“I know who’s going to win a prizefight at Madison Square Garden next month. His name is Tom Case, and he’s going to knock out Dick Tiger in the fifth round. If that doesn’t happen, I guess you’re free to call for the men in the white coats. But can you keep it just between us until then? A lot depends on it.”
“Yes. I can do that.”
I half-expected Deke or Miz Ellie to buttonhole me after the second night’s performance, looking grave and telling me they’d had a phone call from Sadie, saying that I’d lost my everloving mind. But that didn’t happen, and when I got back to Sadie’s, there was a note on the table reading
It wasn’t midnight — not quite — and she wasn’t asleep. The next forty minutes or so were very pleasant. Afterward, in the dark, she said: “I don’t have to decide anything right now, do I?”
“No.”
“And we don’t have to talk about this right now.”
“No.”
“Maybe after the fight. The one you told me about.”
“Maybe.”
“I believe you, Jake. I don’t know if that makes me crazy or not, but I do. And I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Her eyes gleamed in the dark — the one that was almond-shaped and beautiful, the one that drooped but still saw. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, and I don’t want you to hurt anybody unless you absolutely have to. And never by mistake. Never
“Yes.” That was easy. It was the reason Lee Oswald was still drawing breath.
“Will you be careful?”
“Yes. I’ll be very—”
She stopped my mouth with a kiss. “Because no matter where you came from, there’s no future for me without you. Now let’s go to sleep.”
I thought the conversation would resume in the morning. I had no idea what — meaning how much — I would tell her when it did, but in the end I had to tell her nothing, because she didn’t ask. Instead she asked me how much The Sadie Dunhill Charity Show had brought in. When I told her just over three thousand dollars, with the contents of the lobby donation box added to the gate, she threw back her head and let loose a beautiful full-throated laugh. Three grand wouldn’t cover all of her bills, but it was worth a million just to hear her laugh… and to
I wanted to
There was one person in Jodie who might know how I could put Al’s final betting entry to use. That was Freddy Quinlan, the real estate agent. He ran a weekly nickel-in, quarter-to-stay poker game at his house, and I’d attended a few times. During several of these games he bragged about his betting prowess in two fields: pro football and the Texas State Basketball Tournament. He saw me in his office only because, he said, it was too damn hot to play golf.
“What are we talking about here, George? Medium-sized bet or the house and lot?”
“I’m thinking five hundred dollars.”
He whistled, then leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over a tidy little belly. It was only nine in the morning, but the air-conditioner was running full blast. Stacks of real estate brochures fluttered in its chilly exhaust. “That’s serious cabbage. Care to let me in on a good thing?”
Since he was doing me the favor — at least I hoped so — I told him. His eyebrows shot up so high they were in danger of meeting his receding hairline.
“Holy cow! Why don’t you just chuck your money down a sewer?”
“I’ve got a feeling, that’s all.”
“George, listen to your daddy. The Case-Tiger fight isn’t a sporting event, it’s a trial balloon for this new closed-circuit TV thing. There might be a few good fights on the undercard, but the main bout’s a joke. Tiger’ll have instructions to carry the poor old fella for seven or eight, then put him to sleep. Unless…”
He leaned forward. His chair made an unlovely
“I don’t know anything,” I said, lying straight to his face (and happy to do so). “It’s just a feeling, but the last time I had one this strong, I bet on the Pirates to beat the Yankees in the World Series, and I made a bundle.”
“Very nice, but you know the old saying — even a stopped clock gets it right twice a day.”
