"What do I do when we go in?" Mary Beth asked.
"Just tell the clerk what you want to do," Mark said. "He'll take it from there."
"OK."
Mark nodded, placed a hand on Mary Beth's back, and then escorted her into a shop called the Fourth Quarter. The two walked through a narrow lobby and finally entered a main room that looked more like an 1800s saloon than a 1900s bookmaking operation.
Mary Beth smiled as she assessed the place. Sawdust and scraps of paper coated the concrete floor like snowflakes on a northern Alabama lawn. Names and numbers, representing teams and odds, covered a large blackboard bolted to a wall. The smell of stale beer, cigar smoke, and sweat assaulted Mary Beth's nostrils. She longed for the air conditioning of the car.
Mary Beth examined the blackboard, noted the betting options for the title game of the NCAA men's basketball tournament, and stepped toward a counter, where a short, plump, balding man read a newspaper and smoked a cigar. Mark followed close behind.
"Excuse me, sir," Mary Beth said. "Are you the person who handles bets?"
The man looked up and placed his cigar on a tray.
"I'm Jimmy Smith, the owner. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to bet on the game."
"What game? Be specific."
Mary Beth looked at Mark, saw a smile, and then returned to the owner.
"I want to bet on the basketball game tonight between California and West Virginia."
Jimmy pushed the paper away.
"Do you want to pick a winner, guess the over-under, or bet on the point spread?"
Mary Beth grinned.
"I want to bet on the game. I believe Cal is going to win 71-70 and want to bet a hundred dollars on that specific outcome."
Mary Beth glanced again at Mark. She expected to see another supportive smile but instead saw a look of concern. Had she said something wrong? Had she overreached?
Jimmy studied Mary Beth, shook his head, and chuckled.
"Have you been drinking today?"
"No," Mary Beth said. She glared at the man. "I'm as sober as a judge."
The owner looked at Mark.
"Is she your girlfriend, mister? If she is, you might want to teach her a thing or two about beating impossible odds. She has a better chance at winning the Irish Sweepstakes than picking the exact score of tonight's game."
Mark looked at Mary Beth and then addressed the wise guy.
"I believe the lady wants to make a wager," Mark said with an edge in his voice. "Why don't you do your job and honor her request?"
Mary Beth smiled when she glanced at the man who had her back, but she frowned when she saw two others follow the exchange from the far end of the long counter. The first onlooker, a bald man who resembled the owner, smirked at Mary Beth. The second onlooker, a tall man with a badly deformed left ear, studied her quietly.
Jimmy stared at Mark and then at Mary Beth.
"OK. It's your money. If you want to throw it away, I'll accommodate you. I'll give you twenty-to-one odds on a 71-70 California victory."
"She's betting a hundred dollars on the score itself," Mark said in a testy voice. "Is twenty-to-one really the best you can do?"
"It's the best I will do," Jimmy said.
Mark gazed at Mary Beth.
"You don't have to do this."
"I want to do it," Mary Beth said. She returned to Jimmy. "What do I have to do?"
The owner fixed his gaze.
"You have to fill out a form and give me a hundred bucks."
"I can do that."
Jimmy reached under the counter, retrieved a pad and a pen, and placed them on top of the counter. He slid both items toward the lady gambler, folded his arms, and waited.
Mary Beth peeled the top sheet from the pad, grabbed the pen, and studied the form. She realized almost immediately that she had choices to make. Did she put down her real name and address? Did she provide a telephone number that would not exist for decades?
Mary Beth decided mix things up. She went with her mother's maiden name, her real home address, and a fabricated phone number. She gave the proprietor the sheet and the pen.
Jimmy looked at the slip and then Mary Beth.
"So you're from the South?"
"Yes," Mary Beth said.
"Where are you staying in town?"
Mary Beth started to say the name of a casino that had grabbed her interest but stopped when she glanced again at the eavesdropping men. She did not want to share her travel itinerary with two unnerving strangers in a dicey gaming establishment. She turned to the owner.
