Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale (47 page)

Bobby Diamond turned to look
at Jim with angry, albeit sad, eyes. How did you blow it with that
great woman? Bobby Diamond hissed at Jim, punching him in the
chest with a finger. Yeah, and don’t go acting fucken cool, you
dumb jackoff, Bobby Diamond hissed. Jim said, Say what? Bobby
Diamond said, I saw your old lady up at Cafe Trieste today, man,
and this big dumb goofy-looking guy was hitting on her, man. They
were holding hands and he was fucken mooning around. So how did you
let that happen, man? You been fucken off, man? Lindsay’d never
fuck off if you weren’t fucken off first. Iu. Bobby Diamond said,
Well, you want me to do that big dumb goofy guy for you, man. I’ll
do him gratis. Jim said, No, man, he’s my job. I’m on top of this
situation, man. I got my own plans for that puke. But I gotta wait
for the right time. Thanks, anyway, man. Bobby Diamond said, Okay,
man. But if you need me, man. Listen, man, what are you holding,
man? Any good blow, man? Jim said, Me and Shorty got stuff coming
in. I can cover you tomorrow, man. Bobby Diamond said, Okay, man.
Now listen, don’t act fucken cool and don’t act fucken stupid, man,
and get your situation taken care of, man, you dig? Jim said, Yeah,
man, I dig. Can I buy you a belt, man? Naw, man, I’m back in
training, Bobby Diamond said, and pointed to the unlit cigarette
dangling from his lips. I’ve been hitting the heavy bag down at
Newman’s for a couple of weeks. I’m making a comeback, man. I’m
getting a six-round prelim next month. But I could do with some
blow. Blow is what you need for comebacks. Jim said, You got the
blow, man.

Outside Spec’s, the night
air about Jim and Lindsay and Ralph was palpable with purpose, like
breath, like a gathering and release of air from the lungs of the
ancient royalty of a lost race. Jim was certain at that moment he
had the future by the short hairs as soon as he took care of
business. The lights of North Beach shuddered with energy as Jim
and Lindsay and Ralph turned back toward Broadway and Carol Doda’s
red blinking tits. They angled onto the narrow, alleylike Grant
Street amid the hordes of hooker-witches, drug thugs, and refried
freaks left over from a bygone subterranean time. They peeked into
the Grant Street saloon, then meandered up the narrow street
window- shopping the gaudy funk boutiques, the refugee hippie head
shops, the secondhand shops of fancy old clothes, crazy costumes,
hats from the thirties and forties, racks of feathered boas, the
exotic Chinese herbal shops, and a hardware store with a
collection of mystery tools from the Orient in its
window.

They threw a left onto
Green. Ralph didn’t like the looks of Gino & Carlo’s on Green,
a dark narrow cave of a bar packed with its usual crowd of old wop
gangster winos punching operatic arias on the jukebox and
scar-faced Sicilian waiters from the Cafe Sport and working girls
getting lit for the long night ahead of them, plus an assortment of
Grant Street pimps, queens, and dopers. Gino & Carlo’s was an
establishment which gave Ralph the willies, and he, for one, wasn’t
ashamed to admit it; hence Jim entered that place alone, leaving
Ralph and Lindsay outside on the sidewalk smoking. When Jim
maneuvered his way into a spot beside him at the bar, Charlie
McCabe looked at Jim over glasses perched halfway down his huge
bulbous nose and grinned. A heavy, white-haired old fart of a
character, Charlie McCabe wrote a column called “Himself’ for the
Sun Francisco Examiner, and the corner bar stool nearest the door
at Gino & Carlo’s was his office, where he had his own phone,
and stacks of papers, magazines, and books abounded. Jim bought
Charlie a black brew as thick as molasses and himself a double Jack
over. As he and Charlie chatted, Jim gazed through the open doorway
at Lindsay and Ralph talking and smoking outside. At one point
Lindsay leaned toward Ralph to say something and he bobbed his head
in acknowledgment, whereupon Lindsay reached up to pat him on the
cheek.

Jim said to Charlie McCabe,
Charlie, I got an item for your column, old sport. It’s about an
impending cold-blooded murder in the form of a serious ass kicking,
which I predict will occur before the weekend is over and the
perpetrator of said ass kicking will get off in a court of law on
account of justifiable motherfucken homicide. We are talking about
body parts scattered throughout the neighborhood here.

