Queenpin by Megan Abbott Read Free Book Online Page B

managed, trying to steady my voice. “And a chance to wear her brand-new hat.”
    He looked up at my broad-brimmed society sun-catcher. “And it’s a damn fine one, honey. They coulda used you on the Titanic.”
    He was standing closer. All I could think of was what she would think seeing me here with him, with a guy like him. In front of everybody. Everybody with deep pockets who laid money out for sin in three counties.
    “How ‘bout we go behind the paddock for a minute, have a smoke?” I said.
    He looked at me and I saw a glint of teeth flashing. “Sure, baby, sure.”
    That wasn’t why I wanted him back there, by the jockey quarters. But once I was there he had me against the back wall and no one was around and I won’t tell you about what we did. I don’t want to tell you about it, but it was in the daylight and I was on the job, and when it was over, it took me ten minutes and two cigarettes to stop
    my knees from shaking.
    God help me, I was weak. Strong as I felt, I was weak.
    That was when he started talking about the hole he was in. With a shark named Amos Mackey, a big-time fella, a comer with stakes all over town. I knew Mackey, though I didn’t say so. You couldn’t miss him. A barrel-chested swell fond of three-piece suits and bright pocket squares, he owned five red-sauce Italian joints and a couple of watering holes and he had eight, ten guys working for him just to keep things moving smooth. He’s going to give our page-turners a run for their money one of these days, she once told me. This town can’t hold him. And he meant business. Mackey had big grins for everybody and could glad-hand it with every gray-suited businessman this side of the chamber of commerce But I’d heard enough back-alley talk to know that if Vic had dug himself a hole with the man, he’d better start filling it with bills or, as they say, he’d be filling it with something else.
    “I know I’m going to hit soon,” he said. “So I’m not that worried. But I hope it’s right around the corner. I can’t dodge his boys forever. They’re slow but not that slow.”
    “How’d it get so bad,” I asked, stamping out my cigarette on the hitching post.
    “Ah, I had such a hot tip. Inside-inside, you know? From this gal who holds hands with one of the trainers. She said it was all wrapped up. The jockey was on the take and only a few people knew. The bomber was going down and this hot new Bismarck was going to take it all.”
    “And that sounded like a sure thing to you,” I said. God, these guys are my bread and butter, I thought. How did it come that Vic could be one of these guys? Why couldn’t he be as smart as his hands?
    “As sure as it gets,” he said. “Believe me.”
    I wondered how much he knew about what I did to think I wouldn’t know better.
    “But the bomber didn’t go down,” he added with a shrug. “The jockey, he didn’t take the dive. Changed his mind, I guess.”
    I didn’t say anything. What could I say? Didn’t he get it? There were no insider tips. Not for guys like him.You couldn’t win and if you did, it wouldn’t be for long. That’s why they call it a racket.
    So he told me how the major-league loss put the scare in him. He’d needed big money fast. So he hustled and borrowed and played again. Sometimes, at blackjack, the dog track, he won. But it didn’t matter. Instead of paying off the vig, he tried for more, he played it up higher, just like I’d seen that night at Yin’s. And it was a big slide from there. He just kept dumping it all, on overhead tips, bad tips, tips everyone knew were fixes. Hell, I dropped those kinds of tips. It was my job. They were all junk.
    “Why don’t you just lay off the scene for a while,” I said. “I’ll help you make some touches. We can scare up enough to get him to lay off and …” I was going to suggest he get a job for a while, some paychecks, but it seemed crazy even to mention. It hit me Vic probably hadn’t worked a day in