Some Came Running (85 page)

“Well, I— No,” Dave said. “No, I didn’t mean that. But I thought that was what that clause was for, I mean, in case anybody wanted to break up the partnership.”

Frank still would not look up at him. “No, that’s just a legal device, in case the partners can’t agree any other way,” he said . “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no disagreement. I’m willin to do anything you want that’s fair. Do you want to buy? or sell your share?”

“Well, now, wait a minute,” Dave protested. “I never said anything about doing either yet, did I?”

“You mean you want to just leave it like it is?” Frank said, still not looking up.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dave said. “You said all that. All I said was I didn’t like what you did to my car. That, and that I don’t mean to work in the damned place anymore. That was all. Hell, Frank, I wouldn’t do what you did to my car to my worst enemy’s car.”

Frank looked back up at him now, his eyes unreadable. “Well, now, just what
do
you want to do?” he said. “I’m willin to do anything you think is fair.” That was all he would say. “I don’t want to talk about your car,” he said. “You know how I feel about it; and about your responsibilities.”

“Damn, if you just understood me a little,” Dave said. “I’m not a businessman. I never have been. I— I—” He stopped, looking hopeless and chagrined. “Well, I suppose if I was going to choose, I’d rather sell my share than anything else.”

“All right,” Frank said. “How much?”

“Well, would six thousand be all right?”

“You think that’s a fair price?”

“Well—yeah. Don’t you?”

“I’m not the one that’s namin it,” Frank said coldly.

“I don’t want to cheat you or anything.”

“All right,” Frank said. “If you think that’s fair, it’s all right with me. You want me to send you a check for it?”

“Oh, nuts! I’m gonna get myself another drink,” Dave said, and got up and went to the table where the liquor bottles were. Frank merely watched him, his face unreadable. Dave poured a strong one. “Look!” he said. “I don’t give a damn what we do with it. I figured six thousand was a fair price because the damned concern is making money. All I’m tryin to do is protect my money. Now if you don’t think that’s fair, just say so.”

“I’m willin to pay what you’re askin,” Frank said. “Now do you want me to send you a check today?”

“Look!” Dave said, turning to face him. “What do you think I ought to do?”

Frank shook his head. “I’m not givin any more advice to you.”

“Oh, go to hell!” Dave said, and strode back to his own chair with his drink. “Look, I’m willing to do anything that’s fair. I’ll sell to you, or buy your share, or let it ride just like it is. I’ve got the money to buy your share, if you want to sell it,” he said, and remembered to drag out his packed wallet and show it. “So you just name it.”

“I’m not namin anything,” Frank said. “All this is your idea.”

“Look. I apologize for calling you a son of a bitch,” Dave said. “I was mad.”

Frank said nothing.

“Well, I won’t go back to work there. That’s out!”

“All right,” Frank said. “I gathered that. Now what else do you want to do?”

“Well, I don’t know
what
to do!” Dave said.

Frank looked across at him, totally unreadable. “All right. Then I suggest you just let it ride until you do know what you want to do.”

“Will that be all right with you?”

“Anything’ll be all right with me. This is not my party.”

“All right; then that’s what we’ll do.”

Frank got up from his chair.

“Wait! Just one more thing,” Dave said. “I want my share of the profits sent to me. Every month. If any money goes back into the business, we can take that up separate. Okay?”

“All right,” Frank said. “You won’t mind if I put some of my own money back into it, will you?”

“Oh, quit acting hurt! I’ve apologized to you for calling you a son of a bitch. What more do you want?”

Frank again said nothing, as though he were deaf, or else no words had been spoken. He walked to the door.

“All right. Act like a damned kid.”

“I
will
say just one thing,” he said as he took hold of the knob. “I think you ought to go up and see your mother.”

“Who?” Dave said, “oh, Mother. Yeah, I spose I ought to,” he said.

“You’ve been back home over six months now,” Frank said.

“Two of those months right here in town. Your mother asks me about you every time I see her. I know your mother would like to see you.”

“What’s all this ‘your mother,’ ‘your mother’?” Dave snarled. “She’s your mother, too.”

“I
know
she’s
my
mother,” Frank said. “But, do you?”

“All right, I’ll go up and see her. I’ll even take her a goddamned present. How do you like that?”

