Scudder - Eight Million Ways To Die Part 6

'I still am.'

'See? I keep tabs on you even when I don't see you. Chance. Let me think. What's today, Thursday?'

'Right. Well, Friday morning.'

'Don't get technical. What do you want with him, if you don't mind the question?'

'I want to talk to him.'

'I don't know where he is now but I might know where he'll be eighteen or twenty hours from now. Let me make a call. If that girl shows up, order me another drink, will you? And whatever you're having.'

I managed to catch the waitress's eye and told her to bring Danny Boy another gla.s.s of vodka. She said, 'Right. And another c.o.ke for you?'

I'd been getting little drink urges off and on ever since I sat down and now I got a strong one. My gorge rose at the thought of another c.o.ke. I told her to make it ginger ale this time. Danny Boy was still on the phone when she brought the drinks. She put the ginger ale in front of me and the vodka on his side of the table. I sat there and tried not to look at it and my eyes couldn't find anywhere else to go. I wished he would get back to the table and drink the d.a.m.n thing.

I breathed in and breathed out and sipped my ginger ale and kept my hands off his vodka and eventually he came back to the table. 'I was right,' he said. 'He'll be at the Garden tomorrow night.'

'Are the Knicks back? I thought they were still on the road.'

'Not the main arena. Matter of fact I think there's some rock concert. Chance'll be at the Felt Forum for the Friday night fights.'

'He always goes?'

'Not always, but there's a welterweight named Kid Bas...o...b..at the top of the prelim card and Chance has an interest in the young man.'

'He owns a piece of him?'

'Could be, or maybe it's just an intellectual interest. What are you smiling at?'

'The idea of a pimp with an intellectual interest in a welter-weight.'

'You never met Chance.'

'No.'

'He's not the usual run.'

'That's the impression I'm getting.'

'Point is, Kid Bas...o...b..s definitely fighting, which doesn't mean Chance'll definitely be there, but I'd call it odds on. You want to talk to him, you can do it for the price of a ticket.'

'How will I know him?'

'You never met him? No, you just said you didn't. You wouldn't recognize him if you saw him?'

'Not in a fight crowd. Not when half the house is pimps and players.'

He thought about it. 'This conversation you're going to have with Chance,' he said. 'Is it going to upset him a lot?'

'I hope not.'

'What I'm getting at, is he likely to have a powerful resentment against whoever points him out?'

'I don't see why he should.'

'Then what it's going to cost you, Matt, is the price of not one but two tickets. Be grateful it's an off-night at the Forum and not a t.i.tle bout at the Main Garden. Ringside shouldn't be more than ten or twelve dollars, say fifteen at the outside. Thirty dollars at the most for our tickets.'

'You're coming with me?'

'Why not? Thirty dollars for tickets and fifty for my time. I trust your budget can carry the weight?'

'It can if it has to.'

'I'm sorry I have to ask you for money. If it were a track meet I wouldn't charge you a cent. But I've never cared for boxing. If it's any consolation, I'd want at least a hundred dollars to attend a hockey game.'

'I guess that's something. You want to meet me there?'

'Out in front. At nine - that should give us plenty of leeway. How does that sound?'

'Fine.'

'I'll see if I can't wear something distinctive,' he said, 'so that you'll have no trouble recognizing me.'

FOUR.

He wasn't hard to recognize. His suit was a dove gray flannel and with it he wore a bright red vest over a black knit tie and another white dress s.h.i.+rt. He had sungla.s.ses on, dark lenses in metal frames. Danny Boy contrived to sleep when the sun was out - neither his eyes nor his skin could take it - and wore dark gla.s.ses even at night unless he was in a dimly lit place like Poogan's or the Top Knot. Years ago he'd told me that he wished the world had a dimmer switch and you could just turn the whole thing down a notch or two. I remember thinking at the time that that was what whiskey did. It dimmed the lights and lowered the volume and rounded the corners.

I admired his outfit. He said, 'You like the vest? I haven't worn it in ages. I wanted to be visible.'

I already had our tickets. The ringside price was $15. I'd bought a pair of $4.50 seats that would have put us closer to G.o.d than to the ring. They got us through the gate, and I showed them to an usher down front and slipped a folded bill into his hand. He put us in a pair of seats in the third row.

'Now I might have to move you gentlemen,' he said, 'but probably not, and I guarantee you ringside.'

After he'd moved off Danny Boy said, 'There's always a way, isn't there? What did you give him?'

'Five dollars.'

'So the seats set you back fourteen dollars instead of thirty. What do you figure he makes in a night?'

'Not much on a night like this. When the Knicks or Rangers play he might make five times his salary in tips. Of course he might have to pay somebody off.'

'Everybody's got an angle,' he said.

'It looks that way.'

'I mean everybody. Even me.'