Hard Rain Falling (7 page)

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “I guess you’re right.”

“Oops! I forgot to bum another buck!” Denny exclaimed. He jumped up and went back to Billy. Billy laughed and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Since when did I take you to raise?” but the hand went into the pocket and came out with a dollar, just the same. Denny crooked a finger at Jack and they sat at the counter and had hot dogs and coffee, and Denny bought a package of cigarettes for each of them.

“You know,” he said, “this nigger’s a good guy.”

“He’s a sucker,” Jack said.

“No he aint,” Denny insisted. “He’s
honest
. There’s a difference. Anyway, I didn’t hustle him, I
ast
him.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“Well, I’m gonna pay him back.”

Jack thought, and then said, “You mean, you’re gonna pay him back the two dollars, or the money we whipsaw him out of tonight?”

“The two dollars, naturally.”

Jack laughed. “I get it.”

“Why should I pay him back money I
win?
”

“Hello, tough guy,” a hoarse voice said. Jack turned around and saw Kol Mano, and behind him, Bobby Case, both wearing leather air corps flight jackets over cashmere sweaters, slacks, and highly polished cordovan shoes.

Mano and Jack shook hands, formally. Mano was one of those people who shook hands, almost as if it were a sort of game. Jack liked him; he, too, had a talent. Not a specific talent like pool, but a generalized talent for making money and living his own life. Kol Mano was in his early twenties, and when he spoke he held a finger over a hole in his throat. He had been in World War II and had been wounded and sent from France to a hospital in England. Even before he got out of the hospital he was deeply enmeshed in black-market rackets, selling watches and other PX material, and even some hospital supplies. He was given the Silver Star, released from the hospital, arrested by the MPs, and given a general court all in the same ten-day period. He held a dishonorable discharge for a while, and then it was changed to a medical, and he was now on 100 percent disability. He had the dreamy eyes of a lush and the delicate fingers of a cardshark, and he was both. Everyone considered him a little crazy.

But he was not crazy; he was the coolest head Jack had ever met. When he was not gambling in the cardroom of the Rialto, or out in front hustling a little pool, he could usually be found in his hotel room across the street, in bed, awake. Sometimes he would spend weeks in the Veteran’s Hospital across the river in Vancouver, having his throat worked on. With his finger over the hole in his throat he spoke in a hoarse whisper, but without it a faint whistling sound obscured everything he said. When he was playing poker he would often keep a lit cigarette in his mouth and blow the smoke out through the hole. “Keeps the enemy off balance,” he said.

“What’s the action, Levitt?” he asked Jack. He treated most of the people around the poolhalls with a silent contempt, but he was friendly to Jack, acting as if they had known each other all their lives, almost as if they shared a past, a secret, something only they could understand. Jack didn’t know what it was all about, but he didn’t care. He liked Kol Mano, and liked the feeling of being in his confidence.

“There’s your pigeon,” Denny said, pointing, “but he knows you guys cut him up yesterday.”

Bobby Case said, “I don’t have to cut him up. I can beat him.” Bobby was fourteen and looked twelve because of his smooth girlish skin and his slenderness; but there was already a hardness around his mouth and suspicion in his eyes. He looked sullen and passionate, and he hated people making any reference to his age, as if it was something to be ashamed of. He slouched over to Billy, his straight blond hair hanging down almost over his eyes, and said, “You want to play some pool?”

Billy looked at him narrowly. “Heads up?”

“What else? What do you want to play?”

“Wait a sec,” Billy said. He made his shot, and then ignored Bobby Case until the game was over; paid his losses and then moved away with Case.

One of the keno players complained, “He’s takin all the money out of the game!”

“What you want him to do,” Mano said hoarsely, “give it the fuck back?” He winked at Jack, and Jack grinned.

Denny, Jack, and Kol Mano followed the other two over to a pool table, and John the houseman joined them. Already Jack could sense an electricity in the place: this was to be a game to watch—the competition between local genius and newcomer. The fact that both “geniuses” were so very young made no difference to the atmosphere. Jack wished desperately that he had
something
in him that could make a place go electric.

John the houseman waited, his hands on the balls in the rack, for them to decide what kind of game they would play.

“What’s your best game?” Case asked Billy.

“I’ll play anything,” Billy said.

“You play one-pocket?”

“Is that your game?”

