“I said, imagine a guy who can go down a hotel corridor without a passkey and open every door in about thirty seconds flat.”
“Who?”
“This guy I’m telling you about, that I saw last night.”
“I heard you say something about a man opening a door with a match. That’s silly.”
“No, no, I said he used a match. Near’s I can figure it out, the match was to make the key black so that when he put it in the lock he could tell where to use the file. It was the slickest stunt you ever saw. From scratch he makes a car key.”
“Well, that’s a locksmith’s business, making keys; isn’t it?”
“I guess you’re right, but it was the first time I ever saw it done. Although come to think of it, people are losing keys every day of the week and you don’t hear of them breaking down their doors.”
Trent nodded. “You see these little lock and key shops all around town...” Then he looked thoughtfully at Herbie. “You didn’t happen to notice what shop this one came from?”
“No, he had a regular car without a sign on it. But I’ve seen the fella around.”
“Where?”
“Mostly around Melrose, come to think of it. Yeah, the bowline alley below Highland.”
“Make up your mind,” said Andy. “If you’re going to play, come on, if not let’s go to a movie.”
“Okay,” said Tommy.
“Okay,
“I’ll play.”
“Well, come on, then, get your mind off the dame.”
Tommy went over the balls in the rack, found his favorite one and went to the chalk stand. Andy came over to chalk up his own hands.
“What’d she look like?”
“Like nothing I ever hope to see again in this world. Once, over in Germany, that time I stopped one, I was out of my noggin for a few hours and I saw an angel all in white except for blood dripping down—”
“Cut it out!” cried Andy.
“Then go ahead and roll!” Tommy snarled.
Andy got his ball, ran down to the foul line and sent the big sphere hurtling toward the pins. He got seven and picked up the other three with his next ball. He looked at Tommy.
Tommy was staring down the alley, watching the pins being set up. Then he sent his own ball down and the pins went crashing. A strike.
Trent and Herbie the Lugan, who had come up, nodded approvingly.
“Not bad,” said Trent.
“Perfect,” agreed Herbie.
Andy got his ball again and made one of the worst shots of the year. With a spare, all he picked off was an end pin. With his second ball he got two pins, for a total score of thirteen.
Tommy’s second ball was a strike.
“Pretty good,” Trent said.
“Great!” Herbie chimed in.
Andy gave them a dirty look and knocked over six pins with his next two balls.
“Hold it a minute,” said Trent to Tommy. “I got a hunch he can beat you even with the start you got.”
Tommy surveyed Trent with cold disdain. “This is a private game, Mister.”
“Okay, so it’s private. But I got a five says he can beat you.”
“Save your money,” Tommy retorted and sent his ball down the alley for a third strike.
“I’ll still bet you,” Trent taunted.
Herbie the Lugan stared at Trent in astonishment. “I’ll take that bet, Willie.”
“I didn’t offer it to you,” Trent said coldly.
“What’s the difference? I got ten bucks...” Then Herbie saw the look in Trent’s eye and gulped hard.
Tommy Dancer stepped over. “You want to lose money so bad, it’s a bet.”
“You’re on.” Trent grinned thinly. “I’m a form player. Some horses can run when they’re out in front, some can’t. I size you up as a man who goes to pieces when the chips are down.”
Tommy Dancer then proceeded to prove to Trent that he was a poor judge of character. He rolled two strikes, then a spare and picked up the remaining pins with the next ball, cinching his victory. Trent paid off with good grace. “I was wrong.” He winked at Dancer. “I’m a man who can admit it when he’s made a mistake. You roll a good game and you don’t get nervous when the money’s on the line.”
“Thanks,” Tommy said sarcastically.
“How about a drink?”
Tommy shrugged. “Beer’s all they sell here.”
“A beer’s good enough for me.” He started to turn away toward the bar at the side of the bowling alley, then looked back. “Your friend, too.”
Andy hesitated, frowning, but finally followed the others to the bar.
“Beers,” Trent said to the bartender. He produced a fat roll of bills from his pocket and, skimming through, found a small one, a ten-spot. He dropped it on the bar, poured out the bottle of beer and raised the glass.
“To you.” He looked questioningly at Tommy Dancer.
“Tommy Dancer.”
“Tommy Dancer,” Trent drank some of his beer. “What’s your racket, Tommy?”
Tommy Dancer wiped beer foam from his mouth. He nodded in the direction of Herbie the Lugan who stood behind Trent. “Keys. Isn’t that what your friend told you?”
“Huh?” Trent looked over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Herbie. Yeah, come to think of it, Herbie did mention that he saw you making a key for somebody a couple days ago.”
“Last night.”
“All right, last night.”
