Gamblers Don't Win Read Free Page A

driver, and went in.
    A man at the bar spoke to him and Bill nodded in return, without stopping. He went towards the back of the long room, passed the screen which separated the beer bar from the tables at the rear, and looked around. He had no idea that he would recognize her. She’d probably changed in six years. Six years, that would make her about twenty, no, nearer twenty-one.
    The room was not crowded. An orchestra on a raised platform played fitfully, and there were perhaps fifty people at the tables clustered about the small dance-floor. Lennox nodded as one of the proprietors, an ex-picture heavy, came up to him. “How’s things, Fred?”
    The man said: “Not good, not bad.” His face was flat, with a broken nose and bushy eyebrows. He grinned and led Lennox towards one of the leather-upholstered wall booths. “Alone?”
    Bill said: “I’m meeting a girl here. She’ll probably ask for me.”
    The man nodded and moved away as a waiter came forward. Lennox ordered beer, took a long pull at the glass, and looked around. A leading comedian was at a corner table with four women. Lennox knew that he was a little drunk, that he was always a little drunk; but, drunk or sober, he was funny, and Bill grinned in spite of himself as the man raised a hand in salute. Then someone touched his shoulder and he came to his feet to see a dark-haired girl facing him.
    She wore a suit of heavy tweed, fur trimmed, with a little hat that perched above one ear. There was something about her that spoke of assurance, capability and of a seriousness that wasn’t lost even when she smiled. “Bill Lennox. I’d have known you anywhere.”
    He smiled and pulled the table aside so that she could enter the booth. “I should say the same, Betty, but it wouldn’t be true. Still, you do look like Bert.”
    Color stained her cheeks slightly and was gone. Lennox said: “How is Bert?”
    Her eyes widened. “Didn’t you know? He was killed in an automobile accident two years ago.”
    Lennox swore to himself. “I’m sorry, Kid. He was a swell pal.”
    â€œIt means a lot to hear you say that,” she told him. “Bert liked you.”
    â€œAnd what happened to the stable?” Lennox asked, when he had finished ordering beer for her, and sandwiches.
    â€œI’m running it.” Her lips twisted slightly. “I’ve got eight horses out here. Al Hinds is training for me. Remember him?”
    Lennox nodded. “Not very clearly, but he was tall and thin, without much hair.”
    She said, “Right,” and was silent while the waiter served the orders, then her face got serious. “Listen, Bill! I’m going to ask you a favor. I’ve no right to ask it, except that I know you thought a lot of my brother, and this is pretty important to me. I talked to Frank Jarney tonight. I want to ask you to leave him alone.”
    Lennox stiffened. “You talked to Jarney? What did he have to say?”
    She was twisting her glass in her fingers, making wet rings on the bare table top. “Only that you threatened him.”
    Lennox’s smile held no mirth. “I’d hardly call it a threat. I told him that he wasn’t riding Spurck’s horses the way they should be ridden, and that if he didn’t change, I’d do something about it.”
    She said, tensely: “He’s riding to orders.”
    Lennox stared at her. “Not Spurck’s orders?”
    She shook her head slowly. “No—”
    â€œThen whose?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œNow, listen.” Lennox was leaning across the table, his voice so low that it barely reached her ears. “Spurck bought that stable against my advice. It’s not his game. He doesn’t know a thing about it, and he got hooked plenty on the purchase, but I’m not going to have a bunch of cheap gamblers run his horses out of the money