Case looked almost angry. “Yeah, that’s my game. You want to play?”

Billy said slyly, “What’ll you spot me?”

Case walked away in disgust, and then walked back. “Even up,” he snapped.

“Okay,” Billy said. “But if you is too good, I’se gwine to de
rack
.”

Denny whispered to Jack and Mano, “Shit, Bobby ought to give him eight to five, no? This is no game!”

But he stopped whispering when Billy said, “What you want to play for, twenty dollars?”

“One-pocket,” John said disgustedly, and he racked the balls, filled out a time card, and stuck it in the glass light shade.

Case, now really angry, stared at Billy. “Twenty is fine.”

“Goddam,” Denny said. “What’s everybody so pissed off about?”

“Why fuck around?” Case said, tossing his hair back out of his eyes. His girlish mouth was white around the edges.

Denny threw himself into a chair. “There goes the fuggin poker game,” he said disgustedly.

“Is there a poker game?” Kol Mano asked politely.

“There was. Gimme a cigarette, will you? No, wait a sec, I got a pack. Hey, you guys wanna come? We’re gonna have a party. You got a car?”

“Sure I have a car,” Mano said. “What did you think I was, a bum like yourself?”

Denny winked at Jack, and said to the other, “You been in the black market. Maybe you’re the guy to handle this deal.”

“What deal?”

Denny explained his idea, and Mano listened thoughtfully. “Sounds okay to me,” Mano said.

Jack was a little surprised. Actually, Denny’s plans had sounded just a degree or two crazy to him. “Hey, you think it’s really okay?”

“Why not?” Mano said. “We have a little party, then steal some shit. What’s wrong with that?”

“What about the cops?” Jack said lamely, and wished he hadn’t. He did not want to lose Mano’s good opinion.

“Cops. Balls. If I worried about cops, I’d have to lock myself in my room and do nothin. Fuck the cops.”

Watching the slow, chesslike moves of the one-pocket game, Jack decided that Billy was going to win the money, and he liked him for that. Although Bobby Case was the better player, Bobby was letting something bother him; he was playing angrily, contemptuously, as if to show that he could beat this nigger without half trying. His movements were more rapid than cautious, and he shot before taking enough time to size up the lay of the balls; his face was rigid, attempting to mask the anger in his eyes. Every time he tried a shot that would have been stupendous if he had made it but only made him look silly when he didn’t, Billy Lancing would step up, take his time, walk all around the table—idly, nervelessly, calmly—make his decision and then shoot either a tight, frustrating safety or plunk a ball into his pocket. Even when he shot to make a ball, he left the cue ball tight, not caring whether he had another good play or not; and although Bobby Case—due to a lucky run early in the game—had five balls to Billy’s two, Jack felt with intuitive certainty that Billy would win. He pointed a finger at Kol Mano and said, “Ten dollars on Billy.”

Billy was on the other side of the table, chalking his cue, and he looked up with unveiled surprise into Jack’s eyes. “You bettin on me?”

“Sure. You gonna win, aint you?”

They continued to look at each other, and Jack felt something unidentifiable passing between them, an unexpected warmth, a communication—and he felt himself forced to break his eyes away from the contact. He looked over at Mano. “How about it?”

“You’re on,” Mano said. `He took his finger off his throat and made a farting sound.

Of course Jack did not have ten dollars. He was betting on his guts. But that didn’t make any difference; if there was a fuss, Mano just wouldn’t pay off. No harm done. Jack was suddenly sure Billy would win.

He did. He never made two balls in a row, but he never scratched, either, and while Bobby Case made runs, he also scratched and left Billy wide open. The game ended 8-7, and Case racked rapidly and angrily for the next contest. Billy stood and waited, the new twenty tucked down into his pocket.

Mano handed Jack two fives. “Again?”

“Shore.”

Denny went, “Ahem!” and Jack gave him a secret look which implied, wait, and you’ll share all the profits. Denny replied with an expression of utter disbelief.

“Bobby was foolin around,” Mano said. “This time he wins the money.” Mano had been circulating in the crowd, getting down bets, and now that Billy had won the first game, he found takers for all his money.

But Billy won again. He broke safe, and Bobby saw a chance to make a circus shot, took it, and missed, and Billy slowly but surely, carefully, ran eight balls and won the game in less than five minutes.

“Some hustle,” he said. “Are you ready to take the wraps off, raise the price, an lock me up?”

