When the Sacred Ginmill Closes (27 page)

"I've got things a little out of sequence. The hot-car sheet didn't carry the name of the Mercury's owner as RitaDonegian. It was an Irish name, Flaherty or Farley, I forget, and the address was the one onOcean Parkway. There was a phone number, but it turned out to be wrong, and I couldn't pick up any listing for the Flaherty or Farley name at that address. So I checked Motor Vehicles, working from the plate number, and the car's owner turned out to be RitaDonegian with an address onCabrini Boulevard, which is way up inWashingtonHeights and a long ways fromOcean Parkway or any other part ofBrooklyn."

I drank some of the Wild Turkey.

"I called RitaDonegian," I said. "I represented myself as a cop checking the hot-car sheet automatically, making sure what cars have been recovered and what ones are still missing. Oh, yes, she said, they got the car back right away. She didn't think it was really stolen after all; her husband had a few drinks and forgot where he parked it, then found it a couple blocks away after she'd gone and reported it stolen. I said we must have made a clerical error, we had the car listed as stolen in Brooklyn and here she was in upperManhattan. No, she said, they were visiting her husband's brother inBrooklyn. I said we had an error in the name, too, that it was Flaherty, whatever the hell it was. No, she said, that was no error, that was the brother's name. Then she got a little rattled and explained it was her husband's brother-in-law, actually, that her husband's sister had married a man named Flaherty."

"A poor Armenian girl," Keegan said, "gone to ruination with the Irish. Think of it, Johnny."

Skip said, "Was any of what she said true?"

"I asked her if she was RitaDonegian and if she was the owner of a Mercury Marquis with the license number LJK-914. She said yes to both of those questions. That was the last time she told me the truth. She told a whole string of lies, and she knew she was covering for them or she'd never have been so inventive. She hasn't got a husband. She might refer to Cutler as her husband but she was calling him Mr. Donegian, and the only Mr.Donegian is her father. I didn't want to push too hard because I didn't want her to get the idea that my call was anything beyond simple routine."

Skip said, "Somebody called them after the payoff. To tell them we had the plate number."

"That's right."

"So who knew?The five of us and who else? Keegan, did you get waxed and tell a roomful of people how you were the hero and wrote down the plate number? Is that what happened?"

"I went to confession," Billie said, "and I told FatherO'Houlihan."

"I'm serious,goddammit."

"I never did trust the shifty-eyed bastard," Billie said.

Gently, JohnKasabian said, "Skip, I don't think anybody told anybody. I think that's what Matt's leading up to. It was one of us, wasn't it, Matt?"

Skip said, "One of us?One of us here?"

"Wasn't it, Matt?"

"That's right," I said. "It was Bobby."

The silence stretched, with everybody looking at Bobby. Then Skip let out a fierce laugh that caromed wildly around the room.

"Matt, you fuck," he said. "You had me going there. You just about had me buying it."

"It's true, Skip."

"Because I'm an actor, Matt?"Bobby grinned at me. "You figure all actors know each other, the way Billie figuredKasabian would have to know the schoolteacher. For Christ's sake,there's probably more actors in this town than there are Armenians."

"Two much-maligned groups," Keegan intoned."Actors and Armenians, both of them much given to starving."

"I never heard of these guys," Bobby said."Atwood and Cutler? Are those their names? I never heard of either of them."

I said, "It won't wash, Bobby. You were in classes with Gary Atwood at the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. You were in a showcase at theGalinda Theater onSecond Avenue last year, and that was one of Lee David Cutler's credits."

"You're talking about that Strindberg thing? Six performances to a roomful of empty seats and not even the director knew what the play was supposed to be about? Oh, that was Cutler, the thin guy who played Berndt? Is that who you mean?"

I didn't say anything.

"The Lee threw me. Everybody called him Dave. I suppose I remember him but-"

"Bobby, you son of a bitch, you're lying! "

He turned, looked at Skip. He said, "Am I, Arthur? Is that what you think?"

