5432852385743

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 scronk sound from somewhere underneath. “Unless
you know something.” He leaned back again and pursed his lips. “But how could you? You live in
Jodie, for Chrissake. But if you did, you’d let a pal in on it, wouldn’t you?”
“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.”
“Can you help me or not, Freddy?”
He gave me a comforting smile that said the fool and his money would all too soon be parted.
“There’s a guy in Dallas who’d be happy to take that kind of action. Name’s Akiva Roth. Operates out
of Faith Financial on Greenville Ave. Took over the biz from his father five or six years ago.” He
lowered his voice. “Word is, he’s mobbed up.” He lowered his voice still further. “Carlos Marcello.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of, because that had also been the word on Eduardo Gutierrez. I
thought again of the Lincoln with the Florida plates parked across from Faith Financial.
“I’m not sure I’d want to be seen going into a place like that. I might want to teach again, and at
least two members of the schoolboard are already cheesed off at me.”
“You could try Frank Frati, over in Fort Worth. He runs a pawnshop.” Scronk went the chair as he
leaned forward to get a better look at my face. “What’d I say? Or did you inhale a bug?”
“Uh-uh. It’s just that I knew a Frati once. Who also ran a pawnshop and took bets.”
“Probably they both came from the same savings-and-loan clan in Romania. Anyway, he might
fade five Cs—especially a sucker bet like you’re talking about. But you won’t get the odds you deserve.
Of course you wouldn’t get em from Roth, either, but you’d get better than you would from Frank
Frati.”
“But with Frank I wouldn’t get the Mob connection. Right?”
“I guess not, but who really knows? Bookies, even the part-time ones, ain’t known for their highclass
business associations.”
“Probably I should take your advice and hold onto my money.”
Quinlan looked horrified. “No, no, no, don’t do that. Bet it on the Bears to win the NFC. That way
you make a bundle. I practically guarantee it.”