“Actually,” I admitted, “I’m kind of interested in it. I thought it was a nice piece of property ever since I first saw it.”
“Really?” he said. “You’d be interested in taking the Rub-a-Mat over?”
“Sure. I mean, if you are moving on. If not, I’m fine just working here.” The soft sell.
“You know,” Jesus said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’d mind leaving the place so much if you took it over. You’ve got drive, a strong sense of responsibility, and you’re good with people. Maybe I should give it some serious thought.”
“Great,” I said. “So about that day off…?”
“OK, Calavera,” he said with a laugh. “Take next Monday off. It might be your last vacation for a long time.”
Sowing Seeds
Glottis said he’d let the guys at the gate know to let me in since Feline Meadows wasn’t open to the public on Mondays. I got in well before nine and talked with Glottis for a while as he was getting the Bone Wagon ready. There were about a dozen other demons with hot rods there. There were some pretty nice cars, but the Bone Wagon stood out. Feline Meadows employees began trickling into the seats at about five minutes ’til. Glottis pointed Olivia out when she arrived.
I went to the section she was in. She was in a seat down toward the bottom. I just walked past and leaned against the railing. The demons’ exhibition started with drag racing. They did four races and Glottis won three of them. Then they did a ten-lap race. Glottis fell behind at the start.
“Glottis! What the hell are you doing?!” I screamed at the cars whipping past. At the end of the first lap he was dead last. “C’mon, mano, floor it! What’s wrong with you?!” He kept behind for a while then crept up to second place. “You can do better than that! Glottis! Glottis!!” In the final lap the Bone Wagon suddenly leapt forward. “Glottis! Go! Punch it, goddammit!” The Bone Wagon finished first. I realized only then that Glottis had been showing off.
When I was done yelling I became aware that Olivia was standing at the railing next to me.
“Ye hornèd beast a friend of yours, man?” she asked dryly.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s—was—my driver.”
“That’s some wailing chariot he’s got there,” she observed.
“It’s what Glottis was made for.”
“You’ve become quite a regular in the club, Calavera,” she said, changing the subject. “What happened to the frill in the heels you were with the first time?”
“Carla? Oh, your club’s just not her scene.”
“I can imagine,” Olivia said. “The Blue Casket is from the wrong side of the Man. Strictly not the place to be for nice little bourgeois girls.”
“Your poems really threw her.” Olivia laughed. “How come you haven’t gone up much since then?”
“Oh, Manny! That would be like the whole place was just a big temple set up to worship me! I have to pace myself.”
“Not into the personality cult thing, huh?”
“You got it, daddy. I like to bring in fresh talent.”
“Yeah? Then why don’t you have an open mic night? I remember a couple of clubs I went to when I was alive that did that. Of course, some of the readings were pretty bad, but those joints were more than just places to hang out and talk revolution.” I wondered if she’d pick up on the emphasis I put on talking revolution.
“That might not be a bad idea, actually.”
“Of course,” I said, “sometimes people can be a little timid. You might have to help get the ball rolling.”
“You’re shameless,” she said with a laugh. “Still, it could help business.” She gave me an appraising look. “Somehow you don’t really seem like the type that’d be into the Beat scene.” I decided she wasn’t taking the revolution hint.
“All my black turtlenecks are at the dry cleaners,” I said and Olivia chuckled. “I gotta admit, though, the Blue Casket is more of a nostalgia trip for me. There really isn’t the kind of place in town I could really go for. I may have to start it up myself.”
“Really?” she asked, a little interested. “What kind of joint do you have in mind?”
“Oh,” I said with a shrug, “it’s all a little vague still, but it’d be a nightclub, of course. A restaurant, bar, small casino. Very upscale.”
“Sinking into the bourgeoisie, aren’t you, man?”
“That’s where the money is,” I pointed out. “I can think of better uses for it.”
She laughed. “I hear you, daddy.” Then she sobered. “But a casino… you’d be horning in on Maximino’s racket.”
Which was my concern exactly. The straightforward approach wasn’t likely to work, so I affected breezy unconcern and said, “I don’t think a roulette wheel or two is gonna put much of a dent in this place.”
It was Olivia’s turn to shrug. “You don’t know Maxie,” she said. She paused to light a cigarette. Outside of her club, it seemed, she didn’t bother with the holder. “He might suddenly decide he’s been thinking about going into the casino racket for years and take you over.”
“Maybe you could help me get Max’s good side.”
“He might want a little consideration.” Olivia said, getting to the heart of things I thought.
“How much?”
“It’s not that simple, man. Max might stick with the protection scam, or he could demand a straight cut of the take, or maybe he’d just want a favor for one of his associates.” She shrugged again.
“Well,” I said, “it’s still early. I’m not even sure yet whether I can get the property I have my eye on.”
“What property are you talking about?”
“The Rub-a-Mat. Jesus might be moving on. Maybe.”
“That’s pretty close to the Blue Casket,” Olivia said warily.
“Yeah, but we wouldn’t be competing for the same customers,” I said.
“So you say,” she said. “But unless you want some serious trouble, you’d better swear to stay off my turf and mean it.”
“No problem,” I said, crossing my sternum. “And besides, you might get some spillover from my place from people who want to slum it a little.”
“I suppose I could find a better use for their money, too. Tell you what, Calavera. If you can convince me you’re straight, maybe I can persuade Max to go easy on you. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said.
“Remember,” she said sternly, “that’s ‘if’. You’ve gotta work hard to get into bed with me, daddy.” She took a long drag on her cigarette, blew smoke toward me, and walked gracefully away.
When she’d disappeared down a tunnel toward an exit I shook myself out of it and turned toward a different tunnel as if to prove I didn’t have to follow her.
Since I had the whole day off, I spent some time wandering around town, taking in a few of the sights I hadn’t seen yet, and finished up down at the docks intending to drop in on Glottis. I got distracted by the sight of Gunnar sitting on a pile of discarded machinery behind a warehouse. He was reading a slim book.
He looked up, made a show of sighing, and went back to his reading when I approached. “I hope that’s not Barbara Cartland,” I said when I got up close.
He tried to give me a stern look of Bolshevik disapproval but gave it up and laughed. “No,” he said. “Marx’s Amsterdam speech.”
I perched myself on some rusting iron ruin with a flywheel and asked, “Aren’t you worried about being labeled a Revisionist?”