Stuart Woods - Choke

“Not much; his principal concern seemed to be that none of the customers find out that I got busted.”

“Well, he’s got a business to run, I guess,” Victor said, “whereas all you and I do is show up.”

Meg found another bottle of wine and refilled their glasses. “I think Merk’s a shit.”

“He’s not so bad,” Victor said.

“Oh, Victor,” Chuck said, “you never speak ill of anybody.”

“Well, not while they’re around, anyway. Merk’s been okay to me, though, and I know him pretty well by now.”

Chuck drew on his new glass of wine. Much of the stress of an awful twenty-four hours had drained from him, and he was feeling loose. “I’ll bet I can tell you something about Merk you don’t know,” Chuck said.

“I don’t see how you could,” Victor said. “After all, I’ve been around here for a couple of years, and you’re the new boy.”

“Still,” Chuck replied.

“You got any brandy?” Victor asked.

“Would you get some cognac, please, Meg? The cheap stuff; it’s for Victor.”

Meg brought a bottle of Courvoisier and three glasses to the table and poured them all a slug.

“So, Chuckster,” Victor said, “what could you possibly know about Merk that I don’t? You been sleeping with him?”

“Not likely,” Meg said, resting her head on Chuck’s shoulder. “I’ve been taking up all his time and talent.”

“You told me once that Merk’s ex-wife had stripped him of most of his worldly goods,” Chuck said, sampling the brandy.

“I told you, and it’s true,” Victor said.

“Do you know who the ex-wife, the holder of his former goods, is?”

Victor blinked and had some brandy. “It was before he came to Key West,” he said. “Before I won his confidence. A lady in another part of the world.”

Chuck shook his head slowly. “Nope,” he said, grinning. He sipped his brandy.

“Nope, what?” Victor asked, his eyes half closed. “Jesus, this is good cognac.”

“I brought it from the Bahamas,” Meg said. “Duty free.”

“Free is all that matters,” Victor said. “Was I saying something?”

“No,” Chuck said.

“Yes, I was; I just can’t remember what.”

“You were asking about Merk’s ex-wife,” Meg said helpfully.

“No,” Victor said, wagging a forefinger at her, “Chuck was asking about Merk’s ex.”

“No, Chuck was telling.”

“Telling what?”

“About Victor’s ex-wife.”

“I’m Victor, last time I checked.” He pulled out the waistband of his trousers and regarded his crotch. “Yup, I’m Victor. Who’s the ex-wife?”

“Clare,” Chuck said.

Victor squinted at him. “Clare?”

“Clare.”

“She’s Harry’s ex-wife. Sorry, ex-widow. Widow.”

Chuck shook his head. “Nope. Merk’s.”

“Merk’s widow?”

“Ex-wife.”

Having exhausted all the possibilities, Victor finally got it right. “Merk’s ex-wife?”

“Right.”

“Who?”

“Clare.”

“Clare is Merk’s ex-wife?”

“Now you’ve got it,” Chuck said.

Victor grinned and looked at Chuck suspiciously. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not.”

“Merk and Clare?”

Chuck nodded slowly.

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”

“Meg and I know somebody who knew them both when they were married, in Las Vegas.”

“Clare and Merk?”

“Man and wife. Ex.”

“Do you mean…” Victor paused and belched. “… that I am the only employee of the Olde Island Racquet Club who has not fucked the lovely Clare?”

“Only you can accurately draw that conclusion, Victor,” Chuck said, enjoying Victor’s astonishment.

“The story of my fucking life,” Victor said. “Even in high school, the other guys got the beauties. I got the girl jocks. Is there any more brandy?”

Meg poured him some more, but withheld the glass. “Only if you stay here tonight,” she said.

Victor drew himself up to his full height. “You think I can’t drive?”

“That’s what I think,” Meg said. “You’re sleeping in the saloon.”

“If you insist,” Victor said. “About the brandy, I mean.”

“About sleeping in the saloon,” Meg said firmly.

“Oh, all right. I’m very sure I could drive, but I’m not sure I could walk to the car.” He turned and looked at Chuck again. “You really mean I’m the only one who hasn’t fucked Clare?”

“Life is unjust,” Chuck replied, sipping his brandy.

“It’s unfair, too,” Victor said glumly.

Chuck was shaken awake at eight o’clock by Meg. “Come on,” she said, “you’ll be late for work.”

He blinked in the morning light; his head felt very large. “Boy, did I overdo it last night,” he said. “Is Victor still here?”

“He’s trying to drink some coffee; I suggest you do the same,” Meg said. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

When Chuck emerged into the saloon Victor was holding a mug of coffee in both hands and staring at a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs.

“Eat it, Victor,” Meg was saying, “it’ll do you good.”

“It’ll do me in,” Victor moaned.

“Eat.”

He picked up a fork and tried.

Chuck sat down next to him, feigning good health. “So, pal, you tied one on last night, did you?”

“You could say that,” Victor replied, gulping down some egg. “My best recollection is that you had a few, too.”

“I guess,” Chuck replied, downing some orange juice and trying to keep it there. And when Meg put down the plate of bacon and eggs, he couldn’t look at it. “Okay, I guess I’m a tad hung over,” he admitted.

“That makes me feel so much better,” Victor said.

They arrived together fifteen minutes before the first student was due. After they were dressed, Merk called them into his little office. Chuck had to stand.

“I wanted to talk to both of you,” he said.

“Does it have to be now, Merk?” Victor asked.

“It may as well be.”

“What’s up?” Chuck asked.

“I’ve decided to give up the Key West club and concentrate on Santa Fe. I’ve got a local investor out there who will finance fixing up the facilities, and I think by concentrating on the one place I can do better. Which leaves the Olde Island Racquet Club up for sale-the remainder of my lease, which runs another four years, the computer and office equipment, and the stock in the shop. You guys interested?”

Chuck and Victor looked at each other. “Yes,” they said simultaneously.

“Okay, here’s the deal, and I’m afraid there’s no room for negotiation, it’s take it or leave it. I want twenty-five grand for my lease and goodwill, plus fifty percent of the retail value of the shop goods-I reckon that comes to another fifteen grand. So it’s twenty thousand apiece, and it’s yours. I reckon if you both go on teaching and hire somebody to run the shop and keep the schedule and the books, you can make out okay. When the lease is up in four years, you’ll have to renegotiate with the hotel, but I doubt if there’ll be any competition for the lease. I’ll stay on for a week and teach the computer program to whoever you hire to do the bookkeeping. What do you say?”

“You mind if we talk about it for a minute?” Chuck asked.

“Go right ahead.”

Chuck pulled Victor into the locker room. “What do you think?”

“I’ve been expecting this, so I’ve already run the numbers, and it sounds good to me. Do you think Meg would do the inside job?”

“Probably. You want to do this?”

“Okay with me.”