"All right." I took him down the street to where they had genuine
imported Japanese field glasses and laid out twenty bucks for a pair.
The man was a thief, but I didn't have time to argue. Right across the
street from Henry's place was a rundown hotel. That was our next stop.
The desk man in the scratch house looked up from his comic book. "A
room," I said. "Me and my nephew want a room facing the street." And I
pointed to the window of Henry's place, where I wanted it to face.
Because we still had a chance. With the field glasses and Skippy's
young, good eyes to look through them, with the transmitter that would
carry an extra hundred yards easy enough--with everything going for us,
we had a chance. Provided Henry had been able to maneuver Chapo so his
back was to the window.
The bed merchant gave us a long stall about how the only room we wanted
belonged to a sweet old lady that was sick and couldn't be moved. But
for ten bucks she could be.
All the time I was wondering how many hands were being played, if we
were stuck money and how much--all kinds of things. But finally we
got into the room and I laid it out for Skippy. "You aim those field
glasses out the window," I told him. "Read Chapo's cards and let me
know; that's all. I'll take care of the rest."
I'll say this for him, duck-tail haircut and all, he settled right
down to business. I made myself comfortable on the bed and rattled them
off on the transmitter as he read the cards to me. I couldn't see the
players, didn't know the score; but if he was giving the cards to me
right, I was getting them out to Henry.
I felt pretty good. I even began to feel kindly toward the kid. At my
age, bifocals are standard equipment, but to judge from Skippy's fast,
sure call of the cards, his eyesight was twenty-twenty or better.
After about an hour, Skippy put down the glasses and broke the news:
the game was over.
We took our time getting back to Henry's place, so Chapo would have
time to clear out. Henry greeted us with eight fingers in the air.
Eight hundred? But before I could ask him, he was already talking:
"Eight big ones! Eight thousand bucks! And how you did it, I'll never
know!"
Well, eight thousand was good news, no doubt of that. I said, "That's
the old system, Henry. But we couldn't have done it if you hadn't
steered the fish up to the window." And I showed him the Japanese field
glasses, grinning.
But he didn't grin back. He looked puzzled. He glanced toward the
window.
I looked too, and then I saw what he was puzzled about. It was pretty
obvious that Henry had missed my signal. He and the fish had played by
the window, all right.
But the shade was down.
* * * * *
When I turned around to look for Skippy, to ask him some questions, he
was gone. Evidently he didn't want to answer.
I beat up and down every block in the neighborhood until I spotted him
in a beanery, drinking a cup of coffee and looking worried.
I sat down beside him, quiet. He didn't look around. The counterman
opened his mouth to say hello. I shook my head, but Skippy said,
"That's all right. I know you're there."
I blinked. This was a creep! But I had to find out what was going on. I
said, "You made a mistake, kid."
"Running out?" He shrugged. "It's not the first mistake I made," he
said bitterly. "Getting into your little setup with the bugged game
came before that."
I said, "You can always quit," but then stopped. Because it was a lie.
He couldn't quit--not until I found out how he read Chapo's cards
through a drawn shade.
He said drearily, "You've all got me marked lousy, haven't you? Don't
kid me about Henry--I know. I'm not so sure about you, but it wouldn't
surprise me."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can hear every word that's on Henry's mind," he said somberly.
"You, no. Some people I can hear, some I can't; you're one I can't."
"What kind of goofy talk is that?" I demanded. But, to tell you the
truth, I didn't think it was so goofy. The window shade was a lot
goofier.
"All my life," said Skippy, "I've been hearing the voices. It doesn't
matter if they talk out loud or not. Most people I can hear, even when
they don't want me to. Field glasses? I didn't need field glasses. I
could hear every thought that went through Chapo's mind, clear across
the street. Henry too. That's how I know." He hesitated, looking at me.
"You think Henry took eight thousand off Chapo, don't you? It was ten."