Alligator Page 3

  Alligator had fallen into the trap. B*nd smiled and lit a cigarette.

  7. “James, Go Fish”

  SUDDENLY B*nd had misgivings. £30 a point, and 1,000 points a book. It was pure insanity! One bad hand, even a moderately bad hand, with Alligator winning a mere eight books, would cost B*nd £26,440. That was over triple his income for a year. Here he was risking literally all he possessed for the simple reason that Alligator had filthy manners, and he wanted to teach him a lesson. And he didn’t even have a clue as to how Alligator was cheating. Suppose the lesson didn’t come off! Vodka, gin, Cointreau, creme de menthe, rum and benzedrine had led him to this unthinkable impulse. Never again.

  B*nd’s thoughts were interrupted by Alligator’s shrill unpleasant voice. “As I’m sure so great an expert as you must know, chum,” he said sarcastically, “‘Go Fish’ protocol calls for using only the first name in game commands.” He grinned wickedly.

  And suddenly B*nd didn’t care about the high stakes; suddenly all he wanted was to give this grotesque animal of a man the lesson of his life. He calmly lit a cigarette, then, between clenched teeth, he snapped, “Your deal, Lacertus.” There was an ironic sparkle in his cruel eyes as he spat out the name.

  “Thanks, chum,” Alligator replied. He was all business now. “As does everyone who plays with me, we will play strictly according to Hoyle with one exception. That exception is in the matter of the number of cards to be dealt to each player. Hoyle calls for seven cards. I call for fifteen.” As he spoke, he had opened a new Bicycle deck, shuffled it, and begun to deal. B*nd watched as Alligator glided the cards expertly onto the table, glancing casually at the excited crowd that had gathered around the table at the news of the stakes.

  No chance of a “shiner,” B*nd thought: Alligator would have to look in one direction as he dealt if that were his technique. While the piles in front of the two players were slowly increasing the drinks arrived, and B*nd carefully sipped at his Anagram, letting the cool liquid sting the base of his tongue. This was going to be tough.

  B*nd picked up his cards and began to arrange them. It was a poor hand—all singletons except for a pair of deuces, a pair of treys, and a pair of jacks. He dragged deeply on his cigarette and began the game.

  “Lacertus, give me your deuces.”

  The pointed teeth flashed an ugly grin, and the big eyes seemed to search B*nd’s mind for the key to his hand. “J*mes,” came the answer, “go fish.”

  B*nd dutifully drew a card from the stock. It was a seven, giving him another pair.

  Alligator smiled condescendingly. “Very well, chum,” he said edgily. “Now it’s my turn. J*mes, give me your treys.”

  B*nd did so. “Lacertus,” he replied politely, “here are my treys.”

  “Thank you, chum,” said Alligator sharply, placing a book of four cards on the table in front of him. “J*mes, give me your jacks.”

  B*nd took the cards from his hand and muttered, “Lacertus, here are your jacks.”

  Things were going badly. In two commands Alligator had removed his best cards. Was it coincidence? His opponent’s next move would determine that.

  Alligator coolly sipped his bourbon and grape juice. “J*mes,” he said quietly, “give me your sevens.”

  That clinched it. B*nd wanted to see those steel teeth ripped out of the huge, sneering mouth, wanted to leave the loose lips hideously flapping. He swallowed hard. “Lacertus,” he said as indifferently as he could, “here are your sevens.”

  B*nd was seething. It was obvious that he was going to lose a fortune on this hand, and he still had no clue as to Alligator’s method of cheating. To make matters worse, someone directly behind B*nd had lit a cheap cigar, and the fumes were practically choking him. “White Owl panatella,” he mused angrily. He lit a cigarette and turned around to see who at Glades could display such disgracefully bad taste. It was Kynstondi, who was still carrying on his heated finger conversation with Pazardzhik. The two had moved up until they hovered over B*nd’s chair. B*nd stared at them, his eyes blazing, for several seconds. They finally stopped “talking” and glared back at him menacingly. Kynstondi took an extra puff on his White Owl and sent a thick stream of the vile smoke into B*nd’s face. “Filthy Bulgar,” thought B*nd and turned back to the game.

