quip about splitting the dough. It was as if I'd stuck a hand inside myself, trying to find out what was there. But it was just the same awful mess and I said nothing.
There was a tremendous commotion outside about then. Footsteps, pounding, lots of voices. My first thought was that the ball had rolled down the tunnel and they were playing the game right there. Someone began hammering on the door so that it seemed ready to jump out of the frame. But that happened only after Bert had looked me square in the eye, blinked, and swallowed so his large Adam's apple wobbled in his long throat where the hair grew coarse and unshaven. His face was utterly empty of guile.
He asked me, 'What money?'
XVIII
'Okay, pissface, open up.' I recognized Pigeyes's voice. 'Come on, Malloy. Give it up. Come on,' he kept saying. He'd had me again. The guy gets a surveillance van to watch me gambol down the avenues and I don't wonder. I was a dangerous fool. I had been followed.
Bert started to speak and I lifted a finger in warning. When I mouthed the word 'Police', Bert circled his jaw and did a brief swoon.
Pigeyes was still pounding, while I waited. The tail could not have been that good because I'd have heard somebody behind me in the gangway. So they were guessing. It was a good guess, but there was always the chance they'd go away.
I found my datebook in my pocket and wrote Bert a note: 'If I can get rid of these guys, grab your pal as soon as the game is over and scram.' We both started hopping around, trying to figure out where he should hide, while Pigeyes went on walloping the door and calling me names. Finally we noticed the shower and I helped Bert chimney up so that his back was braced against one tile wall and his feet were parallel. I drew the blue curtain slowly; none of the rusty hooks gave even the slightest tinkle. It looked okay.
By now somebody was working on the door hinges. I heard the tapping of a hammer and a screwdriver. 'Who is it?' I called sweetly.
'It's Wilt Chamberlain. Open up so we can play one on one.'
Pigeyes was dressed the same as yesterday. With him, he had his reptile-skin sidekick, Dewey, who was holding the screwdriver and hammer, and the two security guys I'd seen at the top of the runway up to the court, who were along for the ride.
' KoZ-fucking-Zd,' Gino said. He pointed a finger at me and said, 'Back.' He was awfully pleased. He'd got the drop on me twice now, counting U Inn. You'd never take this out of Pigeyes. He loved hunting some scumbag down, the whole pure adventure. Plenty of squirts come on the Force like that, adventure their watchword, it's all in their head, car chases, street scenes, kicking doors in, girls in the cop bars who can't wait to see them get hard. But the biggest adventure most of the time turns out to be department politics, seeing who gets back-stabbed in the latest downtown deal. Oh, plenty of excitement in the abstract. Every day you go to work and know in some fraction of your heart you might not come home. But usually, everyone does. Instead, there are hours of paperwork; there are nights of lame jokes and burning your tongue on bad coffee; the same old same-old on the street. Lots of folks, and I'm one, they get their fill and move on, knowing that life's life and can only be so much of an adventure. The guys who want adventure and stay — Pigeyes — they're the ones who seem to go wrong. Being a smartass, a wise guy, a rogue on your own — that's an adventure too. That's how they figure. That's one of the reasons he is like he is.
The two security types followed Pigeyes in, both of them looking around, deeply chagrined. As Bert said, no one was supposed to be in here. Dewey stayed at the door. I talked to the security men, one white guy, one black, with matching potbellies, and the same vermilion sport jackets with the university crest on the breast pocket, both with polyester trousers and cheap shoes. This was too good a gig, getting paid to watch basketball games, for me even to have to guess what these fellas did for a day job. Coppers off duty, or my ma wasn't named Bess.
'You didn't let him get away with that old thing that he was looking for someone, did you?' I asked. 'I've seen him badge his way into Sinatra. He'll say anything to get in for free.'
Pigeyes cast me a dirty look as he wandered around. He flipped the doors on the three banged-up lockers against the far wall, not really expecting to see anything inside.
'What gives, Malloy?'
'I'm hiding.'
'Funny place.'
I told him about representing the U, getting the tour, learning about all the out-of-the-way places in here. 'Billy Birken from Alumni Relations took me around.' The name, I could tell, bought me a little something with Security.
Sensing this, Pigeyes said, 'He's full of shit' and, as if to prove it, pointed one of his thick fingers at me. 'Who you hiding from?'
I went to the door and grabbed the doorknob, which was so old and so often handled that the brass had worn off. I leaned past Dewey, who laid a hand lightly on my chest as I scouted the hall. Both the gangway and the tunnel runway up to the court were clear. I looked back at Pigeyes.
'You,' I said and with that gave Dewey a little shove so he wouldn't be hit as I slammed the door between me and them and took off. I turned back once to make sure they were all right behind me.
I got a hell of a lot farther than you would think. Four hardass cops shagging my fanny, but all of them heavier smokers than me, and they were lagging after the first twenty feet. Mack the Moose with one bum wheel made a hairpin when I got courtside and bolted up the aisle beside the first-tier seats, taking the stairs three at a time. As I came up from beneath, the smell and color of the enormous crowd in all its great clamoring power seemed startling, like falling into the hot breath of some beast. Pigeyes was shouting prosaic things like 'Stop him!' but nobody seemed inclined. People watched us — those who didn't crane around so they could keep up with the game — with the same amused curiosity they'd take in a parade. It was nothing to them, part of the spectacle. Though it slowed me down, I could not keep myself from laughing, especially with the thought of Bert sneaking out of the room. One guy in a Milwaukee sweatshirt yelled, 'Sit down, you clowns.'
When I reached the mezzanine level, my knee hurt like a bastard from my gallivanting, but I was holding my lead. Huffing and puffing, I went down the exit passageway, ran past a big refreshment stand, with its Coca-Cola sign clock and long stainless-steel counter, and took a quick right up the old concrete stairs for the upper tiers. I could hear their voices ringing up the stairwell behind me. On the top level, I popped into the men's room and hustled into one of the stalls and waited. In about five minutes the game would be over and I'd have a chance to get out with the crowd. But that meant entertaining Pigeyes at my house. Besides, if they lost me completely, they might go back to the changing room, near which Bert would be lingering, waiting for Orleans. So I hid out another minute or two, then adjusted my sport jacket and found a seat in the second balcony.
There were about forty seconds left on the big game clock when Pigeyes sat down beside me. The Hands were losing now by eighteen and were taking bad shots for treys, with the Meisters picking up the long rebounds. Gino was winded. His forehead was bright with sweat.
'You're fucking,' he said, 'under arrest.'
'For what? There a law against running in a public place?'
'Resisting.'
'Resisting? I'm sitting here talking to you almost like we were friends.' Dewey came up then. He put his hands on his knees for a minute to catch his breath, then he sat down in the seat on the other side of me. The place was emptying, but there were enough people left to keep me safe. ‘I wanted to see the end of the game.'
Pigeyes told me to fuck myself.
'Did you tell me I was under arrest, Gino? Did you have a warrant?'
Pigeyes looked at me levelly. 'Yes,' he said.
'Fine,' I said. 'Show me the warrant. Hey, miss,' I called to a fat college girl two seats down, and reached for