"We haven't decided yet. We just got here."
"Then I need a time," Jimmy said. "I need to know when you'll collect your winnings should the gods smile on your wager."
Mary Beth appealed to Mark.
"When can we come back?"
"Let's try for noon tomorrow," Mark said.
Mary Beth returned to Jimmy.
"Will you be here at noon?"
Jimmy laughed.
"I'll be here, but I suspect you won't."
Mary Beth resisted the temptation to poke him in the eyes. She reached into her purse, pulled out the hundred-dollar bill, and slid it to the obnoxious owner.
"Don't count your chickens," Mary Beth said.
Jimmy took the bill and filled out another slip. He grinned as he handed the foolish woman a receipt for her foolishness.
"I will, lady. I will."
CHAPTER 12: PIPER
Three hours after checking into a hotel, hitting a buffet, and learning that she couldn't get into any of the shows because of her age, Piper McIntire put a nickel into a slot and pulled the arm of her one-armed bandit. She knew eighteen-year-olds couldn't gamble, even in 1959, but she also knew the odds of being caught and tossed from the establishment were low.
According to Mary Beth and her impeccable source, Old Las Vegas, early casino operators had not vigorously enforced the age limit of twenty-one. They had not done so because they had not needed to. State regulators had not regularly punished violators with fines or suspensions.
Piper put another nickel in the hungry machine, indulged it again, and smiled when twenty coins dropped into a metal bin. She looked around for authority types, saw none, and exhaled. She knew from Old Las Vegas that casino employees checked for identification only when minors created a stir or won a jackpot. So far she had done nothing to invite unwanted attention.
Then she looked at the cocky boy five slots down and decided that was not entirely true. She had invited unwanted attention from Ben Ryan the moment she had arrived at the buffet in a red silk dress and matching pumps.
Piper liked dressing the part of a fashionable fifties woman. She liked immersing herself in a time and a place that offered more possibilities than a twenty-first-century theme park.
She did not know whether she wanted to make a favorable impression on an obnoxious young man who had annoyed her from the moment the time travelers had left Los Angeles. She did her best to ignore the fact he was disturbingly handsome.
Piper fed the machine again, pulled its arm, and frowned when she saw a bell, a bar, and two cherries. She started to curse when she heard a familiar voice, looked to her left, and saw a stylish couple approach. The man in the pressed gray suit and the woman in the pink dress had disappeared an hour earlier to try their luck at poker, blackjack, and craps.
"I see you found a friend," Mary Beth said. She smiled. "Are you breaking the bank?"
"I'm breaking my arm," Piper said.
Mary Beth laughed.
"Where's Ben?"
Piper pointed with her head.
"He's over there."
"Are you two getting along?" Mary Beth asked.
"No," Piper said.
Mark glanced at Ben and then at Piper.
"Do you want me to talk to him?"
Piper shook her head.
"He's having a good time. Leave him alone."
"Are you sure?" Mark asked.
"I'm positive," Piper said. "If you remind him how obnoxious and antisocial he is, then he'll just get mad and sulk the rest of the trip. I don't want that."
Mary Beth shot her sister a pointed glance.
"You haven't exactly been Miss Congeniality."
Piper sighed.
"I know."
Piper fed the bandit again and pulled his arm. She scowled when he rang his bells, spun his wheels, and absconded with her nickel.
"You should try another machine," Mark said. "That's what I do after a few unlucky pulls. I just move around until I find a slot that pays."
"I might if this continues," Piper said. "I picked this machine because I saw an old lady hit a jackpot twenty minutes ago. I think she won thirty dollars."
Mark smiled.
"That's a lot for a nickel slot."
"It is," Piper said. She looked at Mark and returned his smile. "By the way, thanks for funding my fun tonight. I'm not sure what I would have done without spending money. There is only so much a minor can do in this town without cash."
"Don't mention it," Mark said.
