Tenth Commandment (44 page)

Luckily, I was covered, and soon was in a cab heading through the Midtown Tunnel towards Kennedy after a hurried trip home to pack.

The flight to Chicago was the only chance to relax in much too long, and I decided to enjoy it. I even laughed at the terrible movie and wolfed down the mystery meat. We touched down in Chicago without incident and, as I walked into the terminal, I found O'Hare Airport to be crowded, noisy, and frantic as Mother Tucker's on East 69th Street in Manhattan. Where, I thought with rueful longing, even at that moment Perdita Schug and Colonel Clyde Manila were probably well along on their Walpurgisnacht.

I wandered about the terminal for a while, continually touching my newly fattened wallet and feeling for my return ticket at irregular intervals. I finally found my way to where cabs, limousines, and buses were available.

Obviously a cab to Athens would cost too much. I approached a uniformed chauffeur leaning against the fender of a black behemoth which seemed to have twice as many windows as any gas-driven vehicle deserved.

The driver looked at me without interest, his sleepy eyes 363

taking in my wrinkled overcoat, shapeless hat, and the sodden suitcase pressed under my arm. His only reaction was to switch a toothpick from the right corner of his mouth to the left.

'Do you go to Athens?' I asked.

'Where?'

'Athens. It's in Indiana.' I had looked it up in the office atlas.

'Never heard of it,' he said.

'It's between Gary and Hammond.'

' Where between Gary and Hammond?'

'I don't know,' I confessed.

'Then I don't go there,' he said.

The toothpick switched back again. I know when I've been dismissed. I wandered over to the bus area. There was a uniformed driver leaning against a bus marked Gary-Hammond, gazing about with total disinterest. I decided I'd like to have the toothpick concession at O'Hare Airport, but at least he didn't shift it when I addressed him:

'Could you tell me if I can take this bus to Athens?'

'Where?'

'Athens, Indiana.'

'Where is that?'

'Between Gary and Hammond. It's an incorporated village.'

He looked at me doubtfully.

'Population 3,079 in 1939,' I added helpfully.

'No shit?' he said. 'Between Gary and Hammond?'

I nodded.

'You stand right there,' he told me. 'Don't move.

Someone's liable to steal you. I'll be right back.'

He went over to the dispatcher's desk and talked to a man chewing a toothpick. The bus driver gestured. Both men turned to stare at me. Then the dispatcher unfolded a map. They both bent over it. Another uniformed bus 364

driver came along, then another, and another. Finally there were five men consulting the map, waving their arms, arguing in loud voices, their toothpicks waggling like mad.

The driver came back to me.

'Yeah,' he said, 'I go to Athens.'

'You learn something every day,' I said cheerfully.

'Nothing important,' he said.

An hour later I was trying to peer through a misted window as the bus hurtled southeastward. I saw mostly darkness, a few dumps of lights, flickering neon signs.

And then, as we crossed the state line into Indiana, there were rosy glows in the sky, sudden flares, views of lighted factories and mills, and one stretch of highway seemingly lined with nothing but taverns, junkyards, and adult book stores.

About ninety minutes after leaving O'Hare Airport, with frequent stops to discharge passengers, we pulled off the road at a street that seemed devoid of lighting or habitation.

'Athens,' the driver called.

I struggled from my seat, lifted my suitcase from the overhead rack, and staggered down the aisle to the door.

I bent to look out.

'This is Athens?' I asked the driver.

'This is it,' he said. 'Guaranteed.'

'Thank you,' I said.

'You're welcome,' he said.

I stood on a dark corner and watched the bus pull away, splashing me from the knees downward. All I could feel was regret at not staying aboard that bus to the end of the line, riding it back to O'Hare, and returning to Manhattan by the earliest available flight. Cold, wet, miserable.

After a long despairing wander I came to what might be called, with mercy, a business district. Most of the stores were closed, with steel shutters in place. But I passed a drugstore that was open, a mom-and-pop grocery store, 365

and at last — O Lord, I gave thanks! — a liquor store.

'A pint of brandy, please,' I said to the black clerk.

He inspected me.

'Domestic?' he said.

'Anything,' I said. 'Anything at all.'

He was counting out my change when I asked if there were any hotels in the immediate area.

