She threw the dice, saw them dance on the floor, caught her number.
Jeff rolled them, beat her on it, picked up the money. He rolled again,
then again. The tightness grew around the girl's eyes; little tense
lines hardened near her mouth. Nervously, she fumbled a cigarette into
her mouth, lit it, puffed as the dice rolled.
She lost. She lost again. Side bets picked up around them, the people
as they watched catching the tension that was building up.
"What's happening?"
"The dice--my God! They've gone crazy!"
"Blackie's losing. What do you think--"
"--losing? She never loses on dice. Who's the guy?"
"Never saw him before. Look, he took another one! Those dice are hexed."
"My cards were crazy too: king high full every time, a dozen hands in a
row. How can you bet on something like that, I ask you."
The Silly Giggins record screeched louder, then gave a squawk as the
record suddenly shattered in a thousand pieces. Somebody cursed and
threw a pack of cards on the floor, and a scream broke out across the
room. One group came suddenly to blows; several dice games tightened
down to bloody conflict between individuals. A man burst into tears,
suddenly, and sat back on his haunches, his face stricken. "They can't
act this way," he wailed. "They just _can't_--"
Jeff's eyes watched the spinning dice, and again something was
screaming in his ear. He felt as though his head were going to burst,
but he continued to roll and he saw the girl's face darken with each
throw. He saw the fear shine out from her blue eyes. Suddenly she let
out a curse, snatched the dice from Jeff's hand and threw them sharply
across the room. She stared at Jeff venomously, then glared at the
people around her as if she were a cornered animal.
"It's all of you," she snarled. "You're turning them against me. You're
making them fall wrong." She spat on the floor and started for the
door. Jeff moved after her but felt a restraining hand on his arm.
"Leave her alone," said the Nasty Frenchman. "You'll have trouble on
your hands if you don't. You see what I meant about something being
wrong? The whole crowd here is on edge, as if somebody were picking
them up and throwing them down. Who ever saw dice fall that way, or
cards fall that way"--the little man's eyes flashed slyly--"_unless
somebody was controlling them_."
Jeff's breath was faster as he stared at the Nasty Frenchman, and his
voice was hoarse. "What are you talking about?"
The little man's lips twisted angrily. "You saw what happened in here,
didn't you?"
Jeff turned away in anger. He wove through the crowd, his jaw tight as
he moved toward the door. The Nasty Frenchman could only glimpse the
truth, but someone else saw more, much more. Somehow, Jeff knew that
this past hour held the key to the whole problem, if he could only see
it. Here was the answer to the whole tangled puzzle of the girl and
Paul Conroe, of Dr. Schiml and the Mercy Men.
And he knew that when he reached the room, the girl would be waiting.
She would be waiting with cold fire in her eyes, as she sat at the
table, a small pair of colored dice lying before her in the dim light.
Jeff hurried down the darkened corridor, fear exploding in his brain.
She would be there and he knew why she would be smoldering when he
walked into the room. He had seen her eyes, seen her face as they
had thrown the dice. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt who had been
controlling the dice.
The girl was waiting, just as he had known she would. He stepped into
the room and closed the door gently behind him, facing her desperate
eyes as she rolled the colored dice back and forth in front of her.
"Game," she challenged, her voice harsh and metallic.
The room was tense with silent fear as he sank down opposite her at the
table.