Hot Shot (16 page)

“Well, Skimmer,” Francis Z. Ketch said, “I understand from Candy that you’re quite a persistent fellow,” and I said if that meant trying to get what I wanted, I sure as hell was, and he smiled and said, “That’s very commendable, and if Candy’s one of the things you want, I also commend your good taste,” and I said Candy was damn sure one of the things I wanted, all right, and I was in there trying all the time, but she’d been making it pretty tough for me for some damn reason or other, and he laughed and made a little tent with his fingers over his pot gut and said, “Well, Candy’s quite a popular young lady, and I’m afraid she’s been spoiled, and indeed I feel impelled to warn you that if you expect to remain in favor you must be prepared to stand considerable expense.”

That sounded to me like an invitation to take the God-damn bull by the horns, so I did and said, “Well, that’s why I’m here, because Candy said you might be able to put me in the way of making a potful,” and he smiled with his stinking little rosebud of a mouth and said, “You’re certainly a direct young man, I’ll say that for you,” and then he sat there looking at me with these round blue eyes that looked so damn innocent you wouldn’t have believed it, and as a matter of fact they reminded me of old Mopsy Beacon when she was talking about saving it.

I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, and pretty soon he said, “As a matter of fact, there
are
definite prospects for a young man in your position, provided he’s willing to cooperate in certain essential matters,” and I said, “You mean about the basketball?” and he said to Candy, “How refreshingly
direct
this fellow is,” and to me, “Yes, about the basketball,” and I said, “You mean to throw some games so you can make a potful betting against us like Gravy Dummke wanted to?” and he made a little face like something was hurting him and closed his eyes and said, “Oh, no, no,
no!
I have no idea who this Dummke person is, but I have nothing so crude in mind. You see, it’s merely the matter of the spread.”

I said I didn’t know exactly what the hell he meant, and he said, “What I mean is, betting is done on the spread of points between the scores of the two teams. To illustrate, if Pipskill was favored to win by, say, ten points, I could bet on a closer score — take the other team and nine, for example — and thereby stand to win a considerable sum,” and I said, “You mean we wouldn’t even have to lose the game?” and he said, “Oh, gracious, no,” and that’s no damn lie, he really said oh, gracious, and I thought about it and said, “Well, to tell the Goddamn truth, I don’t even see anything particularly wrong in just missing a few to keep the score a little closer,” and he sighed and said, “Personally I share your practical view of the matter, but I must say that many people do not, the authorities among them, and if we were to come to some agreement and it became noised about, I would be in more trouble than I care about, and you would be in a great deal more than I.”

Well, I wasn’t so God-damn thick that I couldn’t recognize a threat when I heard it, even if he said it in the same voice he’d have used to ask the time of day, and the funny thing was, you wouldn’t have thought it would have scared a lousy Brownie, coming like it did from a guy who looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a pansy, but as a matter of fact I got a little cold spot inside me and knew he meant what he said and a hell of a lot more than he said, as far as that goes, and maybe I got that feeling from him just because he
was
such a gentle looking little bastard and said these things so quietly with his little red mouth smiling all the God-damn time. Anyhow, I said I wasn’t fool enough to go around beating my chops about something like that, and besides I didn’t think it would work, because old Micky Spicer was a damn good sharpshooter himself and might run the score up in spite of everything I could do, and he rubbed his hands together and said, “That’s a very astute observation and shows you have your wits about you. I’m familiar with Spicer’s record, just as I’m familiar with yours, and you are undoubtedly correct. Tell me, do you know your teammate well?”

I said we were roommates and old buddies, and he said, “Do you suppose you could influence him to enter into a three-party agreement?” and I said I wouldn’t put it past him, and he said, “Good. Suppose you negotiate it,” and I said I wouldn’t be seeing Micky until school started, and he said that would be time enough and I could inform him of results through Candy, and then he stood up to let us know it was time we were getting the hell out, and at the door he said, “You will not use my name with Spicer until he’s committed, of course,” and I said I wouldn’t, and Candy and I went on around to her apartment and had some drinks and some fun, and it was almost four o’clock when she threw me out.

