Lawrence Block - When the Sacred Ginmill Closes

"Jesus," I said.

"It happened so fast," he said, "and with so little fanfare, I wondered if I imagined it. But it happened."

"Did the round make a lot of noise?"

"No, not a whole lot.There was the sort ofwhump!sound a mortar makes on firing, and if there was an explosion when the round hit the water I didn't hear it."

"Probably a blank," Skip said. "They were probably, you know, testing the firing mechanism, checking out the trajectory."

"Yeah, but for what?"

"Well, shit," he said. "You never know when you'regonna need a mortar in this town." He tipped up his beer bottle, drank deeply, and drummed his heels against the side of the desk. "I don't know," he said, "I'm drinking this stuff but I'm not thinking any better than before. Matt, let's talk about money."

I thought he was referring to the ransom. But he meant money for me, and I was at a loss. I didn't know how to set a price, said something about being a friend.

He said, "So? This is what you do for a living, right? Do favors for friends?"

"Sure, but-"

"You're doing us a favor.Kasabian and I don't know what the hell we're doing. Am I right, John?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm notgonna give Bobby anything for coming, he wouldn't take it, and if Keegan comes along it won't be for the money. But you're a professional and a professional gets paid.Tillary's paying you, isn't he?"

"There's a difference."

"What's the difference?"

"You're a friend of mine."

"And he isn't?"

"Not in the same way. In fact I like him less and less. He's-"

"He's an asshole," Skip said. "No argument.Makes no difference." He opened a drawer in the desk, counted money, folded the bills,handed them to me. "Here," he said. "That's twenty-five there. Tell me if it's not enough."

"I don't know," I said slowly. "Twenty-five dollars doesn't seem like much, but-"

"It's twenty-five hundred, you dumb fuck." We all started laughing." 'Twenty -five dollars doesn't seem like much.' Johnny, why did we have to hire a comedian? Seriously, Matt, is it okay?"

"Seriously, it seems a little high."

"You know what the ransom comes to?"

I shook my head. "Everybody's been careful not to mention it."

"Well, you don't mention rope in the house of the hanged, do you? We're paying thosecocksuckers fifty grand."

"Jesus Christ," I said.

"His name came up already,"Kasabian said."He a friend of yours, by any chance? Bring him along tomorrow, he's got nothing else on for the evening."

I tried to make it an early night. I went home and went to bed, and somewhere around four I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep. There was enough bourbon on hand to knock myself out, but I didn't want that, either. I didn't want to be hung over when we dealt with the blackmailers.

I got up and tried sitting around, but I couldn't sit still and there was nothing on television I was willing to watch. I got dressed and went out for a walk, and I was halfway there before I realized my feet were taking me to Morrissey's.

One of the brothers was on the downstairs door. He gave me a bright smile and let me in. Upstairs, another brother sat on a stool opposite the door. His right hand was concealed beneath his white butcher's apron, and I had been given to understand that there was a gun in it. I hadn't been to Morrissey's since Tim Pat had told me of the reward he and his brothers were offering, but I'd heard that the brothers took turns at guard duty, and that anyone who walked in the door was facing a loaded weapon. Opinions differed on the sort of weapon; I'd had various reports, ranging from revolver to automatic pistol to sawed-off shotgun. My thought was that you'd have to be crazy to plan on using a shotgun, sawed-off or otherwise, in a roomful of your own customers, but no one had ever established theMorrisseys ' sanity.

I walked in and looked around the room, and Tim Pat saw me and motioned to me, and I took a step toward him when SkipDevoe called my name from a table in the front near the blacked-out window. He was sitting with BobbyRuslander. I held up a hand, indicating I'd be with them in a minute, and Bobby put his hand to his mouth and a police whistle pierced the room, cutting off all conversation as cleanly as a gunshot. Skip and Bobby laughed, and the other drinkers realized the noise had been a joke, not an official raid, and, after a few people had assured Bobby he was an asshole, conversation resumed. I followed Tim Pat toward the rear of the room, where we stood on opposite sides of an empty table.

"We've not seen you here since we spoke," he said. "Do you bring me news?"

I told him I didn't have any news to bring him. "I just came in for a drink," I said.

"And you've heard nothing?"

"Not a thing. I went around, I talked to some people. If there were anything in the air I would have had word back by now. I think it must be some kind of Irish thing, Tim Pat."

"An Irish thing."

"Political," I said.

"Then we should have heard tell of it. Some braggart would have let a word slip." His fingertips caressed his beard. "They knew right where to go for the money," he mused. "And they even took the few dollars from theNorad jar."

"That's why I thought-"

"If it wasProddies we should have heard tell. Or if it was a faction of our own." He smiled without humor. "We have our factional disagreements, don't you know. The Cause has more than one voicespeakin ' for it."

"So I've heard."

"If it were an 'Irish thing,' " hesaid, pronouncing the phrase deliberately, "there would be other incidents. But there's been only the one."

"That you know of," I said.

"Aye," he said. "That I know of."

I went over and joined Skip and Bobby. Bobby was wearing a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Around his neck was a blue plastic whistle on one of those lanyards of plastic braid that boys make at summer camp.

"The actor is feeling his way into the role," Skip said, aiming a thumb at Bobby.

"Oh?"

"I got a call-back on a commercial," Bobby said. "I'm a basketballreferee, I'm with these kids at a playground. They all tower over me,that's part of the point of it."

"Everybody towers over you," Skip said. "What are they supposed to be selling?Because if it's deodorant, you want to wear a different sweatshirt."

"It's brotherhood," Bobby said.

"Brotherhood?"

"Black kids, white kids, Spanish kids, all united in brotherhood as they drive for thefuckin ' hoop.It's some public-servicething, show it during slow spots on the Joe Franklin show."

"You get paid for this?" Skip demanded.

"Oh, shit, yes. I think the agencies donate their time, and the TV stations run it free, but the talent gets paid."

"The talent," Skip said.

"Le talent,c'estmoi," Bobby said.

I ordered a drink. Skip and Bobby stayed with what they had. Skip lit a cigarette and the smoke hung in the air. My drink came and I sipped it.

"I thought you were going to make it an early night," Skip said. I said I'd been unable to sleep."Because of tomorrow?"

I shook my head."Just not tired yet.Restless."

"I get that way. Hey, actor," he said. "What time's your audition?"

"Supposed to be two o'clock."

"Supposed to be?"

"You can get there and sit around a lot. I'm supposed to be there at two."

"Yoube done in time to give us a hand?"

"Oh, no problem," he said. "These agency cats, they got to catch the five forty-eight toScarsdale. Couple of pops in the bar car, then find out how Jason and Tracy did in school today."

"Jason and Tracyare on summer break, dumbbell."

"So he's got to see the postcard they sent home from camp. They go to this fancy camp inMaine, the postcards are already written by the staff, all theygotta do is sign them."