“Is that all men?”
Sono sneered at Soupspoon. She wasn’t going to let him think that he was special.
“Yeah,” she said. “All y’all.”
“How ’bout yo’ man Rudolph?”
“That’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Rudolph is a businessman. Ev’rything he do is business. All that big talk is t’get them men drinkin’ an’ th’owin’ they money away. He always the house in a crap game. He always makin’ money.”
“So at least Rudolph ain’t no fool, huh?”
“That don’t mean he ain’t gonna make a fool outta me, or some other poor girl.”
“Sono!” one of the gamblers shouted.
She took her platter and went back to work.
Now and then during the night a knock might come, and Cholo would look through the peephole and then open up. Mostly gamblers came to Rudy’s; he was the Atlantic City of the Lower East Side.
At about two, Soupspoon was ready to go. He was wondering about a last glass of beer when a knock came on the door. Cholo peeped and then whistled so loud that it hurt.
The dice stopped rolling and all of the men were up on their feet strolling aimlessly away from the game.
Cholo pulled open the door and a white man in a wrinkled tan suit came in. As he walked in the door he pushed Cholo aside.
“How you doin’, man?” someone said at Soupspoon’s side.
It was the man dressed in pink. He had a dark, scarred-up face and was chewing on a wooden match. He extended a hand to shake.
“Name’s Billy Slick.” His breath was sour.
“Soupspoon’s what they call me.”
“Hello, Officer Todd,” Rudolph was saying. He had his arms extended like a halfhearted Christ and a smile plastered across his face.
“ ’Gainst the law t’lock the doors if you’re open for business,” said the jowly-faced cop.
“A man just left here ten minutes ago an’ said he was comin’ back to settle a debt with Cholo there. We locked the door to keep trouble away.”
“You should have called the police if you were threatened,” the cop said.
“Don’t look at’em,” Billy told Soupspoon. “Pretend you talkin’ t’me an’ let Rudy do his thing.”
Rudy was talking. “I didn’t want to cause the man no problem. He coulda just been talkin’ outta his head.”
“What was this man’s name?” The policeman took a note pad from his pocket.
“Why don’t we go back to my office an’ talk in private, officer.” Rudolph gestured the way and the two went through a door behind the bar.
“Time for the greasin’,” Billy Slick said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Have I seen you here before, man?”
“Naw. But I know Rudy. Ain’t seen’im in a while, though.”
“Where you been?”
“Sick. Sick and tired.”
“That’s too bad,” Billy Slick said, not caring a damn. “But you better now, right?”
“When Rudy close?”
“That depends.” The big man’s eyes lit up when Rudy’s name was mentioned. “If he got a woman waitin’ he break about two, two-thirty — a woman waitin’ or a bad streak.”
Soupspoon nodded and looked Billy up and down. He was maybe forty with big muscles under those pink clothes.
“What you want wit’ Rudy?” Billy asked.
The older bluesman felt the smile come to his face. He heard the men laughing and shuffling and even that lazy fly buzzing around, looking for the barmaid’s scent.
“You hear it?” Soupspoon asked at last.
“Hear what? I don’t hear nuthin’.”
“That’s what I wanna talk to Rudy about.”
“You crazy?” Billy asked.
“Uh-huh. I’m a musician, least I used to be. Maybe I could be again.”
“You wanna play here?” When he smiled, Billy showed two missing teeth and a broken one. It reminded Soupspoon of someone but he couldn’t quite remember who.
The air around them was sour from Billy’s breath, but Soupspoon didn’t mind. He liked the atmosphere.
“You come on back whenever you want, hear?” Rudolph was saying to Officer Todd. Todd was gruff and moved quickly toward the door. He made eye contact with any man who would look at him — but most men were looking down.
On his way out the door Todd said to Cholo, “Keep this door open from now on.”
The Hawaiian grunted and nodded but when Todd walked out he slammed the door shut and threw the bolt home.
Billy Slick was on his feet the moment the door was closed.
“I’m lookin’ fo’ seven!” he shouted. “I’m on a mission for home!”
By three the game was over. The only people left in the club were Rudy’s employees. Rudolph spent a few minutes talking to Billy Slick and Sono at the bar, then he strolled over to Soupspoon’s table.
“Soup,” Rudy said.
Soupspoon held out his hand but he didn’t stand. “Rudy.”
“What can I do for you?”
“It’s a nice place you got here,” Soupspoon answered. “Why’ont you sit down an’ drink wit’ me?”
“I got places t’be.” Rudy pointed at his heavy gold wristwatch — it read three-fifteen.
“You ain’t got five minutes t’drink wit’ a old friend?”
The gambler looked uncomfortable for a moment. Soupspoon addressed himself to the boy he had known, not the man standing in front of him.
“Sono!” Rudy called.
“Yeah?”
“Bring ovah some Wild Turkey and a coupla glasses.”
Rudy sat with a hand on each knee.
Sono rushed over with the liquor. She poured each squat tumbler one quarter full.
“I need a job, Rudy,” Soupspoon said.
“A job?”
Soupspoon nodded and touched the rim of his glass.
“Hey, I’m sorry, man, but I don’t have nuthin’ for ya here. It’s just me an’ Cholo an’ Sono here. Sometimes Billy do a odd job, but you too old for anything he do.”
“I could play the blues.”
“This ain’t no music club. You know that, Soup. Shit, I’ont even have a jukebox.”
Rudy was big and hale now that he was a man. He was sure of himself and people respected him. But Soupspoon remembered the skinny little boy in cutoffs and no shirt. He and his wife, Mavis, used to pick Rudy up at his mother’s house and take him home for fried chicken dinner. They played tic-tac-toe and dominoes with him in the front room.
The first time he ever saw Rudy he was no more than six. Soupspoon and Mavis were out walking when they saw this little boy, all snot-nosed and ragged, breaking bottles in the street.
Mavis went right up to him and jerked him by his arm.
“Pick up that damn glass, boy! You think people want holes in they tires just ’cause you bored?”
From the look on his face, Soupspoon figured that that was the first time anybody had ever tried to make Rudy do right.
It probably was. His mother wasn’t much use. She had seven kids — and a boyfriend for each one. When Mavis made Rudy take her to his sixth-floor apartment, up in Harlem, they found two babies eating peanut butter out of a jar on the floor while Mrs. Peckell was with one of her men in the back room.
“Maybe we better leave, Mavy,” Soupspoon had suggested. He didn’t want to come to blows with some man that he didn’t even know.
“You could leave if you want to, Soupspoon Wise,” Mavis had said. “But I will not sit by and leave these children to live like this.”
“Oh yeah! Yeah, baby!” Mrs. Peckell yelled from behind the closed door.
Rudy stuck his finger in his ear, embarrassed by the lack of manners his mother displayed.
Mavis let Rudy take his little brothers out in the hall. Then she banged on the closed door.
The yelling stopped and Soupspoon could make out the sounds of clothes rustling, springs singing, and shoes sliding on the floor.