‘That depends on the general attitude towards the needs of the ex-service man.’
‘Look here Joey you’re a smart feller…’
‘Oh they’ll line up all right. I kin talk em around.’
‘How many guys have you got over there?’
‘The Sheamus O’Rielly Post’s got three hundred members an new ones signin up every day… We’re gettin em from all over. We’re goin to have a Christmas dance an some fights in the Armory if we can get hold of any pugs.’
Gus McNiel threw back his head on his bullneck and laughed. ‘Thataboy!’
‘But honest the bonus is the only way we kin keep the boys together.’
‘Suppose I come over and talk to em some night.’
‘That’d be all right, but they’re dead sot against anybody who aint got a war record.’
McNiel flushed. ‘Come back feeling kinder smart, dont ye, you guys from overseas?’ He laughed. ‘That wont last more’n a year or two… I seen em come back from the Spanish American War, remember that Joe.’
An officeboy came in an laid a card on the desk. ‘A lady to see you Mr McNiel.’
‘All right show her in… It’s that old bitch from the school board… All right Joe, drop in again next week… I’ll keep you in mind, you and your army.’
Dougan was waiting in the outer office. He sidled up mysteriously. ‘Well Joe, how’s things?’
‘Pretty good,’ said Joe puffing out his chest. ‘Gus tells me Tammany’ll be right behind us in our drive for the bonus… planning a nation wide campaign. He gave me some cigars a friend o his brought up by airplane from Havana… Have one?’ With their cigars tilting up out of the corners of their mouths they walked briskly cockily across City Hall square. Opposite the old City Hall there was a scaffolding. Joe pointed at it with his cigar. ‘That there’s the new statue of Civic Virtue the mayor’s havin set up.’
The steam of cooking wrenched at his knotted stomach as he passed Child’s. Dawn was sifting fine gray dust over the black ironcast city. Dutch Robertson despondently crossed Union Square, remembering Francie’s warm bed, the spicy smell of her hair. He pushed his hands deep in his empty pockets. Not a red, and Francie couldn’t give him anything. He walked east past the hotel on Fifteenth. A colored man was sweeping off the steps. Dutch looked at him enviously; he’s got a job. Milkwagons jingled by. On Stuyvesant Square a milkman brushed past him with a bottle in each hand. Dutch stuck out his jaw and talked tough. ‘Give us a swig o milk will yez?’ The milkman was a frail pinkfaced youngster. His blue eyes wilted. ‘Sure go round behind the wagon, there’s an open bottle under the seat. Dont let nobody see you drink it.’ He drank it in deep gulps, sweet and soothing to his parched throat. Jez I didn’t need to talk rough like that. He waited until the boy came back. ‘Thankye buddy, that was mighty white.’
He walked into the chilly park and sat down on a bench. There was hoarfrost on the asphalt. He picked up a torn piece of pink evening newspaper. $500,000 HOLDUP. Bank Messenger Robbed in Wall Street Rush Hour.
In the busiest part of the noon hour two men held up Adolphus St John, a bank messenger for the Guarantee Trust Company, and snatched from his hands a satchel containing a half a million dollars in bills…
Dutch felt his heart pounding as he read the column. He was cold all over. He got to his feet and began thrashing his arms about.
Congo stumped through the turnstile at the end of the L line. Jimmy Herf followed him looking from one side to the other. Outside it was dark, a blizzard wind whistled about their ears. A single Ford sedan was waiting outside the station.
‘How you like, Meester ’Erf?’
‘Fine Congo. Is that water?’
‘That Sheepshead Bay.’
They walked along the road, dodging an occasional bluesteel glint of a puddle. The arclights had a look of shrunken grapes swaying in the wind. To the right and left were flickering patches of houses in the distance. They stopped at a long building propped on piles over the water. POOL; Jimmy barely made out the letters on an unlighted window. The door opened as they reached it. ‘Hello Mike,’ said Congo. ‘This is Meester ’Erf, a frien’ o mine.’ The door closed behind them. Inside it was black as an oven. A calloused hand grabbed Jimmy’s hand in the dark.
