Toy and Berryman told old Texas stories back and forth, and listened to less-polished but promising Boston tales.
Oona, the taller, prettier girl, was telling how she sometimes walked Massachusetts Avenue in Boston, pretending she was a paraplegic. ?Like all these business types from the Pru,? she said, ?they get too embarrassed to ogle. I can be by myself if I want to.?
Thomas Berryman stared at her boozily with great red eyes. ?That?s a very funny bit,? he smiled slightly. Then he was tilting his head back and forth with the pendulum of a Miller beer clock.
It was ten o?clock. Miller?s was still the champagne of bottled beers. Bette Midler was singing boogie on the jukebox.
A handsome blond man was talking to Oona from a stool at the bar. ?You know who you remind me of,? he smiled brightly, ?you remind me of Lauren Hutton.?
?Excuse me,? the tall girl smiled back innocently, ?but you?ve obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit.?
This time Berryman laughed out loud. All of them did.
Then Berryman spoke quietly to Ben Toy. ?Don?t you think he?s been waiting long enough now??
Toy licked beer foam off his upper lip. ?No,? he said. ?Hell no.?
?You?re sure about that, Ben? Got it buttoned up for me? ??
?The man?s just getting uncomfortable about now. Taking an occasional deep breath. Getting real p.o.?d at me. I want him good and squirmy when I go talk to him ? Besides though, I don?t need this paranoia shit.?
Berryman grinned at him. ?Just checking,? he said. ?So long as you deliver, you do it any way you want to.?
At 10:30, forty-five minutes after the arranged time, Ben Toy got up and slowly walked up to A. J. Fogarty?s front window.
He was later to remember watching Wynn through the Calligraphia window lettering. Wynn in an expensive blue suit with gray pinstripes. Wynn in brown Florsheim tie shoes and a matching brown belt. Southern macho, Toy thought.
For his part, Ben Toy was wearing a blue muslin shirt with a red butterfly design on the back. With pearl snaps. He was a big, blue-eyed man; Berryman?s back-up; Berryman?s old friend from Texas; a Texas rake.
Among boys in Amarillo, Ben Toy had once been known as ?the funniest man in America.?
He smiled now as Wynn started to read the
again. The money was apparently in his left side jacket pocket. He kept rubbing his elbow up against it.
Harley John Wynn couldn?t have helped noticing Toy as he left Fogarty?s bar. Toy looked like a drunken lord: he had long blond hair, and an untroubled face.
He walked slowly behind a college boy in a mauve Boston College sweatshirt. He waded through various kinds of Volkswagens on the street; then he calmly sat down on Harley Wynn?s bench.
In his own right, southern lawyer Harley Wynn was a cool, collected, and moderately successful young man. He knew himself to be clearheaded and analytical. He identified with men like Bernie Cornfeld and Robert Yablans?the brash, bootleg quarterback types in the business world. Now he was making a big play of his own.
Wynn?s generally
appearance didn?t fool Ben Toy, however. The southern man?s hands had given him away. They were sweaty, and had taken newspaper print up off the
Telltale smudges were on his forehead and right on the tip of his nose.
?I was just thinking about all of this,? Wynn gestured around the street and environs. ?The fact that you?re nearly an hour late. The faggots ? You?re trying very hard to put me at a disadvantage.? The southerner smiled boyishly. He held out an athletic-looking hand. ?I approve of that,? he said.
Ben Toy ignored the outstretched hand. He grunted indifferently and looked down at his boottips.
Harley Wynn laughed at the way nervous men try to condescend.
Toy still said nothing.
?All right then,? Wynn?s southern twang stiffened. ?? Horn?s a fairly intelligent nigger ? Very intelligent, matter of fact.?
Toy looked up and established eye contact with the man.
?Horn has affronted sensibilities in the South, however. That?s neither here nor there. My interest in the matter, your interest, is purely monetary.? He looked for some nod of agreement from Ben Toy.
?I don?t have anything to say to that,? Toy finally spoke. He lighted a cigarette, spread his long, bluejeaned legs, sat back on the bench and watched traffic.
The young lawyer began to force smiles. He was capable of getting quick acceptance and he was overly used to it. He glanced to where Toy was looking, expecting someone else to join them.
?You?ll be provided with detailed information on Horn,? he said. ?Daily routines and schedules if you like ?? The lawyer spewed out information like a computer.
?All right, stop it now.? Toy finally swung around and looked at Wynn again. His teeth were clenched tight.
He jabbed the man in the stomach with his fist. ?I could kill you, man,? he said. ?Stop fucking around with me.?
The lawyer was pale, perspiring at the hairline. He wasn?t comprehending.
