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it to you,” Parsons said. “Come on, let’s match a little more.”
    “I thought you said this wasn’t going to be a drinking night,” O’Neill said suspiciously.
    “We’ll match for a few bucks, all right?”
    “I’ll lose,” O’Neill said.
    “Why not give Charlie’s theory a chance?” Jamison put in.
    “Sure,” Parsons said. “I’ve got a little money with me. Let’s see how fast you can take it away from me, using my theory.” He paused, then turned to Jamison. “You’ve got some money with you, haven’t you, Elliot?”
    “About two hundred and fifty dollars,” Jamison said. “I don’t like to carry too much with me. You never know.”
    “That’s wise,” Parsons said, nodding. “What do you say, Frank?”
    “All right, all right, what’s your theory?”
    “Just concentrate on winning, that’s all. Think with all your might. Just think, I’m going to win, I’m going to win, that’s all.”
    “It won’t work, but I’m game. How much do we bet?”
    “Let’s start with five,” Parsons said. “To make it quicker, we’ll do it this way. Odd man loses. He pays each of the other players five bucks. How does that sound?”
    “Well, that sounds a little stee—” Jamison started.
    “That sounds fine to me,” O’Neill said. Parsons winked at Jamison.
    Jamison gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and then hastily said, “Yes, that sounds fine to me, too.”
    They began matching.
    With remarkable regularity, O’Neill kept losing. Then, perhaps because Parsons wanted to make it look good, Jamisonbegan to lose a little, too. The men matched silently. Their table was in a corner of the place, protected from sight by a translucent glass wall. It is doubtful, anyway, that anyone would have stopped the men from their innocent coin-matching. They flipped, uncovered, and exchanged bills. In a short while, O’Neill had lost something like $400. Jamison had lost close to $200. Parsons winked at Jamison every now and then, just to let him know that everything was proceeding according to plan. O’Neill kept complaining to Jamison—who was losing along with him—about Parsons’s theory. “The only one that goddamn theory works for is him himself,” O’Neill said.
    They kept matching.
    Jamison did not lose as much now. O’Neill kept losing, and he got angrier with each flip of the coin. Finally, he looked at both men and said, “Say, what is this?”
    “What’s what?” Parsons asked.
    “I’ve dropped nearly six hundred dollars so far.” He turned to Jamison. “How much have you lost?”
    Jamison did a little mental calculation. “Oh, about two hundred thirty-five, something like that.”
    “And you?” O’Neill said to Parsons.
    “I’m winning,” Parsons said.
    O’Neill looked at his two companions with a long, steady gaze. “You wouldn’t be trying to fleece me by any chance, would you?” he asked.
    “Fleece?” Parsons asked.
    “You wouldn’t be a pair of swindlers by any chance, would you?” O’Neill asked.
    Jamison could hardly keep the grin off his face. Parsons winked at him.
    “What makes you say that?” Parsons asked.
    O’Neill rose suddenly. “I’m calling a cop,” he said.
    The grin dropped from Jamison’s face. “Hey, now,” he said, “wait a minute. We were just—”
    Parsons, sitting secure with Jamison’s $235 and O’Neill’s $600 in his pocket, said, “No need to get sore, Frank. A game’s a game.”
    “Besides,” Jamison said, “we were only—”
    Parsons put an arm on his sleeve and winked at him. “The breaks are the breaks, Frank,” he said to O’Neill.
    “And crooks are crooks,” O’Neill said. “I’m getting a cop.” He started away from the table.
    Jamison’s face went white. “Charlie,” he said, “we’ve got to stop him. A joke is a joke, but Jesus—”
    “I’ll get him,” Parsons said, rising. He chuckled. “God, he’s a weird duck, isn’t he? I’ll bring him right back. You wait