Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [137]
He squinted at Jack. “Say, it’s been a good ten years since I saw you, no? Lots has happened, man. Remember how I used to have to hold my finger over that hole in my throat? All fixed up.”
“Great. You feel better?”
“Well, I lost a great psychological advantage. You remember Mike? The big one, his mother was the abortionist? Well, he opened his own joint up on 14th, near the ball park, half the thieves in town started hanging in there, guys like Clancy Phipps, Jack Morgan, all those heavies. Anyway, he had a little combo playing there, and one night he gets in an argument with the bass player, I guess this was last year some time, and the bass player gets real pissed off, goes home, gets his old man’s shotgun, comes back and blows Mike’s head off. So he’s dead. So’s Dale Phipps.”
“Huh? I thought he was in the Marines. How’d he get killed? I heard from Denny he killed a bunch of people over in Korea.”
“Yeah. Well, he came back to Portland and was stationed out on Swan Island, got married, had a couple of kids, everything. And one night he comes back from duty and there’s his house on fire and fire trucks there, and a bunch of people standing around, dig? And he rushes into the house to save his wife and kids, and the whole place collapses on him. So he died. But his wife and kids were out of the place. They saw him run in.” Mano shook his head. “Man, what a hero.”
Jack looked at him. He tried to remember the mean, sullen, cruel Dale Phipps, tried to see him as a hero, and just couldn’t do it. They drank their beer quietly for a few minutes, watching a six-ball game.
“You know,” Mano said, “a lot of people got washed down the drain in the last ten years. It kind of makes you wonder.”
“Yeah? Who else?” Now Jack was interested; he wanted to hear about other people’s failures. Now he was glad he had run into Mano.
“Remember my buddy Case? Little Bobby Case? He’s in Alcatraz. Got strung out when he was about seventeen, hit the junk like it was going out of style, and they nailed him in Arizona, he did five there, and they nailed him again, running shit across the border, and he got another two, and then a bit at Lexington, and then finally Alcatraz, on a life term or somethin. I’m not sure what they got him for. We split a long time ago.”
“Who else?” Jack wanted to know. “Who else went down the tubes?”
“Well,” Mano grinned. “You.”
“You remember that colored kid, Billy Lancing? Went to that party up in the West Hills where I got busted?”
“Sure, I know Billy. I see him around once in a while, around the country. He’s a crossroader. I ain’t seen him in a few years, but he’s around. I think he lives up in Seattle now.”
“No. He’s dead. He died in Q.”
“No shit. You want another beer?”
“No.”
One of the punks came up to them, and said to Mano in a low voice, “Hey, man, can you lay fi bucks on me? I got a fish wants to spot me the five. What say?”
“Fuck you, honey,” Mano said cheerfully. “You couldn’t find your ass with both hands. Make it.”
“Cocksucker,” the punk muttered. He went back to the row of seats, but the one he had been occupying now had an old man in it. He snarled at the old man and went away. Mano laughed. “These fucking kids don’t know dick. Not a one of them has the talent Bobby Case had.”
Jack felt hot and flushed. He was angry that Mano hadn’t understood about Billy, although there was no reason he should have. But Jack was tired of him, depressed, unable to get drunk. He felt his already tight gut tighten even more at the thought that Sally had left him and taken little Billy.
“Well,” he said to Mano.
“Listen, I’m going to Hot Springs in a couple days. You want to make the trip?”
“Me? What for?” There was something in Mano’s eyes that Jack didn’t like, a kind of vagueness.
“I can always use some help. You look like you’re still as tough as ever. You know.”
“Bodyguard?”
“Sort of.”
“What else?”
“Nothing. What did you think?”
“What do you think?”
Mano’s mouth tightened in a smile with no humor in it.