The Natural

A surprising semi-bald dome rose up above the table and Roy found himself staring into a pair of strange eyes, a mournful blue one and the other glowing weirdly golden. His scalp prickled as the bookie, a long stretch of bone, rose to his full height. The angle at which the spotlight had caught his glass eye, lighting it like a Christmas tree, changed, and the eye became just a ball of ice.

“S’matter, Gus?” Mercy said.

“Memo lost two bits.” His voice was sugar soft. “Find it yet?” he asked the waiter, still down on all fours.

“Not yet, sir.” He got up. “No, sir.”

“Forget it.” Sands flicked a deft flyer into the man’s loose fist.

He shook hands with Roy. “Glad to meet you, slugger. Whyn’t you sit down?”

“Tough luck, babyface,” he said, giving Memo a smile. Roy sat down facing her but she barely glanced at him. Though dressed up, she was not entirely herself. The blue eye shadow she had on could not hide the dark circles around her eyes and she looked tired. Her chair was close to Gus’s. Once he chucked her under the chin and she giggled. It sickened Roy because it didn’t make sense.

The busboy cleaned up the remains of two lobsters. Gus slipped him a flyer.

“Nice kid,” he said softly. Reaching for the menu, he handed it to Roy.

Roy read it and although he was hungry couldn’t concentrate on food. What did this glass-eye bookie, a good fifty years if not more, mean to a lively girl like Memo, a girl who was, after all, just out of mourning for a young fellow like Bump? Over the top of the menu he noticed Gus’s soft-boned hands and the thick, yellow-nailed fingers. He had pouches under both the good and fake eyes, and though he smiled a lot, his expression was melancholy. Roy disliked him right off. There was something wormy about him. He belonged in the dark with the Judge. Let them both haunt themselves there.

“Order, guys,” Gus said.

Roy did just to have something to do.

The captain came over and asked was everything all right. “Check and double check.” Gus pressed two folded fives into his palm. Roy didn’t like the way he threw out the bucks. He thought of the raise he didn’t get and felt bad about it.

“Lemme buy you a drink, slugger,” Gus said, pointing to his own Scotch.

“No, thanks.”

“Clean living, eh?”

“The eyes,” Roy said, pointing to his. “Got to keep ‘em clear.”

Gus smiled. “Nice goin’, slugger.”

“He needs a drink,” Max said. “The Judge gave him nix on a raise.”

Roy could have bopped him for telling it in front of Memo.

Gus was interested.

“Y’mean he didn’t pull out his pouch and shake you out some rusty two-dollar gold pieces?”

Everybody laughed but Roy.

“I see you met him,” Max said.

Gus winked the glass eye. “We had some dealings.”

“How’d you make out?”

“No evidence. We were acquitted.” He chuckled softly.

Max made a note in his book.

“Don’t write that, Max,” said Gus.

Max quickly tore out the page. “Whatever you say, Gus.”

Gus beamed. He turned to Roy. “How’d it go today, slugger?”

“Fine,” Roy said.

“He got five for five in the first, and four hits in the nightcap,” Max explained.

“Say, what d’ye know?” Gus whistled softly. “That’ll cost me a pretty pe

“You mean the Knights?”

“No, just you.”

“Didn’t know you bet on any special player.”

“On anybody or anything. We bet on strikes, balls, hits, runs, i

“How’d you make out on that?”

“Guess.”

“I guess you didn’t.”

“Right, I didn’t.” Gus chuckled. “But it don’t matter. The next week I ruined the guy in a different deal. Sometimes we win, sometimes we don’t but the percentage is for us. Today we lost on you, some other time we will clean up double.”

“How’Il you do that?”

“When you are not hitting so good.”

“How’ll you know when to bet on that?”

Gus pointed to his glass eye. “The Magic Eye,” he said. “It sees everything and tells me.”

The steaks came and Roy cut into his.

“Wa

“I got nothing I want to bet on,” Roy said, his mouth full of meat and potatoes.

“Bet on any old thing and I will come up with the opposite even though your luck is ru

“It’s a helluva lot more than luck.”

“I will bet anyway.”

Memo looked interested. Roy decided to take a chance.

“How about that I will get four hits in tomorrow’s game?” Gus paused. “Don’t bet on baseball now,” he said. “Bet on something we can settle here.”

“Well, you pick it and I’ll bet against you.”

“Done,” said Gus. “Tell you what, see the bar over by the entrance?”

Roy nodded.

“We will bet on the next order. You see Harry there, don’t you? He’s just resting now. In a minute somebody’s go

Roy hesitated. “Make it a hundred.”

Max tittered.

“A ‘C’ it is,” Gus said. “Say when.”

“Now.”

Gus shut his eyes and rubbed his brow with his left hand. “One of the drinks on the tray will be a Pink Lady.”

The way they were seated everybody but Mercy could see the bar, so he turned his chair around to watch.

“Your steak might get cold, Max.”

“This I got to see.”

Memo looked on, amused.

They waited a minute, then a waiter went over to the bar and said something to the bartender. Harry nodded and turned around for a bottle, but they couldn’t see what he was mixing because a customer was standing in front of him. When he left, Roy saw a tall pink drink standing on the counter. He felt sick but then he thought maybe it’s a sloe gin fizz. Harry poured a Scotch and soda for the same tray and the waiter came for it.

As he passed by, Gus called him over to the table.

“What is that red drink that you have got there?”

“This one?” said the waiter. “A Pink Lady, Mr. Sands.”

Gus slipped him a flyer.

Everybody laughed.

“Nothing to it,” said Gus.

“It never fails.” Max had turned his chair and was eating. “Nice work, Gus.”

Gus beamed. Memo patted his hand. Roy felt a

“That’s a hundred,” he said.

“It was a freak win,” Gus said, “so we will write it off.”

“No, I owe it to you but give me a chance to win it back.” He thought Memo was mocking him and it made him stubborn.

“Anything you say,” Gus shrugged.

“You can say it,” said Roy. “I’ll cover you for two hundred.” Gus concentrated a minute. Everybody watched him, Roy tensely. It wasn’t the money he was afraid of. He wanted to win in front of Memo.

“Let’s play on some kind of a number,” Gus said.

“What kind?”

“Of the amount of bills you are carrying on you.”

A slow flush crept up Roy’s cheeks.

“I will bet I can guess by one buck either way how much you have got on you now,” Gus said.

“You’re on.” Roy’s voice was husky.

Gus covered his good eye and pretended he was a mind reader trying to fathom the number. His glass eye stared unblinking.

“Ten bucks,” he a

Roy’s throat went dry. He drew his wallet out of his pants pocket. Max took it from him and loudly counted up a five and four single dollar bills. “Nine.” He slapped the table and guffawed.

“Wonderful,” Memo murmured. “Three hundred I owe to you.”