“Not even as a side line?”
I said, “Listen, when it comes to slot machines, I’m a babe in the woods. There’s one in the Golden Motto — the restaurant where I eat in Los Angeles. It isn’t supposed to be there, but it’s in one of the private dining-rooms, and the regular customers know about it. Bertha Cool goes crazy at the way I throw money away on that machine. Every time I go in, I look through my pockets for nickels. Ordinarily, I only play fifteen or twenty cents. I don’t think I’ve ever won anything out of the machine except a couple of small pay-offs.”
He said, “Serves you right. Machines that are in restaurants that way are after a quick take. They don’t go for steady customers. They put rollers on the sprockets so winning two cherries and a bell is darn near as hard as winning the jackpot or the gold medal award.”
I said, “Other people seem to win on it two or three times a week. The woman who runs the place will tell me about some of the salesmen who are pretty lucky on it.”
“They’re supposed to win?”
“They’ve won the jackpot three or four times.”
“You never saw ’em do it?”
“No. That’s what the woman who runs the restaurant says. She tells me about ’em every so often.”
He gave a contemptuous snort and said, “That’s kindergarten stuff. She’s probably telling the salesmen about how there’s a private detective who keeps the machine milked dry by playing twenty-five cents to half a dollar and always coming out a heavy winner.”
Helen Framley said to me, “You certainly have nerve.”