Mason wanted to stay in that card room just to watch her work. Since he had some work of his own to do, he pulled himself away from there and made his way to the next deck up. Along the way, he spotted a few overmen who watched him carefully without making a move to get in his way. Mason tipped his hat to the enforcers and moved along until he got to a short, narrow hallway filled with doors numbered one through ten.
Someone stepped out of door eight: a short man in a crisp black suit with a silver chain across his midsection. He nodded to Mason, checked his watch, and hurried down the hall. Not long ago, Mason had been that fellow with the uppermost priority being getting to the next card game. Soon he might be that fellow again. For the moment, however, he was the fellow who broke into another man’s room with bad intentions in mind. Fortunately this wasn’t Mason’s first go-round in that role.
According to Dell the barber, the door Mason wanted was number six. He tried the knob, hoping against hope that his job would be easy. The door was locked. “Oh well,” he muttered while reaching around to the small of his back. “Nothing good ever comes easy.”
He pulled the dagger from its hidden scabbard without making a sound. The tip of the blade was scratched along a section that was less than an inch long, and when he stuck the blade into the door’s lock, he imagined he’d add a few more imperfections to the metal. Rather than look at what he was doing, Mason shifted to stand sideways so he could watch the hallway in case anyone happened along at the wrong time. He didn’t need to see his hands to know what was going on down there. He could feel the blade grinding against the lock’s mechanism, which told him everything he needed to know. After guiding the dagger farther, he was able to twist it and open the door.
“Sometimes,” he whispered while entering room six, “I wonder why anyone bothers to lock these.”
Even though he’d been perfectly satisfied with his own room, Mason had been well aware it was small. Compared to Vernon’s accommodations, his were spacious. The bunk folded down from the wall and was held in place by a chain at the upper and lower corners. Beneath the bunk and sticking out a little bit was a flat chest with a smaller lock embedded in its front panel. A small table folded out from the wall below a porthole like a miniature version of the bed, but was supported by a wooden post that fit into notches cut into the wall as well as the bottom of the panel. A small chamber pot was in one corner of the room, and that was all there was to see.
“No wonder he plays so much faro,” Mason said. “He doesn’t have enough room to stay in here for long.” He rubbed his hands together and said, “All right, then. This shouldn’t take long.”
The first place where Mason set his sights was the chest below the bunk. Of course, it helped that there wasn’t much of any other place for someone to hide something in that cabinet of a room. Before raising the bunk, he lifted the paper-thin mattress and ran his hand along every inch of the frame. That took all of five seconds, but at least it put his mind at ease when he folded the bunk up and held it in place with a leather strap hanging from the wall that connected to a hook on the edge of the bunk.
Mason squatted down to get a look at the chest. It was about two feet wide and less than half of that in height. The size of the lock was suited for a key the size of one that might unlock a set of handcuffs. He knew how to pick a smaller lock like that one, but he didn’t have the tools with him. “Eh, to hell with it,” he grunted as he jammed the dagger’s blade beneath the lid and used it as a lever to force it open. Inside, the chest was filled with some folded shirts, a few neckties, and some pairs of wool socks. Mason went for the socks, felt them, and found they were empty.
“Hope springs eternal,” he sighed before putting the socks back.
Before he started emptying the chest, he felt along the interior of the lid. It was lined with a thin layer of felt, which brought a smirk to Mason’s face. Using the dagger once again, he sliced along the inner edge of the lid so he could peel away some of the lining. Stashed under there were five gold coins stamped only with their weight in grams as well as several impressions made by the teeth of men looking to gauge their authenticity.
Since the felt had been undamaged before he got there, Mason guessed those gold coins were Virgil’s holdout stash. If things went badly, every gambler kept a private bankroll tucked away to get them on his feet again. As far as he knew, none of the games on the Jack paid out in gold, which pointed once again to those coins being Virgil’s backup. Mason set them down next to the chest and started emptying the clothing onto the floor as well. After removing the socks, two shirts, and three ties, he hit bottom.
“What the hell?” he grumbled.
The chest wasn’t large, but it should have been able to hold more than that. Mason knocked on the bottom while looking at the outside of the container. By his estimation, only half of the chest’s storage capacity was being used by the clothing. He shook his head.