Mark and Mary Beth had agreed to underwrite the trip even before leaving Los Angeles. He had paid for gas, two hotel rooms, meals, souvenirs, and entertainment expenses by writing checks on his college account. She had promised to reimburse at least half of the expenses after the Boys from Berkeley delivered on a bet.
Piper looked at Mary Beth.
"Did the Bears come through for you?"
"They did!" Mary Beth said. She laughed. "Imagine that."
"That's two thousand dollars," Piper said. "That's a lot of money, Mary Beth."
"It is."
"What are we going to do with it?"
"I don't know," Mary Beth said. "I just know we have options we didn't have a few hours ago."
"What do you mean?" Piper asked.
"I mean we have options. I want to take a day or two to think about them and then discuss them with you, Mark, and Ben at dinner Monday."
"You're not thinking about staying longer, are you?"
"I'm thinking about a lot of things," Mary Beth said. She took a breath. "Let's just enjoy the weekend and see how things go. OK? I promise we won't do anything that you don't support a hundred percent. Is that fair?"
"That's fair."
Piper put another nickel in the machine. For the umpteenth time, she failed to get a return on her modest investment. She glanced at Mark.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should change machines."
Mark smiled.
"That's what I would do."
Piper looked at Mark and Mary Beth.
"So are you going to gamble some more?"
Mary Beth shook her head.
"We're going for a walk. It's beautiful out right now and a lot cooler than it was even an hour ago. I want to see more of the city."
"OK."
"What about you?" Mary Beth asked. "What are you going to do?"
Piper put the last of her coins in the slot and pulled the arm of the bandit one more time. She was done with this mechanical pirate.
"I think I'm going to—"
Piper stopped speaking when she saw the slot machine display a seven and then another and then another. She gasped when bells started ringing, lights started blinking, and coins started falling. She nearly fell over when the racket continued for another thirty seconds.
She shoveled hundreds of nickels into a small bucket, stepped away from the machine, and surveyed the crowded casino for potential trouble. She didn't see any men in black head her way, but she did see two casino clerks stare at her, exchange words, and walk toward a security desk.
"I think I'm going to go back to the room," Piper said. She shoveled a few more nickels into her bucket, clutched the container like a running back protecting a football, and then smiled at her sister. "I'm feeling tired all of a sudden. Good night!"
CHAPTER 13: MARY BETH
Sunday, March 22, 1959
Jimmy Smith didn't smile when Mark and Mary Beth entered the Fourth Quarter at ten after twelve. He didn't smirk. He didn't grin. He didn't do anything to suggest that he was happy with what had transpired in the past eighteen hours.
"Hello, Mr. Smith," Mary Beth said as she approached the counter.
"Good afternoon," Jimmy replied.
"I've come to collect my winnings."
"I figured you had."
Mary Beth glanced at Mark, who stood behind her, and noted his smile. She was glad to have his strong, subtle, and unqualified support, even if she didn't require it. She smiled at Mark, returned to Jimmy, and plopped her purse on the counter.
"Do you need my receipt?" Mary Beth asked.
"No," Jimmy said. "I don't need a thing except your signature."
The turf club owner reached into the drawer under the counter, retrieved a pen and a form, and slipped both toward a woman he had clearly never expected to see again. He watched her closely as she examined the form, signed it, and pushed it back.
"Is that sufficient?" Mary Beth asked.
"That will do," Jimmy said.
The short man tossed the form into the drawer, closed it, and then retreated to a small wall safe about ten feet away. He spun a dial three times, opened the safe door, and retrieved a white envelope that looked positively pregnant. He returned to the counter a few seconds later with the envelope in one hand and his figurative hat in the other. He handed Mary Beth the cash.
"Here you go," Jimmy said. "Go ahead. Take a look."
Mary Beth did as requested. She opened the envelope, pulled out a wad, and placed it on the counter. Then she inventoried her winnings. She counted fifty twenty-dollar bills and eleven hundred-dollar bills, including the crisp Benjamin Franklin she had used to make the bet.