"It's what I fucking know. I know you, I know you all my life. I know when you're lying."

"The Human Polygraph."He sighed."Happens you're right."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, make up your mind, Arthur. You're a hard man to agree with. Either I'm lying or I'm not. Which way do you want it?"

"You robbed me. You stole thebooks, you sold me down the fucking river. How could you do it? You little fuck, how could you do it?"

Skip was standing up. Bobby was still sitting in his chair, an empty glass in his hand. Keegan and JohnKasabian were on either side of Bobby, but they drew a little ways away from him during this exchange, as if to give them room.

I was standing to Skip's right, and I was watching Bobby. He took his time with the question, as if it deserved careful consideration.

"Well, hell," he said finally. "Why would anybody do it? I wanted the money."

"How much did they give you?"

"Not allthat much, tell you the truth."

"How much?"

"I wanted, you know, a third. They laughed. I wanted ten, they said five,we wound up at seven grand." He spread his hands. "I'm a lousy negotiator. I'm an actor, I'm not a businessman. What do I know about haggling?"

"You screwed me for seven thousand dollars."

"Listen, I wish it was more. Believe me."

"Don't joke with me, you cocksucker."

"Then don't feed me straight lines, you asshole."

Skip closed his eyes. The sweat was beading up on his forehead, and tendons showed in his neck. His hands knotted into fists, relaxed, knotted up again. He was breathing through his mouth like a fighter between rounds.

He said, "Why'd you need the money?"

"Well, see, my kid sister needs this operation, and-"

"Bobby, don't clown with me. I'll fucking kill you, I swear it."

"Yeah?I needed the money, believe it. I wasgonna need the operation. I wasgonna get my legs broken."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about I borrowed five thousand dollars and put it into a cocaine deal and it fell in the shit, and I had to pay back the five because I didn't borrow it from Chase Manhattan. I haven't got that good of a friend there. I borrowed it from a guy out in Woodside who told me my legs were all the collateral I'd need."

"What the hell were you doing in a coke deal?"

"Trying to make a dollar for a change.Trying to get out from under."

"You make it sound like the American Dream."

"It was a fucking nightmare. The deal went in the toilet, I still owed the money,I had to come up with a hundred a week just to keep paying thevig. You know how it works. You pay a hundred a week forever and you still owe the five grand, and I can't cover my expenses to begin with, never mind finding another hundred a week. I was running behind, and there's interest on the interest, and the seven grand I got from Cutler and Atwood, it's fucking gone, man. I paid the shy six grand to get him off my back forever, I paid some other debts I owed,I got a couple hundred dollars in my wallet. That's what's left." He shrugged. "Easy come, easy go.Right?"

Skip put a cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with his lighter. He dropped it, and when he reached to pick it up he accidentally kicked it under the desk.Kasabian put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, then lit a match and gave him a light. Billie Keegan got down on the floor and looked around until he found the lighter.

Skip said, "You know what you cost me?"

"I cost you twenty grand. I cost John thirty."

"You cost us each twenty-five. I owe Johnnyfive, he knows he'll get it."

"Whatever you say."

"You cost us fifty thousand fucking dollars so you could wind up with seven. What am I talking about? You cost us fifty thousand dollars so you could wind up even."

"I said I got no head for business."

"You got no head at all, Bobby. You neededmoney, you could have sold your friends to Tim Pat Morrissey for ten grand. That's the reward he was offering, that's three thousand more than they gave you."

"I wasn'tgonna rat 'emout."

"No, of course not.But you'd sellme'n John down shit creek, wouldn't you?"

Bobby shrugged.

Skip dropped his cigarette on the floor, stepped on it. "You needed money," he said, "why didn't you come and ask me for it? Will you just tell me that? Youcoulda come to me before you went to the shy. Or the shy's pushing you, you need money to cover, you could've come to me then."

"I didn't want to ask you for the money."