“I don’t like it or dislike it,” Frank said. “Your mother might like it.”

“All right, I’ll go see her.”

“Goodby,” Frank said coldly, and went out and shut the door.

After he was gone, Dave carried his glass to the corner window and watched him march back up the hill, a fresh cigar in his jaw, his back as stiff as a ramrod in that way he always walked, hat brim snapped down low over his ball-like Hirsh head, coat skirts blowing around his barrellike Hirsh body. He really
believed,
all those damn sanctimonious things he spouted. The truth was, he was a fool. And yet he was smart as hell in business and things like that. But it was all rule-of-thumb knowledge. He really knew no more about life than he did about flying a jet airplane. He was a walking mass of other humans’ ill-considered, un-thought-out opinions, which he had accepted. And he believed he was
right.
Dave watched him sadly, hating him still, and wishing now he’d punched him. He was already regretting that he had not accepted the six thousand. But he knew he wouldn’t do anything about it now, unless he was just forced to. As far as he was concerned, it could stay the way it was forever. Well, he would have to tell Old ’Bama what had happened. He took another drink from his glass that was not so much a drink as an expression of bitter feeling.

While up the street treading his way back to the square, Frank chewed on his cigar complacently. Underneath his complacency was an additional feeling of sad but implacable pride. He didn’t mind being called a son of a bitch. He probably had just as much of the son of a bitch in him as the next man. But
Dave
shouldn’t have called him that. Even if it was true. He’d been like a father to that boy all his life. Still, it had all turned out all right. It had been obvious from the start that no matter what he did, Dave was not going back to work at the stand like he’d hoped. So he’d given that up right away. But he couldn’t have sent Dave a check for six thousand if Dave had decided to take it. He didn’t have it now. Of course, he could have sold Dave his own interest, and put the money in on the bypass. But the taxi stand was a pretty good little investment and he didn’t want to let go of it, he thought. So it had all worked out fine. Damn! he’d sure had a lot of money in that wallet. Of course, it was probably all ones and fives. But it might be fifties and hundreds. If it was he sure wished there was some way he could have got him to invest it in on the bypass!

When Dave told ’Bama about the contest after the gambler got back to town, the tall man merely grinned. It was a good enough way to settle it as any. Dave would have the income off his share, and it ought to be worth more all the time.

For the rest of the week, it took Judge Deacon to find a suitable house for them, they spent their time loafing—that is, gambling—and hung out at Ciro’s and at Smitty’s Bar with Dewey and Hubie and the brassiere factory set. It was a very far cry from the high life they had lived up and down Miami Beach, although only Dave appeared to miss it; and everybody was very interested about the house they were going to get.

The house which the judge finally secured for them was not on Wernz Avenue, but just as close as he could get, without actually violating ’Bama’s instructions. It was located on West Lincoln, the first street south of Wernz, five blocks from the square in the west end, a big old-fashioned two-story clapboard house, with a wide front porch and a long backyard, and it was owned by Mr and Mrs Gene Alberson, the parents of Harold Alberson, who were retiring from Gene’s office job at the Sternutol and moving to St Petersburg, Florida, while Harold was taking a couple of rooms with friends of the family on the other side of town. The judge had leased it in his own name, and the Albersons did not know who was getting it.

Dewey and Hubie rode out with them and the judge the afternoon they went out to see it, making humorous remarks about setting up housekeeping.

“Hell, I never thought we’d be bosom buddies to a couple of faggots did you, Hubie?” Dewey said, lolling back in the backseat. “You guys shore learned a lot down there in Miami, hunh, Hubie?”

“It just goes to show you,” Hubie said, his elbow on the armrest. “You cain’t be shore of nobody no more, even your own friends. Hell, it’s lible to ruin our own reputations, you know it, Dewey?”

“You better scoot down in the seat, and not let anybody see you sittin up there, Hubie,” Dewey said.

“No wonder that Dave’s put on so much weight,” Hubie said, scooting himself down in the seat; “I think he’s pregnant.”

“No, I think it’s ’Bama who’s pregnant,” Dewey disagreed. “Look at his belly.” They looked at each other and then both reached for another can of beer from the box of them on the floor.

“I ain’t had nothin to do with faggots since I ran onto them Marines in New Britain, and they was just ama-toors,” Hubie called, “but if ever one of you guys decides to get a divorce, you let me know. I’m allus willin to learn. Is that it?” he said, as the car stopped.

