“How much would something like that cost me, that gun,” Halloran asked.
“Give him a good price now, man,” Jimmy said.
Sam figured they’d been asshole buddies in jail. Man gets in with a cellmate, ain’t too long before they’re behaving like man and wife. That’s what Sam figured this relationship to be.
“I has to get a hun’ fifty for that piece,” he said.
“That’s too high,” Jimmy said at once.
“Cost you two hunnerd in a store,” Sam said. “That piece is brand-new, ain’t been fired once. I has to get at least a hun’ fifty.”
“Make it a hun’ twenty-five,” Jimmy said. “An’ thow in whutever ammo the man’s gonna need.”
“The ammo ain’t a problem,” Sam said, shaking his head. “But I has to get a hun’ fifty. James, the thing cost me a hunnerd, I swear on my mother’s eyes. A fifty-dollar profit ain’t hardly no profit at all.”
“Whutchoo think, man?” Jimmy asked Halloran.
“I haven’t got that kind of bread,” Halloran said.
“How much you got, man?”
“About a hundred.”
“Well, now, that’s impossible,” Sam said, and rose from where he was sitting, and stretched, signaling that the negotiations were over.
“You want that piece?” Jimmy asked.
“It looks like it could do the job,” Halloran said.
“Blow a man’s head off, that fuckin’ piece,” Sam said.
“So you want it or not?” Jimmy asked.
“I haven’t got a hun’ fifty,” Halloran said. He picked up the gun and hefted it on the palm of his hand.
“Fires either .44 Magnum or .44 Special cartridges,” Sam said. “I got both in stock, you don’t need to worry none.”
“It’s a nice piece,” Halloran said.
“Seven-and-a-half-inch barrel on that motha,” Sam said. “Beats the .357 Magnum all to shit. You got twice the killing power with this pistol that you got with the .357 Magnum.”
“Yeah,” Halloran said.
“They calls that gun there the Super Blackhawk,” Sam said. “Same caliber as a carbine, that gun. Cost you two hunnerd dollars you try to buy it in any store. All I’m askin’ is a hun’ fifty.”
“I just haven’t got that kind of bread,” Halloran said.
“If you want the gun, you got it,” Jimmy said. He turned to Sam. “You’re thowin’ in the ammo, am I right?”
“However many rouns the man wants.”
“Then you got yourself a deal, you fuckin’ thief,” Jimmy said, laughing and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a roll of bills fastened with a rubber band, slipped off the rubber band, pulling it onto his wrist, and then peeled off three fifties. Still laughing, he said, “You way too high, man. I shoulda taken him to Nicky Garters.”
“Nicky ain’t got no Rugers,” Sam said.
“Jus’ wait the next time you come in my pool parlor,” Jimmy said, handing him the bills. “Coss you twenny dollars an hour nex’ time you want to play.”
“Man, a hunnerd of this is whut I already laid out for that piece.”
Halloran hefted the gun again. His eyes met Jimmy’s. Very softly, he said, “Thank you, Jimmy.”
Asshole buddies, Sam thought. Just like he figured.
The air conditioner was humming in the second-floor bedroom of the brownstone. The room was cool, but Kling could not sleep. It was two in the morning, and he wasn’t due back at work till four this afternoon, but he’d hoped to get up early again in the morning, in time to leave the apartment when Augusta did. He wanted to see if she visited her pal on Hopper Street again. Wanted to see if visiting her pal was a regular lunch-hour thing with her, quick matinee every day of the week when she wasn’t out screwing around instead of eating in a Chinese restaurant. He was tempted to confront her with it now, tell her he’d followed her to Hopper Street, tell her he’d seen her go into the building at 641 Hopper Street, ask her what possible business she could have had in that building. Get it over with here and now. He remembered what Carella had advised him.
“Augusta?” he whispered.
“Mm.”
“Gussie?”
“Mm.”
“You awake?”
“No,” she said, and rolled over.
“Gussie, I want to talk to you.”
“Go t’sleep,” Augusta mumbled.
“Gussie?”
“Sleep,” she said.
“Honey, this is important,” he said.
“Shit.”
“Honey...”
“Shit, shit, shit,” she said, and sat up and snapped on the bedside lamp. “What is it?” she said, and looked at the clock on the table. “Bert, it’s two o’clock, I have a sitting at eight-thirty, can’t this wait?”
“I really feel I have to talk to you now,” he said.
“I have to get up at six-thirty!” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but, Gussie, this has really been bothering me.”
“All right, what is it?” she said, and sighed. She took a pack of cigarettes from beside the clock, shook one free, and lighted it.
“I’m worried,” he said.
“Worried? What do you mean?” she said
“About us,” he said.
“Us?”
“I think we’re drifting apart.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said.
“I think we are.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, we... for one thing, we don’t make love as often as we used to.”
“I’ve got my period,” Augusta said. “You know that.”
“I know that, but... well, that didn’t used to matter in the past. When we were first married.”
“Well,” she said, and hesitated. “I thought we were doing fine.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head.
“Is it the sex, is that it? I mean, that you think we don’t have enough sex?”
“That’s only part of it,” he said.
“Because if you, you know, if you’d like me to...”
“No, no.”
“I thought we were doing fine,” she said again, and shrugged, and stubbed out the cigarette.
“You know this girl who’s with the agency?” he said. Here it is, he thought. Here we go.
“What girl?”
“Little blonde girl. She models junior stuff.”
“Monica?”
“Yeah.”
“Monica Thorpe? What about her?”
“She was out there at the beach that night of the party. On the Fourth. Do you remember?”
“So?”
“We got to talking,” Kling said.
“Uh-huh,” Augusta said, and reached for the pack of cigarettes again. Lighting one, she said, “Must’ve been fascinating, talking to that nitwit.”
“You smoke an awful lot, do you know that?” Kling said.
“Is that another complaint?” Augusta asked. “No sex, too much smoking, are we going to go through a whole catalogue at two in the morning?”
“Well, I’m only thinking of your health,” Kling said.
“So what about Monica? What’d you talk about?”
“You.”
“Me? Now there’s a switch, all right. I thought Monica never talked about anything but her own cute little adorable self. What’d she have to say? Does she think I smoke too much?”
“She said she’s seen you around town with a lot of guys,” Kling said in a rush, and then caught his breath.