Bobby wiped his mouth, tossed his hair back, and nodded without looking at his opponent. “Fifty,” he said in a low voice.

“Less see your fifty,” Billy said. Jack wanted to laugh out loud. What pefect timing! What a deadly insult!

Case looked over at Kol Mano, who shook his head.

“Make it for ten,” Case said. He pulled out a handful of bills, all ones, and spread them on the table.

“You mean
eight
, don’t you?” Billy asked innocently, moving the bills around with the tip of his finger.

“Awright, goddammit, eight. You want to play or don’t you? You going to quit on me, like a chickenshit?”

Billy looked disappointed, but Jack could see that underneath he was tense and excited, perhaps even frightened. “Aw,” Billy said, “you callin me names. An I thought this was a friendly game.” Then he pretended to get mad. “For
eight
dollars? Are you kidding?”

Denny chanted, “The
game
... is...
over!
”

John the houseman appeared out of the crowd of watchers, took down the time card and scribbled on it, glancing over at the clock by the entrance. “Be a dollar even.”

“You lost,
pool shark
,” Billy said to Bobby Case. “You pay the time.” He left the table, put his cue in the wall rack, and went into the men’s room. Bobby paid John his dollar and came over to Mano. He grinned boyishly, like a ten-year-old caught stealing at the Five-and-Dime.

“You blew it,” Mano said.

“Billy was shootin the eyes outen them balls,” Denny said. “You didn’t have a chance.”

Jack felt let down. He had won twenty dollars, of which he honorably owed half to Denny. The bills were in his pocket, but he knew they wouldn’t buy him much, even if he didn’t split. It was enough to have fun on, but not enough to get him out of his bind. “Rat shit,” he said distinctly.

“What’er you bitchin about?” Mano said, his finger to his throat. “You win twenty, an I’ll bet you the whole twenty that’s all you got.”

Jack stood up over Mano, his hands in his hip pockets. “I won’t bet you. You’re broke, probably.” Even Mano laughed.

“Did somebody say somethin about a party?” Case asked. “Let’s go do something.”

“That’s tonight,” Denny said. He pointed to the clock. It was five to three. “What’ll we do for the afternoon?”

“Is that all?” Case said. “Jesus, I thought it was about eight. I been up all day.”

“You should have stayed in bed,” Mano said dryly. “You cost me eighty hogs.”

“I’m sorry; I just lost my stick,” Case said. He looked young and shy, all his former anger gone.

“You lost your head, you mean,” Mano said.

Billy returned from the toilet. “Am I still invited to that party?”

“Hell yes, man,” Denny said. “But that’s tonight. What’ll we do
now?
I can’t stand this fuggin poolhall.”

“I got to see a man,” Billy said. “Whyn’t I meet you here about seven or eight?”

“No, hell, let’s go to a movie or somethin,” Denny said lamely.

Jack and Kol Mano exchanged a knowing look: they knew that Billy wanted to get away and stash some of the money, and Denny knew it and didn’t want him to get away.

“What about that poker game?” Mano said, not to anybody in particular.

“Hey, yeah,” Denny said. “Do you play?” he asked Billy.

“Never played in my life,” Billy said. Everyone knew from the way he spoke that it was a damned lie. “I’ll see you guys tonight, huh?” And he walked out, small and jaunty, his white windbreaker a flag of victory.

“You got to admire the little cocksucker,” Mano said. “He’s not only got talent, he’s got brains enough to keep hold of his money. I’ll bet nobody whipsaws him the way we did yesterday. He was just nervous and wanted to prove himself; it won’t happen again.” To Case he said, with some severity, “You take a lesson,
punk:
don’t lose your temper. Your money goes with it.”

“Fuck you,” Case said dully. He was not holding a cue; he looked lost.

“I know what,” Denny said brightly, holding up one finger, “Levitt’s got twenty; let’s go to the Model Hotel an get fucked.”

“On
my
twenty?” Jack said.

“On
my
twenty,” Mano amended. “Good plan. Share the wealth.”

“You guys go ahead,” Bobby Case said.

“What’s the matter, won’t they let you in?” Denny asked.

“I just don’t feel like it.”

“Good boy,” Mano said. “Let’s go.” As they walked up the stairs he said to Jack and Denny, “I know a place where you guys can get served; let’s take the extra five and have a few beers.”