Walk runs for a dozen or so blocks through the center of San Antonio like a substratum of the city. Numerous staircases take you down from the street level and twenty or so bridges can take you from one side to the other.
Down on the river itself, you can stroll either bank and wander among sidewalk cafes, restaurants, bars, shops, even bookstores. You can get about any kind of food down on the River Walk, from Tex-Mex to Mex-Mex, from French cuisine to Cajun cooking, from Italian to your old basic burger and chicken-fried steak. You can eat it indoors, outdoors, on a barge cruising the river, or carry it around with you if you want. And they’ve been known to serve a drink or two on the River Walk.
It isn’t exactly Venice and it isn’t exactly Texas, either. The River Walk is a hybrid of Spanish, Texan, French, Italian, New Orleans. You can do a lot of traveling in a short distance on the River Walk, but Jack Landis wasn’t paying attention to any of it.
Jack was in a sweat.
Joey Beans was just digging into a blackened filet mignon when Jack came huffing to the table.
“Siddown before you have a heart attack,” Joey said. “Relax.”
That’s the trouble with these Anglo types, Joey thought. They just can’t relax and enjoy what life has to give to you. Here it is, a beautiful evening on the River Walk—the trees sparkling with lights, the lights reflecting off the river, a table with a view of the river and half the young pussy in San Antonio—and this crooked little businessman can’t drink it in.
“A glass of red for Mr. Landis,” he told Harold. The muscle-bound hunk went into the restaurant to fetch the waitress.
“Make that hemlock,” Jack said as he sat down. “Guess what?”
“You went to take a whiz and your dick fell off?”
Joey Beans was in a humorous mood.
“Worse,” Jack said. “We found Polly. Whiting just called. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Joey Beans tasted a bite of his steak. It was superb.
“My beeper went off,” he said as he chewed. “I had Harold call you, but you must have left.”
Joey paused to scope out a leggy young blonde crossing the footbridge over the river. Joey figured she was probably headed for a night of beer drinking at the Lone Star Cafe on the other side of the river.
He jutted his chin at the woman crossing the bridge.
“Why does she want to drink beer with a cowboy when she could have champagne with Joey Foglio?” he asked. “Hey, Jack, other than the fact that your retired fed bastard didn’t die in a plane crash, that’s good news you found Polly, isn’t it? You want a steak? I’ll tell Harold to order you a steak. How do you take it?”
“I don’t want any damn steak,” Jack answered as soon as the blonde got out of sight. “Guess who’s with Polly right now?”
“We gonna play guessing games all night, Jack?” Joey asked.
“Candice,” Jack said.
Joey noticed that the poor bastard’s hands were shaking.
“So?”
“SO!” Jack hissed. “So what if Polly tells her everything?”
Joey smeared some sour cream on his baked potato.
“Jack,” he said, “what’s she gonna say she ain’t said already? That you pronged her parakeet, too?”
The waitress came with a glass of red. Joey Foglio gave her a ten-dollar bill and a “when do you get off” leer. Joey was in the mood for some strange tonight.
“So what if Candy believes her?” Jack asked.
“Jack, are you saying to me now that you did this girl?”
Jack guzzled his wine.
Joey didn’t believe what he was seeing. Grown man looks like a twelve-year-old caught in the bathroom with a National Geographic. Guy builds an empire, two empires … a frigging fortune … and he’s pissing his pants because his wife might find out he’s getting some outside the house.
“Well?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Jack answered.
“Maybe,” Joey echoed. “So tell Candy to pay her off.”
“It’s not that easy,” Jack said.
Joey cut another bite of steak,
Down on the river itself, you can stroll either bank and wander among sidewalk cafes, restaurants, bars, shops, even bookstores. You can get about any kind of food down on the River Walk, from Tex-Mex to Mex-Mex, from French cuisine to Cajun cooking, from Italian to your old basic burger and chicken-fried steak. You can eat it indoors, outdoors, on a barge cruising the river, or carry it around with you if you want. And they’ve been known to serve a drink or two on the River Walk.
It isn’t exactly Venice and it isn’t exactly Texas, either. The River Walk is a hybrid of Spanish, Texan, French, Italian, New Orleans. You can do a lot of traveling in a short distance on the River Walk, but Jack Landis wasn’t paying attention to any of it.
Jack was in a sweat.
Joey Beans was just digging into a blackened filet mignon when Jack came huffing to the table.
“Siddown before you have a heart attack,” Joey said. “Relax.”
That’s the trouble with these Anglo types, Joey thought. They just can’t relax and enjoy what life has to give to you. Here it is, a beautiful evening on the River Walk—the trees sparkling with lights, the lights reflecting off the river, a table with a view of the river and half the young pussy in San Antonio—and this crooked little businessman can’t drink it in.
“A glass of red for Mr. Landis,” he told Harold. The muscle-bound hunk went into the restaurant to fetch the waitress.
“Make that hemlock,” Jack said as he sat down. “Guess what?”
“You went to take a whiz and your dick fell off?”
Joey Beans was in a humorous mood.
“Worse,” Jack said. “We found Polly. Whiting just called. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Joey Beans tasted a bite of his steak. It was superb.
“My beeper went off,” he said as he chewed. “I had Harold call you, but you must have left.”
Joey paused to scope out a leggy young blonde crossing the footbridge over the river. Joey figured she was probably headed for a night of beer drinking at the Lone Star Cafe on the other side of the river.
He jutted his chin at the woman crossing the bridge.
“Why does she want to drink beer with a cowboy when she could have champagne with Joey Foglio?” he asked. “Hey, Jack, other than the fact that your retired fed bastard didn’t die in a plane crash, that’s good news you found Polly, isn’t it? You want a steak? I’ll tell Harold to order you a steak. How do you take it?”
“I don’t want any damn steak,” Jack answered as soon as the blonde got out of sight. “Guess who’s with Polly right now?”
“We gonna play guessing games all night, Jack?” Joey asked.
“Candice,” Jack said.
Joey noticed that the poor bastard’s hands were shaking.
“So?”
“SO!” Jack hissed. “So what if Polly tells her everything?”
Joey smeared some sour cream on his baked potato.
“Jack,” he said, “what’s she gonna say she ain’t said already? That you pronged her parakeet, too?”
The waitress came with a glass of red. Joey Foglio gave her a ten-dollar bill and a “when do you get off” leer. Joey was in the mood for some strange tonight.
“So what if Candy believes her?” Jack asked.
“Jack, are you saying to me now that you did this girl?”
Jack guzzled his wine.
Joey didn’t believe what he was seeing. Grown man looks like a twelve-year-old caught in the bathroom with a National Geographic. Guy builds an empire, two empires … a frigging fortune … and he’s pissing his pants because his wife might find out he’s getting some outside the house.
“Well?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Jack answered.
“Maybe,” Joey echoed. “So tell Candy to pay her off.”
“It’s not that easy,” Jack said.
Joey cut another bite of steak,
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