"Beijing Craps" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

He threw the dice across the table. They jumped and sparkled with even more brilliance than they had before.

'You see that?' said Mr Graf, slyly. 'Even the dice know when an expert is throwing.'

Jack had come out with Chung Kuei and Yo Huang. Solly clenched his fists and breathed. 'All right! You goddamned brilliant son-of-a-bitch!'

Jack threw again, Kuan-yin Pusa and Chung Kuei. He threw them again the next throw, and picked up a whole year. He didn't feel any different, but it was stimulating to think that he was a whole year younger.

He continued to win, again and again and again; living-a-little and living-a-little more, throwing naturals and points as swiftly and confidently as if the dice were loaded - which, in a strange way, they were. The years fell away from him with every win, until he was betting two and three years at a time, and his black silk robe began to hang loosely around his slim twenty-two-year-old frame.

Solly placed numbers to win with almost every throw, and gradually won back the years he had lost before. He played cautiously, however, and didn't risk more than a year a time, until he reached forty-five.

Then - just as Jack was about to throw again he placed a hard-ways bet of twenty years.

Jack looked at him sharply, but Solly grinned and winked. 'One last throw, my friend, and then I'm going to walk away, and never come back.'

But Jack felt something in the dice; as if they had shrunk and tightened in the palm of his hand; as if they had suddenly gone cold. The dice were not going to let Solly go.

Jack said, 'Twenty years on one throw, Solly? That's a hell of a bet.'

'That's the last bet ever,' said Solly. 'You just do your bit, and let me take care of myself.'

Jack threw the dice. They dropped leadenly onto the layout, scarcely bouncing at all. They came up Shui-­Mu and Hsua Hao, a win for Jack; but Solly had bet Shui-Mu and Shui-Mu, and he was immediately aged by twenty years.

Jack was only a little over twenty years old now. He stood straighter and taller, and his hair was thick and wavy and brown. He took off his toupee and crammed it into the pocket of his robe. Mr Graf smiled at him. 'Hair today, gone tomorrow, huh, Mr Druce?'

Jack scooped up the dice and prepared to throw them again. As he did so, Solly put down the gleaming tokens that showed he was staking another twenty years.

'Solly!' called Jack.

Solly looked up. 'Don't do it, Solly,' Jack warned him, in a clear and youthful voice; although he found that he didn't really care too much whether Solly lost another twenty years or not. Look at the guy, he was practically dead already.

'Just throw, will you?' Solly growled at him.

Jack threw; and won; but Solly lost yet again, and so did two or three of the others at the table. Jack heard from Solly a sharp harsh intake of breath, and then Solly staggered, and gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from falling.

'Solly? You okay?'

Solly's eyes bulged and his face was blue from lack of oxygen. 'What do you care?' he gasped. 'Will you shoot, for God's sake? Just shoot!'

Mr Graf was very young again, a small boy peering over the dimly-lit center of the table. He said to Solly with utmost calmness, 'Do you want an ambulance, sir? Or maybe I should call the house physician?'

'Shoot, that's all,' Solly insisted, and placed another twenty years on the table.

Jack slowly juggled the dice. Fire and honey in his hand. 'Solly ... you understand what could happen if you lose?'

'Shoot,' hissed Solly, through false teeth that were too large for his shrunken gums.

'Go on,' urged Mr Fortunato; although he too was ancient, with sunken ink-stained eyes and wispy white hair.