3

The dice ricocheted from the backboard, bounced back on two separate trajectories across the green felt and came up three and four. The shooter groaned, money changed hands, and the dice passed to Dan Leach. "Operate the numbers for me," he said, and Grofield said, "Sure."

You couldn't get out of one of these Strip hotels without going through the casino. Grofield wasn't a gambling man, but Dan was, so on the way by he'd said, "Let's earn us our plane fare anyway."

"Not me."

"Well, I will. Hang in and watch, and take the free drinks."

Grofield had nothing to do until he took another plane out of here tomorrow, so he'd stayed. Dan obviously had played on a Las Vegas-style layout before, and he'd been picking up a few dollars on the other shooters' rolls. Now he had a chance on his own roll.

"For the boys," he said, to begin with, and dropped a one dollar chip on the six-five come. If he rolled an eleven, the four housemen it took to work this table would split the fifteen dollars that bet would win; if he rolled any other number, that dollar would be lost.

"Thank you for the chance, sir," said the stickman neutrally, and pushed Dan the dice; red translucent plastic with large white dots.

Dan rolled the dice between both palms, to warm them. He had the slightly loose smile on his face that has nothing to do with humor, but that means the player feels at home, his adrenalin is pumping. He held the dice in his right hand, shook once, and threw.

Six-two.

"The point is eight," said the stickman, and drew the dice back down the table to Dan.

Dan said to Grofield, "Cover the numbers."

"Right."

Across from Grofield, in six squares imprinted on the felt were the numbers 4 5 6 8 9 and 10. A round black thing something like a hockey puck had been put by the houseman there over the 8 square; that was the shooter's number, and could not be bet. Grofield put three dollars of Dan's chips on each of the other numbers. If he rolled one of those numbers before rolling either his point – eight – or losing with a seven, the house would pay off on that number. No bet would be lost on any of those numbers until he either won or lost his try to make his point; the money could ride, roll after roll.

"Keep 'em covered," Dan said, rolling the dice around between his palms again. "I feel a long roll coming on."

"I'm on it," Grofield promised.

Dan proceeded to roll thirty-four times without either a seven or an eight coming up. Twice in the course of it he had Grofield up the bets covering the five numbers, the second time to fifteen dollars each. On the thirty-fifth roll, the dice did their jig and wound up four-four. The lady across the way with twenty-five dollars on the hard way blew Dan a kiss, and he winked at her. The houseman inspected the dice again – he'd been inspecting them every four or five rolls – and another houseman pushed the rest of Dan's winnings to him. It made a messy mountain at his corner of the table.

Dan said to Grofield, "Cover don't-come for me. I'm through. I can feel it."

"Done."

Dan threw a five. Grofield covered don't-come, and Dan threw a seven. He won some and he lost some. "That's it," he said. He passed the dice to the red-haired man to his left, and he and Grofield filled their pockets with chips and went over to the cashier's window to turn them in.

It came to twelve-thousand eight-hundred dollars. Dan looked at his watch and said, "An hour and ten minutes. That's not bad wages."

"Not at all," Grofield said.

Dan looked at him, stuffing money away. "You don't gamble at all?"

Grofield thought of the fourteen nickels. "Sometimes I take a whirl," he admitted. "I never had a night like you, though."

"I believe I'll go back to the hotel and pack," Dan said. "Nice to see you again."

"Sure. You hear of anything else, keep me in mind."

"That I will."

They went outside and took separate cabs to their separate small-time motels far from the Strip.