spread?"
Mary Beth grinned.
"I want to bet on the game. I believe Cal is going to win 71-70 and want to bet a hundred dollars on that specific outcome."
Mary Beth glanced again at Mark. She expected to see another supportive smile but instead saw a look of concern. Had she said something wrong? Had she overreached?
Jimmy studied Mary Beth, shook his head, and chuckled.
"Have you been drinking today?"
"No," Mary Beth said. She glared at the man. "I'm as sober as a judge."
The owner looked at Mark.
"Is she your girlfriend, mister? If she is, you might want to teach her a thing or two about beating impossible odds. She has a better chance at winning the Irish Sweepstakes than picking the exact score of tonight's game."
Mark looked at Mary Beth and then addressed the wise guy.
"I believe the lady wants to make a wager," Mark said with an edge in his voice. "Why don't you do your job and honor her request?"
Mary Beth smiled when she glanced at the man who had her back, but she frowned when she saw two others follow the exchange from the far end of the long counter. The first onlooker, a bald man who resembled the owner, smirked at Mary Beth. The second onlooker, a tall man with a badly deformed left ear, studied her quietly.
Jimmy stared at Mark and then at Mary Beth.
"OK. It's your money. If you want to throw it away, I'll accommodate you. I'll give you twenty-to-one odds on a 71-70 California victory."
"She's betting a hundred dollars on the score itself," Mark said in a testy voice. "Is twenty-to-one really the best you can do?"
"It's the best I will do," Jimmy said.
Mark gazed at Mary Beth.
"You don't have to do this."
"I want to do it," Mary Beth said. She returned to Jimmy. "What do I have to do?"
The owner fixed his gaze.
"You have to fill out a form and give me a hundred bucks."
"I can do that."
Jimmy reached under the counter, retrieved a pad and a pen, and placed them on top of the counter. He slid both items toward the lady gambler, folded his arms, and waited.
Mary Beth peeled the top sheet from the pad, grabbed the pen, and studied the form. She realized almost immediately that she had choices to make. Did she put down her real name and address? Did she provide a telephone number that would not exist for decades?
Mary Beth decided mix things up. She went with her mother's maiden name, her real home address, and a fabricated phone number. She gave the proprietor the sheet and the pen.
Jimmy looked at the slip and then Mary Beth.
"So you're from the South?"
"Yes," Mary Beth said.
"Where are you staying in town?"
Mary Beth started to say the name of a casino that had grabbed her interest but stopped when she glanced again at the eavesdropping men. She did not want to share her travel itinerary with two unnerving strangers in a dicey gaming establishment. She turned to the owner.
"We haven't decided yet. We just got here."
"Then I need a time," Jimmy said. "I need to know when you'll collect your winnings should the gods smile on your wager."
Mary Beth appealed to Mark.
"When can we come back?"
"Let's try for noon tomorrow," Mark said.
Mary Beth returned to Jimmy.
"Will you be here at noon?"
Jimmy laughed.
"I'll be here, but I suspect you won't."
Mary Beth resisted the temptation to poke him in the eyes. She reached into her purse, pulled out the hundred-dollar bill, and slid it to the obnoxious owner.
"Don't count your chickens," Mary Beth said.
Jimmy took the bill and filled out another slip. He grinned as he handed the foolish woman a receipt for her foolishness.
"I will, lady. I will."
CHAPTER 12: PIPER
Three hours after checking into a hotel, hitting a buffet, and learning that she couldn't get into any of the shows because of her age, Piper McIntire put a nickel into a slot and pulled the arm of her one-armed bandit. She knew eighteen-year-olds couldn't gamble, even in 1959, but she also knew the odds of being caught and tossed from the establishment were
Mary Beth grinned.
"I want to bet on the game. I believe Cal is going to win 71-70 and want to bet a hundred dollars on that specific outcome."
Mary Beth glanced again at Mark. She expected to see another supportive smile but instead saw a look of concern. Had she said something wrong? Had she overreached?
Jimmy studied Mary Beth, shook his head, and chuckled.
"Have you been drinking today?"
"No," Mary Beth said. She glared at the man. "I'm as sober as a judge."
The owner looked at Mark.
"Is she your girlfriend, mister? If she is, you might want to teach her a thing or two about beating impossible odds. She has a better chance at winning the Irish Sweepstakes than picking the exact score of tonight's game."
Mark looked at Mary Beth and then addressed the wise guy.
"I believe the lady wants to make a wager," Mark said with an edge in his voice. "Why don't you do your job and honor her request?"
Mary Beth smiled when she glanced at the man who had her back, but she frowned when she saw two others follow the exchange from the far end of the long counter. The first onlooker, a bald man who resembled the owner, smirked at Mary Beth. The second onlooker, a tall man with a badly deformed left ear, studied her quietly.
Jimmy stared at Mark and then at Mary Beth.
"OK. It's your money. If you want to throw it away, I'll accommodate you. I'll give you twenty-to-one odds on a 71-70 California victory."
"She's betting a hundred dollars on the score itself," Mark said in a testy voice. "Is twenty-to-one really the best you can do?"
"It's the best I will do," Jimmy said.
Mark gazed at Mary Beth.
"You don't have to do this."
"I want to do it," Mary Beth said. She returned to Jimmy. "What do I have to do?"
The owner fixed his gaze.
"You have to fill out a form and give me a hundred bucks."
"I can do that."
Jimmy reached under the counter, retrieved a pad and a pen, and placed them on top of the counter. He slid both items toward the lady gambler, folded his arms, and waited.
Mary Beth peeled the top sheet from the pad, grabbed the pen, and studied the form. She realized almost immediately that she had choices to make. Did she put down her real name and address? Did she provide a telephone number that would not exist for decades?
Mary Beth decided mix things up. She went with her mother's maiden name, her real home address, and a fabricated phone number. She gave the proprietor the sheet and the pen.
Jimmy looked at the slip and then Mary Beth.
"So you're from the South?"
"Yes," Mary Beth said.
"Where are you staying in town?"
Mary Beth started to say the name of a casino that had grabbed her interest but stopped when she glanced again at the eavesdropping men. She did not want to share her travel itinerary with two unnerving strangers in a dicey gaming establishment. She turned to the owner.
"We haven't decided yet. We just got here."
"Then I need a time," Jimmy said. "I need to know when you'll collect your winnings should the gods smile on your wager."
Mary Beth appealed to Mark.
"When can we come back?"
"Let's try for noon tomorrow," Mark said.
Mary Beth returned to Jimmy.
"Will you be here at noon?"
Jimmy laughed.
"I'll be here, but I suspect you won't."
Mary Beth resisted the temptation to poke him in the eyes. She reached into her purse, pulled out the hundred-dollar bill, and slid it to the obnoxious owner.
"Don't count your chickens," Mary Beth said.
Jimmy took the bill and filled out another slip. He grinned as he handed the foolish woman a receipt for her foolishness.
"I will, lady. I will."
CHAPTER 12: PIPER
Three hours after checking into a hotel, hitting a buffet, and learning that she couldn't get into any of the shows because of her age, Piper McIntire put a nickel into a slot and pulled the arm of her one-armed bandit. She knew eighteen-year-olds couldn't gamble, even in 1959, but she also knew the odds of being caught and tossed from the establishment were
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