Solomon's Vineyard (7 page)

The man in the tan suit grinned at me. He had a gold tooth. “Damn
Greeks,” he said. “Loaf all time.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Say, you're Gus Papas, aren't you?”

“Tha's right.”

I held out my hand. “I'm Karl, in the City Clerk's office “

We shook hands. He pretended to know me. Maybe he actually thought he
did. Greeks are like that. They can believe anything they think they
ought to believe.

“Anything I can do for you, Karl?” he asked.

“Maybe I can do something for you.”

The smile went off his face. His lips sort of puffed out, like red
rubber tyres. He thought I was going to try to sell him something.

“You know Pug Banta? I asked.

His face changed again. He didn't look so soft. He nodded. “I think
he's going to try to break up your place.

“How do you know that?”

“Don't get me wrong. I don't know it. It's only something I overheard
at Tony's.”

The man in the white suit came into the washroom. He was a little
drunk. He went to one of the urinals.

“You come to my office,” Papas said.

I followed him. There was a desk littered with papers and two chairs.
A window looked out on the lake. “Sit down, please; now what you hear?”

“It wasn't much. Maybe I shouldn't bother you with it.”

“Do you think it's a bother to me, to hear how Pug wants to break up
my joint? Don't make me laugh.”

“Okay. I heard Pug talking to a Greek-looking fellow.”

“Nick,” Papas said. “He used to work for me.”

“I didn't know that,” I said. “Anyway, I heard Pug say: 'He's been in
my hair long enough.' And this Nick says: 'Why don't you drive him out?
He's yellow. Break up his joint and he won't stop running until he hits
Athens.' “

“Some kid, that Nick,” Papas said.

“And Pug says: 'By God! I'll do it. Tomorrow night. I'll make it look
like he started the trouble.' And then Nick says: 'If you need a good
fella to take Gus Papas's place, I'm him. I know how the place runs.' “

I looked at Papas to see how he was taking it. He looked scared and
mad. He muttered something in Greek. Then he asked: “Why you tell me
this?”

“Pug beat me up once.”

“He beat up too many people,” Gus said. He pushed a button. A waiter
stuck his head in the room. “Tell Prank I want him.”

I stood up. “Well, I'll be getting back to my girl.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Why you come out here? Why you get
into trouble?”

“I thought I'd like to see the fun.”

He nodded. “Hokay. There be plenty fun. How many men Pug bring?”

“I didn't hear any more.”

“Hokay. We fix'em.”

I went to the door, then stopped. “He'll invent some excuse to get
in. That's what he wants to do: get in and start the trouble.”

“He no get in.”

I went back to the bar. Ginger was waiting for me. “Where the hell
have you been?”

“I took a bath.”

“I want another drink.”

I looked on the bar. She'd drunk both the old-fashioneds. I ordered
four more. When the bartender brought them, I gave her one and kept
three. “That'll even us up.”

She drank hers and reached for one of mine.

“Not scared, are you?”

“A little.”

“He'll never come out here.”

“He would if he knew.”

“Let's eat,” I said.

A waiter had set up a table for us in a corner of the porch. There
was celery and olives and jellied soup in cups, and beside the table
stood a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

“I didn't order that.”

“Mr. Papas sent it,” the waiter said.

Ginger stared at me. “How come?”

“Gus is a friend of a friend of mine.”

She didn't believe me, but she didn't ask any questions. She didn't
talk much while we ate. She was thinking. I knew what about. She was
trying to figure out why I should want to make Pug Banta sore again.

“You're quiet.”

“I wish you had a chance of beating Pug. “Let's don't talk about
Pug.”

“I wish somebody could beat him.”

“I'll beat him for you.”

“You haven't a prayer. He'll knock you off. “Maybe he'll get it
first.”

“I wish,” Ginger said.

I poured champagne in the glasses. Then we had dinner. It was good.
We ate black bass and drank champagne. The small man in the white suit
was joined by some friends at the bar. There were two other men and a
woman. They had a round of drinks, and then they went to a table near
ours. They began dinner as we finished with coffee and frozen custard.
I wondered if Gus Papas was taking my story seriously. I told Ginger
I'd be back in a minute and went to the washroom. I went by way of the
front entrance. I saw the door was fastened with heavy chain. By a
window near the end of the room, standing under a moose head, was a guy
with a rifle. He was watching the road. I walked into the washroom,
rinsed off my hands, and went back to the table. The guy in the white
suit was in my chair. He'd been talking to Ginger. He got up, holding
to the back of the chair to balance himself. “I know you,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I saw you play for Notre Dame against Army. And later against
Southern Cal.”

