She leaned over and whispered in his ear for a moment. His face turned a little grim.
“OK,” he said shortly, “wait in the car — drive it around in back.”
She got up and went out quickly.
“Dumb bitch!” Sloane muttered. “She’s been gettin’ careless and her Old Man’s suspicious. I’d better get her a room someplace until he cools off.”
“Is he pretty steamed?” Jack asked. “You’ve got to watch yourself with that husband of hers, Cal. I hear he’s a real mean mother.”
“He just wants to clout her around a little,” Sloane said. “See if he can shake a few answers out of her. I’d better get her out of sight. I’ll have her swing me by your trailer lot, and I’ll pick up my car. Then we’ll ditch hers on a back street. I know a place where she can hole up.” He stood up and put a five-dollar bill on the table. “Hate to be a party-poop but —” He shrugged. “I’ll probably see you guys tomorrow. Drink this up on me, OK?” He hurried across the dance floor and on out, his hat pulled down low like a gangster in a third-rate movie.
“That dumb bastard’s gonna get himself all shot up one of these days,” Jack said grimly.
“He cat around a lot?”
“All the time. He’s got a deal with his wife. He brings in the money and doesn’t pester her in bed, and she doesn’t ask him where he goes nights.”
“Home cookin’ and outside lovin’?” I said. “Sounds great.”
Jack shrugged. “It costs him a fortune. Of course, he’s got it, I guess. He’s got the pawnshop, and a used car lot, and he owns a piece of two or three taverns. He’s got a big chunk of this joint, you know.”
“No kidding?”
Jack nodded. “You wouldn’t think so to look at him, but he can buy and sell most of the guys up and down the Avenue just out of his front pockets. You ought to see the house he lives in. Real plush.”
“Nice to have rich friends,” I said.
“And don’t let that dumb face fool you,” Jack told me. “Don’t ever do business with Cal unless I’m there to keep an eye on him for you. He’ll gyp you out of your fillings — friend or no friend.”
“Sure wouldn’t guess it to look at him.”
“Lots of guys think that. Just be sure to count your fingers after you shake hands with him.”
“What’s the deal with this — baby — whatever her name is?”
“Helen? She’s married to some Air Force guy out at McChord Field — Johnson, his name is. He’s away a lot and she likes her nookie. Sloane’s had her on the string for a couple of months now. I tried her and then passed her on. Her Old Man’s a real mean bastard. He kicked the livin’ shit out of one guy he caught messin’ with her. Put the boots to him and broke both his arms. She’s real wild in the sack, but she’s got a foul mouth and she likes it dirty — you know. Also, she’s a shade on the stupid side. I just didn’t like the smell of it, so I dumped her in Sloane’s lap.”
“You’re a real friends,” I said.
“Sloane can handle it,” Jack said. He looked warily around the bar and then at the door several times. “Hey, let’s cut out. That Johnson guy might come in here, and I’d rather not be out in plain sight in case he’s one or two guys behind in his information. I think I could handle him, but the stupid bastard might have a gun on him. I heard that he’s that kind.”
“I ought to be getting back out to the Fort, anyway.”
“I’ll buzz you on out,” Jack said, pocketing Sloane’s five.
We walked on out to the parking lot and climbed into Jack’s Plymouth. We were mostly quiet on the way out to the Fort. I was a little high, and it was kind of pleasant just to sit back and watch the lights go past. But I was a little less sure about the arrangement than I had been earlier in the evening. There was an awful lot going on that I didn’t know about. There was no way I could back out gracefully now though. Like it or not, I was going to get reacquainted with my brother. I almost began to wish I’d skipped the whole thing.
4
THE following Saturday I got out of the Army. Naturally, they had to have a little ceremony. Institutions always feel they have to have a little ceremony. I’ve never been able to figure out why really. I’m sure nobody really give a rat’s ass about all that nonsense. In this case, we walked in a line through a room; and a little warrant officer, who must have screwed up horribly somewhere to get stuck with the detail, handed each of us a little brown envelope with the piece of paper in it. Then he shook hands with us. I took the envelope, briefly fondled his sweaty hand, walked out, and it was all over.
“You sure you got my address, Alders?” Benson asked as we fished around in the pile for our duffle bags.
“Yeah, kid, I got it,” I told him.
“Les-ter,” a woman’s voice yodeled from the parking lot.
“That’s my mom,” Benson said. “I gotta go now.”
“Take care, kid,” I told him, shaking his hand.
“Be sure and write me, huh? I mean it. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Les-ter! Over here.”
“I gotta run. So long, Dan.” It was the only time in two years he’d ever used my first name.
“Bye, Les,” I said.
He took off, weighted way off-balance by his duffle bag. I watched him go.
I stood looking at the parking lot until I located Jack’s Plymouth. I slung the duffle bag by the strap from my left shoulder and headed toward my brother’s car. It’s funny, but I almost felt a little sad. I even saluted a passing captain, just to see if it felt any different. It did.
Jack was leaning against the side of his car. “Hey, man, you sure throw a sharp highball.” He grinned as I came up. “Why didn’t you just thumb your nose at the bastard?”
I shrugged. “He’s still in and I’m out. Why should I bug him?”
“You all ready? I mean have you got any more bullshit to go through?”
“All finished,” I said. “I just done been civilianized. I got my divorce papers right here.” I waved the envelope at him.
“Let’s cut out, then. I’ve got your civvies in the back seat.”
I looked around once. The early afternoon sun blasted down on the parking lot, and the yellow barracks shimthered in the heat. It looked strange already. “Let’s go,” I said and climbed into the back seat.
There was a guy sitting in the front seat. I didn’t know him.
“Oh,” Jack said, “this is Lou McKlearey, a buddy of mine. Works for Sloane.”
McKlearey was lean and sort of blond. I’d have guessed him at about thirty. His eyes were a very cold blue and had a funny look to them. He stuck out his hand, and when we shook hands, he seemed to be trying to squeeze the juice out of my fingers.
“Hi, Dogface,” he said in a raspy voice. He gave me a funny feeling — almost like being in the vicinity of a fused bomb. Some guys are like that.
“Ignore him,” Jack said. “Lou’s an ex-Marine gunnery sergeant. He just ain’t had time to get civilized yet.”
“Let’s get out of here, huh?” Suddenly I couldn’t stand being on Army ground anymore.
Jack fired up the car and wheeled out of the lot. We barreled on down to the gate and eased out into the real world.
“Man,” I said “it’s like getting out of jail.”
“Anyhow, Jackie,” McKlearey said, apparently continuing what he’d been talking about before I got to the car, “we unloaded that crippled Caddy on a Nigger sergeant from McChord Field for a flat grand. You know them fuckin’ Niggers; you can paint ‘Cadillac’ on a baby buggy, and they’ll buy it.”
“Couldn’t he tell that the block was cracked?” Jack asked him.
“Shit! That dumb spade barely knew where the gas pedal was. So we upped the price on the Buick to four hundred over book, backed the speedometer to forty-seven thousand, put in new floor mats, and dumped it on a red-neck corporal from Georgia. He traded us a ’57 Chevy stick that was all gutted out. We gave him two hundred trade-in. Found out later that the crooked son of a bitch had packed sawdust in the transmission — oldest stunt in the book. You just can’t trust a reb. They’re so goddamn stupid that they’ll try stuff you think nobody’s dumb enough to try anymore, so you don’t even bother to check it out.