Joe nodded, wondering, though, why he’d been brought into it.
“You know what else, Joe?”
“What?”
“Conklin asked Airhead to beg my forgiveness. ‘Ask him to beg it himself,’ I said, ‘and then we’ll see.’ I’d still like to kick his ass.”
“What about Horse’s forgiveness?” And mine?
“Also Horse’s. And you know what else, Joe?”
“What?”
“Airhead’s under the impression he laid down his life — his spiritual life — for his friend, than which there is no greater love.”
Joe was what he guessed you might call speechless.
“Some shit, huh? And you know what else, Joe?”
“What?”
“Airhead says Conklin was also out to get you. Why, I don’t know. Do you?”
“No.”
“I’ll try to find out if the creep comes around to beg my forgiveness.”
“Don’t bother. Forget it.”
“‘Forget it,’ he says. You wouldn’t talk like that, Joe, if this’d happened to you — and I’m not thinking of myself so much as I am of poor Horse.”
“I know.”
“Joe, it’s odd Bill didn’t tell you any of this. Well, maybe not.”
“Far’s I know, Bill hasn’t been in touch with Potter and Conklin lately.” Joe opened the door of the car. “I’ll be right back, Left.”
“I’ll trail along, Joe.”
When Joe opened the door to the liquor store, he saw two youths go out the other door and heard one of them yell, presumably at the sight of clergymen in clerical attire, “Spooks!”
Lefty went after them.
“No, no,” said Joe, thinking there was reason to be annoyed, as he was, yes, but not to kick ass, and, following Lefty, was in time to see an old car, one of those with its rear end obscenely cocked up, roar off.
“Gone,” said Lefty.
“Good,” said Joe.
Lefty glanced at Joe and then away in disgust. “Wake up, son. That was a heist.”
They went inside where Mr Barnes, who’d been standing at the cash register before, was releasing three customers — two middle-aged men and an older woman — from the walk-in cooler. Mr Barnes and the customers, particularly the woman, were grateful to Lefty and Joe, in that order, to the former, the real hero if there was one, more than to the latter, for coming on the scene when they had — in the nick of time, Mr Barnes said, because the robbers, as he called them, had got nothing, “thanks to you gentlemen.”
The real hero if there was one said modestly, “Too bad the assholes got away.”
After the three other customers, whose names, addresses, and phone numbers were taken down, had left (the woman slow to leave, seeming to regard Lefty and Joe as a couple of colorful TV-type troubleshooters), Mr Barnes politely declined payment for a bottle of bourbon and two of gin, saying the management, Mr Brock, wouldn’t want it otherwise. Joe paid for his gin, but Lefty didn’t for his bourbon, and went into unnecessary detail about his address with Mr Barnes. “Holy Resting Place, it’s called now, but Holy Sepulcher will always get me.”
On the way home, Joe switched on the car radio, the convention, and Lefty got out his cigar.
“Afraid Gene won’t make it, Joe.”
“Could’ve told you that, Left.” Uh-huh. One grand.
When Joe switched off the convention, Lefty put away his cigar.
“Joe, did you know — your old pastor’s in the hospital.”
“Dollar Bill. He’s been in for some time.”
“No, Van.”
“Oh, Van.”
“They’ve got him in an oxygen tent.”
Joe, after a moment of reflection, said, “He’s been in one for years.” Cruel.
“Joe, I’m not so sure about that as I used to be. I’ve just about had it with life here below. More and more, I find, my heart’s in the highlands, my heart’s not here.”
“I know what you mean, Left.” Joe turned into his driveway, giving the accident-prone Impresario a wide berth, and came to rest in the garage, where he turned off the car lights and said in the dark: “Look, Left. I may’ve given Bill the idea I was cutting down, and I don’t want him to think I made a special run. So we won’t say anything about the holdup.”
“We won’t, huh?”
“No, we’ll just say you brought ’em — the bottles.”
“You know what, Joe?”
“What?”
“I’d hate to be a pastor again, with a candy-ass assistant.”
“You will be, Left.”
“You hear something, Joe?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
As it happened, nothing was to be gained by misrepresenting the bottles to Bill, for he was on the phone in the study with (he whispered to Joe) Security at the Great Badger. Joe took over then. “No, offhand, I’d say they were Caucasians. No, I doubt it was stolen, from the look of it. Model? That I couldn’t say. No, he’s right here. No, no”—Security, it seemed, had already spoken to one of the other witnesses—“he’s not my partner.” Lefty took over then. “No, if I saw ’em again — and the wheelman I didn’t see — I wouldn’t recognize ’em — just assholes. The heap I would. Old Biscayne four-door, green repaint, and no plates I could see. That’s right, Holy Sepulcher, but for the next hour or so I can be reached at this number.”
While Joe made drinks (Bill stayed with beer), Lefty told Bill about the attempted holdup… but worse things were happening in Chicago, on TV, police rioting in the streets, peaceniks, innocent bystanders, and even media people getting beat up, Senator Ribicoff (D., Conn.) protesting these outrages from the convention platform and being barracked from the floor by Mayor Daley and his claque.
Lefty got so worked up over what was happening inside and outside the convention that he, now occupying the BarcaLounger and over Joe’s tacit disapproval, called Chicago, the Cardinal (“You know him?” said Bill—“What’s that got to do with it?” said Lefty), but somebody else answered the phone, and while Lefty was willing to identify himself (“Don’t worry, Monsignor. I’m a priest in good standing. I’m in the Directory”), he wouldn’t entrust his message to anyone but the Cardinal, would only say it was a matter of faith and morals, was put on hold, lost the connection, called back (“It’s not a matter for my Ordinary, Monsignor. It’s a matter for yours, the Cardinal. Why d’ya think I’m calling him? Retired? Who you kiddin’? Oh, gone to bed. No, if he’s in delicate health, don’t wake him. First thing in the morning then. Here it is. Quote: Respectfully submit, indeed urge, that His Honor and others of the Faith among the police and National Guard be exhorted privately to do public penance for their sins against society or be duly excommunicated. Unquote. Monsignor, what’s happening in Chicago tonight, I hope I don’t have to tell you, is a scandal to the jaybirds”), lost the connection again, but didn’t call back because Bill, who must have heard the doorbell, brought two deputies into the study. After Joe offered them refreshments (politely declined) and he and Lefty were questioned by them, Lefty, now out of the BarcaLounger and walking the floor like some great caged beast with a drink in one paw and a rubber cigar in another, lectured the deputies on the crimes of the fuzz in particular and of the establishment in general (“Sure, I’m a radical, but what’s that mean — look it up — it means going to the roots of the problem”), after which, having heard Lefty prophesy revolution, “Red or green, take your choice,” and heard Joe, who was watching the convention, exclaim, “Get those mothers out of the government,” the deputies soberly left, escorted by Bill, who, it occurred to Joe later, hadn’t returned to the study.