Tumblin' Dice by John McFetridge Page B

that,” Barry said. “But if it’s just you and me, that sounds about right as our share.”
    Cliff said yeah, but was thinking he really should be splitting it with Ritchie, guy wrote all the music and most of the lyrics. It’s not like Barry ever had a piece of the publishing.
    Then Cliff said, “But does he really run the place?” and Barry said, sure, what do you mean?
    â€œWell, a casino,” Cliff said. “He’d have to be connected.”
    â€œHis name’s all over it,” Barry said.
    â€œWhat’d you do, Google him? Maybe he’s just the front.”
    Cliff watched Barry take a drag and blow smoke out in a long stream, nodding and thinking about it, and now Cliff wasn’t sure he wanted him thinking about it so much. Maybe it was better to just do it, like Ritchie always telling him he didn’t plan solos, didn’t work them out, just closed his eyes and played. Like fucking, Ritchie said, go with the moment.
    â€œBe easy enough to find out,” Barry said. “We’re here for two more days.”
    The door to the bar opened and a woman came out, Cliff recognizing her as the one who joined the happy couple at the table. She didn’t look too happy, putting a cigarette in her mouth and trying to light a match.
    Barry looked at Cliff and nodded like they’d agreed on something, like the plans were all made, and went back inside.
    Cliff said, “Here,” and flicked his gold Zippo.
    The woman leaned forward a little, unsteady on her heels, and held Cliff’s hands while she got her smoke lit. Then she stood up straight, leaned her head back, and inhaled deep, blowing smoke at the sky.
    Cliff said, “I still can’t believe we can’t smoke inside,” and she looked at him and said, “Sometimes it’s nice to step out, though, take a break.”
    Up close like this Cliff figured she was in her late forties, figured she had some kind of special bra under her little dress holding them up like that, but that was okay — she was proud, took care of herself.
    He said, “Yeah, that’s true.”
    She said, “My sister and her husband, they want to be alone anyway.”
    â€œIs your husband here?”
    She said, “You’re so sneaky, working that in.”
    â€œI thought it was an opening.”
    She looked at him, up and down, and Cliff liked her, the way she was confident, some of it being the drinks she’d had, sure, but most of it just her.
    He said, “Well?”
    She smoked, puckering her red lips and inhaling, letting it out slow. “I haven’t had a husband in quite a while.”
    He said, “I’m Cliff Moore,” and she said, “I know, from the High,” and he said yeah.
    She said, “Your concert’s not till the day after tomorrow.”
    â€œThey always bring us in early to the casino gigs,” he said. “Hoping we lose what they’re paying us at the tables.”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œThe roadies do, some of the guys. It’s not my favourite thing about a casino.”
    She said, no? “What’s your favourite thing?”
    He thought about saying, at this particular casino it’s taking back two million bucks our old manager ripped us off, and realized he was going along with Barry’s plan without even thinking about it, now wondering how much of it was a set-up. Shit.
    He said, “There’s usually some nice scenery.”
    She said, “Oh my God, would a line like that really work?”
    â€œDepends on how much you’ve had to drink.”
    â€œI haven’t had that much.”
    â€œWell, that’s good, we can still have some fun.”
    She said, “We can?”

SIX
    After talking on the phone through dinner, Felix said, I have to see someone but it was great to meet you, Ritchie, “Rock this joint, all right?” and Angie said, “Always a pleasure,” and he