Gamblers World | Page 6

long enough, and you'll get the payoff."
"How often does this random pattern put the hole down?"
"Anywhere from three minutes to fifteen, with the average run of players. Oh, by the way, one more thing. That lead block up there--" The man motioned with his head toward a one-foot cube suspended by a thick cable. "It's rigged to drop every now and again. Averages five minutes. A warning light flashes first. You can take a chance; sometimes the light's a bluff. You can set the clock back on it by dropping another chip--or you can let go the grip."
Retief looked at the massive block of metal.
"That would mess up a man's dealing hand, wouldn't it?"
"The last two jokers who were too cheap to feed the machine had to have 'em off. Their arms, I mean. That lead's heavy stuff."
"I don't suppose your machine has a habit of getting stuck, like Kippy's?"
The broad-shouldered man frowned.
"You're a stranger," he said, "You don't know any better."
"It's a fair game, Mister," someone called.
"Where do I buy the chips?"
The man smiled. "I'll fix you up. How many?"
"One."
"A big spender, eh?" The man snickered, but handed over a large plastic chip.

IV
Retief stepped to the machine, dropped the coin.
"If you want to change your mind," the man said, "you can back out now. All it'll cost you is the chip you dropped."
Retief reached through the hole, took the grip. It was leather padded hand-filling. He squeezed it. There was a click and bright lights sprang up. The crowd ah!-ed. The globe began to twirl lazily. The four-inch hole at its top was plainly visible.
"If ever the hole gets in position it will empty very quickly," Magnan said, hopefully.
Suddenly, a brilliant white light flooded the glass cage. A sound went up from the spectators.
"Quick, drop a chip," someone called.
"You've only got ten seconds...."
"Let go!" Magnan yelped.
Retief sat silent, holding the grip, frowning up at the weight. The globe twirled faster now. Then the bright white light winked off.
"A bluff!" Magnan gasped.
"That's risky, stranger," the gray-templed man said.
The globe was turning rapidly now, oscillating from side to side. The hole seemed to travel in a wavering loop, dipping lower, swinging up high, then down again.
"It has to move to the bottom soon," Magnan said. "Slow it down."
"The slower it goes, the longer it takes to get to the bottom," someone said.
There was a crackle and Retief stiffened. Magnan heard a sharp intake of breath. The globe slowed, and Retief shook his head, blinking.
The broad-shouldered man glanced at a meter.
"You took pretty near a full jolt, that time," he said.
The hole in the globe was tracing an oblique course now, swinging to the center, then below.
"A little longer," Magnan said.
"That's the best speed I ever seen on the Slam ball," someone said. "How much longer can he hold it?"
Magnan looked at Retief's knuckles. They showed white against the grip. The globe tilted farther, swung around, then down; two chips fell out, clattered down a chute and into a box.
"We're ahead," Magnan said. "Let's quit."
Retief shook his head. The globe rotated, dipped again; three chips fell.
"She's ready," someone called.
"It's bound to hit soon," another voice added excitedly. "Come on, Mister!"
"Slow down," Magnan said. "So it won't move past too quickly."
"Speed it up, before that lead block gets you," someone called.
The hole swung high, over the top, then down the side. Chips rained out of the hole, six, eight....
"Next pass," a voice called.
The white light flooded the cage. The globe whirled; the hole slid over the top, down, down.... A chip fell, two more....
Retief half rose, clamped his jaw and crushed the grip. Sparks flew. The globe slowed, chips spewing. It stopped, swung back, weighted by the mass of chips at the bottom, and stopped again with the hole centered.
[Illustration]
Chips cascaded down the chute, filled the box before Retief, spilled on the floor. The crowd yelled.
Retief released the grip and withdrew his arm at the same instant that the lead block slammed down.
"Good lord," Magnan said. "I felt that through the floor."
Retief turned to the broad-shouldered man.
"This game's all right for beginners," he said. "But I'd like to talk a really big gamble. Why don't we go to your office, Mr. Zorn?"
* * * * *
"Your proposition interests me," Zorn said, grinding out the stump of his dope stick in a brass ashtray. "But there's some angles to this I haven't mentioned yet."
"You're a gambler, Zorn, not a suicide," Retief said. "Take what I've offered. The other idea was fancier, I agree, but it won't work."
"How do I know you birds aren't lying?" Zorn snarled. He stood up, strode up and down the room. "You walk in here and tell me I'll have a task force on my neck, that the Corps won't recognize my regime. Maybe you're right. But I've got other