Which had been getting pretty boring anyway.
'So,' I said.
'Why do you want to know what I'm doing with Julius Ventura?'
Marty was still looking at me, but his two pals had swung farther around in their seats and were looking at Hawk.
'The colored guy don't make no difference,' Marty said.
'The hell he doesn't,' I said.
'Still three to two,' Marty said.
'Yeah, but one of the two is me,' I said.
'And the other one's him.'
Marty wasn't scared of me, or of Hawk. Marty was much too predatory to be scared. But he was confused. He'd put a simple tail on a guy and ended up having the guy, so to speak, on his tail.
He was used to scaring people to death. He wasn't used to smart talk. His natural response to it would be violence. He was almost certainly doing what Gino Fish had told him to do, so he couldn't just kill me. He was supposed to find something out.
'You doing anything for Ventura got to do with Anthony Meeker?' Marty said.
The nerve near his eye was twitching faster. 'Who wants to know?' I said.
'Who the fuck you think? Who's asking you? Geraldo fucking Rivera?'
'Gino interested in this?'
Marty shrugged.
'Sure he is,' I said.
'And when he found out Ventura hired me, he wanted to know what I knew.'
'So?'
'So he told you to have me followed, and you did.'
'So?'
'So, why's he want to know?'
'None of your fucking business,' Marty said. It was starting to occur to him that I was finding out more than he was.
'And how'd he know so quick that Ventura hired us?' I said.
'That's it,' Marty said.
'Meeting's over.'
'He's got somebody in Julius's organization.'
'Get lost,' Marty said.
Marty put his thick hand on my chest and shoved. I was supposed to stagger backwards. But I didn't. I rolled a little away from the shove and Marty's hand slid off my chest and Marty actually staggered a half step forward. He caught himself on the bar and tried to look like he hadn't staggered.
'You okay?' I said solicitously.
The tic in his cheek was vibrating like high C. His hand started toward his coat.
Hawk said, 'Marty.'
Hawk never talked especially loud. But you could always hear him. He seemed to be in the same position leaning on the wall that he had assumed when he came in. Except the big-barreled.44 Mag that he always carried was now out and aiming at Marty Anaheim.
Everything stopped.
The bartender ducked down out of sight behind the bar.
The motorcycles kept zooming around the track.
Hawk nodded toward the door.
Nobody said anything for a moment. Then Marty jerked his head at the two gym rats and the three of them headed out. At the door Marty turned back, his cheek in full tic.
'Another day,' he said, his high voice shaking, 'you're both dead meat.'
Hawk grinned at him.
'Gotta watch them steroids, Marty. You be talking soprano pretty quick.'
Marty looked at Hawk with a look that would have scared us both if we weren't so fearless. Then he turned and went out the door followed by the gym rats. Hawk put the big Magnum away, and leaned over the bar.
'You got any Krug?' he said to the bartender, who was still crouched on the floor behind the bar.
'Maybe an eighty-six?'
