Repairman Jack [03]-Conspiracies by F. Paul Wilson Page B

thing to fleece a sucker. Rules of the street were, someone stupid enough to bet on a game like this deserved to lose, and Jack had no quarrel with that. Sort of a tax on the street impaired. But there were limits. You collected the tax and moved the guy along. It was stone cold to suck him dry, especially in front of his woman.
    Jack usually ran his Annual Park-a-thon for the Little League at night, but he was incensed enough now to make an exception for this monte crew.
    He studied the sticks, then turned and checked out the slides. Most likely they were all carrying knives; none of them looked to be packing heat, but damn near impossible to tell under those bulky coats.
    He made a decision as he turned back to the game: He would accept a donation from these generous fellows, allowing them the honor of being the first contributors to this year's Little League fund.
    He felt his pulse quicken a little. He hadn't come prepared for this. Usually he avoided spur-of-the-moment gigs, but the opportunity was here, so why not grab it?
    Jack watched the shaker and his flying hands. Same routine as before, then the caps were pushed forward.
    "Didja see it?" Nocap whispered again.
    "Sure did," Jack said, nodding and smiling, looking like a guy taking the bait and waiting to be reeled in.
    Santo picked the money cap, but the ball rolled out from under the center cap.
    "Shit!"
    His wife wailed again as the earring disappeared into the shaker's pocket.
    "Hang on a sec," Jack said, grabbing the stricken Santo's arm as he turned to go.
    "No!" the wife shouted, her voice rising in pitch. "No more!"
    "Please," Jack said. "I think I've got this figured and I want witnesses. I'll make it worth your while when I win."
    Jack was telling the truth. He didn't want to be alone at the table when he played.
    The possibility of salvaging something from their disaster changed their minds, and Santo and his wife nodded. He looked sullen, chastened; she stood teary eyed with her arms folded across her chest.
    "Great," Jack said. He turned to Nocap and said, "You were next, I believe."
    "Hey, no, that's okay," Nocap said, grinning. "Be my guest. Wanna see if you really do got this thing scoped, yo. 'Cause then you can tell me."
    "Thanks." Jack pulled two fifties from his wallet. "What does this get me?"
    "Two-fifty," the shaker said.
    "Come on," Jack said. "A hundred bucks on one play—that should get me at least three hundred."
    "Sorry, man. Two-fifty's the limit."
    "Hey, yo, c'mon," said Knitcap, playing his advocate's role to the hilt. "Pay the guy three!"
    Jack said, "How about two-fifty and the earring?"
    "Yeah!" said Nocap. "That's fair!"
    "Awright," said the shaker with another of his put-upon shrugs, making a show of reluctantly bowing to pressure.
    Truth was, Jack could have been asking for five hundred and it wouldn't have mattered—no way, no how was the sucker going to win—but he didn't want to push it too far.
    "But I need to know if you've got two-fifty," Jack said.
    "I got it," the shaker said, holding up the stack in his left hand.
    Jack shook his head. "If my money's on the table, so's yours. And the earring with it."
    Another shrug, but wary this time. "Awright. If that's the way you wants to play, what else is there for me to say?"
    Jack laid his money down. The shaker counted out two-fifty in tens and twenties next to Jack's bills, then dropped the earring on top.
    "If everything's okay with you, now I got my work to do."
    "Just one more thing," Jack said. He turned to Santo and his wife. "I want you two on either side of me, watching, okay?"
    He centered himself on the makeshift table, then positioned Santo on his right and the wife on his left.
    "All right," he told the couple. "Don't let that ball out of your sight."
    "Now are we ready?" the shaker said.
    Jack nodded. "Okay. Do it."
    Jack felt his muscles coil as the shaker started his yammer and went into the skedaddle. Finally he stopped, pushed the caps forward.
    "The ball is