“Have we got any money?” Cal asked.
“We’ll get by,” she said. “Be sure and remind Charlie and Mel out at the Hideout that I’ll be by to check their books on Tuesday.”
“Right,” he said. He turned to us. “My wife, the IBM machine.”
“Somebody has to do the books,” she said placidly, still working on the gloves, “and after I watched this great financier add two and two and get five about nine times out of ten, I decided that it was going to be up to me to keep us out of bankruptcy court.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he made a face.
“I’m so glad to have met you, Dan,” she said, holding her hand out to me again. Her deep musical voice sent a shiver up my back. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”
“I’d hate to think we were driving you out of your own house,” I said sincerely.
“No, no. I have a meeting downtown, and then I’m running over to Yakima to visit an aunt. I’d just be in the way here anyway. You boys have fun.” She raised her voice again. “I’ll see you Monday evening, Calvin.”
He waved a brusque farewell and turned his attention back to the beer keg.
She looked at him for a moment, sighed, and went smoothly on back into the house. I suddenly wanted very much to go down to the patio and give Sloane a good solid shot to the mouth. A kiss on the cheek by way of good-bye wouldn’t have inconvenienced him all that much, and it would have spared her the humiliation of that public brush-off.
I went slowly down the three steps to the patio, staring out over the Narrows and the dark timber on the other side.
There was a sudden burst of spray from the keg and a solid “klunk” as Mike set the tap home. “There you go, men,” he said. “The beer-drinking lamp is lit.”
“Well, ahoy there, matey,” Jack said, putting it on a bit too much.
The first pitcher was foam, and Sloane dumped it in the fishpond. “Drink, you little bastards.” He giggled.
Somebody, Claudia probably, had set a trayful of beer mugs up on a permanently anchored picnic table under one of the trees. I got one of them and filled it at the keg and drifted over to the edge of the patio where the hill broke sharply away, running down to the tangled Scotch-broom and madrona thicket below.
I could hear the others horsing around back at the keg, but I ignored them for the moment, concentrating on the fading line of daylight along the top of the hills across the Narrows.
“Pretty, huh?”
It was Sloane. He stood with a mug of beer, looking out over the water. “I used to come up here when I was a kid and just look at it. Weren’t many houses or anything up here then.”
Somehow I couldn’t picture Sloane as a kid.
“I made up my mind then that someday I was gonna live up here,” he went on. “Took me a long time, but I made it.”
“Was it worth it?” I couldn’t resist asking him. I didn’t like him much right then.
“Every lousy, scratching, money-grubbing, fuckin’ minute of it,” he said with a strange intensity. “Sometimes I sit up here lookin’ out at it, and I just break out laughing at all the shit I had to crawl through to get here.”
“We all do funny things,” I said. Now he had me confused.
“I’d have never made it without Claudia,” he said. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
“She’s a real lady,” I said.
“She was hoppin’ tables in a beer bar when I met her,” he said. “She had it even then. I can meet guys and swing deals and all, but she’s the one who puts it all together and makes it go. She’s one in a million, Dan.”
“I can tell that,” I said. How the hell do you figure a guy like Sloane?
“Hey, you bastards,” Jack called to us, “this is a party, not a private little conflab. Come on back here.”
“Just showin’ off my scenery,” Cal said. The two of us went back to the keg.
Sloane went over and pawed around under one of the shrubs. “As soon as you guys get all squared away,” he said, “I’ve got a little goodie here for you.” He pulled out a half-gallon jug of clear liquid.
“Oh, shit!” Jack said. “Auburn tanglefoot. Goddamn Sloane and his pop-skull moonshine.”
“Guaranteed to have been aged at least two hours.” Sloane giggled.
“I thought the government men had busted up all those stills years ago,” Mike said.
“No way,” Jack said. “Auburn’d blow away if it wasn’t anchored down by all those pot stills.”
McKlearey got up and took the jug from Sloane. He opened it and sniffed suspiciously. “You sure this stuff is all right?”
“Pure, one-hundred-per-cent rotgut,” Sloane said.
“I mean, they don’t spike it with wood alcohol, do they?” There was a note of worry in Lou’s voice. “Sometimes they do that. Makes a guy go blind. His eyes fall out.”
“What’s the sense of poisoning your customers?” Sloane asked. “You ain’t gonna get much repeat business that way.”
“I’ve heard that they do it sometimes, is all,” McKlearey said. “They spike it with wood alcohol, or they use an old car radiator instead of that copper coil—then the booze gets tainted with all that gunk off the solder. Either way it makes a guy go blind. Fuckin’ eyes fall right out.”
“Bounce around on the floor like marbles, huh, Lou?” Jack said. “I can see it now. McKlearey’s eyes bouncin’ off across the patio with him chasin’ ’em.” He laughed harshly. He knew about Lou and Margaret, all right. There was no question about that now.
“I don’t think I want any,” McKlearey said, handing the jug back to Sloane.
“Old Lou’s worried about his baby-blue eyeballs,” Jack said, rubbing it in.
“I just don’t want any. OK, Alders?”
“Well, I’m gonna have some,” Mike said, reaching for the jug. “I cut my teeth on Auburn moonshine. My eyes might get a little loose now and then, but they sure as hell don’t fall out.” He rolled the jug back over his arm professionally and took a long belt.
“Now, there’s an old moonshine drinker,” Jack said. “Notice the way he handles that jug.”
We passed the jug around, and each of us tried to emulate Mike’s technique. Frankly, the stuff wasn’t much good—I’ve gotten a better taste siphoning gas. But we all smacked our lips appreciatively, said some silly-ass thing like “damn good whiskey,” and had a quick beer to flush out the taste.
McKlearey still refused to touch the stuff. He went back to his lawn chair, scowling.
“Hey, man,” Jack said, “I think my eyes are gettin’ loose.” He pressed his fingers to his eyelids.
“Fuck you, Alders,” Lou said.
“Yeah.” Jack said. “They’re definitely gettin’ loose—oops! There goes one now.” He squinted one eye shut and started pawing around on the flagstones. “Come back here, you little bastard!”
“Aw, go fuck yourself, Alders!” Lou snapped. “You’re so goddamn fuckin’ funny!”
