"It will come back," said Virgilio.
"When the price of oil goes down," Bat said to Jonas, "they don't pump as much. Which means that not only do they get less per barrel but they don't sell as many barrels. It makes income fluctuate wildly."
"I never invested in oil," said Jonas. "It has always impressed me as a business in which a fool and his money are soon parted." He nodded at Virgilio Escalante and added, "I mean, señor, it is a business where a man should not venture unless he is knowledgeable about that business."
Virgilio smiled. He was a graying, compact man who could, so far as appearance was concerned, have been a native of the United States or any country in Europe. "I understood your meaning," he said.
"I've never invested in uranium either," said Jonas. "For the same reason. It's a legitimate business in which some men are making fortunes. But for those who don't know what they're doing —" He shook his head.
"You've invested in a casino-hotel," said Bat.
"I have an experienced, knowledgeable consultant on my payroll."
"When I was last in the States," said Bat, "I saw Cord television sets in the stores."
"We're not as successful in the field as RCA or General Electric," said Jonas, "but I think we can compete with Philco, Zenith, Magnavox, DuMont, Emerson, Sylvania, and the like."
"I am hoping to see television broadcasting in Mexico before too much longer," said Virgilio. "I am afraid the broadcasting will be government-controlled, however. It is in most countries."
4
They had no bourbon in the house, so Jonas carried half a bottle of brandy to his room. He took a bath, stretched out on his bed, and looked through an English-language book he had found in the library. Main Street by Sinclair Lewis. He'd heard about it for many years but had never read it. He'd never had the time. Starting it now, he didn't find it terribly interesting and was about to put it aside when someone knocked on his bedroom door.
God! Not Sonja. Surely not ...
No, not Sonja. When he opened the door he found Virgilio standing there.
"May I come in?"
"Of course."
Two chairs faced the small fireplace, and the two men sat down. Jonas had undressed for bed. He hadn't brought a robe, so he'd pulled on his pants before he went to the door. Virgilio was still wearing the white suit he'd worn at dinner.
"I hope you will forgive the intrusion," said Virgilio. "I hope even more you will forgive the reason for it."
Jonas nodded. "Would you like some brandy?"
"No, thank you. I ... I am most embarrassed about what I am about to say. After dinner, when Bat spoke of the price of oil and the wide fluctuations we experience in oil income, he was not prompted by me, but he was explaining something that I would otherwise have had to explain."
Jonas knew what was coming. He was about to be touched for a loan.
"Even the past few months' diminished income would have been entirely sufficient ... but for one thing. I have been very foolish in Las Vegas. I am heavily indebted to the casinos, which of course expect payment. I need time. When the price of oil recovers, which it will, I shall be in a position to pay in full, with reasonable interest. For the moment —" He turned up the palms of his hands.
"How much do you owe?" asked Jonas.
"More than a quarter of a million dollars," said Virgilio glumly. "I owe the Flamingo a hundred ten thousand. I owe The Seven Voyages a hundred sixty-five thousand. Imagine my surprise and embarrassment when I learned that you own The Seven Voyages."
"You gamble badly," said Jonas. "Do you have other expensive habits?"
"No," said Virgilio humbly. "I am loyal to my wife — I mean, as loyal as any man; I have ventured but have never kept another woman. Like any man. No significant money."
Jonas was distressed that the man would bare himself this way. He demeaned himself, confessing his peccadilloes to a man who was almost a stranger to him. "You have what we call a cash-flow problem," he said to Virgilio.
"I believe that is the term."
Jonas's mind worked fast. This man had reared his son for him — and reared him well. He decided.
"One sixty-five at my hotel, one ten at the Flamingo, you say. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."
"A loan," said Virgilio.
"We can talk about it again sometime when the cash is flowing. In the meantime, don't even think about it. I'll take care of it."
5
From the villa in Mexico City, Jonas telephoned Morris Chandler on Tuesday, using the scrambler telephone.
"What are we carrying on the books in the name of Virgilio Escalante?" he asked.
"We don't have books for that kind of thing," said Morris.
"Then I'm sure you've got it in your head, Morris — that kind of money."
"Hundred sixty-five," said Morris.
"Write it off," said Jonas.
Morris Chandler said nothing for a long moment, then said, "Well, you own the place."
"Right. Now, I understand that Señor Escalante owes a hundred ten at the Flamingo. Call and offer them fifty for it."
"They won't go for it."
"See if they do."
"Okay," Morris sighed. "You're the boss."
"Let me ask you something," said Jonas. "How much are we carrying for our Mexican junketeers?"
"Oh, I'd say another five hundred thousand. More than that, actually."
"And how much do we make from them in a year?"
"Offhand —"
"Enough to justify flying a plane back and forth from Mexico City twice a week, right? Enough to justify rooms, meals, drinks, gifts, right? Well then, it's enough to invest a hundred sixty in one of their high rollers. It's business, my friend, business."
6
When Bat came to the villa on Friday evening, Angie was there again. She had come down on the Thursday junket flight and would return to Las Vegas on Tuesday.
From the moment when Bat walked into the living room, Jonas saw that his son was angry. Dressed in a gray suit of some shiny material, with a narrow black necktie, Bat looked more Mexican than Jonas had ever seen him. He didn't sit down and spoke to Angie.
"I hope you won't be offended, Angie, but I would like to speak with my father alone ... for a few minutes."
Angie rose, nodded, and quietly left the room.
"Why?" asked Jonas.
Bat stepped over to the chair where his father was sitting. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed the envelope to Jonas. "There," he said. "There's twenty-five thousand in cash. That's all I could raise for the moment. The balance is represented by a note for two hundred fifty thousand. I'll pay as soon as I can. With interest."
Jonas didn't open the envelope. He thrust it toward Bat, who stepped back and didn't take it.
"May I ask what the hell this is for?"
Bat glared. "Virgilio ... Padre ... put a touch on you for his Las Vegas gambling losses. It was a despicable thing to do. I'm not sure you didn't do something worse, though. You gave it to him."
"I made him a loan."
"Do you have a note?"
"No. A deal like that doesn't need a note. It's a deal between gentlemen."
"Virgilio is no gentleman," said Bat. "His father, the man I called Abuelo — grandfather — would have horsewhipped him for asking money from you, from you of all people! And you gave it to him! 'A deal between gentlemen.' Bullshit!"
Jonas flared. "Who the hell are you to talk to me that way?"
"I want a straight answer to a straight question."