HCC 115 - Borderline by Lawrence Block Read Free Book Online Page B

of the round
     tables, with a bottle of tequila in the middle of the table. Two Mexicans and one
     bearded American wearing an army field jacket at the bar. Two gaunt girls at one of
     the square tables. A couple—an old man with a young wife—at another square table.
     No one else in the place.
    Lily’s eyes took all this in quickly. She walked directly to the big round table.
     There was a chair open between a flat-chested redhead and a boy with a scraggly brown
     beard. She sat at the chair, took the redhead’s empty glass and poured an ounce or
     so of tequila into it. She threw the firewater straight down and didn’t choke on it.
    Someone said, “Who, baby?”
    “Lily Daniels. Out of Denver by North Beach. No money and no friends. This seat wasn’t
     taken, was it, man?”
    “It is now. Stay as cool as you are, baby.”
    She smiled at a clean-shaven man with horn-rimmed glasses. He pushed the bottle back
     at her. “Have some more juice, Lily girl. We’re way out in front of you.”
    She poured another short shot and tossed it off. “Solid,” she said. “Solid.”
    “You in town long?”
    “Just today. I thumbed from Big D to Paso, got in a little past noon. What’s happening?”
    The flat-chested redhead laughed. The scraggly brown beard said, “I been around S.F.
     You know a cat name of Randy Kapper?”
    “Tall thin cat,” she said. “A cocaine habit.”
    “When I knew him he sniffed a little. He hooked now?”
    “Through the bag and back again.”
    “That’s a bitch,” the scraggly beard said. “He was a nice cat, when I knew him. He
     was padding out with Renee, I don’t know her last name, a big blonde with a fat can.
     Then she turned around to make a lesbo scene and Randy was all hung up. That’s a bitch,
     though, him on a coke needle. You never know.”
    They played who-do-you-know for fifteen minutes. They tossed mutual acquaintances
     back and forth and managed to get introductions across without being formal about
     it. The scraggly brown beard was Artie, the horn-rimmed glasses was Paul, the flat-chested
     redhead was Cassie. There was another girl with short dark hair named Didi and a blinking,
     red-eyed boy named Benno. Lily had more tequila.
    “You dig Mary Juanita, Lily?”
    “I’ve been there. I can take it or put it down.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “I don’t smoke regular cigarettes,” she said, “So it’s kind of hard for me to groove
     on pot. My throat gets like sandpaper.”
    More talk and more tequila. The bearded American left the bar and walked out into
     the night. The two Mexicans got into an argument. One of them took out a knife, pressed
     a button. A blade shot forward. The other Mexican picked up a beer bottle by the base
     and snapped the neck off deftly on the bartop. The bartender, white-haired and sad-eyed,
     spoke rapid Spanish to both of them. The knife was folded and returned to a pocket,
     the broken bottle replaced on the top of the bar.
    “I thought we’d see action,” Paul said lazily. “No action anymore. You got any bread,
     Lily?”
    “None.” They didn’t have to know about her twelve dollars. She was hanging onto it
     for the time being. Let them pay for the tequila, if they wanted to. Not her, thank
     you.
    “No bread? How you plan on eating?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Artie said, “Maybe Cassie can get you a gig. Cassie’s got a good job, Lily-O.”
    Cassie was blushing, her face as red as her hair.
    “Cassie’s in show biz,” Artie went on, his lips twitching in the beginning of a smile.
     “She has this gig at a night club, like. A club called Delia’s Place. You could say
     she’s the floorshow.”
    Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Lily poured another shot of tequila, the
     last in the bottle. She threw it down and drew a breath. She wondered what the redhead
     was squirming about.
    “Maybe Cassie can get a job for you,” Artie pressed on. “Where she works, like.”
    “I don’t dance,” Lily