Ralph Compton: Do or Die

“How is Miss Nose-In-The-Air, anyhow?” Tony asked.

“Don’t call her that. She’s a sweet gal, and I like her.” In fact, Charley liked her a lot, more than he could recollect liking any girl, ever. When he was curled up in the hayloft in the stable at night, he often dreamed of Melissa and himself on a farm of their own. He was always so happy in those dreams, he could bust.

“I would never speak ill of any female.” Tony glanced into a store window at his reflection and adjusted his cap. “My sainted madre taught me that women work as hard if not harder than we do. They deserve our respect.”

“Have you written your folks yet to tell them where you are?”

“Do not start with that again. I told you before. I had to leave quickly, and the polizia might still be looking for me. They do not take killing as lightly there as they do on the frontier.”

Charley recollected the details. Tony had gotten into an argument with another man over a woman. One hot word led to another, and the two pulled knives. Tony had to defend himself, and in the fight, his rival was stabbed in the chest.

“Anyhow, you are a fine one to talk. When are you writing your parents? From what you have told me, they must be worried sick. You were stupido to leave them like you did.”

Had it been anyone else, Charley would have wal loped them for talking like that. As it was, he said indignantly, “I’ll make you a deal. You don’t talk about my folks, and I won’t talk about yours.”

“Accordo.”

They had gone six blocks when Tony had Charley wheel the cart down an alley and out the other side to a water trough. Grabbing an empty bottle, Tony dipped it into the trough until it was full, stuck a cork in the top, and replaced it in the cart.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling up for tomorrow. We will be out real late tonight, and I do not want to bother with it later.”

Charley’s lower jaw dropped. “All the water you sell is from a horse trough?”

“Why not? It is free. And this is the cleanest trough in town. The man who owns it fills it twice a day. He has his own well.” Tony dipped another bottle in. It made chugging sounds as bubbles rose to the top. “Now you know why I offer my customers a discount if they bring their bottles back.”

Charley picked up a bottle with a label that had a word he had never seen before: Perrier. “This here is supposed to be water from France.” He picked up another. “This says it’s from Maine. And here’s one from Maryland.” Charley read more of the labels. “Wait a minute. Why does this one say ‘toilet water’?”

Tony shrugged. “I take it where I find it.”

“But you’re cheatin’ folks!”

“Calm down. I make no claims other than the water is fresh. So what if it does not come all the way from France? All water tastes the same to one who is thirsty.” Tony held up a hand when Charley went to say something. “I do not do this for the fun of it. I do it because it is an easy way to make money. When I find a job more worthy of my talents, I will stop.” He corked the second bottle. “I am not hurting anyone, am I?”

“Well, no,” Charley conceded. “But it still doesn’t strike me as right.”

“You are just jealous I do not spend my days breaking my back like you do.” Tony grinned and tossed Charley an empty bottle. “Now get busy. The sooner we fill these, the sooner we feast on heaping plates of spaghetti.”

“Those noodles that look like shoelaces?” Charley shook his head. “For me it’ll be a big, juicy steak with all the trimmin’s.”

Tony was lucky enough to have his own apartment; rooms to rent were at a premium. It wasn’t much, a small room at the back of a house owned by an elderly couple, but he had his own entrance and could come and go as he pleased.

Charley parked the cart under an overhang, and they went in so Tony could spruce up. Tony owned a large mirror and not one, not two, but three hair-brushes. Charley couldn’t get over it. He didn’t even own a comb.

“I was thinking we should dine at the Crown Royal Hotel. They have their own restaurant, and it is rated one of the best in the city.”

“It also costs an arm and a leg.”

Tony patted his jacket pocket. “You are forgetting, are you not? Tonight we do as we please. The cost is no object.” He took a washcloth from a rung above a basin. “Here. You should clean yourself up. You have bits of straw in your hair and God knows what on your shoes.”

It was indeed a night Charley would long remember. The Crown Royal was everything everyone claimed, with gilt marble and glittering chandeliers. A waiter in a crisp uniform fussed over them like a mother hen. Charley had to chuckle when he discovered that every time he drained his water glass, the waiter promptly refilled it. He drank five glasses just to see the waiter come scurrying toward them with the crystal pitcher.

The food was delicious. Charley’s mouth watered simply staring at it, and the aroma of his sizzling steak set his stomach to rumbling like distant thunder. He cut a piece thick with dripping fat and forked it into his mouth. Someone moaned, and he realized it was himself.

“Quit making a spectacle of yourself,” Tony joked. His plate was heaped high with stringy noodles smothered in tomato sauce and ringed by meatballs.

“This beats McGuffy’s all hollow.” Charley was referring to an eatery where the food bore a strong resemblance to hog swill.

Tony ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter brought long-stemmed glasses and filled them, then stood back as if waiting.

Charley knew why. He chugged his, then set down the glass so the waiter could refill it.

“Not so fast, mio amico, ” Tony cautioned. “Fine wine should be savored, not guzzled.” He sipped his. “That bottle set me back fifteen dollars.”

Doing the math in his head took Charley a few seconds. “That’s more than I make in a month. Shouldn’t you save some of your money? Or send some to your folks?”

“We had a deal, ricordare ?”

“Sorry.”

“I am Italian, my friend, and Italians are passionate people. We live life day to day, making the most of every moment. Yes, I could save the money, but what enjoyment would that give me? I would rather spend it here and now on things I like. I would rather live .”

At moments like this, Charley appreciated how different they were and how much more worldly Tony was. He envied him and said so.

“Pick someone more worthy. My past is darker than most. There is much I have not shared.” Tony contemplated the wine in his sparkling glass. “I will never do anything great. I will never be rich or famous. The best I could hope for was to marry the woman I love, and that has been denied me.”

“Land sakes. You make it sound like your life is etched in stone.”

“It is. My people call it destino . Yours would call it fate. The threads of our lives were woven before we were born, you and I. There is nothing we can do to change them. Believe me, I have tried.”

Charley had never heard his friend talk this way, and it bothered him. “You’re wrong there. I may not be the smartest person on the planet, but I know we decide what we do, and no one else.” Charley mulled how best to express his sentiments. “Life is like a road. Each day is a new fork. We decide which to take and which not to take. Our fate is in our lap, no one else’s.”

“Interessante.” Tony glanced past Charley and stiffened. Suddenly bending at the waist, he whispered, “Let me do the talking. Whatever happens, it is not to involve you.”

Before Charley could ask what Tony meant, three men walked up to their table—burly, broad-shouldered men wearing suits and polished shoes, one with a diamond stickpin in his tie.