2

As they walked up Russian
Hill in the early morning, Ralph continued to mumble and grumble
and gripe about Bill and Alice Ann probably being under arrest
somewhere at that very moment and just who was supposed to come up
with bail? Lindsay walked along in silence, as did Jim, who had
been stuck carrying the booze-bolt bag. Lindsay had her arms folded
over her breasts, as though she was chilly, or simply hugging
herself. Now and then she took a long drag from the cigarette that
dangled from her lips. The fog had rolled in, and the lights along
the street had little yellowy halos glowing around them, and
moisture crackled on the wires overhead.

When they reached the corner
of Hyde, Lindsay nodded toward a revolving bubble of blue light
atop a police car parked in front of their building on up the hill
and said, I have a sinking feeling that Ralph may have a
point.

They’re probably waiting to
pick Ralph up, Jim said.

This may not be funny,
Lindsay said. —That’s Bill they’re talking with. God, what
now?

Ralph ducked into a
doorway.

Ralph, you chickenshit, Jim
said.

Why should we be implicated,
Ralph whisper-hissed. —In anything Bill has done?

Old Harry and Jake, Jim said
as he and Lindsay walked up to the two uniformed officers who were
standing on either side of Bill in the middle of the sidewalk in
front of their building. The officers were out of the station on
Green Street, right around the corner from the cop watering hole,
Powell’s, where Jim joined them often. —My two favorite law dogs in
the world. What’s up?

Do you know this character,
Jim? Jake, a heavy-set, acne- scarred Irish cop, said, shining a
flashlight on Bill’s face.

I’ve never seen this sorry
sonofabitch in my life, Jim said.

He’s ours, Lindsay said. —As
much as I hate to admit it.

This is all just a real big
mistake, Bill said, rolling his eyes and wagging his head
empathically.

Is this asshole under
arrest? Jim said. —If not, he should be. And so should that
shady-looking character lurking in the shadows right down the
hill. Yeah, him. Take both the sonsofbitches and throw them under
the jailhouse is my best advice.

Just a sad, sorry mistake,
Bill said. —That’s what this is.

He was trying to break into
your building, Officer Harry, a young, handsome cop, said. —He
about scared your landlady to death. Mrs. Chou called us about a
big break-in. She’s not real happy right now, Jim.

I can tell, Jim said, and
gave a little wave and shrug of his shoulders to Mrs. Chou, whose
tiny face, its eyes pinpoints of fear and fury, he could see
peeking from behind a curtain in her first- floor flat. She ducked
back out of sight.

And then there’s that one,
Officer Harry said, and pointed his flashlight at Alice Ann, who
was sitting in the entryway smoking.

There you are, Lindsay said,
and walked over to her.

We were just trying to get
in, Jim, Bill said. —That’s the absolute long and short of it. A
sorry mistake.

You got a real choice friend
here, Jim, officer Jake said, shining his flashlight back on
Bill’s stricken, sorry face.

Your pal here was trying to
jimmy open Mrs. Chou’s side window, Officer Harry said. —He’s
lucky she didn’t plug him.

I was just trying to get in,
Bill said. —We didn’t have a key and Alice Ann had to go potty
pronto.

Jesus, Billy, Jim said, you
big dumb fuck. I live on the second fucken floor.

I forgot, Bill said. —I got
confused. I’m not from around here, Officers. Alice Ann had to go
real bad, Jim. I was doing it for her. I told her to just squat and
do it in the entry, but you know how women are bashful about some
silly stuff. So, strictly speaking, this is all Alice Ann’s
fault.

Just do us a favor, Jim,
Officer Jake said. —Get these people off the street. And keep them
under lock and key.

Thanks, boys, Jim said.
—Christ on a crutch, I’m sorry about all this bullshit. I owe you
guys a couple.

Don’t sweat it, Jim, Officer
Jake said. The officers walked to the patrol car shaking their
heads. They got in, turned the flashing light off, and pulled out
from the curb.

Hey, Alice Ann, Jim said,
and walked over to the entry.

Hey, your own self, Alice
Ann said, and stubbed her cigarette out in a flower pot. —If I
don’t get upstairs in about ten seconds, I’m going to become very
damp.

