Free The Neon Jungle by John D. MacDonald Page A

blue chips, three raises per player. Rick thought the dollars were landing out there in the middle with a pleasant abundance. The dealer folded immediately. Rick and the banker and the opener were left. The banker raised, Rick raised, the opener raised, the banker raised. It was two dollars to call. Rick put in three. Each man took his full quota of raises. As the opener was the last raiser, and both the banker and Rick called, he spread his hand and said, “Four delightful little tens, gentlemen.”
    The banker spread his hand. A flush.
    “Four bullets,” Rick said joyously, slapping them down. He reached for the pot. The banker encircled his wrist with small cold strong fingers. “A little fast, Mr. Stussen.”
    “What’s the matter? Four aces beats tens, beats a flush.”
    “This kind of a flush, Mr. Stussen. Look again.”
    Rick looked again. He had missed it because they weren’t in order. A three, four, five, six, seven of spades. Straight flush.
    “A rough one to lose, Mr. Stussen,” the banker said. He raked in the chips. They clattered into the wooden bin in front of him. “Very rough.”
    “I’m done,” Rick said dully.
    “I think I’m done too,” said the man who had dealt. “We can’t top that hand. Let’s all settle up.”
    “What have you got left there, Mr. Stussen?” The banker asked.
    Rick looked down. He felt dazed. “Three blues. One red. One-seventy-five.”
    “And you, Mr. Lockter?”
    “My original stack and five blues.”
    “Two-fifty, then.”
    “That was a terrible beating,” Vern said to Rick.
    Rick forced a smile. “Four stacks I lost. All but one-seventy-five.”
    “Here you are, Mr. Lockter,” the banker said. He snapped the bills as he counted them out. “One, two, three, four, five. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Correct?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Rick smiled broadly. By God, that was a good gag. Nobody seemed to notice his smile. Everybody seemed intent on the mathematics. Two of the other three players paid the banker. The man who had just dealt was paid off in hundreds and in fifties, to the amount of twelve hundred and fifty dollars, while Rick sat, still smiling automatically.
    “I seem to be the big winner,” the small white-haired banker said. “Mr. Stussen?”
    “What?”
    “Your liability seems to be exactly seven thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
    “I don’t… I can’t…”
    They were all looking at him. He swallowed hard and smiled and said, “It was… like a mistake, I guess. I thought it was twenty-five cents. Fifty cents.” He swallowed again and laughed. Nobody else laughed. “I haven’t got that kind of money.”
    “I told you the stakes, for God’s sake!” Vern said.
    “Cents, you said, Vern. Cents!”
    “I said dollars. Hell, I thought you could stand that. You told me you’ve been saving dough ever since you were sixteen.”
    “In the savings account I’ve got eleven hundred, almost.”
    The banker looked different. He didn’t look as nice and friendly. His eyes were different. “People just don’t do that to me, Stussen. They never have and they never will.”
    “Do what? Do what?”
    “Come in here and try to make a killing without the money to back your losses. Nobody gets away with that. I think, Lockter, you better take your absurd friend over in a corner and tell him the facts of life.”
    Rick went over into a corner with Vern. Vern said, “My God, you played stupid! I thought you knew. Hell, I’ll toss in my two-fifty, but that isn’t going to help much. What have you got on you?”
    “Fifty-two dollars, Vern. Honest.”
    “Don’t you know who that guy is?”
    “I forget his name.”
    “Karshner. They call him the Judge. He’s never been any judge. He works for a very big guy in this town. The biggest. Karshner snaps his fingers and some boys come take you out and bury you in quick lime, Rick. Get your hands off me and stop blubbering.”
    “What am I going to do?”
    “I don’t know.