"Who won?" whispered Cudahy.
Cudahy hadn't seen what I'd seen. For him it was still my-father-can-beat-up-your-father, understandable, really, part of the protocol, in fact, but my vision of them there together in that ruined place-everything upturned, upended, all order murdered, the floor studded with oddments, the rakes and spades and hoes heaped like some peasant rebellion's surrender-had changed everything. These were new men now.
We'd have to be new boys.
"Nobody won," I said.
"What do you mean nobody won?"
"Shh," I said.
We heard them through the shed wood.
"Jesus, Jim," said my father. "I'm sorry."
"Didn't know you had it in you, Charlie."
"Jesus, Jim."
"Haven't banged around like that in a while."
"My first fight."
"No shit? You did good, Charlie. You're a maniac."
"I thought I was a pacifist. Against the war, you know."
"Hell, the war was bullshit."
"We're all animals, Jim."
"Take it easy, buddy. You weren't that good. I could have kicked your ass if it came down to it. Still might."
"You're a big man, Jim. Big Jim."
"Big Jim Cudahy. Big everywhere. Big where it counts."
"Sure you are."
"No shit. Ask your wife."
"I did."
"Fuck."
"It's all right, Jim."
"Shit. What'd she say. Oh, fuck."
"Forget about it, Jim."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"You're a better man than I am, Charlie."
"Clearly I'm not. So, let's see it."
"What?"
"Let's see it."
"Whoa, there, buddy."
"No, really, let's see Big Jim's big 'un."
"Now I'm really going to have to beat the crap out of you."
"Want to see mine?"
"What the hell?"
"No, really."
"Really?"
"Really."
"You, too, then."
"Me, too, then."
"You won't be sorry."
"I'm always sorry."
We listened for a while, a shuffle of boots, buttons unsnapping. We listened and heard nothing. Then we heard something. It didn't mean anything, really. It was a couple of men finding some kind of solace in darkness, I guess. It was a couple of men with nothing in common but four hands and two cocks between them.
I looked over at Cudahy.
We'd have to be better friends than we'd ever been or no friends at all.
"Somebody won," said Cudahy.
"No," I said, "it was a draw."
Now I walked the cemetery grounds, poked around for Cudahy's stone. Near some weeds I spotted a granite sarcophagus that said Kippelman. I laid some nylon roses on it. Cudahy had been a great believer in fake flowers, fake teeth, fake fur.
"Everything God makes rots," he'd said.
I laid a card down beside the roses.
"Kippelman," I wrote. "Please hold for Cudahy."
I drove west, took a room in the hills, the Landview Inn Motel.
"We used to be an inn, in the olden days," said the woman who'd risen from a plate of sauerkraut when I'd tapped the bell. "We're a motel now, but we enjoy the historical significance of our past. Aaron Burr bedded a lady here. How long are you staying?"
"I don't know."
"That's not a problem."
"I'll have a better answer tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's the big day, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"Tomorrow the cows come home."
"I don't follow."
"I didn't ask you to follow," said the woman. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I'm not in a welcoming mood. I'm pooped. People think motel people just sit on their butts and pass out keys. There's a lot more to it."
"I don't doubt it."
"That's kind of you not to doubt it," the woman said, looked at my credit card. "William."
"Bill."
"I'm Fran. Fran Kincaid."
"You're kidding."
"It's not a very funny name, Bill, why would I be kidding? I mean Fran's sort of funny, like Gertrude, or something. I'll grant you that. But Kincaid? I like the sound of Kincaid. Hearty, right? I knew a guy named Murray Murray. Now that's funny. Jewish fellow. Not that I care. Happened to be Hebrew. We kissed, that's all. Not because of the Jew thing. I'm attracted to Jews. Einstein stayed here with his mistress in the fifties. Not that he was attractive. But you figure a guy who knows how the universe works would probably have a knack for smaller-scale manipulations, too, if you get my meaning. I'm sure you get my meaning. You seem like a worldly man of the world, William."
"Bill."
"I like William better. Do you mind if I call you William? It sounds more historical."
"Tell me, Fran, have you worked here long?"
"All my life. Or, well, a while. A few years."
"I once knew a Fran Kincaid. We were pen pals."
"Were you in prison?"
"No."
"Because a lot of gals write to cons. It's good to know where your man is every night. Oh, wait, I've heard of this. She was in prison."
"Nobody was in prison."
"Well, William, I never wrote you when you were in the slam. Seeing you now, I'm kind of sorry I didn't."
"Can I have my key?"
"Here. Don't worry, I've got a set, too."
I picked up a pint of rye at a package store across the interstate. My hunt for a complimentary Landview Inn Motel water glass proved futile and I had to make do with Dixie cups. This wasn't a bad thing, though I find it pretty hard to drink from a Dixie cup without tasting toothpaste. Someday there will be surgical remedy for this sort of thing. I called directory assistance and asked for my father's telephone number.
"Does your father have a name?"
"Oh, right," I said.
The old man let it ring for a while.
"Dad."
"My boy."
"That's me. How're the nibs?"
"I'm about to strike a deal for a Hink's Civic Stainless. Maybe a Mitchell's Fairie, too, although this Kraut down in Brownsville is playing tough guy. The nib world is no place for the gentle, kid. But you've got to do what you've got to do. You can't worry too much if you're righteous. You've got to give it up to the qelippah sometimes."
"The what?"
"The power of evil, son. It's a Kabbala thing, you wouldn't understand."
"Dad, you're really deep in this stuff."
"I've been deep in all my life. I'm clawing my way out now. So when do I get to see my boy?"
"Well, I'm actually near you. I thought I'd-"
"This is a really bad time for me, kid. I'm closing in on that Hinks. Winnie's real busy, the kids are around, court-mandated house arrest, you know. Menachem's LoJack is too tight and we've got to get that dealt with."
"It's okay, Dad."
"Next time you swing through Pittsburgh. How are you, though? Good?"
"Not good."
"Good. I was worried about you. I saw you on TV and all that. Then I didn't hear from you. I respected your decision not to involve me. I probably would have complicated things anyway. But it sounds like you're all better now. I'm happy about that. No father wants to see his son die. Not before a reasonable age. That's just the way of nature. I'll call you soon. Or you call me. When this Hinks thing, when it's in the can. Isn't that what you Hollywood people say?"
"I was never in Hollywood, Dad."
"This is the big one. I thought the Brandauer was the big one but that was before the Hinks."
"Good luck."
"I don't need luck. I have faith."
"Fuckeroo'd," I said.
"Excuse me?"
The TV was bolted to the wall near the ceiling. There was no remote. I had to hop up on the bureau to work the dials. Was this how Einstein did it? Maybe he made his mistress change the channels. Not that they had much to choose from in those days. Puppets, mostly, maybe a Senate hearing. Probably just wanted to see up her poon, Einstein. He was pretty damn old by then. Maybe even dead.