looking for any of your lost sheep you won’t find them here. We don’t like them.’
Warren understood very well that he was being warned. It had happened before that some of his patients had tried to make a quick fortune to feed the habit. They had not succeeded, of course, and things had got out of hand, ending in a brawl. The management of the Howard Club did not like brawls—they lowered the plushy tone of the place—and word had been passed to Warren to keep his boys in line.
He smiled at Follet. ‘Just sightseeing, Johnny.’ He lifted the glass. ‘Join me?’
Follet nodded to the barman, and said, ‘Well, it’s nice to see you, anyway.’
He would not feel that way for long, thought Warren. He said, ‘These are patients you’re talking about, Johnny;they’re sick people. I don’t rule them—I’m not a leader or anything like that.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Follet. ‘But once your hopheads go on a toot they can do more damage than you’d believe possible. And if anyone can control them, it’s you.’
‘I’ve passed around the word that they’re not welcome here,’ said Warren. ‘That’s all I can do.’
Follet nodded shortly. ‘I understand, Doctor. That’s good enough for me.’
Warren looked about the room and saw Andrew Tozier standing at the nearest blackjack table. He said casually, ‘You seem to be doing well.’
Follet snorted. ‘You can’t do well in this crazy country. Now we’re having to play the wheel without a zero and that’s goddam impossible. No club can operate without an edge.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Warren. ‘It’s an equal chance for you and the customer, so that’s square. And you make your profit on the club membership, the bar and the restaurant.’
‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Follet. ‘It just doesn’t work that way. In any game of equal chances a lucky rich man will beat hell out of a lucky poor man any time. Bernoulli figured that out back in 1713—it’s called the St Petersburg paradox.’ He gestured towards a roulette table. ‘That wheel carries a nut of fifty thousand pounds—but how much do you think the customers are worth? We’re in the position of playing a game of equal chances against the public—which can be regarded as infinitely rich. In the long run we get trimmed but good.’
‘I didn’t know you were a mathematician,’ said Warren.
‘Any guy in this racket who doesn’t understand mathematics goes broke fast,’ said Follet. ‘And it’s about time your British legislators employed a few mathematicians.’ He scowled. ‘Another thing—take that blackjack table; at one time it was banned because it was called a game of chance.Now that games of chance are legal they still want to ban it because a good player can beat a bad player. They don’t know what in hell they want.’
‘Can a good player win at blackjack?’ asked Warren interestedly.
Follett nodded. ‘It takes a steeltrap memory and nerves of iron, but it can be done. It’s lucky for the house there aren’t too many of those guys around. We’ll take that risk on blackjack but on the wheel we’ve got to have an edge.’ He looked despondently into his glass. ‘And I don’t see much chance of getting one—not with the laws that are in the works.’
‘Things are bad all round,’ said Warren unfeelingly. ‘Maybe you’d better go back to the States.’
‘No, I’ll ride it out here for a while.’ Follet drained his glass.
‘Don’t go,’ said Warren. ‘I had a reason for coming here. I wanted to talk to you.’
‘If it’s a touch for your clinic I’m already on your books.’
Warren smiled. ‘This time I want to give you money.’
‘This I must stick around to hear,’ said Follet. Tell me more.’
‘I have a little expedition planned,’ said Warren. ‘The pay isn’t much—say, two-fifty a month for six months. But there’ll be a bonus at the end if it all works out all right.’
‘Two-fifty a month!’ Follet
Warren understood very well that he was being warned. It had happened before that some of his patients had tried to make a quick fortune to feed the habit. They had not succeeded, of course, and things had got out of hand, ending in a brawl. The management of the Howard Club did not like brawls—they lowered the plushy tone of the place—and word had been passed to Warren to keep his boys in line.
He smiled at Follet. ‘Just sightseeing, Johnny.’ He lifted the glass. ‘Join me?’
Follet nodded to the barman, and said, ‘Well, it’s nice to see you, anyway.’
He would not feel that way for long, thought Warren. He said, ‘These are patients you’re talking about, Johnny;they’re sick people. I don’t rule them—I’m not a leader or anything like that.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Follet. ‘But once your hopheads go on a toot they can do more damage than you’d believe possible. And if anyone can control them, it’s you.’
‘I’ve passed around the word that they’re not welcome here,’ said Warren. ‘That’s all I can do.’
Follet nodded shortly. ‘I understand, Doctor. That’s good enough for me.’
Warren looked about the room and saw Andrew Tozier standing at the nearest blackjack table. He said casually, ‘You seem to be doing well.’
Follet snorted. ‘You can’t do well in this crazy country. Now we’re having to play the wheel without a zero and that’s goddam impossible. No club can operate without an edge.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Warren. ‘It’s an equal chance for you and the customer, so that’s square. And you make your profit on the club membership, the bar and the restaurant.’
‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Follet. ‘It just doesn’t work that way. In any game of equal chances a lucky rich man will beat hell out of a lucky poor man any time. Bernoulli figured that out back in 1713—it’s called the St Petersburg paradox.’ He gestured towards a roulette table. ‘That wheel carries a nut of fifty thousand pounds—but how much do you think the customers are worth? We’re in the position of playing a game of equal chances against the public—which can be regarded as infinitely rich. In the long run we get trimmed but good.’
‘I didn’t know you were a mathematician,’ said Warren.
‘Any guy in this racket who doesn’t understand mathematics goes broke fast,’ said Follet. ‘And it’s about time your British legislators employed a few mathematicians.’ He scowled. ‘Another thing—take that blackjack table; at one time it was banned because it was called a game of chance.Now that games of chance are legal they still want to ban it because a good player can beat a bad player. They don’t know what in hell they want.’
‘Can a good player win at blackjack?’ asked Warren interestedly.
Follett nodded. ‘It takes a steeltrap memory and nerves of iron, but it can be done. It’s lucky for the house there aren’t too many of those guys around. We’ll take that risk on blackjack but on the wheel we’ve got to have an edge.’ He looked despondently into his glass. ‘And I don’t see much chance of getting one—not with the laws that are in the works.’
‘Things are bad all round,’ said Warren unfeelingly. ‘Maybe you’d better go back to the States.’
‘No, I’ll ride it out here for a while.’ Follet drained his glass.
‘Don’t go,’ said Warren. ‘I had a reason for coming here. I wanted to talk to you.’
‘If it’s a touch for your clinic I’m already on your books.’
Warren smiled. ‘This time I want to give you money.’
‘This I must stick around to hear,’ said Follet. Tell me more.’
‘I have a little expedition planned,’ said Warren. ‘The pay isn’t much—say, two-fifty a month for six months. But there’ll be a bonus at the end if it all works out all right.’
‘Two-fifty a month!’ Follet
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