The Cypress House Read Online Free PDF

name? Wagner, was it?"
        "Arlen
Wagner, yes."
        "Well,
Arlen Wagner, I've developed what some might call an unusual ability — I can
feel luck in the air. I mean, just taste it, like when you walk into a room
where something good's been on the stove. And I'm telling you, sir, that luck
rides with you tonight. There's no question about it. Luck rides with
you."
        Arlen
thought of the station platform again, all those men with bone faces and bone
hands climbing back onto the train. His mouth was dry.
        "All
right," he said. "Sure. I'll put in a dime."
        "There
you go. Now, pick yourself a number. One through one hundred."
        He
waited with a wolf's grin.
        "One,"
Arlen said. "As in, how many times I'll try this game."
        "Very
nice, very nice." Sorenson chuckled and sorted through the balls until he
found the number one. He held it up so Arlen could inspect it, then leaned it
against his whiskey glass, which was now mostly ice. "I'll rest it right
there so you can keep an eye on it."
        "I'm
going to expect such a game is illegal in this state," Arlen said.
        "A
good many of the best things are." Sorenson spent some time studying his
betting sheet, cleared his throat, and called, "All right, boys, gather
round, the losing is about to begin for most, and the winning for but a single
soul."
        He
scooped the balls off the bar and into the bag. By now the crowd had gathered
around Sorenson, and he wrapped the top of the bag until the balls were hidden
from view, then gave it a ferocious shake.
        "Here,"
he said. "Someone else take a try."
        A man
with skeptical eyes stepped forward and took the bag. He shook it for a long
time. Sorenson took the bag back, opened the neck, and slid his right hand
inside. He closed his eyes and let out a strange humming sound. This persisted
for a moment as he felt around the inside, and then he snapped open one eye and
told the crowd, "I've got to tune into the winner, you know. It's not so
simple as just pulling one out. There's one man here who deserves to win
tonight, one whose destiny is victory, and I must be sure that I hear his
selection calling my name."
        "You're
so full of shit," one onlooker said, "I'm surprised it don't come out
your ears."
        Sorenson
smiled, then snapped his hand out of the bag, his fist closed. "Gentlemen,
I give you our winner."
        He
unfolded his hand and twisted the ball so the number was visible: 1 .
        "And
who had number one?"
        Arlen
lifted his hand, and a few of the men grumbled.
        "He
come in here with you," the one who'd shaken the bag said. "It's a
damn swindle you're running."
        "Ah,
but you're wrong," Sorenson said, unbothered. "I've not met this man
till this evening, and he'll tell you the same. But if that's how you feel,
then I suggest another round, only this time our current winner must sit out."
        There
was no interest in further wagering.
        "Hard
to believe it here," Sorenson told Arlen, "but there are places where
this little game is treated with respect. I've known men who became
millionaires off this little game."
        "Running
it," Arlen said, "not playing it. And thanks for cheating me into the
profit."
        "Cheating?"
        Arlen
nodded at the glass of melting ice near Sorenson's hand. "You left the
ball up there long enough to hold the cold. Then you could pick it out of the
rest. It's a neat trick, but it may get your arm broken with the wrong
crowd."
        Sorenson
gave a low chuckle. "You've got a sharp eye, Mr. Wagner."
        Arlen
lifted his hand and got Pearl's attention, asked for two whiskeys. When she'd
shuffled off again, he said, "So is this your business, Sorenson? A
traveling entertainment, that's what you are?"
        "Oh,
no. This little game is nothing more than a pastime."
        "So
what is it that you do?"
        Sorenson
smiled as Pearl set their