William Kienzle: Requiem for Moses

“Mmm. Margie married? Got a significant other? Anything like that?”

“Yeah. Me.”

“Married?”

Cameron shook his head. “We don’t want to spoil a good thing.”

Green nodded.

Somehow Cameron interpreted the nod to be an entry on an adding machine. “If,” Cameron said, “you think this place is seedy-and I’m not arguing the point-why come here? You been here once, maybe twice a week for the past couple, three months.”

“That’s about when I discovered this place. Why? There’s a certain kind of mark who fits into a place like this. He doesn’t want to meet at a better place for fear he’ll be recognized. But he’s crazy for naked broads. This place is ideal for this kind of guy. And there’s no limit to what you can slip by him while he’s distracted by an undulating bare bottom.”

It was Cameron’s turn to nod.

“But how about you?” Green asked. “You look sort of out of place in a joint like this. Is this it for you? Or are you on your way somewhere else?”

Cameron saw a glimmer of hope he dared not believe in. This guy was a doctor. Doctors made big money. This one made very big money. On top of that, the papers, TV, radio reported high-profile deals he was constantly striking. And the media hinted at much more.

Could this guy be Cameron’s ticket out of here and into the life hitherto he had only dreamed of? He leaned nearer the doctor. “No, Doc, I got a dream. Most of us do.”

Green was amused. “What’s yours, Jake?”

“My place. My own place. And then a string of my places. High class. Great food, generous drinks. Tip-top service. Gorgeous, talented dancers. And much, much more. I’m gonna get the businessmen, fast trackers, the movers and shakers.”

“Sounds pretty ambitious. Think you can pull it off?” Green was smiling contentedly. He had a ball on a string. He could make the cat chase the ball. The cat was Cameron; the ball was Cameron’s dream.

“I could do it. I know exactly what I want and what I need. I refine blueprints of the place in my head every night before I go to sleep. I know just where to get the right guys and broads, the best dancers. I know exactly where on Eight Mile Road to put the place.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Guess.”

“How much?”

“A hundred grand.”

Green whistled quietly.

They both sat back. For the first time they gave attention to the dancer. She was finishing her go-go routine. She’d been gyrating in four or five similar steps. The loud accompaniment ground to silence. With one final grind and bump, she left the stage to the lecherous applause of three unsteady patrons.

Close on her heels came the next dancer. She stood, shifting from one foot to the other until her music began. She was neither better nor worse than her predecessor.

Green tossed down the last of his martini. There was no evident reason why he shouldn’t leave. But he didn’t. He seemed to be weighing some sort of decision. Cameron, of course, was in no hurry to have him leave.

“A hundred grand, eh?” Green’s voice was just audible over the music.

“Yeah. That’d do it. You don’t …”

“Maybe. What kind of collateral you got?”

Cameron enumerated his worldly goods. The total was not impressive.

Green made no notations during the recitation. He ran an invisible tab in his head. When Cameron finished, after a short pause, Green said, “I make between fifty and sixty grand-total.”

“Maybe more,” Cameron suggested.

“Uh-uh. That’s it. Tops.”

Cameron’s heart sank. Not much against a hundred grand.

“Tell you what we might do,” Green said.

Cameron’s deflated hopes pumped up somewhat. “What? Anything.”

“You got a lawyer?”

Cameron shook his head.

“Well, get one. Then our lawyers can get together and make this nice and legal. But I’ll give you the gist of it now: It’ll be a five-year loan. If you default, we take over the operation, lock, stock, and boobs … okay so far?”

Cameron nodded wordlessly.

“One other thing,” Green said. “You throw in Margie.”

“What?”

“Think about it. This is not negotiable.”

The more Cameron thought about it, the less sense it made. “How can I possibly include Margie in the deal? I don’t own her. Besides, she’s not a bar or a supply of liquor.”

“You get out of her life. I don’t care how you do it. That’s up to you. But you do it within this month. Then I step in.”

“What happens if she doesn’t want to go with you?”

“Hell …” He smiled wickedly. “If I can’t make her my woman, you can have her back. I just don’t want to have to bother with you along the way.”

Cameron, shocked, examined Moe Green more closely. He wasn’t much to look at. He appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties. Margie was nineteen. He dressed well. Dark, thinning hair, maybe six feet tall, slender. Dusky skin, sharp features.

Physically, Green wasn’t in Cameron’s league. Financially, Cameron couldn’t begin to touch Green.

One thing was certain: Green’s taste in women was superior, if not impeccable. Not only was Margie almost a classic beauty, she had a sharp intellect. Indeed she was part and parcel of the plans for Cameron’s super topless club. He would front the establishment, run the place, see that everything operated smoothly. She would handle the books and keep them solvent.

Of course one could always find a bookkeeper. Not one better than Margie. But maybe at least not worse.

Still, this deal was strange … bordering on crazy. And so bizarre that he was completely taken by surprise. He wanted time to think. He sensed Green was not going to extend much more time. In just a few more minutes, Green would be gone. And Cameron knew this offer would never be repeated. It was now or forget it. His dream come true. Or a nightmare.

Green glanced at his watch. “I got just time to make my next appointment.”

“Deal!”

“Get a lawyer, then call me.” Green left more than enough to cover his check and quickly departed, pausing only to take one more look at Margaret who liked to be called Margie.

His interest was not lost on Margie. Periodically she’d noticed him looking at her attentively. Men who came in here had an obvious preference for nude girls over a clothed one. Her only conclusion regarding Moe Green was that he had good taste.

Cameron toyed with his martini-masquerading glass of water. How the hell was he going to pull this off? Probably no contract had been struck to match this, in this country, since slavery.

The problem was to get Margie to go along. He’d have to wait for the right mood-or create it. Then put it to her that this would make their dream come true. This was, at most, a trial. Green did say that if he could not make her “his woman”-absent Cameron-she was free to move on, or back.

Maybe she’d buy it.

THE PAST CONTINUED

It was 1977.

Three years had passed since Moe Green had lent the money that financed Jake Cameron’s dream, Virago, a flashy, upscale bar and grill that featured topless dancers.

This evening there was a gathering in the meeting room off the restaurant. Present were Cameron, Joe Blinstraub-his lawyer-Moe Green, and his wife, Margie.

Green assumed the occasion had something to do with the loan. The money was the lone bond that had linked Green and Cameron since the deal had been struck. Were he forced to guess, Green would expect Cameron to plead for an extension on the note. Ha! No way in hell.

Green had launched many deals since that loan to Cameron. A string of slum dwellings, prison real estate, and the like had absorbed Green’s time and attention. And of course there was always his medical practice. Cameron had been on the back burner these three years. Left alone, Green would remember the loan in another two years, at which point it would be time for Cameron to pay up or get lost. But, for now, Green would enjoy this well-prepared meal.