Authors: William Goldman
Control (12 page)
Billyboy
“
The bus station please,
”
Billy Boy said when the Shrimp asked him where he wanted to be let off. He always went to them first whenever he hit a new town. There wasn
’
t any
place you could get the feel of things like you could in a bus station.
“
You got it.
”
Then no more talk till the Caddie pulled to a halt by Port Authority.
It had been that kind of trip. Fast driving, loud music, not a lot of chitchat. In the beginning it had been talky enough. The Shrimp —he had these pale blue eyes that looked through you sometimes —he
’
d gone to school in the Midwest someplace, Indiana or Ohio, and then he
’
d become an Angelino before deciding to make it in New York.
“
What the fuck
’
s an Angelino?
”
Billy Boy asked.
“
Someone from Los Angeles.
”
“
That makes me a Milwaukee-eeno then,
”
Billy Boy said, and he roared his laughter, because it was so funny.
Only the Shrimp didn
’
t think so. He didn
’
t even smile. Just gunned the Caddie along the turnpike.
Billy Boy, frightened suddenly, told himself to Jesus watch it! So that was when their long silences began.
They got a flat on the Pennsy and the Shrimp was all hot and bothered but Billy Boy was so happy. If there was one thing he knew it was cars. No. He knew a lot about a helluva lot, but one of the things he knew
most
about was cars. He changed the Caddie
’
s tire so fast the Shrimp couldn
’
t goddam believe
it Then
he asked if Billy Boy wanted the wheel a little and you don
’
t say no to a Caddie, not ever, so he pushed it hard until they began getting into heavy traffic and up ahead in the late morning sun he saw it there.
New York!
It was one thing to be King in Milwaukee or Memphis or any of the other spots along his way. But shit.
New York!
“
You better drive from here,
”
he said, and they switched in the car, the Shrimp taking the wheel, Billy Boy lifting him across into position, then sliding the rest of the way to the passenger
’
s spot again.
The tunnel was murder so it was close to one when the Caddie stopped at 41st and Eighth.
“
Hope your sister
’
s surprised,
”
the Shrimp said.
Billy Boy just stared.
“
Huh?
”
“
You told me you were surprising your sister.
”
“
Oh, naturally.
”
Pause.
“
But didn
’
t I also tell you I wanted the bus station?
”
“
This is Port Authority.
”
Billy Boy stared at the huge building.
“
Isn
’
t there a smaller one?
”
“
Nothing
’
s
smaller in New York.
”
Billy Boy nodded, got out, muttered
“
thanks.
”
The air was suddenly so cold. He buttoned up his raincoat to the neck. It was still so cold.
“
For the tire change,
”
the Shrimp said, and he handed over ten.
“
Take it!
”
Billy Boy grabbed the bread. He didn
’
t know which was his bigger fear all of a sudden, the Shrimp or the City.
“
You
’
re a good guy, you
’
ll live a long time.
”
The Shrimp looked at him funny.
“
Yeah?
”
“
Believe me,
”
Billy Boy said.
“
I can tell things like that.
”
And then he walked into Port Authority.
It was all fucked up, construction everywhere, arrows and pillars and thousands of people and—
—and why were they looking at him? All of them looking. At him. Dead at him.
They weren
’
t.
Not all. Shit, a lot weren
’
t.
But a lot were.
A lot
Too many.
It was his clothes. Here it was winter in the Apple and he had his prison shoes still and the jeans he
’
d taken and over the jeans
the raincoat In the winter in the Apple he was in a raincoat, no wonder they were looking. He quick went into a store where a nigger girl said,
“
May I help you find a book, sir?
”
and he said,
“
Why would I want a fucking book, for Chrissakes,
”
and as she started glancing around—for help?—so did he, and there was every reason for him to want a book, it was a
bookstore,
and watch your mouth, you don
’
t swear like that at niggers, not in the Apple, they treated niggers different than back in other places, better sometimes, so he muttered
“
excuse me,
”
and hurried back out of the store.
And all the people were still looking at his clothes.
He went into a liquor store and asked to use the phone but the old Jew just pointed at a sign on the wall—
”
No Checks, No Phones
”
—and Billy Boy was back in the main corridor again, with all the people staring.
Ahead, at last, he saw some phone booths.
Two empty.
Good luck.
He sat in the first.
Bad luck.
Out of order.
Both.
He got in line to use one of the three working ones. Then he realized he needed the Yellow Pages. It meant maybe losing his place in line but he needed the Yellow Pages bad. So he left the line, opened the book, licked his thumb and forefinger, turned and turned until he found what he needed, then stood in line again.
“
Hero
’
s
”
he heard, when his time finally came.
“
Pm new in town,
”
Billy Boy said into the phone.