"You didn't want to ask me for it. It's okay to steal it from me, but you didn't want to ask me for it."

Bobby drew back his head. "Yeah, that's right,Arrrr-thur. I didn't want to ask you for it."

"Did I ever refuse you?"

"No."

"Did I ever make you crawl?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"All the time.Let the actor play bartender for a while. Let's put the actor behind the stick, hope he don't give away the whole store. It's a big joke, my acting. I'm your little windup toy, your fucking pet actor."

"You don't think I take your acting seriously?"

"Of course you don't."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. That piece of shit you were in onSecond Avenue, fucking Strindberg, how many people did I bring to see that? Therewas twenty-five people in the house and I brought twenty of them."

"To see your pet actor. 'That piece of shit you were in.'That's taking my acting seriously, Skippy baby. That's real support."

"I don't fucking believe this," Skip said. "You hate me." He looked around the room. "He hates me."

Bobby just looked at him.

"You did this to screw me. That's all."

"I did it for the money."

"Iwoulda given you the fucking money! "

"I didn't want to take it from you."

"You didn't want to take it from me. Where do you think you did take it from, you cocksucker? You think it came from God? You think it rainedoutta the sky?"

"I figure I earned it."

"You what?"

Bobby shrugged."Like I said. I figure I earned it. I worked for it. I was with you, I don't know how many times, from the day I took the books. I was along for the ride Monday night, on the scene, everything. And you never had the least suspicion. That's not the worst job of acting anybody ever did."

"Just an acting job."

"You could look at it that way."

"Judas was pretty good, too. He got an Oscar nomination but he couldn't be present at the awards ceremony."

"You make a funny-looking Jesus, Arthur. You're just not right for the part."

Skip stared hard at him. "I don't get it," he said. "You're not even ashamed of yourself."

"Would that make you happy?A little show of shame?"

"You thinkit's okay, right? Putting your best friend through hell, costing him a lot of money? Stealing from him?"

"You never stole, right, Arthur?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How'd you come up with twenty grand, Arthur? What did you do, save your lunch money?"

"We skimmed it. That's not much of a secret. You mean I stole from the government? Show me anybody with a cash businesswho doesn't."

"And how did you get the money to open the joint? How did you and John get started? Did you skim that, too? Tips you didn't declare?"

"So?"

"Bullshit! You worked behind the stick at JackBalkin's joint and you stole with both hands. You did everything but take the empties to the grocery store for the deposit. You stole so muchoffa Jack it's a wonder he didn't have to close the place."

"He made money."

"Yeah, and so did you. You stole, and Johnny stole where he was working, and lo and behold, the two of you got enough to open a place of your own. Talk about the American Dream, that's the American Dream. Steal from the boss until you can afford to open up in competition with him."

Skip said something inaudible.

"What's that? I can't hear you, Arthur."

"I said bartenders steal. It's expected."

"Makes it honest, right?"

"I didn't screwBalkin. I made money for him. You can twist it all you want,Bobby, you can't make me into what you are."

"No, you're a fucking saint, Arthur."

"Jesus," Skip said. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I do. You're notgonna do anything."

"I'm not?"

Bobby shook his head. "What are yougonna do? Yougonna get the gun from behind the bar, come back and shoot me with it? You're notgonna do that."

"I ought to."

"Yeah, but it's notgonna happen. You want to hit me? You're not even mad anymore, Arthur. You think yououghta be mad but you don't feel it. You don't feel anything."

"I-"

"Listen, I'm beat," Bobby said. "I'mgonna make it an early night if nobody objects. Listen, guys, I'll pay it back one of these days. The whole fifty thousand. When I'm a star, you know? I'm good for it."

"Bobby-"

"I'll see you," he said.

AFTER the three of us had walked Skip around the corner and said goodnight to him, after JohnKasabian had flagged a cab and headed uptown, I stood on the corner with Billie Keegan and told him I'd made a mistake, that I shouldn't have told Skip what I'd learned.