Free Boldt by Ted Lewis

fun than bowling. And we’d much rather talk to people like you and Cassidy than, say, going out on a double date with Raquel Welch and Jane Fonda. Isn’t that right, George?”
    Murdock moves slowly across the room and stands in front of the clerk, no more than a few inches away from him.
    â€œThat’s right,” Murdock says. “Like you say, we’re just pigs having fun.”
    The clerk doesn’t say anything and he tries to avoid Murdock’s gaze which is very difficult considering the amount of space Murdock has left between them.
    â€œThat’s right, isn’t it?” Murdock says again.
    The clerk tries to get into the wallpaper but Murdock closes up a little bit more.
    â€œIsn’t it?” Murdock says, but before anything else happens there is the sound of voices on the landing outside, and then the voices stop, and the door opens and we’re presented with our first look at the hustler and his new-found friend.
    The hustler is dressed in the typical stud outfit, the jeans and the denim jacket and the sweatshirt decorated with the dangling medallion. His hair is black and beautifully combed in the approved mid-fifties style, but it’s apparent that the blackness is achieved with a little outside assistance. Although I’m not close enough to tell, I’d take bets that there are some well-concealed crow’s-feet around the corners of his eyes because this hustler is no longer a young one; he’s closer to forty than he is twenty but like the rest of them he wants to look the eternal teenager.
    His companion is something else again. There’s no doubt at all about his age. He’s somewhere in his late fifties, wearing a panama hat, milk white above the ruddy complexion of a baby, nice soft striped shirt, beautiful grey suit, handmade shoes. Like Cassidy, he’s brought some groceries, clutching the bag against his middle, but unlike Cassidy’s, these groceries are to help things along not blot things out. The hustler’s companion lets the grocery bag slip a little, catches it then hugs it a little tighter to himself.
    â€œOh Christ,” he says.
    The hustler looks at me and then at Murdock and then he sees the clerk around the corner leaning against the wall and he says to him, “What’s happening, Lewis?”
    The hustler’s voice is deeper than you’d expect also tougher, hard-edged.
    â€œI don’t know,” Lewis says. “These gentlemen are just doing their job.”
    The hustler looks at Murdock and me again.
    â€œYou have warrants?” he says.
    â€œCome inside and close the door,” I tell him.
    â€œI said—”
    â€œI heard what you said. Do what I told you.”
    The hustler’s companion puts the groceries down on the floor and closes the door.
    â€œNow look—” the hustler begins, but this time it’s his companion’s turn to interrupt him.
    â€œCliff, listen, okay? Don’t rock the boat. I—”
    â€œSure, I know,” Cliff says. “You got a family, a wife. You all have.”
    â€œThey—”
    â€œShut up. This isn’t a bust, is it fellows?”
    â€œOh?” I say to him.
    He shakes his head. “No,” he says, “this isn’t a bust.”
    â€œYou tell us what it is.”
    â€œI hope you got plenty of dough in that fat little wallet of yours,” Cliff says to his companion. “You’re sure going to need it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSure. You’re going to have to buy yourself out of this one. And don’t think it makes any difference we’ve just come in.”
    Murdock goes over to the hustler’s companion and says to him, “Could I see your wallet, sir? For identification purposes.”
    The companion stares at Murdock as if Murdock’s talking in a foreign language.
    â€œYou do have identification?” Murdock says.
    This time the words get through and the