I’m not a loser.
“Listen,” he said, and Lester turned to him, lifted his face to Mullaney’s and pierced him with a cold, blue-eyed, frigid stare. “Listen, I’m not a loser,” Mullaney said, thinking he should not be telling this to a little shit of a man who had stabbed a Chicago bookie and made a mess of his life with his goddamn personal Russian roulette, why am I telling this to him?
“So you’re not a loser,” Lester said. He stood leaning on the cane, his round face turned up and blandly impassive. “So?” he said. “So what?”
“I have a winner in the second race,” Mullaney said.
“Everybody has a winner in the second race.”
“This is a sure thing.”
“Everything is a sure thing,” Lester said.
“Lester, I’ve never asked you for a nickel in my life,” Mullaney said, “have I?”
“That’s true, you never have.”
“I need five hundred. This is a sure thing, Lester.”
“Oh, all you need is five hundred, huh?”
“Lester, listen to me. I know I’ve been down on my luck lately, but believe me this horse is a winner, I know it is, and I think you know I’m good for the money.”
“Oh yes, sure,” Lester said.
“I’ve been down on my luck, that’s all. You’re a gambler, Lester, take the gamble.”
“Five hundred, huh?”
“Yes, five hundred. I’ll be paying you back in less than a half-hour, I’ll pay you the five hundred and another five hundred besides. You can’t ask for better than that, Lester.”
“No, I certainly can’t ask for better than that.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Lend me five hundred. I hate to ask, but...”
“Yes, I know, you’ve just been down on your luck, that’s all.”
“That’s right, Lester. Lester, it hurts me to have to ask you for a loan, I mean it. Believe me.”
“Yes, it must certainly hurt you to have to ask loans from all the people you’ve asked loans from in this past year, mustn’t it?”
“It does.”
“Handouts is what you mean, not loans. To my knowledge, Mullaney, you’ve never paid back a cent you borrowed, that’s a very bad failing. I know a man in Chicago got stabbed for not paying the money he owed to someone.”
“Lester, I’ll pay back everybody I ever borrowed from, I’ve always intended to pay back.”
“But never have.”
“But will. Lester, what kind of person do you think I am?”
“Well now, I don’t know, Mullaney. Suppose you tell me what kind of person you are.”
“I’m...” He hesitated. He felt extremely foolish. “I’m a nice person,” he said.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Lester, lend me the five hundred.”
“I’ll lend you two dollars,” Lester said, and reached for his wallet.
“Lester, look, don’t kid around. Two dollars isn’t going to...”
“All right, I’ll make it four dollars. You can buy yourself two Win tickets, how’s that?”
“If you can’t go the full five hundred, make it four hundred, okay? I’ll be paying you back right after the second race, four hundred plus another four hundred besides, as commission on your investment.”
“My investment, huh? I’ll give you ten bucks, how’s that? You can buy yourself a real big ticket, Mullaney.”
“Three hundred, okay? With the same...”
“Twenty bucks,” Lester said, “and that’s my limit. I won’t go a cent higher.”
Mullaney stared at him silently for a moment, and then shook his head.
“No, Lester,” he said. “Never mind. Forget it.”
“Okay, we’ll forget it,” Lester said.
“I still have my pride,” Mullaney said, feeling more foolish than ever. “Don’t forget that, Lester. I still have my pride.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lester said, and walked away toward the Cash windows.
“I still have my pride,” Mullaney whispered after him.
He felt very small and very foolish. Oh, not because... well... no, no, not only because Lester had treated him like a beggar, had turned an honest request for a loan into a... a plea for a... a coffee-and-cake handout, like some wino coming up with an outstretched palm on the Bowery. Goddamn you, Mullaney thought, I once used to sell encyclopedias for a living, don’t you know that? I never once stabbed a person in my life, I never once carried a sword in a cane, I’ve only been married once, you bastard, and I didn’t divorce her because I stopped loving her, I divorced her only because I had to take the gamble, I had to get out here and live, don’t you treat me like a bum, Lester, don’t you ever dare treat me like a bum. But not only because of that, no, not only because Lester had swatted him flat on the picnic cloth causing him to ooze whatever dignity he had possessed until that moment — dignity, yes, and pride, yes — but also because he had come to Lester with a winner, had come with an absolute guaranteed winner, had come and said Look, I need five hundred, do you ask for five hundred on a loser? I’m going for the biggest prize, he thought, I came to you and asked for five hundred because this is my life on the line here, if I don’t make it today, if I... if I don’t make it, I’ll... I don’t know what I’ll do. Can’t you tell the difference between a simple loan when a guy only wants to win a few bucks on a horse, and a loan that is intended for a... a life?
My life, Lester.
My life.
His eyes were suddenly wet.
He dried them with his fist and thought Come on, come on, you’re a grown man, stop it, come on. He sniffed. Still feeling foolish, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed him crying, but no one had, all the gamblers were milling about the floor in their own universes, studying the tote board blinking new odds every few seconds, completely unmindful of Andrew Mullaney or his need. He looked up at the board. The odds on Jawbone had risen to thirty to one. His nose was running. He reached for a handkerchief, his pocket was empty, I don’t even have a goddamn handkerchief, he thought, and almost began weeping again in self-pity, but caught himself, forced himself to stand erect instead, his shoulders back and his head high, determined to find somebody in this crowd who would lend him the money he needed to put on Jawbone. Defiantly, he wiped the back of his hand across his nose (See the cop upon the comer) and dried it on his trouser leg (With the stripe upon his pants). Watch out, world, he thought, this is Andrew Mullaney here, rising from the picnic cloth where they thought, ha ha, they had swatted him flat, nossir!
Courage, he thought.
“The hors-es are on the track!” the announcer called.
Oh, he thought, give me courage.
He saw Merilee in that moment.
He saw her through the chain-link fence that separated the grandstand from the clubhouse section, saw her sitting with none other than Kruger, who had promised to kill him if he did not return with the money. She was wearing black, still wearing black though not the black velvet she had worn last night, which he had drawn up above her waist to spread her on the worthless jacket. He looked down at the shopping bag — JUDY BOND BLOUSES ARE ON STRIKE! — and at the crumpled jacket stuffed into it, and tried again to fathom its puzzle, and thought how much fun it would be to ask her for some money this time, thereby reversing the process of last night, “First the money,” she had moaned, “First the money,” and had only been screwed for her pains.