you know.”
Walter finished his breakfast in silence. Everybody’s mood seemed a little off this morning. By the time he was done, people were starting to filter in for lunch. It’s February, Walter reminded himself. Billy’s will be jammed all day and all night. No wonder he’s pissed about the red snapper. There’s nothing worse for him, once he runs out, than to have to tell customers the snapper is not available. Billy-and now Helen-took great pride in how well the place was managed. Running out of an item, a specialty of the house no less, would make him look bad. The embarrassment would gnaw at him.
“That fish man better come back with the fish,” said Ike. “Billy’s so upset he might just kill the man.”
“Nah,” said Billy. “I’m pissed all right, I might push the sonofabitch around, but nobody goes and kills somebody because they’re
…”
“Embarrassed?” Helen gave him the word. She’d been doing that more and more lately and it seemed he liked it.
“Yeah, embarrassed-and that’s what I’d be. Money, that’s what people kill for, Ike. And love. Money and love.”
“You think so?” said Walter.
“You still here, Walter?” joked Ike. “Haven’t heard a peep out of you.”
“Still here, old man. Money and love. Is that it, Billy?”
“Believe it,” said Billy. “I know what Ike’s saying-got a point-but it’s the wrong one. Some people look like they’ll kill somebody because they’ve been shamed, you know. But that ain’t it. I knew a man once, his wife took up with a guy. Big mistake on her part. Her husband, this was no man to fuck around on… if you know what I mean.”
“Was that New Jersey, hon?” Helen asked.
Billy looked at her, stared at her steely-eyed, quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Yeah, New Jersey.”
Walter caught Ike’s eye as Billy spoke. New Jersey? He knew Ike was asking himself the same question. Was this more of Billy’s mysterious past, more than they had ever heard coming from his mouth? “Anyway, this guy-the one whose wife was playing him-his wife gets taken out.”
“Taken out?”
“Just listen, Helen,” said Billy, irritated. “She gets shot. Real messy. In the face, and down…” He looked down and motioned clumsily to his groin.
“She got shot there?”
“Helen!”
“Sorry.”
“Well,” continued Billy. “We all figured he did it, you know, the guy, the husband-and we figured he did it himself. The cops figured it the same way. Christ, every phone his wife talked on was wired. Should’ve known better. The cops knew everything.”
“He was plenty embarrassed, this guy?” Ike asked, then answered his own question. “Had to be.”
“Yeah, sure he was embarrassed. You would be too if you were… you know… a kind of boss and everything, and your wife was fucking some guy on the side and the cops had it all on tape. But he didn’t kill her. We had it all wrong. Cops too.”
“Who killed her?” Walter asked, by now on the edge of his seat.
“You kill her, Billy?”
“Fuck you, Ike! What are you, crazy? I didn’t kill her. I ain’t talking about me. You’re missing the point here.”
“Okay,” said Ike inhaling as much smoke as he possibly could in a single breath. “Okay. I got you now.”
Billy was leaning on the bar with both hands. Walter could see his jaw was tense, his teeth clenched. Whatever this was, it was hard for him. He wanted to reach out and help his friend, but he had no idea how. Helen too. Walter could see she felt the strain, wanted to do something, but what? She stood there, respectfully silent.
“The other guy did it,” said Billy. “The guy she was fucking.”
“No!” said Helen, eyes as wide as saucers.
“The reason he shot her up so badly was to make it look like the husband did it. You can see that.”
“Oh yeah, make it look like the angry husband,” Ike said. “I can see that.”
Billy took in a big breath of fresh air. He needed it. “See, people think you’ll do anything if you’re embarrassed enough. Even kill somebody. But that’s not what it’s about. It’s about the money. It’s always about the money.”
“Where’s the money here?” asked Helen.
“The husband kept a lot of cash in the house. The kind of business he was in made that a smart move. I’m telling you, a lot of money, probably a couple hundred thousand. So, the guy who’s fucking his wife finds out where the money is, where the husband stashed it in the house. He kills the wife-like I told you-and steals the money. And, to cover his tracks, he sets up the husband.”
“How did the husband get off the hook?” asked Walter.
“What makes you think the husband got away, Walter?” Helen asked.
“Oh, he did. No doubt about that, right, Billy?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Walter. The husband had some friends and when we… when these friends saw the cash this guy was laying out, not so broke anymore, going to Atlantic City and stuff, they sort of put two and two together. They sat him down and it didn’t take much. He confessed the whole thing. Once that little shit stepped up, told the cops everything, the husband, they let him go.”
“And the other guy, the one who did it, he went to jail?”
“No, Helen. He never went to jail. He didn’t make his trial. Something happened to him before his case got that far.”
“You mean, he…”
“That’s another story which we’re not interested in,” said Billy, the tone of his voice making it very clear he had reached the end of his tale.
Walter looked over at Ike. He motioned with his hands, a sort of unspoken question for the old man, like-what have you got?
“Not me,” said Ike. “Billy, you wear me out. I got nothing for that. You are most definitely in a class by yourself today. Unless Walter has something to say. Walter?”
“I’ll say only this, and then I’m getting the hell out of here, before the bushwhackers take over. I think we ought to vote on it.”
“Vote on it? Vote on what?”
“You said it, Billy. Love or money.”
Ike said, “That’s good. That’s very good, but I do believe we need to throw embarrassment in there with them. We do need three, do we agree?”
“Love, money and embarrassment,” said Billy scratching his recently clean-shaven chin. “Okay with me.”
“Write it up,” said Walter.
“Un huh,” echoed Ike.
“Can I do it?” Helen asked. Billy looked to his friends and seeing no resistance, he flipped the chalk to her. She grabbed it out of the air, with one hand and a big smile that said- I’m one of you! And she slid herself over to the rimless chalkboard next to the old cash register and wrote, in strong capital letters: LOVE/MONEY/EMBARRASSMENT.
Walter was already thinking about money.
When Tucker Poesy walked into Billy’s she looked very different from the last time. Of course, the last time she didn’t exactly walk in. She was carried in on a chair, a chair she was attached to in a most unfriendly manner. Billy’s wasn’t exactly open then-she was brought in at four in the morning. And Walter was not on the island. He was already gone, off to Washington, he thought, but really to New Mexico. Walter was here now and he heard her behind him. She was dressed for the climate. This was a woman who traveled well. She wore shorts, tight, white shorts showing off her dancer’s legs. A bare midriff was topped by a blue t-shirt with a picture of the Dixie Chicks on it. Underneath them was written, FUTK. Walter had no idea what that meant. She had no baggage-it must have
