Andrew Vachss - Flood

Pool is a fascinating game. I know a structural engineer who took years to figure out a way to make a shot if the cue ball was exactly in the spot where the head ball would be if there was a full rack. It looks damn near impossible, but he could do it every time. He’s been waiting years for the situation to come up in a game-when it does, he’ll be ready.

I dropped the balls in their pockets and they rolled down their runners to be collected at the head of the table. Like this caper-a whole lot of balls and a whole lot of pockets. I kept shooting, occasionally trying to imitate the subtle, relaxed stroke of the professional three tables down. It would never come to me. He had the technique perfect-he never looked up. Once you do you lose your concentration and you have to refocus your eyes. I can’t do that, can’t keep my eyes only on the table. Probably cost me a few games over the years, but I’ve won the ones that count. Every morning I wake up, I beat the system. And every morning I wake up and I’m not in jail, I beat the hell out of it.

I saw it was getting close to eleven-thirty so I called Mama’s from the pay phone and asked her to have Max drop by the poolroom later on. She said there were no calls for me so I had to assume Margot was still coming. If she was and if she wasn’t running a con, I’d need Max to move the cash for me. I told Pop I was expecting to do some business and I’d need the room. He said sure, but didn’t make a move. When the other person showed up he’d hand over the key, not before. Pop wasn’t going to be a concierge for anyone. I turned in the balls and paid for the table, then went into the lobby to wait for Margot, munching on a package of chocolate-chip cookies Pop had for sale at the counter. They weren’t any older than me, and not as sweet.

She was on time, carrying a big purse and wearing one of those huge floppy hats that belong in midtown. I gave Pop the money, took the key, and we went upstairs.

Margot couldn’t wait to open her mouth. “Burke, I’ve got to tell you this… Dandy said-”

“Have you got the money?”

“Sure. Now listen, I-”

“Where is it?”

She snapped open her purse, took out a wad of hundreds wrapped in a rubber band, tossed it over to me. “You want to count it?” She seemed unsurprised when I did. It was all there. On surface inspection, it was all good too. Used bills, but not ready for the shredder, no consecutive serial numbers, the right paper, clean inking, no engraving problems. Even if it was bogus I could move stuff this good without any problems.

I still checked it carefully though-some counterfeiters are lunatics and you never know what they’ll do. I was watching that TV show about Archie Bunker in a bar one night waiting for a client’s husband to come in and make a fool of himself with the go-go dancers, and they had this bit about funny money. Seems the counterfeiter had engraved “In Dog We Trust-instead of “In God We Trust.” Everybody watching thought that was hilarious, but the counterfeiter watching from the barstool next to me thought it was blasphemy. He muttered to me that the buffoon who’d done that job had no class. It was okay to do something on the front of a bill for a joke-a spit on the system-but the lame on TV was just a guy who couldn’t spell. I nodded like I understood, and the guy pulled out a beautiful twenty-dollar bill and asked me to look it over. The bill was real as far as I could tell, but instead of “In God We Trust,” it said “By God We Must.” Now that, the counterfeiter told me, was a genuine act of social commentary. I asked him how much he wanted for the bill and he said half face-value. I said that was too much, so he bet me the ten bucks he could shove the bad bill by the bartender even if I warned him.

As he paid the bartender I made some crack about a lot of queer twenties making the rounds. The bartender checked it over carefully, pronounced it perfect and shoved it in the till. So I paid up the ten bucks for the bet and another ten for one of the special twenties, fair and square. Later that night, I gave the twenty as change to the woman who’d hired me to check her husband. It’s not often you can get your money back after the race is over.

I pocketed Margot’s money. No problem doing that-with the coats I wear, I could make a lot more than that disappear. Now I’d listen. “Dandy said some old nigger came into the Player’s Lounge and told him he was the Prophet himself, right? And that Dandy should walk in the ways of righteousness or his offenses would rise up like a tidal wave to drown him.”

“So?”

“So Dandy’d been doing a bit of coke, right, and he was high and feeling good. So he kicked the old nigger’s ass out of the club and they all had a good laugh, he says.”

“So?”

“So listen, Burke. He keeps talking about it, right? Like he wants to laugh it off or something but it’s almost like he’s scared-I mean it was just some old wino or something.”

“He didn’t work you over?”

Margot smiled, a tiny bit of her dark lipstick showing on her teeth. “Dandy doesn’t hurt me anymore hardly at all, Burke. I know it’s going to be over soon so I just go into my stash every day and give him money. All he wants is for me to tell him what the trick did to me and then fuck him. He doesn’t hurt me himself much. He’s like a trick too, you know-some of them just want you to talk. Only he doesn’t pay.”

“He will.”

“That’s what Michelle said.”

“You told Michelle I was doing something?”

“No, I’m not stupid. But I told her what happened in the Lounge and she said this old nigger really is the Prophet. Weird, huh?”

“You think Michelle is crazy?”

“Man, I know she’s not even close to crazy, but it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“You’re going to do the thing with Dandy?”

“We agreed that the object was to get Dandy to stop his action with you, to let you walk away and not come after you, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s all, right?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like a lot for five grand.”

“Since when? That was the deal-there’s no more coming to you.”

“I’m not saying anything. Just when-”

“When it happens it happens, Margot. You’ll know because you’re going to be in on it, right?”

“Yes, I know.” She seemed tired all of a sudden. Walking over to the blackened window, she tapped her nails against the sill. I asked her if she had the News with her, and she pulled a copy of the Times from her giant purse. Did they have the race results in that uptown rag? I sat down to check while Margot kept up a steady patter of insights about the streets and the life. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out how she ended up with the likes of Dandy, but that wasn’t my job. I used to dream about how someday people would pay me to think, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Nodding occasionally to Margot so she’d keep talking quietly, I was left pretty much to myself. I hadn’t expected anyone in the poolroom to comment about how my face looked, but I’d thought Margot would say something. She never saw it-obsessions give you tunnel vision. I should know.

I finally found the race results, appropriately displayed in lowercase (and upper-class) type. Damn! Honor Bright, ninth race, the winner, paid $11.60. That was all the information the sissy Times would give me, but it was enough. I was now on the longest winning streak of my life with the horses. Come to think of it, with anything at all. But I didn’t want to spoil the moment by dwelling on it, and I didn’t want to share it with Margot either. So I said, “Okay, I won’t be able to reach you, I guess. So you can call me at the number you have in a couple of days and we can make a meet. By then we should have everything in motion.”