...Or Your Money Back Read online

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, Mary Meehan andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net

  ... OR YOUR MONEY BACK

  BY DAVID GORDON

  Illustrated by Summers

  [Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction, September 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  There are lots of things that are considered perfectlyacceptable ... provided they don't work. And of course everyone knowsthey really don't, which is why they're acceptable.... ]

  There are times when I don't know my own strength. Or, at least, thestrength of my advice. And the case of Jason Howley was certainly aninstance of one of those times.

  When he came to my office with his gadget, I heard him out, trying toappear both interested and co-operative--which is good business. But Iam forced to admit that neither Howley nor his gadget were veryimpressive. He was a lean, slope-shouldered individual, five-feet-eightor nine--which was shorter than he looked--with straight brown haircombed straight back and blue eyes which were shielded with steel-rimmedglasses. The thick, double-concave lenses indicated a degree of myopiathat must have bordered on total blindness without glasses, and acutetunnel vision, even with them.

  He had a crisp, incisive manner that indicated he was either a man whoknew what he was doing or a man who was trying to impress me with aready-made story. I listened to him and looked at his gadget withoutgiving any more indication than necessary of what I really thought.

  When he was through, I said: "You understand, Mr. Howley that I'm not apatent lawyer; I specialize in criminal law. Now, I can recommend--"

  But he cut me off. "I understand that, counselor," he said sharply."Believe me, I have no illusion whatever that this thing is patentableunder the present patent system. Even if it were, this gadget isdesigned to do something that may or may not be illegal, which wouldmake it hazardous to attempt to patent it, I should think. You don'tpatent new devices for blowing safes or new drugs for doping horses, doyou?"

  "Probably not," I said dryly, "although, as I say, I'm not qualified togive an opinion on patent law. You say that gadget is designed to causeminute, but significant, changes in the velocities of small, movingobjects. Just how does that make it illegal?"

  He frowned a little. "Well, possibly it wouldn't, except here in Nevada.Specifically, it is designed to influence roulette and dice games."

  I looked at the gadget with a little more interest this time. There wasnothing new in the idea of inventing a gadget to cheat the red-and-blackwheels, of course; the local cops turn up a dozen a day here in thecity. Most of them either don't work at all or else they're too obvious,so the users get nabbed before they have a chance to use them.

  The only ones that really work have to be installed in the tablesthemselves, which means they're used to milk the suckers, not rob themanagement. And anyone in the State of Nevada who buys a license tooperate and then uses crooked wheels is (a) stupid, and (b) out ofbusiness within a week. Howley was right. Only in a place where gamblingis legalized is it illegal--and unprofitable--to rig a game.

  The gadget itself didn't look too complicated from the outside. It was ablack plastic box about an inch and a half square and maybe three and ahalf long. On one end was a lensed opening, half an inch in diameter,and on two sides there were flat, silver-colored plates. On the top ofit, there was a dial which was, say, an inch in diameter, and it wasmarked off just exactly like a roulette wheel.

  "How does it work?" I asked.

  He picked it up in his hand, holding it as though it were a flashlight,with the lens pointed away from him.

  "You aim the lens at the wheel," he explained, "making sure that yourthumb is touching the silver plate on one side, and your fingerstouching the plate on the other side. Then you set this dial forwhatever number you want to come up and concentrate on it while the ballis spinning. For dice, of course, you only need to use the first six ortwelve numbers on the dial, depending on the game."

  * * * * *

  I looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure his angle. He lookedback steadily, his eyes looking like small beads peering through thebottoms of a couple of shot glasses.

  "You look skeptical, counselor," he said at last.

  "I am. A man who hasn't got the ability to be healthily skeptical has noright to practice law--especially criminal law. On the other hand, nolawyer has any right to judge anything one way or the other withoutevidence.

  "But that's neither here nor there at the moment. What I'm interested inis, what do you want me to do? People rarely come to a criminal lawyerunless they're in a jam. What sort of jam are you in at the moment?"

  "None," said Howley. "But I will be very soon. I hope."

  Well, I've heard odder statements than that from my clients. I let itride for the moment and looked down at the notes I'd taken while he'dtold me his story.

  "You're a native of New York City?" I asked.

  "That's right. That's what I said."

  "And you came out here for what? To use that thing on our Nevadatables?"

  "That's right, counselor."

  "Can't you find any games to cheat on back home?"

  "Oh, certainly. Plenty of them. But they aren't legal. I wouldn't careto get mixed up in anything illegal. Besides, it wouldn't suit mypurpose."

  That stopped me for a moment. "You don't consider cheating illegal? Itcertainly is in Nevada. In New York, if you were caught at it, you'dhave the big gambling interests on your neck; here, you'll have boththem _and_ the police after you. _And_ the district attorney's office."

  He smiled. "Yes, I know. That's what I'm expecting. That's why I need agood lawyer to defend me. I understand you're the top man in this city."

  "Mr. Howley," I said carefully, "as a member of the Bar Association anda practicing attorney in the State of Nevada, I am an Officer of theCourt. If you had been caught cheating and had come to me, I'd be ableto help you. But I can't enter into a conspiracy with you to defraudlegitimate businessmen, which is exactly what this would be."

  He blinked at me through those shot-glass spectacles. "Counselor, wouldyou refuse to defend a man if you thought he was guilty?"

  I shook my head. "No. Legally, a man is not guilty until proven so by acourt of law. He has a right to trial by jury. For me to refuse to givea man the defense he is legally entitled to, just because I happened tothink he was guilty, would be trial by attorney. I'll do the best I canfor any client; I'll work for his interests, no matter what my privateopinion may be."

  He looked impressed, so I guess there must have been a note ofconviction in my voice. There should have been, because it was exactlywhat I've always believed and practiced.

  "That's good, counselor," said Howley. "If I can convince you that Ihave no criminal intent, that I have no intention of defrauding anyoneor conspiring with you to do anything illegal, will you help me?"

  I didn't have to think that one over. I simply said, "Yes." After all,it was still up to me to decide whether he convinced me or not. If hedidn't, I could still refuse the case on those grounds.

  "That's fair enough, counselor," he said. Then he started talking.

  * * * * *

  Instead of telling you what Jason Howley _said_ he was going to do, I'lltell you what he _did_ do. They are substantially the same, anyway, andthe old bromide about actions speaking louder than words certainlyapplied in this case.

  Mind you, I didn't see or hear any of this, but there were plenty ofwitnesses to testify as to what went on. Their statements are a matterof court r
ecord, and Jason Howley's story is substantiated in everyrespect.

  He left my office smiling. He'd convinced me that the case was not onlygoing to be worthwhile, but fun. I took it, plus a fat retainer.

  Howley went up to his hotel room, changed into his expensive eveningclothes, and headed out to do the town. I'd suggested several places,but he wanted the biggest and best--the Golden Casino, a big, plush,expensive place that was just inside the city limits. In his pockets, hewas carrying less than two hundred dollars in cash.

  Now, nobody with that kind of chicken feed can expect to last long atthe Golden Casino unless they stick to the two-bit one-armed bandits.But putting money on a roulette