Raising a hundred didn't sound nearly as impossible as raising four hundred and eighty. Even if he had to borrow ten bucks apiece from ten guys. With all evening to do it in.
The phone rang. He picked it up and said "Ray Fleck."
And then recognized the voice that said "Hi, Ray," and wished he'd let the phone ring. It was Joe Amico.
He said, "Listen, Joe, I haven't been able to do anything yet—but I'm working on it. I'll raise it somehow, pretty soon. I'm sorry, but you know I'm good for it."
"I know you're good for it. You'd better be. But I want you to drop in and see me this evening."
"Sure, Joe, if you want me to. I'm coming downtown anyway. But it won't do any good. I'm flat."
"Flat or not, you come in. I'll be here till ten. Any time between now and then. Got me?"
"Okay, Joe. I'll see you."
He sighed as he put down the phone. Well, he was going downtown anyway; that had been the truth. And probably Joe was going to give him an ultimatum, a time limit. And it would be an unpleasant interview but at least he'd know the worst. He'd know how long he had to raise the money. Or whether Joe would take it in weekly payments if he simply couldn't raise it any other way. He'd hate that; he'd hate it like hell. Because, for a hell of a long time, it would leave him no surplus to do any betting with. And his luck was due to change; it had to change.
He strolled to the front window and stood looking down at the street, wondering whether he should go downtown now and eat whenever he got hungry, or save himself money by rustling something to eat here before he left. Since Ruth had to leave for work at five he had to fend for himself or eat out the five evenings she worked, but he didn't mind that; sometimes he even enjoyed cooking simple things for himself, and of course she did the cleaning up and dishwashing the next morning.