'One block down,' he said, pointing. 'Then two blocks to the right. The New Frontier Bar and Grill.'

'It's a hotel?'

'Sure,' he said. 'Up above. You want to sleep there tonight?'

'Of course.'

'Crazy,' he said, shaking his head.

I followed his directions to the New Frontier Bar and Grill. It was a frowsy beer joint with a dirty front window, a few customers at the bar with blue faces from the TV set, and a small back room with tables.

The bartender came right over; it was downhill. The whole floor seemed to slope towards the street.

'Scotch and water, please,' I said.

'Bar Scotch?'

'All right.'

He poured me what I thought was an enormous portion until I realized the bottom of the shot glass was solid and at least a half-inch thick.

'I understand you have a hotel here,' I said.

He looked at me, then bent over the bar to inspect me closely, paying particular attention to my shoes.

'A hotel?' he said. 'You might call it that.'

'Could you tell me your rates?'

He looked off into the middle distance.

'Five bucks,' he said.

'That seems reasonable,' I said,

'It's right next door. Up on flight. The owner's on the desk. Tell him Lou sent you.'

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I quaffed my Scotch in one meagre gulp, paid, walked outside, and climbed the narrow flight of stairs next door.

The owner-clerk, also black, was seated behind a desk inclosed in wire mesh. There was a small hinged judas window in front.

He was a husky man in his fifties, I judged, wearing a T-shirt with a portrait of Beethoven printed on the front.

He was working a crossword puzzle in a folded newspaper.

He didn't look up. 'Five bucks an hour,' he said. 'Clean sheets and running water. Payable in advance.'

'I'd like to stay the night,' I said. 'To sleep. Lou sent me.'

He wouldn't look up. 'What's an ox with three letters?'

he said. 'With a long tail and short mane.'

'Gnu,' I said. 'G-n-u.'

Then he looked up at me.

'Yeah,' he said, 'that fits. Thanks. Twenty for the night.

Payable in advance.'

He opened the window to take the bill and slide a key on a brass medallion across to me.

'Two-oh-nine,' he said. 'Right down the hall. You're not going to do the dutch, are you?'

'Do the dutch?'

'Commit suicide?'

'Oh no,' I protested. 'Nothing like that.'

'Good,' he said. 'What's a four letter word meaning a small child?'

'Tyke,' I suggested.

Oh, what a dreadful room that was! So bleak, so tawdry. It was about ten feet square with an iron bed that had once been painted white. It appeared to have the promised clean sheets — threadbare but clean — but on the lower third of the bed, the sheet and a sleazy cotton blanket had been covered with a strip of black oilcloth. It took me awhile to puzzle that out. It was for customers too drunk or frantic to remove their shoes.

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I immediately ascertained that the door could be double-locked from the inside and that there was a bolt, albeit a cheap one. There was a stained sink in one corner, one straight-backed kitchen chair and a small maple table, the top scarred with cigarette burns. There was no closet, but hooks had been screwed into the walls to compensate, and a few wire coathangers depended from them.

I went into the corridor to prowl. I found a bathroom smelling achingly of disinfectant. There was a toilet, sink, bathtub with shower. I used the toilet after latching the door with the dimestore hook-and-eye provided, but I resolved to shun the sink and tub.

I went back to my room and hung up my hat and overcoat on a couple of the hooks. After a great deal of struggling, I opened the single window. A chill, moist breeze came billowing in, still tainted with sulphur. It didn't take long to realize that there was no point in sitting around in such squalor, and soon I had reclaimed my hat and coat and headed back downstairs.

'Going to get something to eat,' I said to the owner-clerk, trying to be hearty and cool simultaneously.

'A monkey-type creature,' he said. 'Five letters.'

'Lemur,' I said.

The New Frontier Bar and Grill had gained patrons during my absence; most of the barstools were occupied, and there were several couples, including a few whites, at tables in the back room. All the men were big, wide, powerfully built, with rough hands, raucous laughs, and thundering angers that seemed to subside as soon as they flared.

I was pleased to note the bartender remembered what I drank.

'Scotch?' he asked as if it were a statement of fact.

'Please. With water on the side.'

When he brought my drink, I asked him about the possibility of getting sandwiches and a bag of potato chips.

