Noble Redman Page 2

despite his burned skin. His hands gavehim away. They were big and dirty, but the pink nails were smooth andthe red palms soft and uncalloused. There wasn't even a blister onthem. He could have been fresh from the Mercury Penal Colony--butthose guys were burned black--not red, and he didn't have the hangdoglook of an ex-con.

  He talked about prospecting on Callisto--looking for heavy metals. Ha!There were fewer heavy metals on Callisto than there were on Mars. Buthe had listeners. His gold and the way he spent it drew them likehoney draws flies. But finally I got the idea. Somehow, subtly, heturned the conversation around to gambling which was a subjecteveryone knew. That brought up tales of the old games, poker, faro,three card monte, blackjack, roulette--and crapshooting.

  "I'll bet there isn't a dice game in town." Redman said.

  "You'd lose," I answered. I had about all this maneuvering I couldtake. Bring it out in the open--see what this guy was after. Maybe Icould get something out of it in the process. From the looks of hishands he was a pro. He could probably make dice and cards sing sweetmusic, and if he could I wanted to be with him when he did. The more Ilistened, the more I was sure he was setting something up.

  "Where is this game?" he asked incuriously.

  "Over Abie Feldstein's hock-shop," I said. "But it's private. You haveto know someone to get in."

  "You steering for it?" He asked.

  I shook my head, half puzzled. I wasn't quite certain what he meant.

  "Are you touting for the game?" he asked.

  The light dawned. But the terms he used! Archaic was the only word forthem!

  "No," I said, "I'm not fronting for Abie. Fact is, if you want somefriendly advice, stay outa there."

  "Why--the game crooked?"

  There it was again, the old fashioned word. "Yes, it's bowed," I said."It's bowed like a sine wave--in both directions. Honesty isn't one ofAbie's best policies."

  He suddenly looked eager. "Can I get in?" he asked.

  "Not through me. I have no desire to watch a slaughter of theinnocent. Hang onto your gold, Redman. It's safer." I kept watchinghim. His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask--a gambler'sface. "But if you're really anxious, there's one of Abie's fronts justcoming in the door. Ask him, if you want to lose your shirt."

  "Thanks," Redman said.

  I didn't wait to see what happened. I left Otto's and laid acourseline for Abie's. I wanted to be there before Redman arrived. Notonly did I want an alibi, but I'd be in better position to sit in.Also I didn't want a couple of Abie's goons on my neck just in caseRedman won. There was no better way to keep from getting old than towin too many munits in Abie's games.

  * * * * *

  I'd already given Abie back fifty of the hundred and fifty he'd paidme for the Centaurians' gear, and was starting in on the hundred whenRedman walked in flanked by the frontman. He walked straight back tothe dice table and stood beside it, watching the play. It was anoldstyle table built for six-faced dice, and operated onpercentage--most of the time. It was a money-maker, which was the onlyreason Abie kept it. People liked these old-fashioned games. They werepart of the Martian tradition. A couple of local citizens and a dozentourists were crowded around it, and the diceman's flat emotionlessvoice carried across the intermittent click and rattle of the diceacross the green cloth surface.

  I dropped out of the blackjack game after dropping another fivemunits, and headed slowly towards the dice table. One of the floormenlooked at me curiously since I didn't normally touch dice, butwhatever he thought he kept to himself. I joined the crowd, andwatched for awhile.

  Redman was sitting in the game, betting at random. He played thefield, come and don't come, and occasionally number combinations. Whenit came his turn at the dice he made two passes, a seven and a fourthe hard way, let the pile build and crapped out on the next roll.Then he lost the dice with a seven after an eight. There was nothingunusual about it, except that after one run of the table I noticedthat he won more than he lost. He was pocketing most of hiswinnings--but I was watching him close and keeping count. That wasenough for me. I got into the game, followed his lead, duplicating hisbets. And I won too.

