Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [93]
Billy was behind the check-out counter tipping cues late one night when there was a stir of conversation over at the theater seats by the pool section. He looked up and saw old Larkin, his face twisted in old man’s sour distaste, pointing toward the entrance. Billy turned and saw a very short plump man in a blue short-sleeved shirt and white slacks striding in, followed by two large mean-looking LA-type hoods in windbreakers. Billy went back to his work, but kept his ears open. After a bit, this is what he heard, in a vibrating basso, almost a bellow:
“Is this the famous all-night bowling alley? I don’t see any shooters. I said I’d play eight-ball all night for any price and you all just sit there and look at me. What is this? I heard Seattle was a money town, but I guess it’s just another dollar town. Who wants to play a thousand points of billiards for ten cents? Split the time. That’s the game for this town, billiards. Couple old men fussing around an old table that ain’t even got any pockets! Who wants to bet on two whales fightin a sardine? I’ll take either side of the bet. Where’s the quick money? I’m a sport, where’s all the other sports? Eight-ball? I’ll play anybody!”
Billy knew this long speech had been directed at him, although he had not looked up once, and he knew the fat man was not looking at him. He came out from behind the counter in a Stepin Fetchit shuffle, his voice high and niggery: “Eight -ball? Wha fo youall wont to play that lil ol kid game? Ah’ll risk mah ol black hide own one-pocket, maan!” Billy hoped the fat man disliked Negroes; it would be to his advantage.
“I didn’t come all the way to Seattle to play the shoeshine boy,” the fat man declared. So Billy knew the Uncle Tom routine wouldn’t work. He said, “Well, then I guess you come all the way to Seattle just to talk. All talked out back home, ey?” Billy grinned at one of the LA hoods, and the hood grinned back, and winked.
“Aint I seen you in the movies?” Billy said to the hood.
“Damn right,” the hood said proudly. “I been a killer in two pictures. They got me in Central Casting.”
“What a fuggin lie,” said the other hood. He was younger, not much over twenty-two. He said to old Larkin, “Hey, you want to play some snooker here? Three dollars?”
Larkin muttered to himself and then said, “No, I want to watch the big show.”
“You aint scared of me, are you?” persisted the kid. “I don’t even know how to play. But I’ll play you.”
The fat man looked discomfited. “Talk? Money talks. I reckon I’d play eight-ball with the king of Sweden if the money was right.”
“Eight-ball?” Billy sneered. The crowd was enjoying this. Nobody was playing pool any more; everyone was gathered around listening and grinning slyly at each other. Among