  Alligator, who had remained as silent as an octopus under a rock throughout this exchange now spoke up again. “J*mes,” he chuckled evilly, “give me your fives.” B*nd had one and complied: “Lacertus, here is my five.” And so it went until Alligator had made eleven books and B*nd but one. Only the deuces and a singleton remained. B*nd squinted sideways at * and noted that his chiefs brow was deeply furrowed. He lit a cigarette and considered his situation. No cards left in the stock. Five in Alligator’s hand. This was the end.

  The doll’s eyes were glaring at him defiantly. “J*mes,” came the shrill voice, “give me your four.” B*nd did so angrily. He was infuriated that Alligator could be so unsportingly rude as to use the singular, although of course he would have had to know that B*nd did indeed have only one. The Bulgar behind B*nd was puffing on his cigar again, which annoyed him still further. B*nd wheeled around to glare; as before the two mutes stopped their conversation. And suddenly B*nd had it! Of course! The bodyguards were somehow revealing his hand to Alligator with their hand signals. What a fiendishly clever technique, thought B*nd. Had the Bulgars been clever enough to continue their conversation under inspection he would never have had a clue to them. What was more, it would be almost impossible to prove that they were tipping Alligator off, because it seemed unlikely that anyone in the room, least of all B*nd, could understand their sign language.

  B*nd took a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it between his teeth with a faint hiss. How to be sure, he wondered. How to be sure? It came to him in a flash. He would knock over Kynstondi by heaving his chair back into him, meanwhile noting Alligator’s reaction. If the man hesitated in his command, it would indicate that B*nd had been correct.

  B*nd lit a cigarette and waited for Alligator to make the final request. The steel teeth flashed, the great jaws began to move. “J*mes,” said the shrill voice, “give me . . .”

  B*nd waited no longer. He suddenly lurched hard and his momentum knocked the top of the chair back into Kynstondi’s midsection. The thug grunted painfully, and simultaneously throwing up his hands and dropping his cigar, fell back onto the hardwood floor. B*nd toppled head over heels and landed with a thud face down, his feet smacking smartly into the Bulgar’s midriff.

  B*nd feigned temporary unconsciousness, but meanwhile his mind raced with the new bit of information it had just gleaned. For before the sharp crack of his chair as it splintered on the floor, B*nd had heard Alligator say, “ . . . give me your tens . . . er, er, er, deuces.” Since Alligator must have known that B*nd had only deuces, there could now be no doubt that he had been reading commands directly from the Bulgars. What had made him call for tens? Of course! Kynstondi had thrown out his arms as he fell, and had undoubtedly extended his fingers as he did so. Incredible as it seemed, B*nd’s hand was being telegraphed by the simple method of holding up the number of fingers equal to the ranks of the cards. B*nd had to admire the audacious courage of such a system. He sighed deeply and prepared to pull himself to his feet. At last he was ready to beat Alligator at his own game.

  8. “Gentlemen, the Queen”

  THE spectators, who had cringed away as B*nd fell, now hurried back to aid him. Dingletump hastened to his side with a new chair. In all the years at Glades such a thing had never happened. At all costs a scandal must be avoided.

  B*nd steadied himself by leaning on Dingletump’s shoulder and lit a cigarette. “A momentary faintness,” he explained. “It is nothing—the excitement, the heat.” He walked unsurely over to the table and sat down. Alligator was beaming at him. “Well, chum, you gambled with the champ and you came out a chump.” He laughed sardonically. “You owe me £36,000, chum. Pay up.”

  B*nd breathed a sigh of relie
f. Alligator apparently didn’t suspect that his code had been cracked. B*nd stared coolly into the china-blue doll’s eyes. “I believe you’re forgetting one small detail of ‘Go Fish’ etiquette. The loser has the right to challenge at double the stakes. You will accept?”

  As he spoke, he lit a cigarette, then took the deck of cards and automatically gave them the Scarne shuffle, marrying the two halves with the quick downward riffle that never brings the cards off the table. There was a startled gasp from the crowd. Even Alligator was stunned, but only for a moment. He glared at *.

  “I presume, chum, that your buddy is good for such a sum.”

  * glanced worriedly at B*nd, then met Alligator’s challenge with a frosty stare of his own, a stare made doubly frigid by the angry purple tint of his face. “If you mean by that, am I good for the Commander’s losses, I assure you I am.”