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'I'm a little fandangoed at the moment,' he said. 'When I get a chance, I'll make them up for you — okay?'

'Fine,' I said. 'No rush.'

I looked around, sipping my shot glass of whisky. The monsters on both sides of me were drinking boilermakers, silently and intently, staring into the streaked mirror behind the bar. I did not attempt conversation; they looked like men with grievances.

I turned back to my own drink and in a moment felt a heavy arm slide across my shoulders.

'Hi, sonny,' a woman's voice said breezily.

'Good evening,' I said, standing. 'Would you care to sit down?'

'Sit here, Sal,' the man next to me offered. 'I got it all warmed up for you. I'm going home.'

'You do that, Joe,' said the woman, and a lot of woman she was, too, 'for a change.'

They both laughed. Joe winked at me and departed.

'Buy a girl a drink?' Ms Sal asked, swinging a weighty haunch expertly atop the barstool.

'A pleasure,' I said.

'Can I have a shot?' she asked.

'Whatever you like.'

'A shot. Beer makes me fart.'

I nodded sympathetically.

'Lou!' she screamed, so loudly and so suddenly that I leaped. 'The usual. I've got a live one here.'

She dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from a stuffed purse. I struck a match for her.

'Thanks, sonny,' she said. She took a deep inhalation and the smoke just disappeared. I mean, I didn't see it come out anywhere.

She was a swollen, bloated woman in her middle forties.

She looked like the kind of girl who could never be surprised, shocked, or hurt; she had seen it all — twice at least.

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The bartender brought her drink: a whisky with a small beer chaser.

Sal looked me up and down.

'You work in the steel mills, sonny?'

'That Sal,' the bartender said to me, 'she's a card.'

'Oh no,' I said to her. 'I'm not from around here. I'm from New York.'

'You could have fooled me,' she said. 'I would have sworn you were a puddler.'

'Come on, Sal,' the bartender said.

'That's all right,' I told him. 'I know the lady is pulling my leg. I don't mind.'

She smacked me on the back, almost knocking me off the stool.

'You're okay, sonny,' she said in a growly voice. 'I like you.'

'Thank you,' I said.

'What the hell you doing in Gary?'

'Gary?' I said, fear soaring. 'I thought this was Athens.

Isn't this Athens, Indiana?'

'Athens?' she said. She laughed uproariously, rocking back and forth on her barstool so violently that I put out an arm to assist her in case she should topple backwards.

'Jesus Christ, sonny,' she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, 'this place hasn't been called Athens in years. It was absorbed by Gary a long time ago.'

'But it was Athens?' I insisted.

'Oh sure. It was Athens when I was a kid, more years ago than I want to remember. What the hell you doing in Athens?'

'I work for a law firm in New York,' I said. 'It's a matter of a will. I'm trying to locate a beneficiary whose last address was given as Athens, Indiana.'

'No shit?' she said, interested. 'An inheritance?'

'Oh yes.'

'A lot of money?'

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'It depends on what you mean by a lot of money,' I said cautiously.

'To me,' she said, 'anything over twenty bucks is a lot of money.'

'It's more than twenty bucks.'

'What's the name?'

'Knurr,' I said. 'K-n-u-r-r. A woman. Goldie Knurr.'

'Goldie Knurr?' she repeated. 'No,' she said, shaking her head, 'never heard of her. Lou!' she screamed. When the bartender came over, she asked, 'Ever hear of a woman named Goldie Knurr?'

He pondered a moment, frowning.

'Can't say as I have,' he said.

'Buy me a double,' Sal said to me, 'and I'll ask around for you.'

When she returned she slid on to the barstool again, spanked her empty glass on the bar.

'What the hell's your name?' she demanded.

'Josh.'

'My name's Sal.'

'I know. May I buy you a drink, Sal?'

She pretended to consider the offer.

'Well . . . all right, if you insist.' She signalled the bartender, holding up two fingers. 'Bingo,' she said. 'I found a guy who knows Goldie Knurr. Or says he does.

See that old swart in the back room? The grey-hair, frizzy-haired guy sitting by himself?'

I turned, 'I see him,' I said.

'That's Ulysses Tecumseh Jones,' she said. 'Esquire.

One year younger than God. He's been around here since there was a here. He says he knew the Knurr family.'