The Big Fix
"Who ... me? Why, I didn't do anything that you did not start--except
that maybe I was a little more generous."
"_Spiel!_" he snarled.
"Why, shucks, Joseph. All I did was to slip good old Gimpy Gordon a
tip."
"How much?"
"Just a lousy little thousand dollar bill."
"A grand! For what, wise guy?"
"Why, just for telling me what horses you picked for the Derby."
Barcelona looked at the odds on his horses. Flying Heels had passed even
money and was heading for a one-to-two odds-on. The other platers were
following accordingly.
"And what did you tell Gimpy, Wilson?"
"You tell him, Gimp," I said.
"Why, Wilson just said that we should ride along with you, Mr.
Barcelona, because you are such a nice guy that everybody works awfully
hard to see that you get what you want."
"There's more!" roared Barcelona.
"Only that I shouldn't mention it to anybody, and that I shouldn't place
my bet until the mutuel windows open because if I did it would louse up
the odds and make you unhappy." Gimpy looked at Barcelona's stormy face
and he grew frightened. "Honest, Mr. Barcelona, I didn't say a word to
nobody. Not a word." He turned to me and whined plaintively, "You tell
him, Mr. Wilson. I didn't say a word."
I soothed him. "We know you didn't, Gimpy."
Barcelona exploded. "Ye Gods!" he howled. "They used that gimmick on me
when I lost my first baby tooth. 'Don't put your tongue in the vacant
place,' they said, 'and don't think of the words _Gold Tooth_ and it'll
grow in natural gold!'"
As he spoke the odds on Flying Heels changed from a staggering
One-to-Eight to an even more staggering One-to-Ten. That meant that
anybody holding less than a ten-dollar bet on such a winner would only
get his own money back because the track does not insult its clients by
weighing them down with coins in the form of small change. They keep the
change and call it "Breakage" for any amount over an even-dollar money.
Delancey said to Barcelona, "You have had it, Joseph."
Barcelona snarled, "Put the big arm on Wilson here. He's the fast man
with the big fix."
"Wilson didn't fix any race, Joseph. He just parlayed some of the laws
of human nature into a win for himself and a lose for you."
"Now see here--what's this guff about human nature?"
"Well, there's the human desire to ride with a winner, and the human
frailty that hopes to get something for nothing. To say nothing of the
great human desire to be 'On the Inside' track or 'In the Know' so that
they can bet on the 'Sure Thing'. And so," said Delancey, "we've about
twenty thousand human beings full of human nature holding tickets on
your three dogs, Joseph. They bet their money because the 'Inside Dope'
said that the big fix was in. And I can tell you that what twenty
thousand people are going to do to this 'Inside Dope' when their nags
run last is going to make Torquemada ask permission to return to life
for a Second Inquisition, this time with extrasensory tortures." He
turned to me as Barcelona went pale. "Wally," he asked, "want to bet
that someone doesn't remember that old question of whether it is
possible to break every bone in a man's body without killing him?"
"I'd be a fool to cover that one," I said. "But I'll play even money and
on either side of whether Joseph dies or lives through the process."
"Stop it!" screamed Barcelona. He grabbed me by the arm. "Wilson," he
pleaded, "Can you? Stop it, I mean? Can you fix it?"
"Sure," I said.
"Legally?"
"Yep. But it'll cost you."
"Just money?"
"Just money--and admitting that you lost, Joseph!"
"I lose," he said. "Go ahead!"
"O.K., Joseph. Now, let's be real honest. Those three longshore turtles
belong to you, don't they?"
"Yes."
"And right now you wouldn't even want to see them run, would you? In
fact, you really want that they shouldn't run."
"Yes."
"All right, Joseph. Call off your noisemakers and toss the Head Steward
a thought. Tell him you're scratching your entries."
"But that won't stop the people from losing their money."
"Natch. So next you broadcast a thought that because of this terrible,
grievous error you are refunding their money out of your own pocket
since the Track Association will not or is not obliged to."
He turned to his pair of rattleheads and snarled, "All right. Shut up!"
A mental silence fell that was like the peace of rest after a busy day.
As Barcelona was tossing his cancellation at the Steward and preparing
to make a full and plausible explanation to the gambling instinct of the
Kentucky Derby crowd, I considered the matter carefully:
"Let's see," I thought. "He wants 'em not to run and so he can't
complain to me if they do not. I didn't fix the race, so Lieutenant
Delancey can't accuse me of that. That makes everybody happy, and I
win!"
A small hand stole into mine. "How about me, Wally?" Nora asked sweetly.
I looked down at a thionite dream come true by the glow in her eyes that
admired no one else but me. "You're mine," I reminded her, "until Flying
Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace win One, Two, and Three at the Kentucky
Derby."
"Or," she said mischievously, "'Til death do us part!"
* * * * *
I was instructing her how to respond to a kiss as a lady should respond
when about two hundred thousand noisy, exuberant human natures yelled
and radiated and thought: "They're Off!"
But they didn't mean us. They were watching a bunch of long-faced
hayburners chasing one another around a dusty track.
Human nature ain't changed a bit. It's just more complicated in an
extrasensory sort of way.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ December
1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.