William Kennedy - Billy Phelan's Greatest Game

“Heh,” said Morrie. “What’d he say?”

“Ah, a few things.”

“Nothing good, bet your ass on that, the old son of a bitch.”

“It wasn’t exactly flattering, but he was interested.”

“Who’s that?” Billy asked, looking up from the newspaper.

“My old man,” Morrie said.

“He’s a son of a bitch?”

“In spades.”

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing. He’s just a son of a bitch. He always was.”

Well, you got an old man, is what Billy did not say out loud.

They stood in the rotunda, in front of the busy Union News stand with the belt-high stacks of Albany papers, the knee-high stacks of New York Newses and Daily Mirrors , the ankle-high stacks of Herald Tribs and Tmeses and Suns. Billy was translating Honey Curry’s name from the code. E-d-w-a-r-d C-u-r-r-e-y They spelled it wrong.

“Honey Curry,” Billy said. “Where the hell is he these days?”

Martin passed on that, and Morrie said, “Who knows where that son of a bitch is?”

Billy laughed out loud. “Remember when they had the excursion. The Sheridan Avenue Gang. And Curry went wild and hit Healy, the cop, with a crock of butter and knocked him right off the boat and Healy goddamn near drowned. Curry lit out and wound up in Boston and Maloy met him there, downtown, and they’re cuttin’ it up and Curry’s afraid of his shadow. Then a broad walks by, a hooker, and looks at Curry and says to him, Hi ya, honey, how ya doin’? and Curry grabs her with both hands and shoves her up against a tree and shakes the hell out of her. How come you know my name? he says to her.”

“That’s Curry,” said Morrie.

“Where’s Maloy? I hear he’s in Jersey. Newark, is it?” Billy asked.

“Could be,” said Morrie.

“Goddamn,” Billy said. “That’s where I heard it.”

“What?”

“The rumor they were going to kidnap Bindy last summer. We were up in Tabby Bender’s saloon. You and me. Remember?”

“No. When was that?” said Morrie.

“Goddamn it, don’t anybody remember what I remember? We were sitting at the bar, you and me, and Maloy was with Curry, and Maloy asks if I heard about the Bindy kidnap thing and I didn’t. We talked about it, Maloy and Curry shootin’ the shit and comin’ up to the bar for drinks. And then Maloy tells me, We’re gonna take this joint. Now, you remember?”

“I remember that ,” Morrie said. “Screwballs.”

“Right,” said Billy. “Maloy says, Get out now if you want; we’re gonna clean him out. And I told him, I’m comfortable. Clean him out. Take the pictures off the walls. What the hell do I care? And you and me kept drinking.”

“Right,” Morrie said. “We never moved.”

“Right, and they go out and they’re gone ten minutes and back they come with handkerchiefs on their faces. Goddamn wouldn’t of fooled my nephew, in the same suits and hats. And they cleaned out the whole damper, every nickel. And when they were gone, I said to George Kindlon, the bartender, Let’s have a drink, George, and I pushed a fiver at him. I don’t think I can change it, he said, and we all busted up because George didn’t give a rat’s ass, he didn’t own the joint. It was Tabby’s problem, not George’s.”

“Right,” Morrie said, “and George give us the drink free.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “But it was Maloy and Curry really got us the free drink.”

“That’s it. Maloy and Curry bought that one,” and Morrie laughed.

“Son of a bitch,” Billy said.

“Right,” said Morrie.

Billy pictured Morrie kicking the holdup kid. Vicious mouth on him then, really vicious, yet likable even if he used to be a pimp. He had a good girl in Marsha. Marsha Witherspoon, what the hell kind of a name is that? Billy screwed her before she even went professional. She was a bum screw. Maybe that’s why Morrie dumped her, couldn’t make a buck with her. But he didn’t take up any other whores. Morrie would always let Billy have twenty, even fifty if he needed it. Morrie was with Maloy the night Billy almost lost a match to Doc Fay two years ago. Billy played safe till his ass fell off to win that one, and when he won and had the cash, Morrie and Maloy came over and Maloy said, You didn’t have to worry, Billy. If he’d of won the game, we’d of taken the fuckin’ money away from him and give it to you anyway. Crazy Maloy. And Morrie was tickled when Maloy said that, and he told Billy, Billy, you couldn’t have lost tonight even if you threw the match. Morrie was two years older than Billy and he was a Jew and a smart Jew and Billy liked him. This was funny because Billy didn’t like or even know that many Jews. But then Billy thought of Morrie as a gambler, not as a Jew. Morrie was a hustler who knew how to make a buck. He was all right. One of Billy’s own kind.

While Billy, Martin, and Morrie ate midnight steaks in Becker’s back room, tables for ladies but no ladies, George Quinn came in and found Billy, took him away from the table and whispered. “You hear that Charlie McCall’s been kidnapped?”

“I heard that, George.”

“Do you know your name’s in the paper in some kind of mixed-up spelling?”

“I know that, too.”

“The cops were just at the house looking for you.”

“Me? What for?”

“They didn’t say. Peg talked to them. She asked if you were in trouble and they said no, but that’s all they’d tell her.”

“Who was it?”

“Bo Linder and somebody else in the car, maybe Jimmy Bergan. That’s his partner.”

“You see Bo?”

“He came to the door and told Peg for you to call the detective office.”

“He didn’t say why.”

“He said what I told you.”

“Right, George. Peg said you wanted to talk to me about a book.”

“There’s a fellow named Muller works over in Huyck’s mill and writes a hell of a good-sized book. I figured you might sit in while I talked to him about taking his layoff. Kind of break the ice a little. I don’t know him at all.”

“All right, George, I’ll do that. When you meeting him?”

“Tonight, one-thirty, quarter to two, when he gets off work. He’s coming here.”

“I’ll probably be here. If I go anyplace, I’ll try to be back by then.”

“Are you in trouble, Billy? Did you get mixed up with something?”

“No, George. I really don’t know what the hell they want.”

“You need money? Peg said you took a lickin’ today.”

“I’m all right on that.”

“I can rustle up some if you need it. What do you need?”

“Don’t worry about it, George. You need it yourself. I’ll be all right. I just got lucky in a card game.”

“You’re sure you’re not in trouble?”

“If I was in trouble, I’d be the first to know.”

“All you got to do is ask, whatever it is. And I mean that, even on the money if you’re in a jackpot. We’ll find it.”

“You’re a sweetheart, George. Have a drink, relax. I gotta finish my steak.”

“Isn’t that Jake Berman’s kid there?”

“Right, Morrie.”

“His name’s in the paper, too.”

“Right.”

“Jake’s father made me the first suit of clothes I ever had made.”

At the bar a man’s voice said, “That’s right, I said I hope they don’t catch them, whoever they are.”

The bar went quiet and Red Tom said, “That’s just about enough of that talk,” and he took the man’s beer away. Billy recognized the talker, name of Rivera, spic like Angie’s husband, a pimp. Red Tom poured Rivera’s beer in the sink and shoved his change closer to him on the bar. “I don’t want your business,” Red Tom said. But Rivera wouldn’t move. Red Tom came around the bar and grabbed his arm. Rivera resisted. Red Tom reached for the change and shoved it into his pocket. Then he lifted him with one arm, like a sack of garbage, lifted him off the bar stool and walked him out the door.