I felt the warm glow of being recognized, and at the same time I knew
it was a bad idea. At that, the guy had a good memory. Fifteen years!

“You're wrong,” I said. “I never went to college.” He ignored me.
“Best tackle I ever saw,” he said to Ginger. “Come have a drink at our
table. I'll think of the name.”

“Smith,” I said. “And Mrs. Smith.”

“Best tackle ever lived. Can't think name. You have drink, Mrs.
Smith?”

Ginger looked at me. “We'll be glad to join you,” I said.

He giggled happily. “I knew you would.” He led us over to the other
table. “Meet Winnie and Jonesy and Peter Davison,” he said. The two men
stood up. They were both middle-aged. The woman was a little younger.
We sat down. “What have you been drinking?” asked the guy in the white
suit.

“Champagne,” I said.

That surprised him, but he was game. He ordered a bottle for us. Then
he told the waiter to start the radio. “Get dance music,” he said. He
leaned over Ginger. “How do you feel about dancin'?”

“I can take it or leave it.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” He giggled. “How about a dance with me?”

The music started. Ginger looked at me. “Why not?” I said. “He's
buying us champagne, isn't he?”

She didn't like it, but she danced with him. The one they called
Jonesy danced with the woman. That, left me with Davison. He hitched
his chair nearer to me.

“What line you in, Mr. Smith?”

I was going to tell him I sold machine-guns when I heard some cars
drive up. They come fast and skidded to a stop. “They're in a hurry,” I
said.

“Drunks, probably,” Davison said. “What line did you say, Mr. Smith?”

“Gunpowder.”

His eyes widened. I heard the sound of voices at the front door.
Somebody said: “Open up.” Davison said: “That's a rather odd line.”

There was an argument at the door. I recognized Gus Papas's voice. He
kept repeating: “The place is close. The place is close.” His voice was
high with excitement. “Like hell it is,” a deeper voice said.

“Do you handle dynamite, too?” Davison asked.

“Sure.”

Ginger forced the guy in the white suit to dance close to the table.
He tried to kiss her neck. I couldn't hear the voices any more. Ginger
looked at me angrily, but I shook my head. “Who's your friend?” I asked
Davison.

“Don't you know him? Caryle Waterman, of the Waterman Drop Forge?”

“A big shot, eh?”

“His family are worth a couple of million.” Gus Papas came into the
room. His face was green. He went behind the bar and turned off the
radio. He said: “There's some people outside want to speak to a girl
named Ginger.”

Ginger got pale, but she didn't say anything. She stood in Waterman's
arms. He was holding her like they were still dancing. “There isn't any
Ginger here,” Davison said. Gus Papas looked at Ginger. “Pug Banta says
there is.” Waterman took his arms from around Ginger. “Gus,” he said;
“you have known me for a long time. You will believe me when I tell you
this girl is named Mrs. Smith.” I said to Gus: “He wants an excuse to
get in.”

“Hokay,” Gus said. “I tell him to get the hell out of here.” He
started the radio again and went out. Ginger walked around Waterman and
came over to me. She was scared. “Sit down,” I said. “We've been
talking about explosives.”

“Very interesting business,” Davison said. Waterman hung over the
back of Ginger's chair. He wanted her to dance again. “Come on, dear,”
he said.

“You probably don't know, Mr. Waterman,” I said, “but they've found
nitro-glycerine to be very effective in putting out oilfield fires. Its
effect is like that of a giant blowing out a candle. However, it's very
dangerous to use.”

“Who gives a damn about oilfields?” Waterman said. I heard angry
voices by the door. I heard someone cursing. Then there was a sound of
pounding. Somebody swore again, and a shot was fired. There was a
moment of absolute silence; then a volley of shots and a crashing of
glass.

“My God!” Davison said.

Gus Papas ran on to the porch. “Get inside,” he yelled, waving his
arm at us. “They shoot you here.”

We hurried inside. Papas herded us into his office.