‘Glad to meet you,’ said a voice.
‘Say how did you find my hand?’
‘Oh I kin see in the dark.’ The voice laughed throatily.
By that time Congo had opened the inner door. Light streamed through picking out billiard tables, a long bar at the end, racks of cues. ‘This is Mike Cardinale,’ said Congo. Jimmy found himself standing beside a tall sallow shylooking man with bunchy black hair growing low on his forehead. In the inner room were shelves full of chinaware and a round table covered by a piece of mustardcolored oilcloth. ‘Eh la patronne,’ shouted Congo. A fat Frenchwoman with red applecheeks came out through the further door; behind her came a chiff of sizzling butter and garlic. ‘This is frien o mine… Now maybe we eat,’ shouted Congo. ‘She my wife,’ said Cardinale proudly. ‘Very deaf… Have to talk loud.’ He turned and closed the door to the large hall carefully and bolted it. ‘No see lights from road,’ he said. ‘In summer,’ said Mrs Cardinale, ‘sometime we give a hundred meals a day, or a hundred an fifty maybe.’
‘Havent you got a little peekmeup?’ said Congo. He let himself down with a grunt into a chair.
Cardinale set a fat fiasco of wine on the table and some glasses. They tasted it smacking their lips. ‘Bettern Dago Red, eh Meester ’Erf?’
‘It sure is. Tastes like real Chianti.’
Mrs Cardinale set six plates with a stained fork, knife, and spoon in each and then put a steaming tureen of soup in the middle of the table.
‘Pronto pasta,’ she shrieked in a guineahen voice. ‘Thisa Anetta,’ said Cardinale as a pinkcheeked blackhaired girl with long lashes curving back from bright black eyes ran into the room followed by a heavily tanned young man in khaki overalls with curly sun-bleached hair. They all sat down at once and began to eat the peppery thick vegetable chowder, leaning far over their plates.
When Congo had finished his soup he looked up. ‘Mike did you see lights?’ Cardinale nodded. ‘Sure ting… be here any time.’ While they were eating a dish of fried eggs and garlic, frizzled veal cutlets with fried potatoes and broccoli, Herf began to hear in the distance the pop pop pop of a motorboat. Congo got up from the table with a motion to them to be quiet and looked out the window, cautiously lifting a corner of the shade. ‘That him,’ he said as he stumped back to the table. ‘We eat good here, eh Meester Erf?’
The young man got to his feet wiping his mouth on his forearm. ‘Got a nickel Congo,’ he said doing a double shuffle with his sneakered feet. ‘Here go Johnny.’ The girl followed him out into the dark outer room. In a moment a mechanical piano started tinkling out a waltz. Through the door Jimmy could see them dancing in and out of the oblong of light. The chugging of the motorboat drew nearer. Congo went out, then Cardinale and his wife, until Jimmy was left alone sipping a glass of wine among the debris of the dinner. He felt excited and puzzled and a little drunk. Already he began to construct the story in his mind. From the road came the grind of gears of a truck, then of another. The motorboat engine choked, backfired and stopped. There was the creak of a boat against the piles, a swash of waves and silence. The mechanical piano had stopped. Jimmy sat sipping his wine. He could smell the rankness of salt marshes seeping into the house. Under him there was a little lapping sound of the water against the piles. Another motorboat was beginning to sputter in the far distance.
‘Got a nickel?’ asked Congo breaking into the room suddenly. ‘Make music… Very funny night tonight. Maybe you and Annette keep piano goin. I didnt see McGee about landin… Maybe somebody come. Must be veree quick.’ Jimmy got to his feet and started fishing in his pockets. By the piano he found Annette. ‘Wont you dance?’ She nodded. The piano played Innocent Eyes. They danced distractedly. Outside were voices and footsteps. ‘Please,’ she said all at once and they stopped dancing. The second motorboat had come very near; the motor coughed and rattled still. ‘Please stay here,’ she said and slipped away from him.