“Yeh, but I’m going to be pretty busy. Expect to be tied up most of the day. I just wanted to tell you I didn’t think I could make it.”
Joe glanced at him sharply and then away again. It seemed to Shayne there was a look of relief on his face. “You know I got to run my business on cash, Mike. I’d go broke in a week if I started taking markers from every sport that wanted to lay a bet. I got a strict rule—”
“I’m not ‘every sport,’ God damn it,” Shayne interrupted harshly. “You know I’m good for two lousy grand.”
“It ain’t that, Mike,” Joe held up a placating hand. Sweat was forming on his forehead and trickling down his flat features. “Sure you’re good for it. I’m not saying you wouldn’t pay off cash on the barrelhead if Stallings wins. But if I take a marker from you and somebody else finds it out, then they think I ought to take theirs. See what I mean? Once you get started it’s hell to stop. I run on a strictly cash basis,” the bookmaker reiterated doggedly.
Shayne’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly. “All right, Joe. I’ve got ways of making things tough on you, too.”
Joe Parkis mopped his face and begged, “Don’t get sore, Mike. Hell, if you want to borrow a couple of grand—” He made a gesture of generosity.
Shayne said, “I don’t want to borrow two grand. I only want to lay it on Jim Marsh. Make it easy on yourself.” He tilted the chair forward and got up.
“Wait, Mike. For God’s sake, wait a minute. I’m trying to give you a tip-off, see? You’ve always leveled with me. I’d be a hell of a friend if I let you walk into something. I’m telling you to lay off the election.”
Shayne hesitated, dropped back into the chair. “What’s on your mind?”
“Take my word for it,” Parkis pleaded. “I see all sorts of funny things in my business. I got things I can’t talk about just like you got things on your clients you keep under your hat. But I’m telling you to lay off. I don’t want to see you drop two grand. You’d be sore if you found out afterward I knew the fix was on and didn’t tip you.”