what though.”
“You know’em?”
“Not really. Roman’s sweet to talk to. He’s nice. Holland’s kinda weird.”
“You know what kinda business they’re in?” I asked.
“Roman’s a gambler. I don’t know what Holland do.”
“They do anything together?”
She swallowed—twice—and then shook her head, no.
“You know I know where you live, Gracie,” I said.
“Then you should come by sometimes.”
“Can you tell me anything else about the Gasteaus?”
“I could ask around.” She got me with her eyes that time; almost, anyway.
But I pulled back. I hadn’t fallen that far yet.
I reached into my pocket for the money but before I came out with it I had a thought.
“You seen Bill Bartlett around anywhere lately, Grace?”
“Who?” she asked and I knew that anything else she told me would be a lie—or half of one.
“Bartlett. You heard me. The man tried to blackmail your boyfriend.”
“No. Like I said, Sallie’n his friends wouldn’t have nuthin’ to do with me after that thing wit’ you an’ Bertie.” She was looking at my pocket.
“You hear anything about’im?”
“You mean Bill Bartlett?”
“Yeah.” I let my hand rummage around in the pocket a little bit, to keep her attention.
“They said that he got a cook’s job someplace after you got him fired. I’ont know where though.”
I gave Grace two tens and she was gone from my table.
I WENT FROM THERE BACK up to the gambling rooms and dropped thirty dollars at blackjack. I asked the dealer if that was Roman’s game. He said that he’d never heard of any Gasteau. Sometimes a lie will tell you more than the truth. I took his lie and pondered it on the way downstairs.
A woman was crooning “I Cover the Waterfront.” Lips was seated at the window behind her.
His hands were on his thighs; his eyes were on the moon.
“Hey, Lips.”
“Easy.” His long-drawn-out voice was the human counterpart of his horn.
“How you doin’, man?” I’d known Lips since I was a boy in Houston.
“Oh,” he mused, “gettin’ kinda slow, man. Gettin’ kinda slow.”
“You sure sound good.”
“I did?” The orange in his brown skin was fading. His long hair had been so processed over the years that it wouldn’t lay down or stand up.
He sighed. “Used t’be I liked t’play, Easy. Get high, get me a girl for the night. But that’s all over now. My mouth ain’t right no mo’ but even if it was there ain’t nuthin’ new t’play. All people wanna hear is songs an’ they ain’t no jazz voice out there. They all wanna shout. They all wanna boogie-woogie. Shit.”
I felt for him but I had my own problems that night.
“What can you tell me about the Gasteau brothers?”
“That they dead. That Roman was all right. Yeah, he was okay. But you know Holland was a crusher, man. He always want the light on him. One night he even tried to get up here with me.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Got out his guitar an’ come up to play next to me. Shit. I had to sit down an’ wait till Rupert come.”
“Could he play?”
“Maybe, if he turn the motherfucker over an’ beat it wit’ a stick.”
I laughed so hard that tears sprouted from my eyes.
I waved at Hannah and pointed at Lips. She went to get his drink.
“Anything else about ’em?”
“Roman rode a big white horse into town.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. He was talk’ ’bout a herd.”
