I don't believe this.
Matt divided the money into two wads, put one in each pocket, and walked out of the casino.
****
The first thing Matt Payne experienced when he woke up was annoyance. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on. And then he remembered the money and sat up abruptly. It was still there on the bed. No longer in the one thick wad into which he had counted it, three or four times, but there.
He counted it again. $4,685.
Jesus H. Christ!
He put the stack of bills in the drawer of the bedside table, then undressed and took a shower. He wrapped himself in a terry-cloth robe, went back into the bedroom, sat on the enormous bed, took the money from the bedside table, and counted it again.
Then he laid on the bed with his hands laced behind his head and thought about it.
The first thing he thought was that he was a natural-born gambler, that his quick mind gave him an edge over people who lost at roulette. He knew when to bet and when not to bet.
That's so much bullshit! You were just incredibly lucky, that's all. Dumb beginner's luck. Period. If you go back down there and try to do that again, you will lose very dime of that, plus the two fifties mad money.
The thing to do is put that money someplace safe and forget about it.
He figured that he might as well round it off, to forty-five hundred, keeping one hundred eight-five to play with, and then he changed that to rounding it off to four thousand even, which left him six hundred eight-five to play with, which meant lose.
He took out his toilet kit, and with some effort managed to cram forty hundred-dollar bills into the chrome soap dish.
He looked at his watch. It was quarter after three. That was Philadelphia time. It was only a little after midnight here, but it explained why he was hungry again.
With his luck, the restaurants would be closed at this hour. He would be denied another meal.
That's not true. With my luck, the restaurant will not only be open, but the headwaiter will show me to my table with a flourish of trumpets.
****
The headwaiter made him wait for a table, as the restaurant was even more crowded at midnight, Las Vegas time, than it had been when he'd had lunch, or breakfast, or whatever meal that had been. He had a martini, a shrimp cocktail, and another filet mignon, and then went back to the casino.
He went to the same roulette table and gave the croupier one hundred eight-five dollars, specifying nickels, and promptly lost it all.
He moved away from the table and decided he would see if he could figure out how one bet at a craps table, as he had figured out how one bet at roulette.
There was a man at the head of the table rolling dice. He looked like a gambler, Matt decided. He had gold rings on both hands, and a long-collared shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel, so as to display his hairy chest and a large gold medallion. And he had, one on each side of him, a pair of what Matt decided must be Las Vegas hookers of fame and legend.
Matt moved to what he hoped was an unobtrusive distance from the gambler and tried to figure out what was going on. Ten minutes later, the only thing he was fairly sure of was that the gambler was a fellow Philadelphian. The accent was unmistakable.
"Sir, if you are not going to wager, would you mind stepping aside and making room for someone who would like to play?"
"Sorry," Matt said, and pulled his wad of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and laid one somewhere, anywhere, on the felt of the craps table. The gambler threw the dice. The hooker on his left said " ooooh" and the one on his right kissed him and gave him a little hug.
The croupier picked up Matt's one-hundred-dollar bill…
I lost. Why did I bet a hundred?
…and held a handful of chips over it.
"Quarters all right, sir?"
I won. I'll be goddamned. What did I bet on?
"Quarters are fine, thank you."