Lindsay pulled her key from
her purse and hurried across the entryway.

Goodbye, Billy, Alice Ann
said over her shoulder as she passed by Lindsay at the opened
door.

Adios, Alice Ann, Bill
said.

Ralph! Jim yelled down the
street. —Get your worthless ass up here, buddy!

Hush, Lindsay said. —Quiet
down.

Well, Jim said.

It was all a sad, sorry
mistake, Lindsay, Bill said. —I swear it.

As soon as the patrol car
had passed through the light down the hill at Union and Powell,
Ralph stepped from the dark doorway and scrambled up the
hill.

Hey there, old Ralphie, Bill
said.

Hey there, old Buffalo,
Ralph said.

Another close call, Bill
said, and he and Ralph laughed and hugged each other around the
neck.

Another disaster narrowly
avoided, Ralph said, and he and Bill banged each other on the back
and hooted with laughter.

You guys, Lindsay hissed,
quiet down.

Okay okay, they mouthed in
unison, clasping their hands over their respective
mouths.

Lookie! Bill suddenly said,
and whipped a fat wad of bills from his jeans* front pocket and
waved it in the air. —My little darlin’ didn’t do it! My little
darlin’ was innocent the whole time. My little darlin’ didn’t rob
me blind, after all.

I told you, Lindsay
said.

Holy cow, Ralph said, where
did you find it?

Down around my balls, that’s
where, Bill said. —Pardon my French, Lindsay. I guess I had stuffed
it down in my jockey shorts at some point. For safekeeping, I
guess. Because I didn’t have the good sense to trust my little
darlin’, and that’s why I went and lost her in the end. Let that be
a lesson to you boys.

So, when did you find it?
Jim said.

Oh, I didn’t find it. Alice
Ann found it.

Say what? Jim
said.

What? Ralph said.
—What?

I mean, Bill said, it fell
out. When I got out of the car at some point. We were, or had been,
you know, driving around hunting for Lulu.

Lucy, Lindsay said. —I knew
Lucy was innocent.

Right, Bill said. —We were
driving around looking high and low for my little darlin*. Then I
pulled into a, oh, gas station. To get gas. And to take a, you
know, leak. That’s when Alice Ann found it.

When you were taking a leak?
Jim said.

No, amigo, Bill said. —When
it fell out. On the ground by the car. It had sort of worked its
way down my pant leg, I guess. That’s what. And it fell out and
Alice Ann spotted it.

Old eagle-eye Alice Ann, Jim
said.

Right, Bill said.

You better buckle your belt,
Buffalo, Jim said. —You must have forgotten to buckle up after you
took your leak. The old Buffalo, as everybody knows, always sits
down like a sissy to pee. Right, Bill?

I sometimes do. I do. When
I’m dog-tired or drunk, I do. Well, folks, it’s been fun, but I
gotta hit the road. Adios, amigos.

Bill, just where do you
think you’re going? Lindsay said. —It’s almost two in the
morning.

Home, Bill said. —Back to
the Big Sky country, where I really belong. I just remembered I’m
supposed to give a final bright and early Monday morning. I owe it
to my students to be there. I’ve taken some sick leave
lately.

Bill, Lindsay said, you need
to get some sleep first.

No, ma’am, Bill said, it’s
time for me to leave now. My work is done here. Like Shane, it’s
time for me to ride off alone back into the mythological mountains,
those mystical Tetons, never to be seen or heard from again. I
showed my class Shane and they thought it sucked. They thought that
it was dopey and sentimental. They didn’t understand the holy and
innocent hero who comes in from the wilderness to do civilization’s
dirty work, then rides away like a movie star, like Shane, like me,
folks. They didn’t understand the nature of that lonely outsider
with rules and magical skills and a code of conduct. I tried to
teach the little shits, but I didn’t get anywhere. Heroes are an
ancient problem. Especially old, worn-out heroes like Shane, like
me. Oh well, like I always say, when the old way of doing things
wears thin, you gotta find a new one. When the story we’re in isn’t
working out right, we make up a new one to inhabit. I’m gonna give
those little smartass sumbitches that final on Monday, then I’m
gonna flunk them all. Anyway, like I said, my work is done here.
Adios, amigos. Bye-bye, Bill said, and lumbered down the
hill.