When Old Men Die (16 page)

"It might not have been smart," I said.
 
"But it was a calculated risk.
 
He might have been able to buy me off.
 
As it is, he knows that he wasn't given a false lead.
 
I really am looking for Harry.
 
Now he has a choice.
 
He can keep on looking for Harry himself, or he can hang back and follow me, hoping I'll lead him where he wants to go."

"I wish I could help you," she said.
 
"I really do.
 
But I'm not sure I can."

"Just think.
 
If you can come up with a name, that's more than I've got now."

"I'll try," she said.

T
he Jeep wasn't the most elegant mode of transportation on the Island, but Cathy Macklin liked it.
 
She didn't even mind the way the wind messed up her hair.
 
She asked me to take her for a drive down Broadway, and we passed by some of the glories of Galveston's past:
 
the old Gresham mansion, better known now as the Bishop's Palace; the refined lines of Ashton Villa; and the statue of Winged Victory that was dedicated to the memory of Texas heroes.
 

We also passed by Sally West's house, and I casually mentioned that Sally was a friend of mine.
 
Cathy was impressed.

"I'd like to meet her someday," she said.

"I'll introduce you," I promised, hoping that meant I'd see Cathy again.

We drove back down the other side of the esplanade, which was planted in tall palms and oleanders.
 
The oleanders were green and thick, but there were no blooms this early in the year.
 
Cathy's dark hair whipped in the wind.

"That was fun," she said when I took her back to the Seawall Courts.
 
"I'm sorry I wasn't more help."

"That's all right," I said.
 
"Maybe we could do it again."

"Maybe."
 
She climbed out of the Jeep.
 
"Barbara thinks you're cute.
 
You could always ask her out if I'm busy."

I'd hardly spoken to Barbara when she arrived to take over the motel for Cathy.
 
Barbara was about Cathy's age, and she seemed quite nice.
 
But it wasn't Barbara I was interested in.
 
There was something about Cathy that had attracted me from the first, and I wanted to see her again.

I got out to walk her up the stairs.
 
"How do you know what Barbara thinks?"

"We have ways," she said.
 
"You don't have to walk me up.
 
I know the way."

I stood by the Jeep and watched her climb the stairs.
 
About halfway up she stopped and turned.

"There was one man," she said.
 
"I don't know if he's still alive."

"Who?" I asked.

"Lawrence Hobart.
 
Have you ever heard of him?"

"Yes," I said.
 
"I've heard of him."

I could have added to that, but I didn't.
 
What I'd heard wasn't good.

L
ike
Braddy
Macklin, Lawrence Hobart, better known in certain circles as Larry the Hammer, had worked for the uncles, starting before Macklin had come along.
 
Hobart's problem was that he couldn't resist the one thing that he should have known better than to indulge in: gambling.
 
Whenever he wasn't watching the uncles, he was playing the slots or shooting craps.
 
Not in Galveston, however.
 
He wasn't that dumb.
 
He went up the road to Dickinson, where he thought he could get away with it.

The uncles found out, of course, and they ordered him to stop.
 
Everywhere he went, he found that his credit was no good, and everyone was calling in his markers.

He got mad, he got drunk, and then he went after the uncles.
 
Macklin was on the payroll by then, and he was the one who stopped the Hammer one night in the Retreat.
 
The old-timers still talked about the resulting fight, which became almost legendary.
 
Within a few years, the entire population of the Island and a good part of the rest of the state was claiming to have seen it.
 
The people who claimed to have been in the Retreat that night would not only have filled the Retreat; they would have filled the Astrodome and Rice Stadium, too.

Dino and I hadn't been there, though once or twice over the years I'd told people that I had been.
 
The truth was that I would have been too young to get into the Retreat when the fight took place.

Hobart had been whipped, but not before tables had been wrecked, chairs smashed, and patrons walloped by accident.
 
A well-known state senator had gotten a black eye and a broken nose before he could get out of harm's way.
 
Or maybe it had been a Hollywood B-movie star.
 
Or a country singer who later had three number one records in a row.
 
Or all of the above.
 
It depended on who was telling the story.
 
Several people were supposed to have jumped from the windows into the Gulf to avoid getting battered in a similar fashion.

After that, Hobart never worked for the uncles again.
 
According to the stories, he stayed on the Island, getting a job as a bouncer in a small club not affiliated with Dino's family.
 
He might very well be still around, and it wasn't impossible that his old animosities had flared up.
 
I'd have to ask Dino what he knew about him.

But right now I had a few other things to do.
 
One was to see about retrieving a bullet or two from the old marine lab building.

After leaving the Seawall Courts, I drove to the eastern end of the Island and parked in the same place I'd used the previous evening.
 
The Mauser was wrapped in a towel under my seat.
 
I took it out and stuck it in the waistband of my pants.
 
This time, I wasn't going to take any chances.
 
