Resolution

22.

Fair offer, my ass,” Wolfson said. "That cheap Irish fuck has never made anyone a fair offer in his life. You saw the way he tried to buy this place.”

It was late. The saloon was closed. Virgil and I sat with Wolfson at a table and had a drink.

“You think he paid him anything?” I said.

“Cash,” Virgil said. “Show money. Not much, but all cash, so it felt like something.”

Wolfson nodded slowly.

“Like a reservation buck,” he said. “On a binge.”

He poured himself another drink, offered the bottle toward Virgil and me. We both shook our heads.

“It’s starting,” Wolfson said.

“You and O’Malley?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Might be,” I said.

“You’ll stay,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

Virgil said, “I’m with Hitch.”

“Think it’s time I should see that fella in Araby?”

“Willy Beck?” Virgil said.

“Why not?” I said.

“You agree with me?” Wolfson said. “This is not going to stop?”

“Not right away,” Virgil said.

“Frank Rose hinted to me that they were hiring.”

“God,” Wolfson said. “It’s like a damned war starting.”

Virgil and I were quiet.

“Why is he so crazy to take over?” Wolfson said. “A fucking war, for crissake!”

“Remember what he said, when he made the offer? A mine is all overhead until it peters out.”

“He wants overhead,” Wolfson said. “I’ll show him fucking overhead. He’s making big, big money up there.”

“Until it peters out,” I said.

Wolfson stared at me.

“You think it’s petering out?”

“He seems eager to get into a new business,” I said.

“Goddamn,” Wolfson said. “Goddamn.”

He poured more whiskey. Virgil and I declined again.

“He’s petering out, and we can hold him off long enough he’ll run out of money,” Wolfson said. “Will Cato and Rose stick with him if there’s no money?”

“No,” Virgil said.

“Nobody else he hires, either,” I said.

“So we hold him off he’ll have to quit.”

“He knows that, too,” Virgil said.

“Meaning?” Wolfson said.

"Meaning he’ll push pretty hard to get it done ’fore that happens,” I said.