Then I made the mistake of deciding to give them something to think about. “What if I told you I thought Truth and Justice were two completely different things?”
Woofer liked that a lot. He turned to Tweeter and said: “What if I told you I thought Truth and Justice were four different things?”
Tweeter chimed in right on cue. “What if I told you Love and Money were six different things?”
“Some other time,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.” I put the glass of water back on the counter and went to the door.
“What if I told you I thought Time and Mood were twelve different things?” said Barry behind me.
CHAPTER 23
I‘D BEEN TO THE FICKLE MUSE ONCE OR TWICE AS A CUStomer, to take advantage of the late hours they kept, and a couple of other times to track someone who burned the bottle at both ends and didn’t mind sitting in a dirty little hole of a bar to do it. I’d even heard about the back room, but I’d never been in it. The name Overholt was new to me. I got into my car and drove there now, though I wasn’t sure the place would be open this early.
It was. In fact, stepping into the Fickle Muse from the parking lot was like stepping through a miniature time machine that took you from six o’clock to sometime long after midnight. The guys at the bar looked like they’d already made the rounds and ended here only by default, and the floor already had a night’s worth of cigarette butts marinating in puddles of whiskey and melted ice. The jukebox was playing that kind of lugubrious one-last-drink song, where everybody at the bar mumbles along with the chorus, only you knew at the Fickle Muse there was no last drink Or if there was, it wasn’t one, it was several.
I went and sat down as close as I could get to the door to the back The barkeep was a big hulk of a guy who probably did his own bouncing, the few times the sight of him didn’t keep bouncing from having to be done. It took him a while to get around to taking my order, and another little while for him to bring me the drink. I didn’t mind. I should have felt worried, and pressed for time, but here in the Fickle Muse I felt enclosed in a pocket of timelessness and anonymity. Who needed karma, anyway? I drained the glass and slipped fifty dollars more than it cost under the coaster.
When the barkeep looked at the money, his eyebrows moved, but just a little. He probably would have kept the extra without even asking if I hadn’t crooked my finger and hissed at him.
He put his head near mine.
“I want to talk to Overholt,” I said.
“Maybe Overholt ain’t here yet.” He said it so fast and smooth it was like a pilotfish riding on the back of what I said. He was almost finished before I was.
I took out one of the ripped hundreds that now littered my pockets. He mistook it for the whole thing until he got it in his hand. His eyebrows moved again.
“I’ll fix it after I see Overholt,” I said. “I’ll make it good as new.”
“I don’t care about new,” he said. “Just good.” His eyes flickered over to the door on the back wall.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. He picked up my glass and took it to the row of bottles against the mirror, then brought it back full. “You don’t owe me no thanks. You like to pay big for your drinks, that’s all.” He went back to his regulars.
I took the drink and went through the door. The back room was nothing more than a pool table with walls around it, so close on three sides you could tell it ruined shots. A dark hallway extended off the rear wall. The one light dangled down from the ceiling to hover a foot above the balls—a bad hop, and you could break the bulb. There was a big guy and a small guy, both leaning on cues while they studied the table. I shut the door behind me and set my glass on the felt.
When the big guy looked up at me, I knew the small one was Overholt. Some people have things written all over their faces; the big guy had a couple of words misspelled in crayon on his.
But he had grace. He stepped over and took my glass off the table and put it back in my hand. Then he made his shot. It was good, and Overholt and I stood in silence while he ran a series of balls. He only butted his cue into the wall a couple of times, and it never threw him. He just angled the end of the cue upwards and made the shot anyway.
When he missed one, he just grunted. The cue went end down on the floor again, and he went back to leaning on it. For a minute I thought I was going to have to wait the game out. Then Overholt spoke.
“This isn’t the way to the bathroom,” he said.
“I’m looking for a guy named Overholt,” I said back.
Overholt smiled a little. His lips were cracked, like he licked them too often. He ran his hand over his hair and then put it back on the cue. “I’m him,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “I heard you could get me some things nobody else could get me.” I didn’t know exactly what I was talking about.
“It’s been known to happen,” he said. It was like an admission of a habit he couldn’t break.
“I’ll pay to have it happen now,” I said.
“Maybe.” He looked me over. “I need to know your name, and how you got mine. I need to see your card.”
There was no bluffing. I could only hope he didn’t know my name from Phoneblum. I tossed my card out under the light, careful not to displace the balls. “I met a guy named Phoneblum,” I said. “He recommended your services.” Overholt leaned over and read my name. “Big fat man,” I continued, nervous. “No offense.”
Overholt smiled grimly and put my card in his pocket. I got ready to bolt. I could leave without my card if it meant preserving my neck The card only had twenty-five points on it anyhow.
“He’s a big fat man, all right,” said Overholt. “Doesn’t get out much.”
There was a moment of silence. I watched Overholt as carefully as I could without looking like I was doing it.
He patted the pocket with my card in it. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get it back Security.”
I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly. “He said you could help me get hold of some Blanketrol.”
He looked over at the big guy. I looked too, but there wasn’t anything to see. Then he looked back at me, and met my eyes for the first time. “Sometimes,” he said.
“I want it”
“You don’t want to use that stuff. That’s bad stuff.” The concern sounded almost genuine.
“That’s my business. I want it.”
He sighed. “I’ll need five hundred dollars.”
I laughed to myself. I had one like that left from the envelope Angwine had given me in the bar at the Vistamont. There was something funny about spending it on drugs I’d so recently dumped into the mud by the side of the road. It didn’t make sense that it should cost so much, and I wondered if I was buying more than just the drugs. I couldn’t answer that question without spending the money, though.
And what would I do with the new packet of Blanketrol? Maybe I was ready to use it.
“No problem,” I heard myself say.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll make a call.”
He handed the cue to the big guy, who looked only a little peeved. He’d been winning, but there were obviously plenty of rounds of pool in his past, and plenty more in his future. Business came first.
“Follow me,” said Overholt. He went into the dark of the hallway behind the table. I followed, and he led me up a short flight of stairs to a little smoking room with a television and a phone and a couple of chairs. He told me to have a seat, and I had one.
“Money,” he said. I got it out. He looked it over and said: “Good.”
I felt stupider and stupider. I wasn’t learning anything. I tried to think of a way to eke out a little more for my five hundred dollars, but nothing came to mind. I’d followed the lead like some kind of automaton and confirmed theories that didn’t matter in the first place. I was wasting time.