The Mag-
Lite
was still working, so I took it along as well.

It was even darker than it had been on my last trip to the building.
 
I could hear the sea oats rippling in the breeze, and the lights in the condo windows stood out against the black sky.

I had the Mauser in my hand when I climbed the stairs, but this time there was no one in the building at all.
 
I turned on the light and checked the floors near the walls, looking for pieces of flattened lead.
 
I found one and pocketed it.

What I didn't find was shell casings.
 
If whoever shot at me had been using an automatic, he'd come back himself and picked them up.
 
I tried to remember how many shots had been fired and whether the shooter would have had time to reload a revolver.
 
I found I couldn't really recall.
 
Then I remembered that the pistol had been silenced.
 
Had to be an automatic.

I fingered the lead in my pocket.
 
It was most likely too flat to do even an expert at ballistics much good.
 
It would be next to impossible to check the lines and grooves.
 
But I kept it anyway.

I searched the building even more thoroughly than I had before, looking for any proof that Harry had been there.
 
I didn't find anything new.
 
It was time to move on.

I
t was much too early to try getting into the Retreat, so I thought I'd talk to Dino.
 
He was watching Larry King on CNN.
 
Larry's guest was an actor I'd never heard of and he was plugging a movie I had no plans to see.
 
Dino would never see it either, but that didn't keep him from watching the interview.

He wasn't much interested in Alex Minor, but he did turn the set off when I asked him about Lawrence Hobart.

"The Hammer?
 
I hadn't thought of him in years.
 
That was some fight he had with
Braddy
Macklin, though."
 
When he mentioned the fight, he caught on.
 
"You think he's mixed up in this?"

"Why not?
 
Everyone else is.
 
Do you know where he's living these days?"

"I don't even know if he's still alive.
 
You want some Big Red?"

"Why not?"

Dino went to the kitchen, and I sat on the floral couch.
 
When he came back in with the drinks, I asked if he could find out about Hobart.

"I've been thinking about that.
 
There are still a few people around who'd know.
 
I'll give 'em a call while you drink that stuff."
 

He handed me the glass and left the room.
 
I drank it all before he got back.

"What did you find out?" I asked, setting the glass on a coaster on the coffee table.

"I found out that Hobart's still around.
 
And he's been acting funny lately, too."

"Funny?
 
He's doing comedy now?"

"No, and I don't think you
oughta
try it either, if that's your idea of a joke."

"Sorry.
 
What's he been up to?"

"He's been talking to a lot of movers and shakers around town about the time when he worked for my uncles.
 
Seems he's really interested in what the feeling is about having gambling come back to the Island."

"A hot topic," I said.

"Yeah.
 
But he's against it."

That was interesting, but maybe Hobart had learned his lesson from the time he'd gotten in so much trouble with the uncles.
 

"Anyway," Dino went on, "Hobart can get into a lot of offices and homes because of his reputation.
 
People remember him, and they'll listen to him whether they pay any attention or not.
 
Macklin was working for the other side.
 
Maybe they tangled over that."

"Could be.
 
So where's Hobart living these days?"

"Same place he's lived for the last thirty years.
 
In one of those old houses on Avenue O."
 
He gave me the address.
 
"You
oughta
talk to him."

I wasn't eager to search the Retreat, and while I didn't think I'd enjoy talking to Hobart, he was a reasonable alternative.

"You want to come?" I asked as I got up from the couch.

"No thanks.
 
You're the one getting paid for doing the work."
 
He turned the TV back on.

I was almost out the door when the phone rang.
 
Dino muted the TV and answered it, and I waited while he talked.
 
I thought it might be some more information about Hobart, but I was wrong.

"That was Jody, from the bait shop," Dino said when he hung up.

"I thought the bait shop would be closed by now."

"It is.
 
He's not there.
 
He was calling from a pay phone at some place on Broadway."

"What did he want?"

"He says he saw Ro-Jo.
 
He thought you'd want to know."

"Where is he?"

"Jody didn't know where he was heading.
 
But he saw him walking along down by the cotton warehouses at the end of Broadway.
 
Jody says Ro-Jo looked nervous, kept glancing all around him like he was being followed or something."

"Maybe he was just checking to see if the cops were around.
 
Those warehouses might be a good place to get out of the weather.
 
Maybe Ro-Jo was going inside."

"It might be hard to get over those fences."

"That's what makes it a good place," I said.

"You think maybe Harry could be there?"

"He could be anywhere.
 
Or nowhere."

"What're you gonna do?"

I had a lot of choices.
 
I could go to the Retreat, I could pay Hobart a visit, or I could scout out the warehouses.
 
I didn't want to do any of those things, but at that moment going after Ro-Jo seemed to be the most likely way to get a lead on Harry's whereabouts.
 
Besides, Ro-Jo had lied to me.
 
I wanted to talk to him.

"I'm going to the warehouses," I said.
 
"You want to come?"