Double Play

35.

It was nearly midnight when Burke walked down Forty-sixth Street and into a bar called Freddy’s on Eighth Avenue. It was not very busy. A Negro with a touch like Teddy Wilson was playing piano. Paglia was sitting in a big round booth near the front with Cash. There were three bottles of red wine open on the table, in front of him, and three glasses. Paglia was drinking from one of the glasses. Burke sat down in the booth.

“Trying some new wines,” Paglia said. “Want some?”

Burke shook his head. He nodded at Cash, who nodded back.

“Want something else?” Paglia said.

“I’ll take Vat 69,” Burke said. “On the rocks.”

Paglia glanced at the bar and a waiter hurried over.

“Give him Vat 69 on the rocks,” Paglia said. “Make it a double.”

The waiter hurried off.

“You been talking with Wendell Jackson,” Paglia said.

Burke shrugged. The waiter appeared, put Burke’s scotch on the table and hurried away.

“This your place?” Burke said.

“Yeah. I got a lotta places.”

Burke nodded and sipped his scotch.

“I been talking with Wendell, too,” Paglia said.

“Everybody’s talking,” Burke said aimlessly.

“I do a lot of business in Harlem,” Paglia said.

Burke held his glass up, and looked at the light through the scotch, and took another swallow.

“Me and Wendell get along.”

“Good,” Burke said.

“Need to get along with Wendell if you do business in Harlem.”

“I heard that,” Burke said.

Paglia poured some wine and drank it and poured some more.

“I like Harlem,” Paglia said. “You can buy stuff cheap and charge high. The jigs got noplace else to go.”

The Negro who played like Teddy Wilson was doing variations on “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.”

Burke listened to the music while he waited.

“Wendell wants a favor from me,” Paglia said.

He drank some more wine.

“He wants me to give Robinson a break.”

“Stick together, don’t they,” Burke said.

“Jigaboos? Yeah, I guess they gotta. Anyway, we had a good chat, Wendell’s one of the smart ones, and I said I’d talk to you, see what we could work out.”

“White of you,” Burke said.

Cash smiled. Paglia paid no attention.

“So what do you want?” Paglia said.

“Lay off,” Burke said.

“Lay off what?”

“Lay off Robinson,” Burke said. “No shooters, nothing. Leave him alone.”

“Who told you I was botherin’ him?”

“You can probably figure that out,” Burke said.

Paglia stared at him for a time, silently, then poured some more wine, this time from a different bottle, into the same glass.

“That sonova bitch,” Paglia said. “You shoulda killed him, too.”

“Probably shoulda,” Burke said. “We got a deal?”

“That boy can play, can’t he,” Paglia said.

“Yep.”

“Hell, I’ll give him a pass,” Paglia said.

“Spell it out,” Burke said.

Paglia smiled. He was feeling the wine.

“I’ll lay off Robinson,” he said. “No shooters, nothing. I’ll leave him alone.”

“Fine,” Burke said.

Paglia smiled some more.

“You’re covered by the deal too,” he said. “Wendell likes you.”

“That’s swell,” Burke said. “I have your word?”

“You got my word, soldier,” Paglia said.

Burke finished his scotch.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said.

Paglia was drinking wine again, nodding his head in time to the piano music.

“Show him out, Cash,” Paglia said.

Cash got up and Burke followed him. They went out onto Eighth Avenue together.

“His word good?” Burke said to Cash.

“No,” Cash said. “But he’ll stick by this. As long as Wendell can squeeze him out of Harlem, if he don’t. It would cost him too much money.”

“So I can trust the money,” Burke said.

Cash grinned.

“You can always trust the money,” he said.