  “Okay, chum,” said Alligator patronisingly. “It’s your money, and it’s up to you how you throw it around.” He turned to B*nd. “Deal away, chum. That is if you’re really serious about this.” Greedy anticipation shone in his eyes.

  B*nd lit a cigarette and squinted sideways at *. He tried to imagine what was going on behind those cold, damnably clear grey eyes. B*nd knew there would be disappointment there and disillusionment—a nagging fear that his chief agent was going to let him down. The time had come to reassure him with the signal they had agreed upon before the game. B*nd suddenly leapt to his feet.

  “Gentlemen, the Queen!”

  Everyone snapped to reverent attention except Alligator, who remained seated, his hairy purple face twisted in a hideous sneer. B*nd flung his glass neatly into the wide Adam fireplace at the far end of the room, and with rousing cheers the crowd around the table followed suit. Everyone turned back and stared at Alligator. Finally, feeling the disdain in the eyes that were glued upon him, he pulled himself to his feet.

  “The Queen,” he cackled shrilly, and B*nd thought he caught a portent of mysterious evil in his voice. Alligator shrugged and casually tossed the glass over his shoulder. It landed squarely on the head of Lord Dingletump.

  “Oh, sorry chum,” said Alligator when he realised what had happened, “but I must say you look rather rich with all that grape juice all over your monkey suit.”

  Laughing heartily, he walked over and slapped Dingletump hard on the back with his left hand, at the same time spraying him deftly with the purple spray can in his right. As he did so B*nd quickly slipped the blue bicycle pack into his pocket and substituted the deck he had prepared earlier in the evening. He looked anxiously around him. Everyone was staring incredulously at Alligator and Dingletump. No one had seen his maneuver.

  “That’s quite all right, old chap,” Dingletump was saying with dignity, doing his best to mop off with his handkerchief the combination of bourbon, grape juice, and vegetable colouring that covered his face. Dingletump hailed a passing waiter.

  “Let’s have another round of drinks for all these gentlemen,” he motioned toward the crowd around the card table— “on the house, of course.” A chorus of “hear, hear’s” echoed around the room.

  B*nd lit a cigarette, letting the long, torch-like flame of his pig iron lighter play delicately about the end before dragging deeply. Then, deliberately, he began to deal. Alligator eyed him closely, then picked up his hand and surveyed it carefully.

  B*nd watched the tiny black pupils dart upwards for a moment to register the Bulgars’ message, then saw the thick lips moisten in keen anticipation. For this was the way cards stood:

  ALLIGATOR

  ♠ A K Q J 10 9 8

  ♥ A K Q J 10 9 8 7

  B*ND

  ♥ A K Q J 10 9 8 7

  ♣ A K Q J 10 9 8

  Alligator had the first play, and knowing all of B*nd’s cards, he would immediately see that he could make seven books before he even had to resort to the stock. “I seem to have some good tickets here,” he said greedily. “I guess I’ll be exercising my privilege to redouble the stakes. All right with you, chum?”

  “Fine,” said B*nd confidently. “Redoubled it is. £120 a point, 4000 a book.”

  “Right you are, chum,” replied Alligator. His great doll’s eyes twinkled eagerly. “Well, might as well begin. J*mes, give me your aces.”

  B*nd feigned astonishment. “My dear!” he exclaimed, “you do seem positively psychic!” He handed across the two cards and paused to accept the new drink the waiter had brought him. “Lacertus, here are your aces.”

  All right, thought B*nd, the time has come to teach this clumsy oaf the lesson of his life. He sprang to his feet, drained his glass, and shouted once again, “Gentlemen, the Queen!” Again he hurled his glass into the fire, and once again everyone around the table cheerfully followed suit. Even Alligator, beaming with the confidence of apparently certain victory, did not hesitate to join in the toast.

  B*nd took the moment of free time to slip the pair of blue-backed sevens out of his sleeve into his right hand. His cards disappeared beneath the surface of the table for a moment, and when they reappeared the sevens had been substituted for the pair of kings, which now lay in his left hand. B*nd squinted sideways at Alligator and noted that he was staring after his glass, which had fallen several feet short of the fireplace and shattered in the midst of a group of chemin de fer players. Quickly B*nd’s right hand shot out and picked up the stock; meanwhile the left pushed the two kings to the bottom. The whole action, from beginning to end, had taken less than a second. He lit a cigarette.

