Free HCC 115 - Borderline by Lawrence Block Page A

would be a good
     day to pass up seeing Betty, the bouncy waitress. He found another diner where he’d
     been a few times before. He sat at the counter, had ham and fried eggs sunny side
     up and three cups of coffee. In this diner there was no waitress, just a counterman
     with tattoos on both arms and a surly expression on his face. The counterman didn’t
     say two words to Marty in the course of the meal. Marty decided that this was fine,
     and much better than Betty and her big tits. He decided to eat breakfast there regularly.
     The food was just as good, and they let you eat it in peace.
    He smoked three Luckies, one with each cup of coffee. He left the lunch counter and
     drove the blue Olds to a cigar store a half mile away. The clerk looked up at him
     when he entered and smiled a hello. Marty waited while the clerk finished selling
     a pack of pipe tobacco to a man in a blue cord suit. When the man had left, Marty
     walked closer to the counter.
    He said, “What’s the word?”
    The clerk scratched his bald head. “A feller was around last night,” he said. “Looking
     for a gin rummy game. You play gin rummy, don’t you?”
    “When I can’t help it.”
    “Well, he was looking for a game. He drove up in a fishtail Cadillac with Florida
     plates on her.”
    “What stakes does he play?”
    “He said something about a dollar a point. Hollywood, spades double. I think that’s
     the way he said it. I don’t know gin rummy so I can’t be sure, but that sounds about
     right. It mean anything?”
    “It means an expensive game,” Marty said. “A stupid game. You get a heavy hand and
     you fall on a lot of money. The cards do all the work. All you need is a card memory
     and a head for odds and the cards do the rest.”
    The clerk didn’t say anything. Marty took out a cigarette, lit it. He said, “Maybe
     the guy’s a card mechanic. Maybe he’s hustling, looking for a mark.”
    “You mean a cheater?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It don’t appear so,” the clerk said. “He came in here an’ left a string of horse
     bets. Left two hundred dollars, with me, maybe a bit more.”
    “What did he play?”
    “Long shots, mostly. Played ’em on the nose.”
    “Then he’s not a crook,” Marty said. “He’s too stupid to be a crook. He’s got too
     much money and he’s looking for ways to lose it. A Miami Beach boyo heading across
     the country in his Cad and looking for action on the way. I don’t want to play him.”
    “Why not?”
    “He could get lucky and beat me. Gin is mostly luck, especially the rules he plays
     by. I don’t like the game enough to play. I’ll pass it up.”
    “Suit yourself,” the clerk said. “You want any action?”
    Marty took a five dollar bill from his wallet, passed it to the clerk. “Three and
     five in the double,” he said. “That’s all.”
    He left the cigar store. Marty wasn’t a horse player. It didn’t make sense to him.
     The books took a twenty percent cut and what was left wasn’t worth it. But he liked
     to bet the daily double. All it cost him was five dollars, and when it ever came in
     it was like winning a lottery. The payoff was big enough to make it worthwhile.
    He drove back to his house, slowly. He stopped on the way at a gas station and filled
     the tank with hi-test. He had the Mex kid check the oil and water and put air in the
     tires. He tipped the kid a dollar and headed home again.
    Meg, he thought. That was a broad, that was the right kind of broad. Eyes open, brain
     working right. And good in bed, so good, giving as good as she got, meeting him halfway,
     needing him just as he needed her. Meg was fine. He was glad he had picked her up.
    In front of him, a traffic light turned red. He double-clutched the car, down-shifted
     to second, eased the brake on. While he waited for the light to turn green again he
     thought some more about Meg. She said she wanted excitement. She wanted to let go
     of everything, that was the way she put