William Kennedy - Billy Phelan's Greatest Game

Billy walked toward Pearl Street, heading back downtown. He remembered Georgie Fox, marked lousy for what he did to Daddy Big. All anybody on Broadway needed to hear was that Billy was finking on Morrie, and they’d put him in the same box with Georgie. Who’d trust him after that? Who’d tell him a secret? Who’d lend him a quarter? He wouldn’t have a friend on the whole fucking street. It’d be the dead end of Billy’s world, all he ever lived for, and the McCalls were asking him to risk that. Asking hell, telling him. Call us any time.

When he was halfway to Clinton Avenue, Bo Linder pulled up and asked if everything was all right. Billy said it was, and Bo said, “That’s good, Billy, now keep your nose clean.” And Billy just looked at the son of a bitch and finally nodded, not at all sure he knew how to do that any more.

When Billy got to Becker’s and sat down in the booth beside him (across from Bart Muller), George Quinn was eating a ham sandwich and telling Muller of the old days when he ran dances in Baumann’s Dancing Academy and hired King Jazz and his orchestra to play, and McEnelly’s Singing Orchestra, and ran dances, too, up in Sacandaga Park and brought in Zita’s orchestra, and danced himself at all of them, of course. “They put pins in our heels for the prize waltz,” George said. “Anybody bent the pin was out. I won many a prize up on my toes and I got the loving cups to prove it.”

“No need to prove it,” Muller said.

“We danced on the boat to Kingston sometimes, and the night boat to New York, but mostly we took the ferry from Maiden Lane for a nickel and it went up to Al-Tro Park, Al-Tro Park on the Hudson; they even wrote a song about that place, and what a wonder of a place it was. Were you ever up there?”

“Many times,” Muller said.

“We’d take the boat back down to Maiden Lane, or sometimes we’d walk back downtown to save the nickel. One night, three fellows on the other side of the street kept up with me and Giddy O’Laughlin all the way to Clinton Avenue. We didn’t know who they were till they crossed Broadway, and one was Legs Diamond. Somebody was gonna throw Legs off the roof of the Hendrick Hudson Hotel that night, but he gave ’em the slip.”

“Why are you talking about Legs Diamond?” Billy asked George.

“I’m not talking about Legs Diamond, I’m talking about going to dances. Bart lives in Rensselaer. We both went to dances at the pavilion out at Snyder’s Lake.”

“George,” said Billy, “did you come in here to reminisce or what?”

“We’ve just been cuttin’ it up, me and Bart,” George said, “and the business is on, anyway. I’m interested in Bart’s book. I’m branching out and Bart knows that. He just took over the night-shift book over at Huyck’s mill, and now he’s looking for somebody to lay off with. Am I right, Bart?”

“That’s right, George.”

“Then you made the deal,” Billy said.

“I guess we did,” said George.

“I’ll give you a buzz on it,” Muller said. “But I got to get home or the wife worries.”

“We’ll talk on the phone, Bart,” George said. “I was glad to meet you.”

“Mutual,” said Muller, and he nodded at Billy and left.

George sat back and finished his tea and wiped his lips with his white linen napkin and folded it carefully.

“I don’t know what the hell that was all about,” Billy said. “Why’d you want me here?”

“Just to break the ice.”

“Break the ice? There was no ice. You never shut up.”

“I didn’t want to push too hard the first time. We’ll iron out the details when he calls.”

“Calls? He’s not gonna call. You made no impression on him. You didn’t talk about money.”

“He didn’t bring it up.”

“He came to see you, didn’t he? Why the hell does he want to talk about Snyder’s Lake, for chrissake? He’s writing a book and he wants a layoff and he wants protection. You didn’t give him a goddamn thing to make him think you even know what the hell a number is.”

“He knows.”

“He does like hell. How could he? You didn’t talk about having the okay or that you got cash to guarantee his payoffs. You didn’t say how late he could call in a play or tell him he wouldn’t have to worry getting stuck with a number because you’ll give him the last call and get rid of it for him. You didn’t tell him doodley bejesus. George, what the hell are you doing in the rackets? You ought to be selling golf clubs.”

“Who died and left you so smart?”

“I’m not smart, George, or I’d be rich. But I hustle. You don’t know how to hustle.”

“I’m not in debt up to my ass.”

“You ain’t rich either. And let me tell you something else. You don’t even have the okay.”

“Says who?”

“Says Patsy McCall. I was talking to him, and he says you never got the okay to back numbers. All you got the okay for was to lay off. Twenty percent, no more.”

“Pop O’Rourke knows what I’m doing.”

“Patsy said Pop didn’t know.”

“I’ll call Pop in the morning. I’ll straighten it out. How come you talked to Patsy?”

“It was about another thing.”

“Something about your name in the paper?”

“Something about that, yeah.”

“Oh, it’s a secret. You got secrets with Patsy McCall. Excuse me, let me out. Your company is too rich for my blood.”

“Look, George, don’t strain your juice. I don’t keep secrets I don’t have to keep. You know what’s going on with Charlie McCall, and you ought to know by this time I’m on your side. For chrissake, don’t you know that?”

“Mmmmmm,” said George.

“You don’t want to know what I know, George. Believe me.”

“All right, Billy, but you got a nasty tongue.”

“Yeah. Have a drink. I buy.”

“No, I just had tea.”

“Have a drink, for chrissake. Do you good.”

“I don’t want a drink. I’ll take the nickel. What did Patsy say about me? Was he mad?”

“He didn’t sound happy. He mentioned you by name.”

“I don’t want to get in any jackpots with Patsy. I’ll call Pop first thing in the morning. I never had a cross word with the McCalls all my life. I give fifteen dollars to John Kelleher for Patsy’s first campaign as assessor and Kelleher only asked me for five.”

“You’ll fix it. Probably you just got to pay more dues.”

“I’m not making anything yet. I’m losing money.”

“It’s goin’ around, that problem.”

“But I can’t afford more.”

“You can’t afford to stay in business?”

“Pop understands I’m not in the chips yet.”

“How does he understand that? You expect him to check your books?”

“No, I don’t expect nothing like that.”

“Then how the hell does he know your action? All he knows is you’re moving into heavier stuff. And you got to pay heavier dues for that. George, you been in this racket fifteen years, and you been in this town all your life. You know how it works.”

“I’ll pay if Patsy said I got to pay. But Patsy understands a guy being down on his luck.”

“Don’t cry the blues to them. Don’t beg for anything. If they say pay, just pay and shut up about it.”

“I don’t beg from anybody.”

“Tell ’em your story straight and don’t weep no tears. I’m telling you be tough, George.”

“I know what I’m doing. I know how it works.”

“All right. You want that drink?”

“I’ll take a rain check.”

George went out onto Broadway, and Billy went to the bar for a tall beer, thinking how George couldn’t get off the dime. A banty rooster and don’t underrate him when he fights. But he don’t fight easy enough. Been around tough guys and politicians all his life and he don’t know how to blow his nose right. But Billy has to admit George ain’t doing bad for a fifty-year-old geezer. Got the house and Peg and a great kid in Danny. Billy’s fifty, he’ll be what? Alone? Racking balls like Daddy Big? On the chalk like Lemon Lewis? Nineteen years to find out.