"It's all there," Mary Beth said. She looked at Jimmy. "Thank you."
Mark waited as Mary Beth shuffled the bills together, put them in the envelope, and then tucked the envelope in her purse. He smiled when she turned to face him.
"Are you ready to go?" Mark asked.
Mary Beth nodded.
"I'm ready."
Mark allowed Mary Beth to pass, put a hand on her back, and guided her toward the exit. The two took four or five steps before Jimmy called out. The couple turned around.
"Did you forget something?" Mark asked.
"Yeah," Jimmy said. "I forgot to ask your lady friend a question."
"What's that?" Mary Beth asked.
"How did you know the score? Did you fix the game or something?"
Mary Beth felt her stomach drop. She took a deep breath, pondered a reply, and finally uttered words she thought might get two time travelers out the door.
"You're an intelligent man, Mr. Smith. I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out that someone like me couldn't possibly manage something like that."
"I suppose," Jimmy said.
Mary Beth took another breath.
"Is that all?"
"No. I have one more thing."
"What's that, Mr. Smith?"
Jimmy scowled.
"Don't come back."
Mary Beth returned his stare.
"I won't."
Mary Beth turned around again and walked briskly to the exit. She placed her hand on a sticky doorknob, threw the door open, and left the building several steps ahead of Mark. He joined her on a busy sidewalk a few seconds later.
"Are you all right?" Mark asked.
"I'm fine," Mary Beth said. She shook her hand. "Do you have a handkerchief?"
"I don't. What's wrong?"
"I touched something gooey on the doorknob."
"Let me get something," Mark said.
"No. I'll manage. I'll just use the papers in my purse."
"OK."
Mary Beth reached into her handbag, pulled out three scraps of paper, and wiped the sticky substance off the palm of her right hand. She didn't even want to think about what it was.
A moment later, she pushed the scraps together
, wadded them into a ball, and tossed them into an open trashcan a few feet away. Then she took Mark's arm and gave him a smile.
"Let's get out of here," Mary Beth said.
"You got it," Mark replied.
Mary Beth clutched her purse as she and Mark walked a block to a curbside parking spot, the Edsel, and their siblings. She could feel her anxiety decrease with each step. Though she had thoroughly enjoyed her brief time in Nevada's largest city, she was more than ready to leave.
She opened a door to the Edsel, jumped in the car, and waited for Mark to do the same. A moment later, she settled into her seat, placed her handbag on the floor, and gazed out the front window at a city on the move.
Mary Beth saw more people walk up and down Fremont than she had the previous night. She saw businessmen in suits, women in dresses, teens in shorts, and other tourists in a variety of attire walk into and out of casinos, shops, and attractions. She saw a slice of society.
Mary Beth did not see something else. She did not see a man with a deformed ear rise from a bench near the Fourth Quarter and pick up her trail. Nor did she see him take note of the Edsel, part of its license plate, and all of a MAULERS BOOSTER sticker affixed to its bumper.
She did not see him return to the garbage can, retrieve a wad of paper, and pull it apart. She did not see him find – and keep – a receipt showing the complete titles of three books purchased at a bookstore in Hollywood, California, on June 2, 2017. In her haste to leave Las Vegas, Nevada, on a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon, she did not see a thing.
CHAPTER 14: MARK
Los Angeles, California – Monday, March 23, 1959
Sitting at a candlelit dining table in the Painted Lady, Mark sipped some wine, dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin, and gazed at a woman who had been on his mind for three days.
"Did you sleep well last night?"
Mary Beth smiled.
"I did not. Your mother's bed is lumpy."
Mark and Ben laughed. Each knew the claim was true. Donna Ryan slept on a mattress that was at least two years past its prime. Despite pleas from her sons to upgrade to something better, she refused to give it up. She refused to give up anything she had shared with her husband.
Class of '59 (American Journey Book 4) Page 6