Matt drank half his beer and said, “I just took a ride with Penny. She dropped me off up the block.”
“Didn’t you take a vow of chastity?”
“All we did was talk. You gotta hear this.”
“Tell me.”
“She says the machine is out to get one of their enemies, to set an example. She doesn’t know who but it won’t be pretty. Somebody told her.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say but she swears it’s true. She says it could be me.”
“Didn’t they already get you?”
“Then maybe it’s you. Or one of the Brothers.”
“You don’t really trust Penny, do you?”
“Penny’s all right, Dan. I know what you think, but she does good work with the neighborhood groups, for no pay. I respect that even if I don’t always trust what she says.”
“Why are you riding around with sexy women on the make? Aren’t you restricted to campus?”
“I can walk. I walk the golf course. I wave at the golfers. She picked me up on the road that runs along the seventeenth hole. After we talked I thought I should come down and tell you.”
“You called her?”
“She called me. We’ve talked before.”
“You hear her confession?”
“Not as such.”
“But she confides in you.”
“She’s got troubles like everybody.”
“Does she cry into the shoulder of your robe?”
“She’s got emotions.”
“But you don’t. Salty women with major tits don’t disturb the serenity of your chastity.”
Matt swallowed some beer.
“I’m guessing she put the moves on you,” Quinn said.
“I guess you could call it that.”
“What did she do?”
“You know how it goes.”
“Actually I do. She did it with me.”
“You did it with her?”
“No, she did it with me. The moves. Then she called Renata to say she was sorry for keeping me out late. I wasn’t out late, but that’s her method. She sandbags you, then rats on you for doing nothing. Disturb the equilibrium, that’s her game.”
“I can handle this stuff, Dan. I been handling it for years. I’m not that horny lowlife I used to be. I found other ways of getting in trouble.”
“Shooting off your mouth.”
“My specialty.”
“Look, are you all right? I mean it’s been a rough couple of days for you.” Quinn stood up.
“I’m getting a grip. You gotta leave?”
“I do. Tremont Van Ort is bad off. He’s flat out on his stoop on Dongan Avenue and won’t move, or can’t. Claudia called an ambulance but they don’t pick up on Dongan Avenue. Claudia asked if I could get him to the hospital. I said I’d see what I could do.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“The South End is off-limits for you. What if you’re seen?”
“What else can they do, confiscate my socks? Gotta help Tremont.”
“You want a beer for the road?”
“Why not?”
In the dining room George Quinn was sitting with his hat in his lap, facing the large wall mirror over the sideboard. He was waving to his own image, telling him to come on over, but when he saw Quinn he changed the gesture and blessed himself.
“Bless me father for I have sinned,” he said.
“You haven’t sinned today,” Quinn said. “Let’s go.”
“So that’s it,” George said. “We’re all set. I got my hat.” He stood up and put his hat on and walked to the door.
“My father was asking for you, George,” Matt said.
“Your father?”
“Martin Daugherty.”
“Martin Daugherty. We were in France together.”
“I know. He says you were the best-dressed soldier in the AEF.”
“Martin Daugherty was a good fellow. You could always trust him. He wrote for the papers.”
“He’s out in the Ann Lee Home.”
“I didn’t know that,” Quinn said.
“He’s been there six months but I got a letter from the county that they’re kicking him out.”
“For what?”
“They don’t say. I figure it’s the politicians pressuring me.”
“Those bastards.”
“Martin Daugherty lived on Colonie Street,” George said.
“He did indeed,” Matt said.
“We should be going. I’ve got my hat.”
“You’re goin’ out on the town,” Matt said.
George answered in a song:“Put your feet on the barroom shelf,
Open the bottle and help yourself.”
“Look out, Albany,” Matt said. “Here comes George Quinn.”
What Danny said was, “There’s the Club, right up those steps, okay?”
Of course it’s okay.
“It’s two forty-five. I’ll meet you at the Club bar at six o’clock. You have your watch?”
Of course I have my watch. And George got out of the car and took two steps toward the Club, and when Danny pulled away George turned around to watch him go. He looked up and down the block for the Club, crossed State Street and walked down the hill and crossed Pearl Street. Steps is what Danny said. Steps loomed. Five of them. Brown. Nobody outside. He pushed open the door and walked across the mottled marble. He stopped and stared at all the glass and brass.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“The Club.”
“Which club might that be, sir?”
“It’s right up to snuff.”
“This is a bank, sir. Do you have an account with us?”
“I certainly do.”
“Fine. Let me take you to a teller. Your name?”
“My name for what?”
“The name on your account.”
“George Quinn.”
“Welcome to the New York State Bank, Mr. Quinn. I’ll check your account for you.”
“It’s right up to snuff.”
“I’m sure it is.”
George took his wallet from his back pocket and opened it to find two five-dollar bills. He poked a finger into a pocket of the wallet and pulled out a check. He opened it and read his name on the check.
“Right over here. You can write your check right here. Here’s the pen. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“What else is there?”
“How much would you like to write this check for, Mr. Quinn?”
“It’s got to be enough.”
“I hope it will be.”
George poised the pen over the check and thought about numbers, then wrote “two hundred” on a blank line. He put down the pen and handed the check to the man at his elbow.
“You have to sign it, sir.”
George looked at the check and picked up the pen. He signed “George,” and gave the check to the man.
“Your full name, Mr. Quinn.”
George wrote “Quinn” after “George.”
“Now fill in the amount with numbers,” said the man. “Two hundred, in numbers. Two-oh-oh.”
George wrote “200” and handed the check to the man, who took it to a teller. He came back and handed the check to George.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Quinn. I can’t cash this. This is one of our checks but your account here was closed last year. Perhaps you have an account in the Albany Savings Bank or the National Savings, or City and County? Mechanics and Farmers? Do any of those banks sound familiar to you?”
“My bank is close to the Club.”
“I’m not sure which club you mean.”
“Why the hell are you in business if you won’t cash a check and don’t know where the hell anything is?”