Perry was scornful. He hurried us quickly past the lighted window, for he didn't want any of those noisy gluttons in our select party.
"Dose guys are a bunch of dopes. Dey ain't got any excrim— descrimin—appreciation of tings. Now lissen," and he threw his body across our path while his legs walked straight ahead and he gestured with his arms, hands and face. "Lissen, we ain't gonna be dopes—see what I mean? Dere's no sense in guzzlin' a lot of vino and then goin' to a house and lettin' one of d'old bags rope ya in. Dat's a lousy way to spend d'night."
Joe walked along with his head back, shoulders square, hands in his pockets. He was all dressed up and felt it. Soberly, he nodded his head.
"You betcha."
"See—what we'll do. I know lots of d'houses here in dis port."
"Are there lots?" I asked.
"Lots? Look—y'see dat?" And Perry pointed to an inlet we were passing. "Y'know what dat is?"
"No, what? Wait—she looks like one ol' battleship out dere. No?" Joe knew ships and could spot them as we passed out at sea usually by just a glimpse of their lines, even on a dark night.
"You're right—dat's d'Battleship, dat's d'Argentine Navy. And they got a place like Annapolis here—a Navy yard. Navy Academy or something. And dere—see dat?" Perry continued swinging in the other direction. "Dere's d'big steel works and back dere was d'big slaughterhouses, and den dere's all dese ships in port. Now lissen, dese houses gotta service dem all. Why, you know, dere's some of dese houses which has as much as seventy—yeah, I'll betcha dere's even a hundred girls in some of dem."
"Naw-w?" Joe was incredulous but he grinned hopefully.
"Sure—I'm tellin' ya. Ain't it wonderful?"
"0-o-h boy, come on. Shake d'lead out and c'mon." And the big fellow lengthened his stride and I trotted along.
"No—No. Lissen." Perry grabbed the flying Joe and me and clung to our lapels. "There's no sense rushin', see. Foist we'll have a good dinner— Wait, before that even, we'll stop and have a fine drink—Cafe Expresso wit cognac—y'know what dat is, kid—?"
Joe knew. He nodded his head, I didn't and I shook mine.
"An' no cheap cognac, either. What's d'best cognac dere is?"
I scurried around in my memory to the time I'd hopped bells and tried to recall the fancy drinks I'd carried up to stuffy hotel rooms that had smelled of talc and cigarette smoke.
"Five star Hennessey," I dug up. "That's the best."
Perry blinked at that and he quickly piped me down.
"Naw—dat used to be. M-ar-tel cognac, dat's d'best. And dat's what we'll get. Cafe Expresso and Martel cognac. Boy, wait'll ya taste dat."
We had reached the town and Perry steered us into the first corner cafe we saw. He ordered for us after we had sat down around a little marble-topped table. We leaned back, grinned at each other, and smoked our cigarettes.
"Ya sez ya don't know what's Cafe Expresso, kid. Look over dere." Perry nodded his head over toward the bar. "Dat's it. Dey makes it right before your eyes."
And they did. There was a gadgety nickel-plated machine, like those immense coffee urns one sees on the other side of cafeteria counters, but this was bigger, brighter and with more doodads on it. The waiter who had taken our order went behind the bar and swung out a metal saucer-shaped attachment hinged to the machine. He measured some ground coffee into it and then snapped it back into place. Three metal tits hung from the rounded bottom of the container—he placed a heavy small cup under each tit. Then with a tap here and a look there he pulled a lever and steam spouted in various directions from the big shining machine. Evidently the metal saucer of dry coffee was getting some of it, for the tits began to sputter and dribble large black drops of coffee into the cups.
"That's it—see? Dat's coffee Expresso—see what I mean? D'steam is forced tru de coffee—it expresses tru it, see— d'steam does. Ya gets d'essence of d'coffee—d'essence—ya see what I mean? D'essence. . . ."
The waiter returned and switched back the lever. He took the heavy demitasse off the machine and the steam stopped shooting out and eventually died off into thin wisps here and there. He loaded them on his tray and then set down a slim glass of amber-colored brandy and a small cup in front of each of us.
Joe and I both dragged out those sticky tissuepaper pesos. We insisted on paying. Perry was out. He'd paid for the lunch with that mysterious deal. Joe took care of that check. I am not a consistent check fumbler. I just couldn't get those damn papers separated quick enough and read their denominations before he'd already paid off that round. I isolated one peso from the mass of others so I'd be prepared for the next round of drinks. I shoved it into my vest expecting to snap it out quick. I never saw that peso again. It just crumbled up and disappeared. That's the kind of money it was.
Joe and Perry gulped half of their ponies of cognac, then floated the remainder from their narrow glasses on top of the black coffee. I followed suit. Then they delicately sipped the mixture. So did I.
Perry smacked his lips. "Get dat—some cognac, huh? Mar-tel, d'best dere is—and d'essence of d'coffee."
Joe was happy. "Yes, sair—heh, keed?"
"You bet," I added.
And we didn't hog the rest of that drink. We took it easy.
"Now, lissen." Perry recrossed his legs and gestured wide with his cigarette. "Here's d'way we ought to do—see? Now I sez I know d'best houses in dis port. What we'll do is dis. Let's finish just dis one drink—take your time—an' den . . ."
"Hey, lemme buy a round," I interrupted. I had my pesos out ready.
"All right—just one, see." We gulped the dregs from the bottom of our coffee cups. Perry called the waiter, ordered the same all around, and then he went on.
"So we'll make the rounds of d'houses, see. We'll just look d'girls over—go to anudder house—look 'em over— Ya see, we'll pick 'em out—we'll be choosy—"
Joe smiled, winked at me, said yeah, you betcha.
"Den, after we look dem over, we go back to d'goil we decided on—see what I mean?"
The waiter had brought our drinks and I paid for them. Our second drink went down quicker than the first. Perry crossed and recrossed his legs a number of times. Then he rose, stretched a bit, straightened his necktie, and rubbed his chin.
"Well, what d'ya say, fellas, we take a look around—huh? Dere's no hurry—we'll jes' look around."
Big Joe stood up, tapped out his cigarette, took a few extra hitches in his belt, and said he thought we ought to, too.
It seemed to me for some guys not in a hurry, we were walking rather fast. Perry led us down a dark side alley and we turned into a narrow unpaved street lined on either side by one-story stucco buildings each lit up by red and white electric signs over their high doorways. New York Bar, Boston Bar, Paris Bar, etc. These were the houses. It seemed to me that town was one main street on which there were a few cafes, a few stores, and a couple of other nondescript buildings, and the rest of the town on either side of the main street and branching out from it were those narrow streets with their stucco-faced, one-storied buildings with an electric sign over their doorways.
I don't remember which one Peny decided we should try first, whether over the door it said the Philadelphia Bar, Boston, or the High-Class Bar—the interior had nothing to do with any of those names. It was not a bar. There was no sign of one. We had been walking faster and faster as we came along the street, until by the time we reached that door I was puffing, keeping up with the pace Perry set. He opened the big door and we all walked in slowly like gentlemen who have all the time in the world—we were in no hurry. Anyone could see that. We intended to choose very carefully the girls whom we intended to honor with our virile masculinity and our pesos.