The Marrowbone Marble Company. Glenn Taylor

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ just come back from lunch and carried a doggie bag. “Congratulations Mr. Ledford,” she said.

      “Thank you Ernestine.”

      Her smile was genuine.

      Charlie watched her hips, and when she was gone, he leaned across the desk and whispered, “How old is that gal?”

      “What can I do for you Charlie?” Ledford hung his jacket on the back of his desk chair. The air smelled damp and old.

      Charlie straightened back up. “My uncle would like to know when he might stop by and see his new grandson.” Lucius had officially retired. He spent his days drunk at Chief Logan’s Tavern. Nights he was in bed by seven.

      “Well, he hadn’t hardly come by for the first one, has he?” Ledford was running short on sleep.

      “You can understand the excitement over a boy child, Ledford.” There was nothing but the sound of his own swallowing. “Can’t you?”

      “Sure Charlie. Tell him his daughter will phone him.”

      Ernestine poked her head in again. “Mr. Ledford,” she said, “there’s a man here to see you. Says his name is Admiral Dingleberry.”

      Ledford laughed. Ernestine didn’t, and neither did Charlie. It occurred to Ledford that they weren’t familiar with the term. “Well by all means, send in the admiral,” he said.

      Erm stepped through the open door. He spread his arms wide, brown-bagged bottle in the left one nearly knocking Charlie in the head. “Private Leadfoot,” Erm said.

      “Squirmy Ermie,” Ledford answered. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and he didn’t know why. The two had not spoken in more than a year, not since their awkward parting at the Chicago diner. “What the hell are you doin here?” Ledford came around the desk and they shook hands, clapped shoulders as if to injure.

      “Visiting my old friend is what I’m doing.” Erm hadn’t acknowledged Charlie, who stood by the hat rack and swallowed and smiled wide. “Who’s the broad?” Erm asked, motioning with his head to Ernestine’s desk in the hall. His breath smelled of gin and chewing gum and cigarettes. He wore a new scar across his right eyebrow.

      “That’s Ernestine,” Charlie said.

      Erm looked at him as if he’d insulted his mother. “How old would you guess she is?” Charlie’s voice was pinched. Erm squared up on him. He cocked his head and smiled. “Eightyseven,” he said. “What’s your guess?”

      Charlie laughed, then looked down at the cigar box. He opened it, looked in Erm’s general direction, and said, “Cigar, Mr. Dingleberry?” His voice cracked on the last syllable.

      “No, it’s Admiral Dingleberry, kid. And yes, I wouldn’t care to partake of your smoking pleasures.” Erm kept his expression straight. Ledford did the same beside him, though the urge to laugh was strong. Erm still hadn’t reached for a White Owl. He said, “That your position in this dump? You the cigar girl?”

      With that, Ledford laughed out loud. “All right, Erm,” he said.

      Charlie frowned and closed the box.

      “Hold it now, Kemoslabe,” Erm said. “Big Chief White Owl want smokem.”

      Ledford interceded. “Charlie here is handing out cigars on account of Rachel giving birth Saturday.”

      Erm spun his head. “No foolin. You son of a bitch.” They shook hands again. “Boy or girl?”

      “Boy. William, after my daddy.”

      “How about that? Big Bill Ledford. I bet he’s a biggin. Hung where it counts like his old man.”

      Charlie laughed.

      Erm glared at him. “Let’s have at it then. Open er up and fire the torch.”

      The three of them stood and smoked and Erm uncorked his gin and passed the bottle. Ledford couldn’t bear to tell him how much he’d cut back, so he sipped light instead. He explained how they were doing just fine, careful not to badmouth his job too much in front of Charlie. “Renting out the old house,” Ledford said.

      “Yeah, to a nigger,” Charlie said. He laughed and took another swig off the bottle.

      Ledford stared Charlie down and breathed slow and even. He contemplated his response.

      Erm said, “Well Sally, you just jump in anytime.”

      Now both men stared at him, and Charlie set the bottle on the desk and excused himself.

      “Jesus H. Christ,” Erm said. “Who the hell was that pansy?”

      “That’s Rachel’s first cousin. Her daddy’s nephew. Pain in my ass.” They both reached for the bottle at the same time. Laughed and exchanged after you sirs.

      Erm sat down and explained he was passing through on business he had in Baltimore. He got quiet after that. Neither spoke of their last meeting. Of Ledford’s serious talk, of Erm’s fuck you admonition, of the inevitable end of the auto driver who’d run over the wrong man.

      Ledford still owed Erm six hundred on a straight play from the previous November, when Army had blanked West Virginia. The spread was two touchdowns. The final score was 19–0. Erm even made him pay the vig.

      Ledford had been laying off the gambling like it was the sauce.

      After a long silence, Erm said, “I got married.”

      “I’ll be damned. When?”

      “Last Thursday.” He looked around at the empty walls, tapped his shoes on the floor.

      “Well . . . congratulations Erm.” Ledford nodded his head to convince himself such a move was wise for his friend.

      “Yeah,” Erm said. “She’s got a bun in the oven.”

      Ledford raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations again.”

      “A toast to married life,” Erm said. They drank again, and Ledford was about to ask what her name was when Erm hopped out of his chair and said, “I gotta hit the road, but I’ll be coming back through real soon.”

      Ledford stood. He smiled uneasy. There was something in Erm’s demeanor, something that said he was running from trouble. Ledford would not protest the abrupt departure. It was the way things were for Erminio Bacigalupo. Always, he was running. Don Staples had been talking to Ledford about such movement through life. Away from things. Toward them.

      “Listen,” Erm said. He was making sure his shirt cuffs stuck out beyond his jacket. “I got something I need you to hold on to for me.” He pulled a fat-stuffed leather envelope from his inside pocket. “Just make sure it stays where nobody gets their hands on it.” He held it out, but Ledford didn’t reach. “It isn’t a bag of dogshit Ledford. It’s dough. And a book.”

      Ledford laughed and took it. Rubbed his thumb across the gold snap button holding it shut. “I got a safe spot in the basement at home.”

СКАЧАТЬ