  People are sensitive. Pretty quick they began to see that Redman and Iwere winning and started to follow our leads. I gave them a dirty lookand dropped out, and after four straight losses, Redman did likewise.

  He went over to the roulette wheel and played straight red and black.He won there too. And after awhile he went back to the dice table. Icashed in. Two thousand was fair enough and there was no reason tomake myself unpopular. But I couldn't help staying to watch the fun. Icould feel it coming--a sense of something impending.

  Redman's face was flushed a dull vermilion, his eyes glittered withruby glints, and his breath came faster. The dice had a grip on himjust like cards do on me. He was a gambler all right--one of the foolkind that play it cozy until they're a little ahead and then plungeoverboard and drown.

  "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the diceman droned. "Eight isthe point." His rake swept over the board collecting a few munitplaques on the wrong spots. Redman had the dice. He rolled. Eight--afive and a three. "Let it ride," he said,--and I jumped nervously. Heshould have said, "Leave it." But the diceman was no purist. Anotherroll--seven. The diceman looked inquiringly at Redman. The big manshook his head, and rolled again--four. Three rolls later he made hispoint. Then he rolled another seven, another seven, and an eleven. Andthe pile of munits in front of him had become a respectable heap.

  "One moment, sir," the diceman said as he raked in the dice. He rolledthem in his hands, tossed them in the air, and handed them back.

  "That's enough," Redman said. "Cash me in."

  "But--"

  "I said I had enough."

  "Your privilege, sir."

  "One more then," Redman said, taking the dice and stuffing munits intohis jacket. He left a hundred on the board, rolled, and came up with athree. He grinned. "Thought I'd pushed my luck as far as it would go,"he said, as he stuffed large denomination bills into his pockets.

  * * * * *

  I sidled up to him. "Get out of here, buster," I said. "That dicemanswitched dice on you. You're marked now."

  "I saw him," Redman replied in a low voice, not looking at me. "He'snot too clever, but I'll stick around, maybe try some more roulette."

  "It's your funeral," I whispered through motionless lips.

  He turned away and I left. There was no reason to stay, and our littletalk just might have drawn attention. They could have a probe tuned onus now. I went down the strip to Otto's and waited. It couldn't havebeen more than a half hour later that Redman came by. He was lookingover his shoulder and walking fast. His pockets, I noted, werebulging. So I went out the back door, cut down the serviceway to thenext radius street, and flagged a cab.

  "Where to, mister?" the jockey said.

  "The strip--and hurry."

  The jockey fed propane to the turbine and we took off like a scorchedzarth. "Left or right?" he asked as the strip leaped at us. I crossedmy fingers, estimated the speed of Redman's walk, and said, "Right."

  We took the corner on two of our three wheels and there was Redman,walking fast toward the south airlock, and behind him, half-running,came two of Abie's goons.

  "Slow down--_fast_!" I yapped, and was crushed against the back of thefront seat as the jock slammed his foot on the brakes. "In here!" Iyelled at Redman as I swung the rear door open.

  His reflexes were good. He hit the floor in a flat dive as the purplestreak of a stat blast flashed through the space where he had been.The jockey needed no further stimulation. He slammed his foot down andwe took off with a screech of polyprene, whipped around the nextcorner and headed for the hub, the cops, and safety.

  "Figured you was jerking some guy, Cyril," the jockey said over hisshoulder. "But who is he?"

  * * * * *

  Redman picked himself off the floor as I swore under my br
eath. Thejockey _would_ have to know me. Abie'd hear of my part in this bymorning and my hide wouldn't be worth the price of a mangy rat skin. Ihad to get out of town--fast! And put plenty of distance between meand Marsport. This dome--this planet--wasn't going to be healthy forquite a while. Abie was the most unforgiving man I knew where moneywas concerned, and if the large, coarse notes dripping from Redman'spockets were any indication, there was lots of money concerned.

  "Where to now, Cyril?" the jockey asked.

  There was only one place to go. I damned the greed that