"Just kiddin, Dan'l, there's sumn to it I bet. Weirdest thing ever happened to me was when I called up Roy Elrod and the phone didn't even ring, just old R-Roy started talking to me. Gimme the creeps."
Mr. Miles's shakes had calmed a bit but his eyes were still blinking like crazy.
"Will you look at that." Daniel stared at something between his feet. "Ant carryin a big boulder like that."
They all looked. Brian could just barely see a crumb of his cinnamon doughnut inching toward Cervantes.
"Ant can lift seven hundred pounds his weight."
"Seven hunnert times, you mean."
"S'what I said. A man was as strong as an ant he could lift that pier."
"You used to be a muscleman, Dan'l, what could you lift? Two hunnert, three hunnert pound?"
"Don't remind me. Move your foot, Cervantes, let'm go straight through. Jesus, don't step on him, he's got enough troubles."
"Dan'l, I hate to say this, but I don't see no ant."
Pete winked down to Brian. "I think you're out in the whatchamacallit," he said. "Fifth dimension."
"Fourth dimension. And this aint no DT. DT's I get cockaroaches, not ants."
Daniel paled suddenly, he covered his eyes with his palms. "Jesus Christ, I'm a dead duck."
"You know Misser Horse? He own tot big buildin in the moanton, he berry big mon, I lob to work por him, lob him berry much."
"Cervantes, Hearst has been dead what — twenty years now? It don't really matter to him that you peddled newspapers once."
"Ohyes, noosepaper, berry big m'hmn m'hmn."
"A dead duck," said Daniel. "Aint gone near pussy in a year. A whole year."
"Maybe it's like me," said Pete. "I aint quit drinkin, I just laid off for a while."
"Nope. It's done with."
"Say Dan'! whatever happened to the one they called Fat Lou? Haven't seen him round for ages."
"He's dead. They're all dead."
"I member that guy," said Pete. They were trying to change the subject, to get Daniel's mind off himself. "I member one night seeing him and Sparky, you know, the one with the neck brace, him and Sparky right here on these stairs goin down to the beach. Somehow they scraped enough together for a whole gallon of wine. Goin down these very steps, Sparky was holding it, when the bag tore and smash that gallon to smithereens. Whole gallon, didn't get a drop before it's broke. I seen Fat Lou just sit down and blubber like a baby."
"Never hold your wine by the bag, you got to keep your h-hand under it."
"No shit."
A man and a woman dressed in matching denim suits strolled self-consciously behind the bench. They turned to go down to the beach.
"Ought to put a sign up," muttered Pete. "No Trespassing — Winos Only."
"Aaaaaaaaaaugh!" Daniel clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
"What is it, Dan'l?"
"The gurgling," he said. "The voice. It won't stop."
Miles handed him the Thunderbird. "Relief is just a swallow away."
Daniel drank deeply, then threw his head back and stared up at the gulls.
"Yeah, I remember somethin like that happened to this b-buddy of mine." Miles exchanged a concerned look with Sneaky Pete. "Way back when. Vodka days, none a this wine shit, and my buddy had just turned twenty-one. Only liquor store in town was the old gray-bearded J-Jew, who even if you was toothless and wrinkled wanted to see ID. So my buddy goes in there and gets a fifth, slaps his card on the table and orders up like a man, and what does he d-do for his twentyfirst birthday but drop it the minute he hits the sidewalk. His first legal bottle spread out on the pavement. He was strange in the head, this buddy, and he takes it for a sign from the Lord. N-never touched another drop."
"Hell of a note. And I thought my brother was crazy with his oranges."
"I'm a dead duck."
"I'll drink to that. Hand her over, Dan'l."
"Breakfast of Champions."
"No shit."
Cervantes fumbled the bag but recovered, giving Miles a big grin.
"You drop that wine an I'll drop you, Cervantes. Into the ocean with a rock tied around your neck."
"Ohyes m'hmn ohyes."
"Oh yes."
The bag moved from Mr. Miles to Daniel to Miles to Cervantes to Brian. Brian finished it.
"Don't chuck it, Nevada. Them squirrels."
Brian slid it under the bench, still in the bag.
"Tell you one thing," Pete cackled. "Now you can say, 'D. Boone killed him a bottle at this bench.' We'll put up a plaque."
"I'm finished. Hairy Carey."
"You know Misser Carey? He got a boosher — "
"Shut up, Cervantes. I'monna lay out on the beach, get my strenth back." Daniel tried to get up but seemed tied to the bench. He fell back. He made it up on his third try; Pete and Mr. Miles tensed to catch him, but he straightened and swayed gently. Cervantes stood and grabbed the Navy bag.
Brian stuck the ESP paperback in it. "There's your book, Daniel. Thanks."
He looked down at Brian. "You believe it?"
"Sure, Daniel."
"I'll believe it, Dan'! when you get down them steps in one piece."
Daniel got to the steps in a controlled lurch, with Cervantes wagging behind. He paused, took a deep breath, declared himself a dead duck, and started down.
"I'm worried about old Dan'!."
"Oh, he'll be all right."
"The thing is, Pete, I got this theory. You know how there always seems to be the same number of winos around? Like there's a steady figure? But you know they have to die, everybody dies. So my theory is that every time one taps out, that makes room for a new one. Somebody's got to fill the space."
"Now don't you worry, Miles. You're not as bad off as you think and Daniel's gonna perk up. He kept his mind out of that damn fifth dimension he'd feel a lot better."
Mr. Miles was shaking again, almost in tears. "I think I'm gonna lose my job," he said.
"Now come on, buddy, pull it together. Lookit there, he made.it down to the beach as good as new. Now if your theory is right, there just isn't any room for a newcomer, is there? Daniel's gonna outlive us all. We can keep him up nights calling from the next world."
They were quiet then and Brian sat for a while, watching the waves and the gulls, enjoying his slight wine buzz. Now that he'd arrived he didn't know what to do. He was hungry. He asked the men about the fight in Ventura and they said yes, he'd probably be able to get on with the concession.
"Horace Greeley had the ticket," the old man used to say, winking through one of his playful periods. "Of course history tells us that he stayed home and sold it to somebody else. I don't believe the man ever saw the far side of the Mississippi. Oh, but I'm sure he told a fine story over a shot of rye, all full of nostalgia for what he'd never seen. Probably drummed up a great deal of business for the Union Pacific, too." The old man would peek at himself in the bar mirror then, and snort a little laugh. "They also serve who only sit and bullshit."
When Brian left, Sneaky Pete was dozing and Miles was shivering in the sun. He could see Daniel and Cervantes stretched out down on the beach. It was warm and nice and he liked the idea of getting a job with a fight card.
Brian walked back through town toward ioi. It would be the quickest way down to Ventura. There was some kind of commotion in the center plaza when he got to it, dozens of people crowded around the forty-niners fountain. The water was on, cascading over bronzed boulders, streaming on down a sluice into the miners' pans, sparkling golden in the sun. There was a cop standing on the edge of the moat wall, hands supporting him from the crowd behind. He was fishing something from the water with a gaff, something very heavy hooked by wet, green cloth.
It was just getting warm when Brian reached the highway, only a little after eight. He had daylight to burn.