Part 17 (1/2)

”They looked, I don't know, familiar or something. You seen them with their parents?”

”What does it matter?”

”You know I run a charity for neglected young men. I'm just wondering if they need help. You see them with their parents, you let me know what the parents are like, okay?”

”Fine, but can we get back to Doe? What did you think?”

B.B. shook his head. ”I think the guy is full of s.h.i.+t, but that doesn't mean he took the money.”

”Then what does it mean?”

”Mostly it means that he's full of s.h.i.+t. But he knows he'd better come up with the money. I'm glad that Desiree wasn't with me to hear what he had to say. She doesn't like that kind of talk. He mouths off like that in front of her, I'll kill him.”

”Somebody might have to kill him.” The Gambler didn't know if it was true or not. Even if Doe had taken the money, he was still essential to keeping the Jacksonville operation alive. And the Gambler knew that he himself was necessary for keeping the book operation running smoothly. The only person who didn't pull his weight, it seemed, was B.B.

B.B. glared at the Gambler. ”You're awful quick with the violence, aren't you?”

”I'm just saying.”

”I'm the one who just says, okay? Remember that.”

”What? I'm not allowed to make suggestions?”

”Make good ones, and you'll be allowed.”

”Christ, you're touchy today. Let's forget it.” He looked out the window. ”You think having Desiree follow the kid is worthwhile?”

”No, it's a waste of time. That's why I'm having her do it.”

The Gambler shook his head. ”Okay, B.B. Whatever you say.”

”That's right. Whatever I say.”

The Gambler didn't answer. There was no response that didn't involve kicking the c.r.a.p out of him.

Back in his room, B.B. sat on the side of the bed and picked up the phone. He dialed the number he had memorized but not yet called until now. For an instant he felt the hammering in his chest might be the sign of something serious. He might look like a young man, but he was in his fifties, and people his age, seemingly healthy people his age, dropped dead from heart problems all the time.

It was only nerves. Odd he should feel so nervous, like a kid asking a girl out on a date. He was just calling, that's all.

He heard the click of an answer, and he prepared to hang up until a familiar voice spoke.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”Chuck?” B.B. said.

”Yeah?”

”It's B.B.”

”Oh,” he said with cheer, wonderful, heartening cheer. ”Hi.”

”Hi,” B.B. said. He was silent for a minute while he gathered his thoughts. ”Listen, I was just calling to tell you that I, you know, had a good time with you last night.” He hoped it didn't sound stupid.

”Yeah, it was fun,” Chuck said. ”The food was good.”

”And the wine?”

”Yeah. I didn't tell my mom about that, but it was good, too.”

”Maybe you'd like to try some more,” B.B. said.

”That would be neat.”

”I have a nice collection at my house.”

”Okay.”

The boy sounded hesitant. Did he not like the idea of being invited over, or did he not know exactly what having a wine collection meant?

”Maybe you'd like to come over sometime next week. See the collection. Sample a few choice bottles.”

”That would be cool. Thanks, B.B.”

He felt himself suck in a breath. Chuck wanted to come over. He wanted to drink wine with him. Desiree wouldn't like it. She would think he was up to something. B.B. would deal with that later, because Chuck was a special boy, maybe the most special boy he'd come across, and there was much to teach him and show him. That was what it meant to be a mentor.

In the distance, he heard Chuck's mother call his name in her shrill, gnome voice.

”Listen,” B.B. said, ”I have to go, but stop by the foundation early next week, and we'll set up a time.” He'd have Desiree out on a wild goose chase that afternoon. Something.

”That sounds great. I'll see you later, B.B.”

He hung up the phone and shook his head against the power of it all. Here it was, the boy B.B. had always known was out there. The one he could show things and educate and enlighten, and together they could tell the world to f.u.c.k off with their narrow-minded suspicions.

Maybe everything was changing. Maybe it was was time to move on, hand the business over to Desiree. She'd been overwhelmed by the idea, of course, but he only needed to help her gain the confidence. That would get her out of the house, certainly. time to move on, hand the business over to Desiree. She'd been overwhelmed by the idea, of course, but he only needed to help her gain the confidence. That would get her out of the house, certainly.

There was one last thing, however. He couldn't hand things over to Desiree with the Gambler still running the operation. Desiree wouldn't be the new B.B.; she would be the new Gambler, only with more responsibility. And that meant it was finally time. He'd kept the Gambler around long enough, savoring the opportunity, enjoying the feeling of toying with him. Now it was time to get rid of him.

That he had no idea how he would do such a thing bothered him hardly at all.

Chapter 20.

I SAT GLOOMILY SAT GLOOMILY in the car while Bobby drove us around, getting us pumped up for the selling day. He would point at moochie houses, point at lawn furniture and Slip 'N Slides and volleyball nets. Finally, he let me out at a little after eleven. He would come by the Kwick Stop to get me in about twelve hours. in the car while Bobby drove us around, getting us pumped up for the selling day. He would point at moochie houses, point at lawn furniture and Slip 'N Slides and volleyball nets. Finally, he let me out at a little after eleven. He would come by the Kwick Stop to get me in about twelve hours.

There had been times when I enjoyed it, this feeling of the day being all before me, every house a potential sale, a potential $200. Some days the unanswered knocks with the low barking behind thin metal doors didn't even bother me. Some days I all but smirked at the people who stared at me blankly as I went through my introductory speech, and I judged them. I judged them for their apathy. That's why you live in this s.h.i.+thole. That's why your kids will live in a trailer, just like you, when they grow up. Because you don't care.

Not that the encyclopedias mattered. Sure, it was possible that they'd make a difference in someone's life, but if a kid wanted to know some detail about the population of Togo or the history of metallurgy, he'd find out at school or in the library. On the other hand, the parents' willingness to buy the books, to invest the money, signaled something, and there were times when I actually believed in the importance of the work.