'I'll bet.'
'You just remember to use your head. The people in this business aren't brain surgeons, but they're not stupid either. They know the angles, and they got big culones, you know what I mean? Hell, if you got half the brains your old man does you'll do fine.'
Frank put a hand on Paulie's fleshy shoulder. 'I won't forget this.'
'Salud, Frank.'
As he raised the glass to his lips, Frank felt himself smile. 'Salud.'
Gus pulled up in front of the apartment building in his GMC Jimmy and laid on the horn. He was a few minutes late, which was expected. Dressed in a dark double-breasted suit, Frank hopped into the Jimmy with briefcase in hand. 'Sorry I'm late,' Gus said. 'It took me twenty minutes to convince my father he had to spend the night at my cousin Martin's house and another ten to cart his ass over there.'
'No problem. Thanks for driving, man.'
Frank glanced at his friend without trying to be too obvious. He'd hoped Gus might surprise him and actually look presentable, but it was not to be. He was dressed in a cheap brown suit, black rubber-soled Oxfords, a severely wrinkled shirt and a thick-knot blue tie. His wristwatch was inexpensive, the rings on his fingers fake, and his glasses scratched and old. Frank spent a few seconds trying to decide if the coffee stains on the front of Gus's shirt were worse than the assortment decorating his clip-on tie, then remembered what Sandy had said and shifted his eyes to the wig. It looked as if it had never been washed. Frank wondered how the man had succeeded in sales, but despite his glaring flaws, he had. In fact, Gus was the best salesman Frank had ever known, and he'd known plenty. Why he never had money was something of a mystery.
'Hey,' Gus smiled, 'I've got the newer vehicle, why shouldn't I drive?'
'I appreciate it.'
'You're picking up the room, right?'
'Yeah, I'll cover the hotel.'
'That a new suit?'
'Relatively.'
Gus nodded. 'Mine too. I just picked it up. Ran me like six hundred, but what the fuck, a guy's got to look good, right?'
Of course the suit was several years old and could not have cost more than fifty dollars, but most of what Gus said was untrue. The depth, or number of lies he told on any given day was often beyond his control, and even though he seemed to understand that no one believed the majority of things he said, it didn't discourage him in the least.
Lying was only one of many peculiarities Frank tolerated, though he wasn't sure why. He'd never been an abundantly patient person, but when it came to Gus, his patience was virtually limitless.
After a lengthy and awkward silence, Gus said, 'I appreciate you bringing me in on this.'
Frank was reminded of the nights they'd worked together at the store. All those hours on break, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, talking and dreaming, trying to figure a way out. If nothing else, Gus had been a loyal friend for six years, and in Frank's mind, that not only had to count for something, it cancelled out some of his more flagrant imperfections. 'Just be sure you keep quiet if things don't pan out,' Frank told him. 'The last thing we need is to catch shit at work.'
'Fuck them,' Gus moaned. 'I've spent most of my life standing around one sales floor or another. I get home from work now and my feet and ankles hurt so bad I end up soaking them in hot water and salt. That's why I got the back problems I have, all that time on my feet, Frank, it's just not good. And there's the old football injuries,' he added quickly. 'Between the two it's a miracle I can walk at all. If it weren't for my martial arts training I'd be screwed. I don't care how banged up I get, I'll be kicking ass until they drop me in the ground.'
Having witnessed Gus struggle through a job better suited to someone in their twenties was one of the largest factors motivating Frank's desire to escape the retail field. In truth, when Frank looked at Gus Lemieux, he saw everything he didn't want to be in another ten or fifteen years.
Gus lit a cigarette. 'I ever tell you about the time those five punks hassled me at the mall?'
'I dunno.' Frank settled into his seat and prepared for the first of many stories he'd be forced to endure over the next hour.
'The bastards jumped me in the parking lot over by Sears, tried to roll me. I took my wallet out, tossed it on the hood of my car and told them if they could get to it they could keep the motherfucker. They figure it's five against one, right? The easiest fucking money they've scored all month, they're thinking. Jesus, did I hand out an ass kicking that night.'
Frank watched the mile markers on the highway pass and fought off pangs of guilt. He hated arguing with Sandy, and whenever they left each other without resolving one of their spats, it bothered him until they did. He smiled at Gus as if listening, and wondered about all the possibilities the meeting with Charlie Rain might yield.
Some time later, he awoke to the same sound he'd fallen asleep to: Gus. 'Never liked Providence,' he was saying, glancing about as he drove through downtown. 'Some nice titty bars, though, got to give them that.'
Frank rubbed his eyes, checked his watch: Nearly eight o'clock. 'I must have fallen asleep.'
'You been out cold since we left.'
He saw the hotel where their meeting was scheduled perched ominously at the end of the block, and the civic center not far from it. 'Sorry.'
'No problem. I like talking to myself. Cuts down on the arguments.'
They parked in the underground garage, checked into their room and went directly to the lobby to wait for Charlie Rain.
It was not a long wait.
A man of average height, a few pounds overweight, with a shock of hair so red it was practically orange strutted into the lobby with an arrogant grin, a pasty complexion and a leather briefcase. He was dressed in cream-colored slacks, a rather loud shirt, and wore a gaudy diamond stud in the lobe of his right ear.
'Jesus,' Gus mumbled, 'I hope that ain't him.'
The man saw them and offered a wide smile, extending his hand while still several feet away. 'Frank? Frank Ponte?'
Frank shook his hand. 'Mr. Rain?'
'Charlie,' he insisted, glancing awkwardly at Gus.
'This is my associate, Gus Lemieux.'
Charlie looked Gus up and down. 'Gus, huh? Is that a nickname or short for something?'
'Augustus,' he said, nervously clearing his throat. 'It's short for Augustus.'
'No shit?' Charlie laughed openly. 'Poor bastard, what the hell were your parents thinking about? C'mon, let's get a drink so we can all relax and get to know each other better.'
Before anyone could get another word in, Charlie was off across the lobby with a bounce in his step, mouth going a mile a minute as if they were still by his side.
The bar was small and dark, and Charlie requested a booth in the back. As they made their way through a sea of tables every head turned to notice him, and he thoroughly enjoyed the attention his natural presence seemed to generate. It was like watching a tornado touch down in a library.
A black waiter in a white jacket appeared at the booth to take their order. Once he'd gone, Charlie sat back a bit and lit a non-filtered cigarette. 'You guys mind if I smoke?' Frank and Gus both lit up. 'Beautiful. Okay, we've all got busy lives so let's get down to it. Here's the dirt on Charlie Rain: You're sitting there thinking I look sort of familiar, right? Well, am I right?'
'A bit,' Frank lied.
'I played Chad on Apple Lane.'
'No shit? That was you?'
Charlie smiled proudly. 'The one and only, brother. It was probably a bit before your time, Frank, but they still show it in reruns on cable now and then. How about you, Augustus? You look older than I am. You must remember