Well, after I’d seen Francis Z. Ketch that first time, I didn’t see him again all the rest of the summer, but I kept seeing Candy whenever she figured it was my time on the schedule, which wasn’t often enough by a damn sight, the way I looked at it, and she kept telling me that Ketch was counting on me to set things up with Micky whenever school opened again, and I said he didn’t have to worry about it any, and if I knew old Micky like I thought I did he’d be right in there with his shoes off when it came to earning another buck. I kept on working for Arnold Hamshank, too, but there wasn’t really a hell of a lot of work to it, and about a week before time for school to start I quit the job and checked out at the hotel and went on back out to the frat house at Pipskill and got settled. When I left, Arnold Hamshank shook my hand and told me what a privilege it had been to do something for one of the boys on the team and to be sure to stop in and see him now and then, and I said I would, and the truth is, I couldn’t understand why anyone would be so God-damn crazy over someone just because he happened to play basketball, but I just thought it and didn’t say it, you can bet dollars on that.

I was all set in the room when Micky got back, and it was pretty good to see the goofy bastard again, as a matter of fact, and I wondered if I ought to come straight out with the Francis Z. Ketch deal or wait around for a time that seemed just right for it, and finally I decided to wait because you couldn’t always figure just how old Micky would take one thing or another, and he was a crazy bastard, like I said, and that’s the truth of it. Meanwhile, over a month went by, and I went into town three or four times and had some fun with Candy, and the last time I went she said, “How you coming with this Micky Spicer?” and I said, “What you mean, how am I coming?” and she said, “You know damn well what I mean. Is he going to play ball or not?”

“Well,” I said, “the truth is, I’ve been sort of waiting for the right time to ask him and haven’t got it done yet,” and she said, “In case you’re interested, you damn well better
get
it done because basketball season’s getting pretty close and Franzie Ketch wants to know what he’s got to look forward to, and he told me to tell you,” and I said, “Well, you can tell Franzie from me to keep his God-damn drawers on,” and she said, “Oh, sure, I’ll tell him, Junior, and while we’re on the subject, it might interest you to know that I’ll damn well be keeping
mine
on, too, as far as you’re concerned, if you foul up and miss out on the heavy sugar.”

If you think she didn’t mean it, you’re crazy, and I knew damn well she meant it, so I went back out to Pipskill with the idea of putting it right up to old Micky, and as it turned out, it happened to be the right time I’d been waiting for, anyhow, and this is the way it was. He was flopped on the bed in the room when I went in, and he was grumbling to himself about something, and I said, “What the hell’s the matter with you?” and he said, “In case you want to know, I’m just God-damn sick of being stony at least half the time, that’s all.”

I could see right away that I’d never find a better time to come in with Francis Z. Ketch, and I said, “What the hell brought
this
on?” and he said, “Oh, nothing, nothing at all, except I’ve got a chance to make hay with a sweet doll, and damned if I’m not broke, and everyone else seems to be, too, and I can’t borrow a damn dime,” and I said, “Well, don’t look at me, I don’t have any God-damn money,” which was a damn lie, because I had some, and he said, “I sure as hell wish I could find a way to turn a few extra bucks. That hundred a month was all right for a lousy freshman, but a junior’s got more expenses,” and I said, “That’s the damn truth if it was ever spoken,” and then I stopped and looked at him, and he could see I had something on my mind, and pretty soon I said, “How’d you like to make some
big
dough and cut out this crap of borrowing a few stinking nickels and dimes until payday?” and he said, “How?” and I said, “Well, I know how I can put you in the way of it, if you’re really interested.”

He lay there on the bed and looked at me, and after a minute or two he said, “Bull! If you know so damn much about how to earn big dough, how come you haven’t even got a lousy fin to loan me?” and I said, “Well, I only said I knew
how
to do it, I didn’t say I was
doing
it, and to tell the truth, I can’t get in on it myself unless you’re willing to get in, too, and that’s the damn truth,” and he said, “I don’t get you,” and I said, “It’s not so damn hard to get if you’ll just pay attention, and as a matter of fact it only amounts to missing a few buckets now and then.”

He rolled over on the bed and sat up on the edge and began to scratch around in his crummy hair that went every which way, and pretty soon he said, “You mean throw some games?” and I said, “Hell, no. You think I’d let dear old Pipskill down that way? We just miss enough to keep the score closer than the wise guys figured it, that’s all,” and he said, “It sounds dishonest to me,” and I said, “Well, isn’t that a crying damn shame! You sound like we’d have to
lose
the damn game or something. I told you we just missed enough to keep the score tight,” and he shook his head and scratched in his crummy hair some more and said, “Just the same, I’ll bet it’s considered crooked,” and I said, “Well, it may be considered crooked by a lot of unreasonable bastards, but what the hell of it, and the way I look at it is, it’s not crooked unless you really
lose
the damn game.”