“
And I wondered how much things cost here.
”
“
I can
’
t give no prices over the phone, Mac, but
I’ll
tell you this: we
’
re cheaper than Primo
’
s, we
’
re cheaper than King Size. And our quality
’
s tops. What do you need?
”
“
Maybe a sweater and maybe some pants and a shirt too or like that. Socks. Underwear. Y
’
know.
”
“
The works, huh? Sounds like you got a heavy date.
”
And he kind of laughed.
Billy Boy tried to laugh too. What the hell did clothes have to do with women? You wanted a woman, you slipped her some bread, what the fuck did clothes have to do with fucking?
“
That
’
s right, the works. But it
’
s gotta fit good.
”
“
How big are you?
”
“
Big enough. And it
’
s gotta fit good.
”
“
We do half the wrestlers play the Garden, just come on in.
”
“
How much though?
”
“
Top quality? Couple hundred
’
ll
see you fine. I
’
m interested in customer satisfaction, I never yet lost a sale over money, just come on over. We
’
re open till seven.
”
Couple hundred. Two rich women ought to have that much. Maybe one. This was New York.
“
It
’
ll be after dark before I can get there. Where are you; like I said I
’
m new in town.
”
“
Just behind Bloomingdale
’
s, can
’
t miss us.
”
Billy Boy left the booth and found his way as quickly as he could to the men
’
s room to check it out. It was big and not so bad as some. Couple queens off by the far sink, but who cared about a couple queens? He studied the place a long time and it really made him feel good. He could, if he had to, spend the night here. He didn
’
t want that, naturally. A hotel room with a bed would be a ton better. What he wanted was to get the clothes and a couple top-class bottles of whiskey and see a broad for a few minutes and then sleep. But that would require pulling a job or two. If he pulled the job, fine, it was hotel time. If he didn
’
t, not all that bad, he
’
d spend the night here.
Everything
depended on one not-so-small point: Was this or wasn
’
t it a lucky day?
“
Is this my lucky day?
”
The Spic lady looked up from doing her nails. There were two kids behind her in the doorway. Behind them, a TV was blaring and men laughed.
Billy Boy waited in the doorway on Eighth Avenue.
“
That
’
s all I wanna know, how much?
”
“
You must come in and sit down,
”
the Spic lady said. She pointed to the Fortune-teller sign in the window.
“
I know everything but not from a distance.
”
Billy Boy sat across from her, held out his hands palms up.
“
Is this my lucky day, yes or no, I wanna pull a job so you tell me.
”
She blinked.
“
What you mean
‘
pull a job
’
?
”
‘‘
Get
a job,
”
Billy Boy said quickly.
“
I got to apply after employment and I wanna know should I or maybe it
’
s best if I wait till tomorrow.
”
He pushed his hands toward her.
‘
Two palms is ten, five each.
”
“
Can you tell luck either way?
”
“
I could bullshit you with one. But a thing like luck I can only be positive with two.
”
“
Both then.
”
Her kids were out of the doorway now, looking up at him.
“
Don
’
t they bother you?
”
“
They help me—sometimes they can be very sensitive.
”
“
So can I,
”
Billy Boy said.
“
Sometimes.
”
“
Take out the ten, hold it tight, make a wish.
”
Billy Boy did what she said and almost wished that he could fuck all Charlie
’
s Angels one after the other. But then he quick decided that was dumb. The one with the hair was long gone and if he wanted three at once he could buy three at once. If this was a lucky day. I better wish this is my lucky day, he decided, and did.
She took the ten, put it under an ashtray on the table beside her. Then she took his palms, stared at them, began quickly to talk.
“
… through your palms I see this is a time of great decision for you … through your palms I see that next month will be lucky days for you… through—
”
“
Today, lady. I don
’
t give a shit about next month, okay?
”
“
I
’
m closing in on the truth, you think that
’
s so easy?
”
“
No. I
’
m just anxious. Go on.
”
“
… through your palms I see that though you don
’
t cry on the outside, inside your heart has many tears… through your palms I see you are a good man, and many people love you, but you got trouble showing you love them back… your wife or your girl friend, she loves you because you are a good man …
”
“
And you are a phony fortune-teller,
”
Billy Boy said,
“
Gimme my ten.
”
Suddenly she shouted very loud in Spanish.
Billy Boy just sat there.
There were footsteps and male voices.
Billy Boy blinked and waited.
Two Spies with knives came through the doorway. She shouted at them in Spanish. They both looked at Billy Boy. One of them was just in white underwear shorts. He was little with a big knife. The other one had a bigger knife and he had pants on. The kids moved to the wall and stared up at everything. The one with just underwear said,
“
Out, asshole,
”
and he gestured toward the door with his thumb.