Waterman asked: “What's the matter, Gus?”

“Some people try break in.”

“By God, they can't do that. Have you got a gun, Gus?”

“You stay here. You no wanta get shot.”

“Sure I do,” Waterman said.

There was a new burst of shooting. Papas ran out of the room, closing
the door on the run. “If this isn't the damnedest thing!” Davison said.

The woman, Winnie, said: “I want to get out of here.”

“So do I,” Jonesy said. There was a silence.

Winnie's voice whined: “I never could stand guns.”

“It's quick,” Davison said. “Let's go now.”

“I wouldn't,” I said.

I tried the door while they thought this over. It wasn't locked.
“I'll take a look around,” I said.

Nobody said anything. Waterman sat on a table by Ginger. She watched
me, trying to figure out what it was all about. She slid off the table
and came over to me. “Why won't they let Pug in?” she whispered. “Gus
is afraid he isn't housebroken,” I said, going through the door.

She started to follow me. Waterman caught her arm. “Don't go, dear.
Stay with papa.”

She looked as though she'd like to bite him, but she stayed. I went
to the front room with the rugs and the heads of animals. Two men were
kneeling under windows with the glass shot out. One of them was the
bartender. Another man was lying on the floor by the fireplace. I
walked over to him. He'd been shot through the shoulder. His coat was
off and somebody had tied a towel over the wound.

One of the men by the window said: “You'd better duck, mister.”

I bent down. “Where are they?”

“Back of the cars, I guess,” the bartender said. “I can't see 'em.”,

“How many?”

“About ten.”

The other man took a snap shot at something. I fell flat on the
floor. There was a jerky series of shots outside and the rest of the
glass went out of the windows.

“Holy Christ!” the bartender said.

They gave us a burst with a machine-gun. Then a voice called: “Gus.
Gus Papas.”

Papas crawled into the room. He crawled with a pistol in his hand,
banging it on the floor each time he put the hand down. I moved so I
would be behind him if it went off. “Gus Papas,” the voice outside
called.

“What you want?”

“Either we come in, or we blast you.”

“Go ahead,” Gus said. “Blow 'im up.”

“Look, Gus,” said another voice. “We just want to take a look around.
We won't hurt you. Or your joint.”

“Why you shoot my windows out?”

“Because you shot at us.”

“Sure I shoot. Why you try to break my door down?”

“Let's let 'em have it,” said another voice. “You can't reason with a
Greek.”

“Come on, Gus. Use your head.”

“You go “way,” Gus said.

There was a shot out in back. The machine-gun let go in front,
bringing down an elk's head over the fireplace. It damned near scared
me to death. I had my revolver out before I realized what had happened.
There was a lot of shooting out in back. The parley had just been a
fake to give Pug's men time to close in on the place. There was another
burst in front. The man with the bartender by the windows yelped with
pain and dropped his rifle. A splinter of wood had torn a gash in his
cheek. He started to run across the, room towards Papas's office, but a
bullet brought him down. He thrashed around on the floor, bleeding from
his cheek. I started to crawl across the room. I wanted to get to the
office. I saw Ginger and Waterman standing by the door, and the other
behind them.

“Go back,” I shouted.

Waterman pushed Ginger back and started for the windows on hands and
knees. He went past me. “This isn't your fight,” I said.

There was shooting on all sides of the house. The bartender was
firing out his window. I could hear another tommy-gun in back.
Gunpowder smoke began to fill the room. Waterman kept on crawling.
“Don't be a damn fool,” I called after him.

Papas had gone I don't know where. Ginger and the others were
standing well back in his office. Waterman reached the windows and
picked up the rifle the wounded man had dropped. He stood up and began
to fire at the parked cars. A man came up right in front of him. He had
been hiding under the window. He poked a pistol at Waterman and let him
have the load. It was as though somebody had opened up Waterman's
stomach with an axe. He bent over and hit his head on the floor. Winnie
screamed. I braced myself against the floor with my left elbow and
brought the revolver to bear on the man and squeezed the trigger. There
was the explosion and the
whunk
of lead hitting bone. Part of
the man's face tore away and he slid out of sight. Waterman lay on the
floor, bent like a pretzel. There was heavy shooting out in back. I
crawled to the door of Papas's office. The two men were trying to quiet
Winnie.