“Virgil, Virgil, Virgil,” he said while feeling along the edges of the chest’s interior. “If you’re going to give one of these a false bottom, you need to make the compartment a bit smaller. That way,” he added as his fingertip grazed along a notch in the front edge of the chest’s bottom, “it’s not so easy to spot. I should have a word with you when this is through.”
The tip of the dagger came in handy yet again. This time, he just needed to loosen the panel at the bottom of the chest to pry it loose. It came off with a small amount of convincing to reveal several neatly arranged stacks of money. Mason’s heart skipped a beat. He put the dagger away so he could sink both hands into the treasure trove just to feel all that cash for himself. “I never get sick of this,” he sighed. He dug his hands in a little deeper with the intention of pulling as much of the cash out as possible. Instead he found something else.
“What have we here?” Mason said as he removed a good portion of the cash.
It turned out the stacks of money had been piled in a way that created yet another hidden space. Situated on the true bottom of the trunk with stacks of cash all around were two devices. One was a rectangular metal box that was open on the top and had a steel rod running all the way through it. The rod was connected to a knob on one end and was built to hold two dice in place so they could be shaved.
“Very naughty,” Mason said while running one finger along the dice. Sure enough, they’d both been shaved along specific edges so that when they were thrown, they were likelier to roll a certain way. Someone with enough practice could tip the odds significantly in their favor. It was a crude method of cheating that relied mostly on switching the shaved dice with the ones being used at the craps table being set up for a fall.
The second device was much smaller. A short ivory handle was connected to a small iron cage that was just large enough to hold a single die in place. Holes in the cage corresponded to pips on the die, and a small spike sharpened to a point at one end was used to bore a hole into the pip. That hole could then be filled with something heavy like metal shavings or lead and painted to look as it had appeared before. When the loaded dice were rolled, they would favor the weighted side, which meant the number on the opposing side would come up much more often than not.
No matter how many cons he might have run in his years of scraping by to earn a living, Mason couldn’t tolerate someone who cheated at dice
. Those were the same heavy-handed idiots who rigged roulette wheels or picked another man’s pockets while he was busy with a woman. There was no skill involved. No finesse. No style.
Mason rarely needed to cheat any longer, but he knew the amount of practice involved with being able to sway those odds. The tricks needed to skew a poker game were similar to sleight of hand used by stage magicians, and those men were considered artists. Being able to shuffle a deck of cards while keeping them in the same order was a skill. Picking cards out using only a sense of touch that had been honed finely enough to detect the weight difference of face cards versus number cards was extraordinary. Rigging dice only required tools.
Since he was already squatting, Mason hunkered down a bit farther and brushed his hand against the floor. What could easily have passed for grit or flecks that had fallen from the bed frame or chains now struck Mason in a whole other way. Judging by the amount of scrapings and metal shavings lying around, Virgil had been quite busy in his room to improve his chances at the craps tables.
“Now, this explains quite a lot,” Mason said. “Makes things a whole lot easier too.”
Greeley had been correct when he said that most, if not all, professional gamblers cheated in one way or another. When a gambler got caught at cheating, he had to accept the consequences. For Virgil Slake, his consequences were a lot better than if he’d been caught by Greeley’s overmen.
Outside, footsteps knocked against the floorboards.
“I’ll leave your coins, Virgil,” Mason said as he began stuffing his pockets with cash. “That way you’ll at least have something to get by with for a while.”
The footsteps came to a stop and someone in the hallway tugged on the handle of Virgil’s door.
Mason hurried to collect two more fistfuls of cash before standing up. His hands were still in his pockets when the door was opened by a man who most definitely wasn’t Virgil Slake.
Chapter 14
The man who’d opened the door wouldn’t have drawn much attention no matter what room he was in. Mason only recognized him because he made it his business to watch and remember as many faces as possible whenever he was playing cards in a place for more than two nights in a row. Even though Mason had seen the short fellow with the short hair parted down the middle, that didn’t mean he knew who he was. He did, however, have enough information to make an educated guess.
Ralph Compton Straight to the Noose Page 9
