Эд Макбейн - Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here

“You follow the ponies?” Kapek asked.

“I permit myself a tiny wager every so often,” the man in the blue suit said. He had bleary blue eyes and a veined nose. His white shirt looked unironed, his solid blue tie was haphazardly knotted, his suit rumpled. He kept his right hand firmly clutched around a water tumbler full of whiskey on the bar top in front of him.

“This nag’s the goddamn favorite nine times out of ten,” Kapek said, “but he never wins when he’s supposed to. I think the jocks got it all fixed between them.”

The bartender was ambling back. Kapek shot him a warning glance: Stay out of this, pal. You work your side of the street, I’ll work mine. The bartender hesitated in mid-stride, then turned on his heel and walked over to his other customer.

“My name’s Carl Kapek,” Kapek said, and closed his newspaper, encouraging further conversation. “I’ve been playing the horses for twelve years now, I made only one decent killing in all that time.”

“How much?” the man in the blue suit asked.

“Four hundred dollars on a long shot. Had two dollars on his nose. It was beautiful, beautiful,” Kapek said, and grinned and shook his head remembering the beauty of this event that had never taken place. The most he had ever won in his life was a chemistry set at a church bazaar.

“How long ago was that?” the man in the blue suit asked.

“Six years ago,” Kapek said, and laughed.

“That’s a long time between drinks,” the man said, and laughed with him.

“I don’t think I got your name,” Kapek said, and extended his hand.

“Leonard Sutherland,” the man said. “My friends all call me Lennie.”

“How do you do, Lennie?” Kapek said, and they shook hands.

“What do your friends all call you?” Lennie asked.

“Carl.”

“Nice meeting you, Carl,” Lennie said.

“A pleasure,” Kapek answered.

“ My game’s poker,” Lennie said. “Playing the horses, you’ll pardon me, is for suckers. Poker’s a game of skill.”

“No question,” Kapek agreed.

“Do you actually prefer beer?” Lennie asked suddenly.

“What?”

“I notice you have been drinking beer exclusively. If you would permit me, Carl, I’d consider it an honor to buy you something stronger.”

“Little early in the day for me,” Kapek said, and smiled apologetically.

“Never too early for a little rammer,” Lennie said, and smiled.

“Well, I was out drinking late last night,” Kapek said, and shrugged.

“I am out drinking late every night,” Lennie said, “but it’s still never too early for a little rammer.” To emphasize his theory, he lifted the water glass and swallowed half the whiskey in it. “Mmm, boy,” he said, and coughed.

“You usually do your drinking here?” Kapek asked.

“Hm?” Lennie asked. His eyes were watering. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at them. He coughed again.

“In this place?”

“Oh, I drift around, drift around,” Lennie said, and made a fluttering little motion with the fingers of one hand.

“Reason I ask,” Kapek said, “is I was in here last night, and I didn’t happen to see you.”

“Oh, I was here, all right,” Lennie said, which Kapek already knew because this was what he had overheard in the conversation between Lennie and the bartender, a passing reference to a minor event that had taken place in Bar Seventeen the night before, the bartender having had to throw out a twenty-year-old who was noisily expressing his views on lowering the age to vote.

“Were you here when they threw out that young kid?” Kapek asked.

“Oh, indeed,” Lennie said.

“Didn’t see you,” Kapek said.

“Oh yes, here indeed,” Lennie said.

“There was a Marine...” Kapek said tentatively.

“Hm?” Lennie asked with a polite smile, and then lifted his glass and threw down the rest of the whiskey. He said, “Mmm, boy,” coughed again, dabbed at his watering eyes, and then said, “Yes, yes, but he came in later.”

“After they threw that kid out, you mean?”

“Oh yes, much later. Were you here when the Marine came in?”

“Oh, sure,” Kapek said.

“Funny we didn’t notice each other,” Lennie said, and shrugged and signaled to the bartender. The bartender slouched toward them, shooting Kapek his own warning glance: This guy’s a good steady customer. If I lose him ’cause you’re pumping him for information here, I’m gonna get sore as hell.

“Yeah, Lennie?” the bartender said.

“I’ll have another double, please,” Lennie answered. “And please see what my friend here is having, won’t you?”

The bartender shot the warning glance at Kapek again. Kapek stared back at him implacably and said, “I’ll just have another beer.” The bartender nodded and walked off.

“There was this girl in here about then,” Kapek said to Lennie. “You remember her?”

“Which girl?”

“Colored girl in a red dress,” Kapek said.

Lennie was watching the bartender as he poured whiskey into the tumbler. “Hm?” he said.

“Colored girl in a red dress,” Kapek repeated.

“Oh yes, Belinda,” Lennie answered.

“Belinda what?”

“Don’t know,” Lennie said.

His eyes brightened as the bartender came back with his whiskey and Kapek’s beer. Lennie lifted the tumbler immediately and drank. “Mmm, boy,” he said, and coughed. The bartender hovered near them. Kapek met his eyes, decided if he wanted so badly to get in on the act, he’d let him.

“Would you happen to know?” Kapek said.

“Know what?”

“There was a girl named Belinda in here last night. Wearing a red dress. Would you know her last name?”

“Me,” the bartender said, “I’m deaf, dumb, and blind.” He paused. “This guy’s a cop, Lennie, did you know that?”

“Oh yes, certainly,” Lennie said, and fell off his stool and passed out cold.

Kapek got up, bent, seized Lennie under the arms, and dragged him over to one of the booths. He loosened his tie and then looked up at the bartender, who had come over and was standing with his hands on his hips.

“You always serve booze to guys who’ve had too much?” he asked.

“You always ask them questions?” the bartender said.

“Let’s ask you a couple instead, okay?” Kapek said. “Who’s Belinda?”

“Never heard of her.”

“Okay. Just make sure she never hears of me”

“Huh?”

“You were pretty anxious just now to let our friend here know I was a cop. I’m telling you something straight, pal. I’m looking for Belinda, whoever the hell she is. If she finds out about it, from whatever source, I’m going to assume you’re the one who tipped her. And that might just make you an accessory, pal.”

“Who you trying to snow?” the bartender said. “I run a clean joint here. I don’t know nobody named Belinda, and whatever she done or didn’t do, I’m out of it completely. So what’s this ‘accessory’ crap?”

“Try to forget I was in here looking for her,” Kapek said. “Otherwise you’re liable to find out just what this ‘accessory’ crap is. Okay?”

“You scare me to death,” the bartender said.

“You know where Lennie lives?” Kapek asked.

“Yeah.”

“He married?”

“Yeah.”

“Call his wife. Tell her to come down here and get him.”

“She’ll kill him,” the bartender said. He looked down at Lennie and shook his head. “I’ll sober him up and get him home, don’t worry about it.”

He was already talking gently and kindly to the unconscious Lennie as Kapek went out of the bar.