He kept on sitting and scratching and thinking about it, and after a long time he said, “Who the hell’s putting out this dough?” and I said, “A guy who’s got it to put out, and that’s damn well all you’ll ever know unless you decide to come in,” and he said, “How much would we get?” and I said, “I don’t know yet, but it’ll be plenty to start with and even more later because this is big time stuff, and make up your God-damn mind one way or the other because I don’t intend to fool around with it forever, if you want to know the truth,” and he said, “Okay, Skimmer, count me in,” and I said, “Now you’re being smart, and what’s more, I just happen to remember an extra fin you can have to make hay with this damn doll, whoever she is.”

The next day I called Candy and told her I had to see her about the deal, and she asked why I couldn’t just tell her over the phone, but I said I’d rather not talk about it over the phone and if she didn’t want to see me about it she could damn well wait until my turn on the schedule came up, and she said, “Jesus Christ, you’ve got more tricks up your sleeve than a card sharp. Well, come on downtown tonight and get it over with,” so I went, and she was right, of course, and I didn’t mind talking about the deal over the phone at all but just wanted to get in an extra turn, which I did.

I went to the Gay Gander and had some drinks and shot the bull a little with Hershell Goans, and at eleven Candy came on to sing in a dress that damn near wasn’t there, and it’s the truth that I was pretty crazy about her and never got tired of her or wanted anyone else all the time I knew her, no matter how many extra turns I managed to get in. After she was finished, she went back to her room to change clothes, and everyone kept clapping for a while to get her to come back and sing some more, though mostly the guys probably just wanted to look at her, but she was pretty snotty about things like that and wouldn’t sing any longer than her half hour even if they beat their damn hands off. We had a drink together at the bar and went out to the Crosley and around to her apartment, and when we were up there she said, “Well, what’s the big news?” and I said, “Nothing except old Micky’s coming in,” and she said, “Why in hell couldn’t you have just said so over the phone?” and I said, “Well I
could
have said so, as a matter of fact, but there are other things you can’t do over a telephone,” and she threw her hands up in the air and said, “My God, Junior, you’re so
insatiable,”
which I found out later was just a way of saying I was hard as hell to satisfy.

She wasn’t sore, though, and as a matter of fact she wasn’t so damn easy to satisfy herself, and we wound up having some fun, and afterward she said, “Listen, Junior, you may not know it but Franzie Ketch owns the Gay Gander, and a lot of other people know it, even if you don’t, so now that you’ve closed your deal with him you better not come there any more,” and I said, “Why the hell not?” and she said, “If you’re so damn dumb you can’t see the reason, there’s no use trying to explain it. Just don’t come, that’s all.”

I could see the reason, all right, and said, “Well, where the hell shall I meet you when it’s my turn on the schedule?” and she said, “What’s the matter with this place?” and I said, “Not a damn thing as a matter of fact,” and she said,
“All right,
then. Now get the hell out of here and let me get some sleep,” and I did.

Out at Pipskill we started basketball practice, and you’d have thought after damn near seven months that old Umplett would have forgotten how we’d got our butts tromped in the national finals the season before just because the other team happened to be better than pistols, but I can damn sure tell you he
hadn’t
forgotten it, and he was sour and mean and had blood in his eye, and the truth is, he seemed to hate the guts of everyone on the team, especially mine, and I don’t mind admitting that I began to get a hell of a bang out of thinking how I was fooling him by being set up with Francis Z. Ketch to make something on the side. He worked the hell out of us, and if you fumbled a pass or missed a shot or slowed down under ninety miles an hour in the God-damn firehorse game we played, he’d stop the action and chew you out in that quiet way of his that was somehow a hell of a lot worse than if he’d bellowed at you like old Mulloy or someone, and all the time he was chewing he’d be looking at you with his little eyes all sick and sour in their sockets and his lips working around like his words had a lousy taste in his mouth, and if you want to know what I think, I think the son of a bitch was crazy, and in fact I’d bet on it.