  Alligator returned to the table and smiled patronisingly at B*nd. “Well, chum,” he laughed thickly, “I’ve gotta hand it to you, showing all that ‘hear, hear’ Limey patriotism when you’re about to lose £70,000. Sorry to do this to such a ‘hear, hear’ Limey patriot, but, J*mes, give me your kings.”

  B*nd lifted his head and looked straight into Alligator’s eyes. Slowly and deliberately he enunciated the fatal words, “Lacertus, go fish!”

  A look of utter shock crossed Alligator’s face. “What!” he began. “That’s impos . . .” He checked himself, shot a furious glance at the Bulgarians, and muttered thickly. “Very well, chum.” He drew a card. B*nd knew it was the seven of spades, knew it because he had planted it there himself three hours before. “Lacertus, give me your sevens,” he said, again looking directly into the china-blue eyes. He calmly pulled out his pig iron cigarette case, withdrew a cigarette, and lit it.

  For the first time, Alligator glimpsed the full implication of what was going to happen to him. B*nd would sweep through his queens, knaves, tens, nines and eights. That would give him a six-book-to-one lead. “J*mes,” Alligator answered finally, “here is your seven.”

  B*nd made the six books easily, leaving only the pair of kings in Alligator’s hand and the three sevens in his own. A new look of determination flashed now on Alligator’s face—at least from here on in he would be able to play B*nd on even terms.

  But Alligator did not—could not—know what B*nd had fixed the deck so that he could win all but one of the remaining books against any defence. B*nd’s first draw from the stock was, as he knew it would be, a seven, completing his seventh book. “Why, Dame Fortune seems to be with me tonight,” B*nd lied cheerfully. “I guess I get to draw another card.” It was the six of hearts.

  Alligator’s face had paled considerably. He had no choice, of course, but to call for kings. “Lacertus,” said B*nd equably, “go fish!” Alligator drew the six of spades exactly as B*nd had planned that he should.

  “Lacertus, give me your sixes,” sang out B*nd. Alligator sat still for a moment. “J*mes,” he finally muttered, here is your six.”

  “Well, what do you know,” replied B*nd as he lit a cigarette. “I guess I’ll have to draw now, seeing I have only sixes in my hand. He drew the six of hearts. “Your turn,” he called.

  “James, give me your kings,” said Alligator pathetically.

  “Lacertus, go fish.” B*nd watched Alligator draw the six of diamonds. He almost fel
t sorry for the man, whose utter rudeness, whose contempt for the “gentlemanly” sportsmanship of Glades, had led him to this terrible punishment. “Lacertus,” he said, “give me your sixes.” Alligator did so in silence.

  “You forgot to say ‘J*mes, here is your six,’” said B*nd cheerfully. “But, I’ll let it go this time.” He reached for the top card of the stock—the six of clubs. “Remarkable!” he exclaimed. “Simply remarkable!” I seem to have made another book . . .”

  And so it went, through the fives, fours treys, and deuces. At last only the two kings were left in the stock. B*nd deliberately reached out and turned them over. “Your kings, Alligator,” he said very slowly. “That’s all.” He lit a cigarette and sat quietly back in his chair.

  Alligator’s face had paled from its rich purple to a deathly lavender. Now he suddenly lurched forward and crashed his fist on the table sending cards flying in all directions. The words hissed across the table toward B*nd. “You goddam chea . . .”

  Dingletump interrupted immediately. “That’s enough, Alligator!” he said firmly. “I’ve seen enough card games in my life to know when someone’s cheating. If you have a complaint, you’ll have to report it in writing to the committee. Now, according to my estimates, allowing for your £36,000 winnings in the first hand, you owe Commander B*nd £424,000.”

  Alligator sneered at Dingletump, pulled out his checkbook, scribbled out a check, and handed it to B*nd. “Here you are, chum,” he hissed. “If I were you I’d cash this quickly.” He stood up and addressed the crowd. “Good night, chums,” he snapped. Then, accompanied by the two Bulgars, he strode quickly from the room.

  9. The Still Vexed Bermoothes

  “WHITE HERON INN, sir,” said the driver.

  B*nd got out of the tiny Hillman taxi, slammed the door, and stretched his legs gratefully. He handed the driver a pound note and some loose change and the surrey-topped car scuttled out of the gate without pausing to consider the possibility of oncoming traffic.