Part 52 (1/2)
”Ready for revenge?”
”After I catch my breath. You play a tough game, Mr. Johnson.”
”Mrrrmph! You said you were rusty.”
”I am. But my grandfather taught me when I was very young, then played me every day for years.”
”Do tell. I've a grandson I play. Tyke isn't in school yet, but I spot him only a horse.”
”Maybe he would play me. Even.”
”Mrrmph. You'll allow him a knight, same as I do,” Mr. Johnson paid for the drinks, tipped the boy a nickel. ”What business are you in, Mr. Bronson?-if you don't mind my asking.”
”Not at all. In business for myself. Buy things, sell things. Make a little, lose a little.”
”So? When are you going to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge?”
Sorry, sir, I unloaded that last week. But I can offer you a bargain in Spanish Prisoners.”
Mr. Johnson smiled sourly. ”Guess that'll teach me.”
”But, Mr. Johnson, if I told you I was a pool-hall hustler, you wouldn't let me play chess with your grandson.”
”Might, might not. Shall we get set up? Your turn for white.”
With the first move allowing him to control the pace. Lazarus made a slow, careful buildup of his attack. His grandfather was equally careful, left no openings in his defense. They were so evenly matched that it took Lazarus forty-one moves and much skull sweat to turn his first-move advantage into a mate.
Play off the tie?”
Ira Johnson shook his head. ”Two games a night is my limit. Two like that is over my limit. Thank you, sir; you play a fine game. For a man who is 'rusty.' ” He pushed back his chair. ”Time for me to head for the stable.”
”It's raining.”
”So I noticed. I'll stand in the doorway and watch for the Thirty-first Street trolley.”
”I have my automobile here. I'd be honored to run you home.”
”Eh? No need to. Only a block from the car line at the other end, and if I get a little damp, I'll be home and can get dry.”
(More like four blocks and you'll be soaked, Gramp.) ”Mr. Johnson, I'm going to crank up that flivver anyhow, to go home myself. It's no trouble to drop you anywhere; I like to drive. In about three minutes I'll pull up in front and honk. If you're there, fine. If you aren't, I'll a.s.sume that you prefer not to accept rides from strangers and will take no offense.”
”Don't be touchy. Where's your automobile? I'll come with you.”
”No, please. No need for us both to go out in the rain for a one-man job. I'll slide out the back through the alley, then I'll be at the curb almost before you reach the front door.” (Lazarus decided to be stubborn; Gramp could smell a mouse farther than a cat could-and would wonder why ”Ted Bronson” kept a garage at hand when he claimed to live a driving distance away. Bad. How are you going to handle this, Bub? You've got got to tell Gramp a pa.s.sel of lies or you'll never get inside that house-your own home!-to meet the rest of your family. But complexity is contrary to the basic principle of successful lying, and Gramp is the very man who taught you that. Yet the truth could not serve and keeping silent was just as useless. How are you going to solve this? When Gramp is as suspicious as you are and twice as shrewd.) to tell Gramp a pa.s.sel of lies or you'll never get inside that house-your own home!-to meet the rest of your family. But complexity is contrary to the basic principle of successful lying, and Gramp is the very man who taught you that. Yet the truth could not serve and keeping silent was just as useless. How are you going to solve this? When Gramp is as suspicious as you are and twice as shrewd.) Ira Johnson stood up. Thank you, Mr. Bronson; I'll be at the front door.”
By the time Lazarus had his landaulet cranked, he had settled on tactics and outlined a long-range policy: (a) Drive around the block; this wagon should be wet; (b) don't use this shed again; better to have this puddle jumper stolen than to leave a hole in your cover story; (c) when you surrender the shed, see if ”Uncle” Dattelbaum has an old set of chessmen; (d) make your lies fit what you've said, including that toohasty truth about who taught you to play chess; (e) tell as much truth as possible even if it doesn't sound good-but, d.a.m.n it, you should be a foundling . . and that doesn't fit having a grandfather, unless you invent complexities, any one of which might snap back and catch you out.
When Lazarus sounded the klaxon, Ira Johnson darted out and scrambled in. ”Where now?” asked Lazarus.
His grandfather explained how to reach his daughter's home and added, ”Pretty ritzy rig to call a 'flivver.' ”
”I got a good price for the Brooklyn Bridge. Should I swing up to Linwood or follow the car tracks?”
”Suit yourself. Since you've unloaded the bridge, you might tell me about these 'Spanish Prisoners.' Good investment?”
Lazarus concentrated a while on getting his vehicle headed down the tracks while avoiding the tracks themselves. ”Mr. Johnson, I evaded your question about what I do for a living.”
”Your business.”
”I really have hustled pool.”
”Again, your business.”
”And I ran out and let you pay the table fee a second time, as well as letting you pay for the pop. I did not intend to.”
”So? Thirty cents, plus a nickel tip. Knock off five cents the streetcar would have cost me. That makes your half fifteen cents. If it worries you, drop it in his cup the next time you pa.s.s a blind man. I'm getting a chauffeured ride on a wet night. Cheap. This is hardly a jitney bus.”
”Very well, sir. I wanted to get straight with you . . because I enjoyed the games and hope to play you again.”
”The pleasure was mutual. I enjoy a game where a man makes me work.”
Thank you. Now to answer your question properly: Yes, I've hustled pool-in the past. It's not what I do now. I'm in business for myself. Buying things, selling things-but not the Brooklyn Bridge. As for the 'Spanish Prisoner' con, I've had it tried on me. I deal in the commodities market, grain futures and such. I do the same with stock margins. But I won't try to sell you anything, I'm neither a broker nor a bucket-shop operator; instead I deal through established brokers. Oh, yes, one more thing-I don't peddle tips. Give a man what seems to me a good tip-and he loses his s.h.i.+rt and blames me. So I don't.”
”Mr. Bronson, I had no call to ask about your business. That was nosy of me. But it was meant to be a friendly inquiry.”
”I took it as friendly, so I wanted to give it a proper answer.”
”Nosy, just the same. I don't need to know your background.”
That's just it, Mr. Johnson, I don't have a background. Pool hustler.”
”Not much wrong with that. Pool is an open game, like chess. Difficult to cheat.”
Well . . I do something that you might regard as cheating.”
”Look, son-if you need a father confessor, I can tell you where to find one. I am not one.”
”Sorry.”
”Didn't meant to be blunt. But you do have something on your mind.”
”Uh, nothing much perhaps. It has to do with having no background. None. So I go to church-to meet people. To meet nice people. Respectable people. People a man with no background otherwise could never meet.”
”Mr. Bronson, everybody has some some background.” background.”
Lazarus turned down Benton Boulevard before answering. ”Not me, sir. Oh, I was born-somewhere. Thanks to the man who let me call him 'Grandfather'-and his wife-I had a pretty good childhood. But they're long gone and-shucks, I don't even know that my name is 'Ted Bronson.' ”