I shook my head, half puzzled. I wasn't quite certain what he meant.
"Are you touting for the game?" he asked.
The light dawned. But the terms he used! Archaic was the only word for them!
"No," I said, "I'm not fronting for Abie. Fact is, if you want some friendly advice, stay outa there."
"Why—the game crooked?"
There it was again, the old fashioned word. "Yes, it's bowed," I said. "It's bowed like a sine wave—in both directions. Honesty isn't one of Abie's best policies."
He suddenly looked eager. "Can I get in?" he asked.
"Not through me. I have no desire to watch a slaughter of the innocent. Hang onto your gold, Redman. It's safer." I kept watching him. His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask—a gambler's face. "But if you're really anxious, there's one of Abie's fronts just coming in the door. Ask him, if you want to lose your shirt."
"Thanks," Redman said.
I didn't wait to see what happened. I left Otto's and laid a courseline for Abie's. I wanted to be there before Redman arrived. Not only did I want an alibi, but I'd be in better position to sit in. Also I didn't want a couple of Abie's goons on my neck just in case Redman won. There was no better way to keep from getting old than to win too many munits in Abie's games.