continued to pose as the gold-wire operator. One day I met a man whom I shall call Fetterman in Thebolt’s Buffet. After getting him interested in a “sure thing,” we arranged a meeting with my supposed brother-in-law in the buffet. Our reason for having him come to meet us instead of our going to the Western Union building was logical enough: it was a strict rule that any Western Union employee caught playing the races was subject to instant dismissal.
However, Fetterman was so anxious to make a killing that he didn’t question my brother-in-law’s authenticity. It was arranged that Billy would hold back the result of the fifth race. He would write the name of the winner on a slip of paper, which he would put inside a slit in a rubber ball. The ball would be dropped into the court adjacent to the Western Union building. Mr. Fetterman would get the ball and hurry to the poolroom where I would be waiting. I couldn’t be there because I might be recognized and get my brother-in-law in trouble.
Every time we took a sucker like Mr. Fetterman we had to have a new location. Mobility was a necessity if we were to avoid detection. We rented various places on one pretext or another, sometimes resorting to lodge halls, moved in our equipment, used it for the benefit of one sucker, then moved to a new location. However we always set up our poolroom as near the Western Union building as possible.
Since neither Bill nor I could appear in the Western Union building, we had to hire a stooge. I would get the race results, write them on slips of paper, and insert them in the rubber ball. My stooge would then hurry to the washroom on the sixth floor and throw out the ball.
Mr. Fetterman was a most amusing sight as he went chasing after the high-bouncing rubber ball. He caught it, extracted the slip, and hurried to the poolroom where I was waiting. We had told him that my brother-in-law would hold up the results for about two minutes on each race, so that when the fifth was run he would have a reserve of ten minutes. This gave him ample time to get to the poolroom and place the bet. I was supposed to be betting a large amount, too.
Fetterman was breathless when he arrived. He showed me the slip. On one side was “Lightning” and on the other side a big figure “3.”
“What does the ‘3’ mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose it means the odds were 3 to 1. Are you sure that’s the slip?”
“Of course,” said Fetterman, anxious to get his bet down. “I took it out of the slit in the rubber ball.”
“Okay, let’s make our bets.”
We went to the window of our fake poolroom and made our wagers, then waited for the results. The flash came, “They’re off!” An account of the race was called out. Lightning ran third.
“There goes $10,000 of my money,” I muttered disgustedly. “I wonder how my brother-in-law happened to slip up.”
We had previously arranged to meet Billy at the Buffet after he quit work. We were there when he walked in, all smiles. As in many other similar schemes, he was expecting $2,500 to pay off the loan sharks. He grabbed Fetterman’s hand and went into his usual routine of thanking him.
“Just a minute,” I said. “We didn’t win anything. What was the idea of giving us the wrong horse?”
“But I didn’t,” Billy protested.
“Look at this,” I said angrily, displaying the slip.
“What’s wrong with it?” Billy asked, obviously puzzled. “Lightning ran third. That’s the reason for 3 on the back. Didn’t you take the other slips out of the ball?”
“What other slips?”
“There were three slips in the ball,” said Billy. “I wrote down the win, place, and show horses and numbered them 1, 2, 3.”
I turned a stony gaze on Mr. Fetterman, who was now squirming.
“Where is that ball?”
He removed the ball from his pocket. I opened up the slit and inside, of course, were the two other slips, with the first and second place winners.
“Of all the stupid people I ever saw,” I cried, apparently in a rage, “you take the cake. Why didn’t you make sure before you told me that horse was the winner?”
“I’m sorry,” was all Fetterman could say. “I guess I was too excited to look any further.”
“That doesn’t get my $10,000 back,” I said acidly.
“Nor the $2,500 I owe the loan sharks,” complained Billy. “If I don’t pay that by tomorrow night, I’ll lose my job.”
“I’ll get your $2,500 for you tomorrow,” Fetterman promised. Then to me: “I’ll give you the $10,000 you lost out of my earnings tomorrow.”
“I don’t want any more to do with you,” I replied.
He pleaded for another chance, and I finally relented. This is a con man’s best psychological touch. As long as he can keep the sucker on the defensive, he can maneuver him any way he wants to. We always tried to place the blame for any failure to clean up on some mistake by the sucker. In every case the victim thought that only he was to blame.
“Just so there won’t be another mistake,” I said, “we’ll make a different arrangement.” I turned to my brother-in-law. “Billy, can you get to a phone?”
“Yes.”
“Then call me up.” I gave him the number of the booth phone in the drug store that occupied the ground floor of the building our poolroom was in.
The next day Fetterman and I were waiting when the phone rang. I answered. “What?” I asked. Then, after an interval: “I can’t understand you.” Finally, I turned to Fetterman: “I can’t make out what he says. See if you can get it.”
He took the receiver and had no difficulty hearing what Billy Wall said: “The odds were short on the winner. Place your money on Humming Bird.” Then, for emphasis (and to confuse the sucker) he repeated: “Place your money on Humming Bird.”
Fetterman hung up. “Humming Bird,” he repeated excitedly. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you sure you heard right?”
“Certainly, I am. Humming Bird is the horse.”
We hurried upstairs to the poolroom.
“Don’t you think we’d better spread our bets?” I suggested. “Maybe if we played it across the board-”
“Not me,” said he. “I’m going to put my money on the nose.”
He did and of course he lost. Humming Bird came in second.
“You’ve made another mistake,” I accused. “I asked you if you were sure. I’m beginning to think you’re a jinx.”
Fetterman and I met Billy Wall at the Buffet that evening. Billy was eager, as usual. When he saw how dejected we both looked his smile vanished.
“What’s the matter?” he gasped. “Did you make another mistake?”
