Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [23]
“Are you kiddin?”
“No, really. Listen, that kid’s folks won’t be home for probably another week. Let’s go back up there tonight, get some chicks, man, and throw us a little party! We can’t just leave all that booze up there! We’ll have a little party, and then take all the rest of the booze with us in somebody’s car an stash it someplace. Man, we could stay drunk a year!”
“Or we could sell some of it off,” Jack said.
“Yeah, but first, we could have ourselves a nice quiet little party, some cunt, some guys, real quiet, you know, but really live it up.”
“I could use a party,” Jack admitted.
“I got to try to borrow another buck from the nigger. I think I’ll ask him to the party,” Denny said, and he jumped up and went over to where Billy was standing. Jack watched their faces, saw Billy look puzzled, then almost angry, and then saw him laugh, just before he approached the table to make his shot. Denny came back and sat down.
“Did you ask him to the party?” Jack said. “What the hell do you want him along for?”
“Sure I asked him, why not? Maybe we can get up a poker game and get that fuckin money out of him.” Denny scratched the dimple on his chin. “You know, he’s a smart little fucker; I says to him, `How about comin to a party with us tonight?’ an he says, `What kind of hustle is this?’ an I says, `No hustle,’ an he says, `What the hell you want with me at your party?’ an then he says, `Oh, I get it, you want my nice green money for your party!’ an I says, `Hell yes, man, that’s part of it, but what the hell do you care? You aint got no friends in Portland, an you must want white friends or you wouldn’t come hangin around the white parts of town, so what do you care? You wanna come?’...an he thinks about that for a minute—I could tell he didn’t like it out in the open like that, but what the fuck—an then he says, `Hell, okay, what do I care.’ He’s comin.”
“I still don’t see why you asked him,” Jack said. “He’s a nigger. Tell you the truth, I was thinkin of followin him out of here and coldcocking him for his money.”
Denny frowned. “Hell, that’s nothin to do. I mean, he comes in here.... No, I mean, so he’s a nigger, so what?”
Jack thought about that. All right, so what? He had always been told that niggers were bad people, but no one had ever said why. They told him. That was enough to make it a lie.
“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “I guess you’re right.”
“Oops! I forgot to bum another buck!” Denny exclaimed. He jumped up and went back to Billy. Billy laughed and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Since when did I take you to raise?” but the hand went into the pocket and came out with a dollar, just the same. Denny crooked a finger at Jack and they sat at the counter and had hot dogs and coffee, and Denny bought a package of cigarettes for each of them.
“You know,” he said, “this nigger’s a good guy.”
“He’s a sucker,” Jack said.
“No he aint,” Denny insisted. “He’s honest. There’s a difference. Anyway, I didn’t hustle him, I ast him.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“Well, I’m gonna pay him back.”
Jack thought, and then said, “You mean, you’re gonna pay him back the two dollars, or the money we whipsaw him out of tonight?”
“The two dollars, naturally.”
Jack laughed. “I get it.”
“Why should I pay him back money I win?”
“Hello, tough guy,” a hoarse voice said. Jack turned around and saw Kol Mano, and behind him, Bobby Case, both wearing leather air corps flight jackets over cashmere sweaters, slacks, and highly polished cordovan shoes.
Mano and Jack shook hands, formally. Mano was one of those people who shook hands, almost as if it were a sort of game. Jack liked him; he, too, had a talent. Not a specific talent like pool, but a generalized talent for making money and living his own life. Kol Mano was in his early twenties, and when he spoke he