“Where’d you get it?”
I wouldn’t say. She chewed her mouth some more and asked:
“Is Max on?”
“I haven’t seen him. Is he here?”
“I suppose so,” she said absentmindedly, a distant look in her eyes. Her lips moved as if she were counting to herself.
I said: “Take it or leave it, but it’s a gut.”
She leaned forward to look sharply into my eyes, clicked her teeth together, opened her bag, and dragged out a roll of bills the size of a coffee can. Part of the roll she pushed at Rolff.
“Here, Dan, get it down on Bush. You’ve got an hour anyway to look over the odds.”
Rolff took the money and went off on his errand. I took his seat. She put a hand on my forearm and said:
“Christ help you if you’ve made me drop that dough.”
I pretended the idea was ridiculous.
The preliminary bouts got going, four-round affairs between assorted hams. I kept looking for Thaler, but couldn’t see him. The girl squirmed beside me, paying little attention to the fighting, dividing her time between asking me where I had got my information and threatening me with hellfire and damnation if it turned out to be a bust.
The semifinal was on when Rolff came back and gave the girl a handful of tickets. She was straining her eyes over them when I left for my own seat. Without looking up she called to me: