I stared back at the lights of Bay City and tried not to bear down too hard on my dinner. Scattered points of light drew together and became a jeweled bracelet laid out in the show window of the night. Then the brightness faded and they were a soft orange glow appearing and disappearing over the edge of the swell. It was a long smooth even swell with no whitecaps, and just the right amount of heave to make me glad I hadnt pickled my dinner in bar whisky. The taxi slid up and down the swell now with a sinister smoothness, like a cobra dancing. There was cold in the air, the wet cold that sailors never get out of their joints. The red neon pencils that outlined the Royal Crown faded off to the left and dimmed in the gliding gray ghosts of the sea, then shone out again, as bright as new marbles.
We gave this one a wide berth. It looked nice from a long way off. A faint music came over the water and music over the water can never be anything but lovely. The Royal Crown seemed to ride as steady as a pier on its four hawsers. Its landing stage was lit up like a theater marquee. Then all this faded into remoteness and another, older, smaller boat began to sneak out of the night towards us. It was not much to look at. A converted seagoing freighter with scummed and rusted plates, the superstructure cut down to the boat deck level, and above that two stumpy masts just high enough for a radio antenna. There was light on the Montecito also and music floated across the wet dark sea. The spooning couples took their teeth out of each others necks and stared at the ship and giggled.
The taxi swept around in a wide curve, careened just enough to give the passengers a thrill, and eased up to the hemp fenders along the stage. The taxis motor idled and backfired in the fog. A lazy searchlight beam swept a circle about fifty yards out from the ship.
The taximan hooked to the stage and a sloe-eyed lad in a blue mess jacket with bright buttons, a bright smile and a gangster mouth, handed the girls up from the taxi. I was last. The casual neat way he looked me over told me something about him. The casual neat way he bumped my shoulder clip told me more.
Nix, he said softly. Nix.
He had a smoothly husky voice, a hard Harry straining himself through a silk handkerchief. He jerked his chin at the taximan. The taximan dropped a short loop over a bitt, turned his wheel a little, and climbed out on the stage. He stepped behind me.
No gats on the boat, laddy. Sorry and all that rot, Mess-jacket purred.
I could check it. Its just part of my clothes. Im a fellow who wants to see Brunette, on business.
He seemed mildly amused. Never heard of him, he smiled. On your way, bo.
The taximan hooked a wrist through my right arm.
I want to see Brunette, I said. My voice sounded weak and frail, like an old ladys voice.
Lets not argue, the sloe-eyed lad said. Were not in Bay City now, not even in California, and by some good opinions not even in the U.S.A. Beat it.
Back in the boat, the taximan growled behind me. I owe you a quarter. Lets go.
I got back into the boat. Mess-jacket looked at me with his silent sleek smile. I watched it until it was no longer a smile, no longer a face, no longer anything but a dark figure against the landing lights. I watched it and hungered. The way back seemed longer. I didnt speak to the taximan and he didnt speak to me. As I got off at the wharf he handed me a quarter.
Some other night, he said wearily, when we got more room to bounce you.
Half a dozen customers waiting to get in stared at me, hearing him. I went past them, past the door of the little waiting room on the float, towards the shallow steps at the landward end.
A big redheaded roughneck in dirty sneakers and tarry pants and what was left of a torn blue sailors jersey and a streak of black down the side of his face straightened from the railing and bumped into me casually.
I stopped. He looked too big. He had three inches on me and thirty pounds. But it was getting to be time for me to put my fist into somebodys teeth even if all I got for it was a wooden arm.
The light was dim and mostly behind him. Whats the I matter, pardner? he drawled. No soap on the hell ship?
Go darn your shirt, I told him. Your belly is sticking out.
Could be worse, he said. The gats kind of bulgy under the light suit at that.
What pulls your nose into it?
Jesus, nothing at all. Just curiosity. No offense, pal.
Well, get the hell out of my way then.
Sure. Im just resting here.
He smiled a slow tired smile. His voice was soft, dreamy, so delicate for a big man that it was startling. It made me think of another soft-voiced big man I had strangely liked.
You got the wrong approach, he said sadly. Just call me Red.
Step aside, Red. The best people make mistakes. I feel one crawling up my back.
He looked thoughtfully this way and that. He had me into a corner of the shelter on the float. We seemed more or less alone.
You want on the Monty? Can be done. If you got a reason.
People in gay clothes and gay faces went past us and got into the taxi. I waited for them to pass.
How much is the reason?
Fifty bucks. Ten more if you bleed in my boat.
I started around him.
Twenty-five, he said softly. Fifteen if you come back with friends.
I dont have any friends, I said, and walked away. He didnt try to stop me.
I turned right along the cement walk down which the little electric cars come and go, trundling like baby carriages and blowing little horns that wouldnt startle an expectant mother. At the foot of the first pier there was a flaring bingo parlor, jammed full of people already. I went into it and stood against the wall behind the players, where a lot of other people stood and waited for a place to sit down.
I watched a few numbers go up on the electric indicator, listened to the table men call them off, tried to spot the house players and couldnt, and turned to leave.
A large blueness that smelled of tar took shape beside me. No got the dough or just tight with it? the gentle voice asked in my ear.
I looked at him again. He had the eyes you never see, that you only read about. Violet eyes. Almost purple. Eyes like a girl, a lovely girl. His skin was as soft as silk. Lightly reddened, but it would never tan. It was too delicate. He was bigger than Hemingway and younger, by many years. He was not as big as Moose Malloy, but he looked very fast on his feet. His hair was that shade of red that glints with gold. But except for the eyes he had a plain farmer face, with no stagy kind of handsomeness.
Whats your racket? he asked. Private eye?
Why do I have to tell you? I snarled.
I kind of thought that was it, he said. Twenty-five too high? No expense account?
No.
He sighed. It was a bum idea I had anyway, he said. Theyll tear you to pieces out there.
I wouldnt be surprised. Whats your racket?
A dollar here, a dollar there. I was on the cops once. They broke me.
Why tell me?
He looked surprised. Its true.
You must have been leveling.
He smiled faintly.
Know a man named Brunette?
The faint smile stayed on his face. Three bingoes were made in a row. They worked fast in there. A tall beak-faced man with sallow sunken cheeks and a wrinkled suit stepped close to us and leaned against the wall and didnt look at us. Red leaned gently towards him and asked: Is there something we could tell you, pardner?