He says to me, Weldon, watch the place for me, and off he goes to home in the middle of the morning. S nuck into the house and sure enough there she was—riding the baloney pony with this old boy turned out to be a shipworker. Miller had him a ball bat and from what I hear he really laid it to the bastard. They say it’ll be a while before he gets out of traction and he’ll probably need a wheelchair when he does. Hard price to pay, but that’s the chance you take when you go thieving from another man’s quim, ain’t it? He can thank his lucky stars he ain’t dead. Miller coulda shot him and been within his legal rights except he ain’t a naturally mean sort. As for her, hell, he only punched her up some, knocked out a tooth. Mighta done worse except she took off running while he was still whaling on the shipworker and he had to chase her down the block. He’d only just started in on her when this neighbor runs over and tries to get him to stop. So Miller starts in on him. When the cops got there he had the fella down in the middle of the street and letting him have it with both fists and Eula screaming bloody murder. They said she wasn’t wearing nothing but this little T-shirt—what I wouldn’t’ve give to seen that! But like I say, they were lucky Miller only kicked their asses ruther than give them a load of buckshot. The neighbor’s the only reason he’s in jail. The judge figured he had good reason for what he did to Eula and the shipworker but said beating up on the neighbor was uncalled for. Gave him thirty days in the cooler and promised him sixty more if he didn’t behave while he was in there. I took him some smokes yesterday and he said, Well, buddy, four down and twenty-six to go. I’d say he’s keeping his spirits up real good.
The lean gray mustached man holds his coat draped over one arm and thanks him for his time and information and again apologizes for not having realized Miller was not Mr. Faulk’s last name, having been told only that a man named Miller owned this station and might be willing to sell it.
Well, Mr. Cheval, I expect he’ll be real glad to know your company’s interested in owning this place. I got a feeling he’s about had his fill of Houston anyhow. Said he was thinking about heading back to Loosiana.
He departs in an agitation and a rare inclination to profanity. Visiting Faulk in jail is out of the question. There is no choice but to wait until he is released. Twenty-five days to go. Twenty-five crawling days. Yet he well knows the unreliability of jail sentences and so, upon checking into a hotel near the Buffalo Bayou, he telephones an acquaintance on the Houston police force. The detective owes him a favor for his assistance some years ago in extraditing to Texas a fugitive apprehended in a Terrebonne Parish and wanted by three other states. The fugitive’s conviction in a Houston courtroom did much to elevate the detective’s career. Even so, the detective is not his friend—nor is any man—and does not seem pleased to hear from him until he understands the simplicity of the requital that will clear his debt, and he agrees to it. Every day thence the detective will telephone him at his hotel and—without ever asking to know why, or caring—will read to him a list of the names of all the men released that day from the Harris County Jail.
He will spend a portion of every day watching the ships come and go along the channel with no curiosity of where they have been or where they are bound. He will sometimes sip from a flask, sometimes puff his pipe. He will lie abed for portions of the day and stare at the ceiling. He will not turn on the radio at his bedside, never open a newspaper, enter no moviehouse. He will speak only to order from menus. One morning he will drive to Galveston and sit on a seawall bench and stare out at the Gulf the day long. One late night when he is walking the Houston streets he will be accosted by a large Negro wielding a lead pipe and demanding money. He will seize the thief’s pipe hand in the pincers and leave him maimed and moaning on his knees. And that night sleep better than in many nights previous.
Thus will he pass the days until Miller Faulk’s release.
Bubber Vicente was as blackassed as we were by the loss of Scroggins’ money and the truckload of moonshine.
“We wouldn’t’ve lost a nickel or a drop of hooch if we’d had better information,” Buck said, “but nobody told us the advance men were supposed to be in certain places when Wills showed up. That’s why the job went to hell.”
“Well, don’t look at me,” Bubber said from behind his desk. “Ain’t my fault you didn’t now it. I didn’t know it either, goddammit. And neither did the inside man or he’d’ve told me.”
“Well, an inside man worth his salt should’ve known it,” Buck said.
“Yeah, well, I can’t argue with you there,” Bubber said. He scratched his beard and looked both angry and sad.
“Whatever his cut’s supposed to be,” Buck said, “I’d reconsider it if I was you.”
“I been doing that very thing while we been sitting here discussing things,” Bubber said. “His cut’s come way down, I’ll tell you. And I don’t believe he’ll complain about it a whole lot, neither, not once he understands how his information wasn’t all it should’ve been.” He lit a cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “But don’t you boys go shining me on about the risk you run. Robbery’s supposed to be risky. Otherwise everybody’d be doing it.”
Buck looked away for a moment and then broke into a wide smile. Bubber laughed and shook his finger at him. He knew he had a point.
“It’s why I got out of you all’s end of the business,” he said. We knew he’d been an armed robber before he started fencing and then finally became a setup man. “The riskiness got to me. You never know how a job’ll go, and it ain’t in my nature to take a lot of chances. Then again, that’s exactly what some men like about the robber life.” He smiled around at the three of us. “Or so I been told.”
We all grinned back at him.
Buck had given Bubber his portion of the takes from Wink and Wills—$4, 375. The remaining money cut three ways would give each of us a little over $2, 700. Buck had put all our money in his valise. On the ride back from Wink I’d asked him and Russell what was to keep somebody from holding out on Bubber, how he could know for sure how much his men really got from a job.
“Well now, think about it, Sonny,” Russell said. “The inside man’s done told him what the job’ll bring and Bubber’s figured his cut of it. You can’t hand him any less than he’s expecting unless you and the inside man give him the same explanation for the difference. To get away with it, you’d have to know who the inside man is and be able to bring him into the cross. But even if you could do that, you’d be robbing Peter to pay Paul. Where’s the percentage?”
“What’s more,” Buck said, “you and Paul would have it on each other that you cheated Peter, and you’d both always be worried that the other might let it slip. No sir, any way you figure it, it’s bad business to cross a partner. You make a deal, kid, you’re best off sticking to it.”
“In other words,” I said, “just because it’s a world of thieves out there…”
“…don’t mean there ain’t no rules to it,” he said. “Smartass.”
Now Bubber pushed back in his chair and looked around at us. “You boys still on for Midland tomorrow? I can get somebody else for it if you ain’t.” Midland was only about twenty miles up the road and was where he’d set up our next job.
“Goddam right we are,” Buck said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Well, I mean, after a scrape like you all had last night, some guys might not be too eager to do another job right away.”
“Up yours, Bubber,” Buck said. “We been in closer scrapes than last night. We’re doing Midland.”
Bubber raised his palms defensively. “Okay, okay, good enough. Now how about we let our hair down some? Drinks are on me.”
We went out of the office and into the smoky speakeasy and settled at Bubber’s private table in the back