“Why don’t you bums shut up?” ’Bama said, “or Ah’ll cut off yore beer. It looks all right to me, Judge,” he said.

“It better,” the judge said. “I’ve done already leased it. Now it ain’t furnished, you understand. Hand me one of them beers there, Dewey,” he said.

“Well, let’s go have a look,” ’Bama said.

Over the front door, which was set off to one side, was an old-fashioned transom of stained glass. “I like that window light,” ’Bama said as they approached it. Inside, the empty house echoed to their footsteps. “They left it cleaned up pretty good,” Dewey admitted. From the front door, the hallway with the stairs on the outside wall extended back and beyond it was a narrow kitchen. To the right of the hall was the living room separated from it by an open arch of varnished oak spool turnings, and behind it was another room and behind this still another, which opened into the kitchen and was evidently the dining room. Upstairs were four bedrooms and a large bath.

“Christ, we’re sure gonna have to buy a lot of furniture to furnish this place!” Dave said.

“Never you mind,” ’Bama said. “We’ll fix it. Now,” he said when they were back down in the hall, and pointed to the oak spool turnings. “Can we yank all that junk out of there, Judge?”

“I don’t know about that,” the judge said. “I’ll have to write the Albersons about that.”

“But we got the right to paper and repaint the insides, ain’t we?” ’Bama said.

“That was the agreement.”

“Okay. Now you two halfwits think you can paint and paper this place in the next week?” he asked Dewey.

“Well, I don’t know,” Dewey said. “We’re awful busy right now.”

“At least five houses waitin on us right now,” Hubie nodded.

“Hell with them,” ’Bama snarled. “Let them wait.”

“Will you furnish the beer?” Hubie said.

“All the beer you can drink”—’Bama held up one finger—“as long as it don’t ruin the paint job.”

“We’ll do it!” Hubie cried.

“You’ll have to pick out your paints and papers first, you know,” Dewey said.

“Do that this afternoon,” ’Bama said. “We’ll all go down to Merritt’s Paint Store.”

“Well, we trade at Wolff’s, me and Hubie,” Dewey said.

“Okay. Then we’ll go there.”

“We might be able to get it done in a week,” Dewey said.

“No mights!” ’Bama said. “Me and Dave’ll come out and help on the crude work that don’t take no master’s touch like you guys got.”

“Hell, anybody can hang paper,” Dewey said.

“Not me,” Dave protested. “I’ve never even tried it.”

“Hell, we’ll show you,” Dewey said.

They all stood in the hall and looked around at the place holding their beer cans. The fat judge ambled off toward the kitchen.

“Here’s a good writin room for Dave,” he called. They walked back to where he stood at the end of the hall, and looked at a small room that jutted out from under the stairs and back into a corner of the kitchen. “Even got a window there,” the judge said.

’Bama looked at Dave. “Sure,” Dave said. “Make me a hell of a fine writin room.”

“Good!” ’Bama said, and they all walked back down the hall. “Who’s gonna go out and get some more beer?” ’Bama said.

“Me!” Hubie said. “I volunteer!” He set down his empty and went to the door.

“You won’t want to do all them upstairs rooms and furnish them, will you?” Dewey said.

“Every room gets done,” ’Bama said. “Done and furnished. If there’s goin to be any parties around here, I want to be damn sure everybody has a room to take his woman to. There’ll be no damn sleepin with in the living room. We’re gonna be respectable around here.”

“Well, we might be able to get it done anyway.”

“Get it done!” Hubie cried, bursting in the door with the box of beer. “Hell, this won’t be no job! This is a vacation!”

“All right,” ’Bama said. “Now let’s drink up this beer and get down to Wolff’s and pick out that paper and stuff.”

In a week, it was done. Dewey was able to borrow a medium-sized Army surplus truck for the furniture. And Dave and ’Bama, dressed in old-fashioned bib-type overalls and railroaders’ caps, made run after run to Terre Haute to bring back the furniture, which ’Bama bought from a gambling buddy he knew from around the Terre Haute clubs. At ’Bama’s instance, they did all the upstairs rooms first, and as soon as the paint was dry, the two of them made the hauls to Terre Haute for the furniture that would go in the bedrooms.