Lemons Never Lie Read Free Page A

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.

4
    They kicked the lock off the door and came in with their hands full of shotguns. Two of them, in black hats and anonymous black raincoats with the collars turned up. Also black handkerchiefs across their faces, like stagecoach robbers.
    Grofield had been sitting there going over a play he thought they might do this summer. He'd come back to the motel, got himself a bite to eat, called the airport to arrange for a morning flight to Indianapolis via St. Louis, and had been sitting there ever since with the yellow-jacketed Samuel French edition of the play open on the writing desk in front of him. Then they kicked the lock off the door and came in and pointed shotguns at him, and he dropped his red pencil, put his hands up in the air, and said, "I'm on your side."
    "On your feet," the tall one said. The other one was shorter and fatter.
    Grofield got to his feet. He kept his hands over his head.
    The tall one kept a shotgun pointed at him while the short one searched the room. He went through Grofield's suitcase, and the closet, and the bureau drawers. Then he searched Grofield. Grofield recoiled slightly; the guy had bad breath.
    Finally the short one stepped back and picked his shotgun off the bed and said, "It isn't here."
    The tall one said to Grofield, "Where is it?"
    "I don't know."
    "Don't waste time, Jack, we're not playin' a game."
    "I didn't think you were. Not with guns, and kicking the door in and all. But I don't know what you're looking for, so I don't know