When the dice got to me I blew the air out of my lungs, got another lungful, and said, 'I'm gonna shoot my hand.' I tossed the bills in the centre.

'How much is it?' somebody asked.

The little rat-mouthed cracker started to count it. I leaned forward and pushed his hand away. 'It's thirty-two bucks,' I said.

He gave me a hard look and said, 'I got six bits of it.'

I squatted back and waited. I knew they wanted to tell me to take some down and let the game go on. If I'd been white they'd have cursed me. But because I was coloured they didn't say anything; they kept it bottled up and began getting mean.

Finally one of the coloured fellows said, 'Let's gang him.'

Every player in the game took a piece, each pulling his bet in front of him. I picked up the dice with my right hand, passed them to my left, rolled them softly on the concrete. One came to a stop six up; the other dropped in a deep crevice and cocked with the five facing me, the six facing away.

'Throw in, good losers,' I said. 'I ain't going no farther.'

'Throw in what for?' the rat-mouthed fellow challenged.

'Cocked dice,' somebody said.

I began to choking up. 'Listen, I ain't giving away a goddamned thing. I made my goddamned eleven and now I'm gonna take my goddamned money.'

'You'll take hell, you nigger bastard,' the rat-mouthed guy said, feeling covered by the other twelve white guys.

Blood rushed to my head, stung me blind. I jack-knifed up and kicked at him with one motion. He rolled to one side and my boot heel went over his shoulder, throwing me off balance. I wheeled to my left, falling half forward, my right arm stuck out to catch my fall and my right foot flattened in a pigeon-toed stance.

'I'll cool the nigger!' I heard a voice grate, and I raised my chin, looking for the guy.

I just had time to see him: a tall young blond guy about my age and size.