1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:41
“There it is,” Shalare said, pointing at the black boulder. “The perfect landmark, isn’t it? Looks like God himself tossed a giant lump of coal into those birch trees.”
“Aye,” the prizefighter said, steering carefully. “And here comes the… curves, just like he said.”
“Remember what I told you, Big Brian.”
“Eyes like a camera.”
“Yes. And ears like a pair of tape recorders.”
“I doubt they’re going to be talking to me, Mick. They’ll probably just put me in some-”
“Lymon’s been good for more than helping us see the future, Brian. He’s told us a bit about some of Beaumont’s boys, too. And if luck smiles on us today…”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:49
“What?” Rufus said.
“You know that boy, Preacher? He’s the head of the-”
“I know. Come on, man. I’m at work.”
“He’s been around,” Darryl said. “Wants to buy something. Thought we might have it.”
“We?”
“At the yard. Look, I told him, come back tonight.”
“Why you do that?”
“When you come by, I tell you, brother. But, hear me, this is a decision we got to make. Tonight.”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:51
Seth emerged from the guard cottage and walked slowly over to Shalare’s Chrysler, a shotgun in his right hand.
“Help you folks?” he said, as the driver’s-side window descended.
“I’ve got Mr. Shalare here,” Brian said, “to see Mr. Beaumont.”
“Right on time, too,” Seth said, glancing at his wristwatch. “Hey!” he said, suddenly. “You’re not Brian O’Sullivan, the fighter, are you? I could swear-”
“That’s me, for true,” Brian said, grinning broadly. “Hard to mistake a mug like mine, once you’ve laid eyes on it, I’ll bet.” He extended his hand.
Without taking his eyes off the men in the car, Seth tossed the shotgun from his right hand to his left, and used the gentle momentum to bring his open hand up to take Brian’s offered grip. “I was at the Paladium in Akron the night you fought Buster Blaine,” he said. “You’ve got one of iron and the other of steel, just like people say.”
“I sure needed both that night. Fighting Buster was like punching smoke.”
“That’s right! I told my pals he could dance all night but sooner or later Brian O’Sullivan would land one. And that was all it took.”
“Did you bet on me, then?”
“Didn’t I? A double sawbuck, I went for. The odds were… well, they were pretty good,” Seth said, embarrassed.
“Well, they should have been,” Brian assured him. “Buster Blaine is a better boxer in his sleep than I ever was awake.”
“Faster, maybe,” Seth said, stoutly. “But sure not better. You were never a man to get a break from the judges. I thought you got jobbed when you fought John Henry Jefferson. By rights, they’re supposed to give you points for being aggressive.”
“Nah, he won that one,” Brian said. “My own mother would have scored it for him. If I could have caught him, even one time, maybe it would have ended otherwise, but-”
“No ‘maybe’ about it,” Seth said, conviction ringing through his voice. “If you’d of ever caught him, it would have ended, all right!”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 15:59
“Oh! I’m sorry,” Tussy said, belatedly covering her mouth as she yawned. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.”
“Are you sure you still want to go out tonight?”
“I am absolutely sure. All I need is a little nap.”
“All right. Should I come back in-?”
“Just a catnap. Only an hour or so,” she said. “I’d rather you stayed… if you want.”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 16:02
Seth walked beside Shalare’s Chrysler as it slowly crept along the curved drive.
“You can leave it right here,” Seth told Brian. Directing his voice to Shalare, he continued, “And you, you can go right in the front door. Just give a knock, and Luther will take care of you from there on.”
“Many thanks,” Shalare said, opening his door.
“We’ll have a wait,” Seth said to Brian. “If you like, you can come back and share my guard duty with me. Or I could get you a-”
“Ah, it isn’t every day that I meet a man I can talk boxing with,” Brian said. “That little house of yours, it wouldn’t by any chance have a little refrigerator in it?”
The door opened before Shalare could knock. The slack-mouthed man on the other side of the threshold stared blankly, as if waiting for someone to throw his switch.
Good sweet Jesus, Shalare thought. The man’s a blessed dummy.
“Come on,” Luther said, turning and walking away.
Doesn’t search me, lets me walk behind him-what kind of people does Beaumont have working for him, anyway?
It took almost a full minute for Luther to wend his way through the house to their destination. Like a bloody damn museum, Shalare thought. “Beautiful place, this is,” he said aloud.
Luther didn’t respond.
They came to a double-width door, the entrance ramp telling Shalare that the room inside was higher than the floor he had been walking on.
Luther strode through the doorway, Shalare three steps behind him. Beaumont was at the other end of the room, seated behind a modern, kidney-shaped desk. Shalare crossed over to him. “Thanks for having me,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Thank you for coming,” Beaumont said, with equal formality.
Here comes the bone-crusher, Shalare thought, steeling himself as they shook hands. To his surprise, Beaumont’s grip was just firm enough to be masculine-polite. One quick, dry squeeze, and it was done.
“Please sit down,” Beaumont said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A drink?”
“Well, since you’re offering, an Irish coffee would be a treat.”
“Jameson’s good by you?”
“I see you’ve been doing your homework,” Shalare said, grinning broadly. “Good by any son of Erin, and good anytime.”
“No homework necessary,” Beaumont said. “I fancy it myself. The Jameson’s, I mean, not in coffee. That one’s an acquired taste, I believe.”
“Well, that may be,” Shalare said, touching two fingers to his lips. “But I acquired it quite early on.”
Luther reappeared, handed Shalare his drink, placed a heavy tumbler full of ice cubes and a fifth of Jameson’s on Beaumont’s desk, barely moving his head in a “no” gesture as he did, indicating the Irishman was not armed.
Beaumont poured himself a shot of the whiskey, held up his glass. “To friendship,” he said.
“To friendship,” Shalare echoed.
Each man sipped at his drink. Noticing the black marble ashtray at his elbow, Shalare lit a cigarette. Nodding, as if this confirmed still another point of understanding between them, Beaumont opened his silver cigarette case and lit up himself.
“So,” he said.
“I want you to know I appreciate this,” Shalare said. “I feel we’ve a lot to discuss, you and me. And I’m thinking, Royal Beaumont is a man you want to talk with face to face, not over some phone, or through intermediaries.”
“As I would have thought of you.”
“You’ll forgive my bluntness, then,” Shalare said. “I wouldn’t have you think me impolite, or without proper respect. But I know your time is valuable. So, with your permission, I’ll lay out my cards, and let you tell me if you think I’ve got a hand worth playing.”
1959 October 06 Tuesday 16:33
“I’ll just wait here,” Dett said, tilting his head in the direction of the armchair in the living room. “Okay?”
“Perfect,” Tussy said, and walked out of the room.
Dett was halfway through a cigarette when Tussy came back, carrying a pink blanket. Without a word, she curled up on the couch, and pulled the blanket over herself.