excitement in the Juice’s voice. “Sit down, man! You still on that Mexican beer kick?”
Farnsworth’s eyes were dimly visible in the bar’s low light. He kept them on Wager. “Tecate.”
“I’ll get it for you, man. Sit down! I’ll be right back.”
“Bruce says you’re his best buyer.”
“He sells good stuff. I appreciate that.”
“How’s his price?”
Wager shrugged. “The Juice is fair. But, like anybody else, I’m always looking for a better deal. You onto any?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on the market at the time.”
“It depends on how many middlemen there are, too.”
“What makes you think he’s not the source?”
“The way he hopped up when you came in? ¡Mierda, hombre! He’s a good kid and he’s on the make, but he doesn’t have the”—Wager groped for the word with his hands—“seriousness of somebody at the top. We say he no tiene huevos .”
For the first time, Farnsworth smiled, the cheeks clenching slightly above the line of his beard. He reached deep into one of the baggy pockets of his army field jacket and pulled out a huge yellow pipe that reminded Wager of the Sherlock Holmes movies. “I’ve got some friends who might cut your overhead.”
Bruce came back with the Mexican beer; his eyes flicked first at Farnsworth, then at Wager. “You guys getting it together O.K.?”
“Sure, Juice.” Farnsworth smiled and nodded thanks for the beer. “ Salud y pesos .”
“ Mucho de ambos ,” answered Wager, and Farnsworth laughed.
“What’s that mean, man?” The Juice twisted a lime slice into his own fresh drink that blossomed at the top with green leaves, toothpicks, straws, and a crescent of orange.
“Just a saying,” Wager said, smiling, “like good luck.”
“Oh.” The eyes flicked again and Bruce sucked at the glass.
After a few minutes, Farnsworth drained his beer. “I better cut—Ramona’s got supper going.”
“Don’t rush off, man.” Bruce’s enthusiasm sounded forced.
“Give me a call sometime, Gabe. The number’s in the book.”
“Por supuesto.”
Bruce watched Farnsworth go out through the double entry into the darkening street. He stared at his glass in silence for a while, then looked up. “Did he lay a deal on you?”
Wager sipped his beer. “He said he might be able to cut my overhead.”
“Shit.” The Juice twirled the glass in its puddle of melted frost. “You’re the best customer I got. And you’re between me and the street, too. If you go over to him, I got to go back on the street, and man that’s a bad scene.”
“Business is business, Juice. Besides, you told me you got along real sweet up here—no competition.”
“Well, yeah, we cover for each other every now and then. But to buy out a guy’s best customer! It’s like he lets me have a customer long enough to see if he’s legitimate; then he moves in and cuts me out. I’ll bet he’ll charge you more than he charges me, but less than I got to charge you to make my profit. That way he can raise his prices. It’s dingy shit, you know?”
“I’m not in this for my health. He gave me a chance to raise my profit margin. I’ll see what he offers. Business is business, Juice, and I want to get off the street, too.”
“He’s my supplier—I can’t get underneath the son of a bitch. I just think it’s shit! I finally get a good steady customer and start making a little money, and I get fucking underbid. And I can’t do a goddam thing about it, man. He’d cut me off and I wouldn’t have nothing at all.”
“Maybe you can come up with stuff he doesn’t have.”
“I get everything from him. He’s the only source around. We need us a free market system, man.”
The Juice was learning that it wasn’t all fun and games. Wager did his best to hide the feeling of satisfaction, but something must have tinged his voice. “Well, we all got problems, brother.”
Bruce looked up quickly. “I’ll remember you said that.”
Wager smiled
Farnsworth’s eyes were dimly visible in the bar’s low light. He kept them on Wager. “Tecate.”
“I’ll get it for you, man. Sit down! I’ll be right back.”
“Bruce says you’re his best buyer.”
“He sells good stuff. I appreciate that.”
“How’s his price?”
Wager shrugged. “The Juice is fair. But, like anybody else, I’m always looking for a better deal. You onto any?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on the market at the time.”
“It depends on how many middlemen there are, too.”
“What makes you think he’s not the source?”
“The way he hopped up when you came in? ¡Mierda, hombre! He’s a good kid and he’s on the make, but he doesn’t have the”—Wager groped for the word with his hands—“seriousness of somebody at the top. We say he no tiene huevos .”
For the first time, Farnsworth smiled, the cheeks clenching slightly above the line of his beard. He reached deep into one of the baggy pockets of his army field jacket and pulled out a huge yellow pipe that reminded Wager of the Sherlock Holmes movies. “I’ve got some friends who might cut your overhead.”
Bruce came back with the Mexican beer; his eyes flicked first at Farnsworth, then at Wager. “You guys getting it together O.K.?”
“Sure, Juice.” Farnsworth smiled and nodded thanks for the beer. “ Salud y pesos .”
“ Mucho de ambos ,” answered Wager, and Farnsworth laughed.
“What’s that mean, man?” The Juice twisted a lime slice into his own fresh drink that blossomed at the top with green leaves, toothpicks, straws, and a crescent of orange.
“Just a saying,” Wager said, smiling, “like good luck.”
“Oh.” The eyes flicked again and Bruce sucked at the glass.
After a few minutes, Farnsworth drained his beer. “I better cut—Ramona’s got supper going.”
“Don’t rush off, man.” Bruce’s enthusiasm sounded forced.
“Give me a call sometime, Gabe. The number’s in the book.”
“Por supuesto.”
Bruce watched Farnsworth go out through the double entry into the darkening street. He stared at his glass in silence for a while, then looked up. “Did he lay a deal on you?”
Wager sipped his beer. “He said he might be able to cut my overhead.”
“Shit.” The Juice twirled the glass in its puddle of melted frost. “You’re the best customer I got. And you’re between me and the street, too. If you go over to him, I got to go back on the street, and man that’s a bad scene.”
“Business is business, Juice. Besides, you told me you got along real sweet up here—no competition.”
“Well, yeah, we cover for each other every now and then. But to buy out a guy’s best customer! It’s like he lets me have a customer long enough to see if he’s legitimate; then he moves in and cuts me out. I’ll bet he’ll charge you more than he charges me, but less than I got to charge you to make my profit. That way he can raise his prices. It’s dingy shit, you know?”
“I’m not in this for my health. He gave me a chance to raise my profit margin. I’ll see what he offers. Business is business, Juice, and I want to get off the street, too.”
“He’s my supplier—I can’t get underneath the son of a bitch. I just think it’s shit! I finally get a good steady customer and start making a little money, and I get fucking underbid. And I can’t do a goddam thing about it, man. He’d cut me off and I wouldn’t have nothing at all.”
“Maybe you can come up with stuff he doesn’t have.”
“I get everything from him. He’s the only source around. We need us a free market system, man.”
The Juice was learning that it wasn’t all fun and games. Wager did his best to hide the feeling of satisfaction, but something must have tinged his voice. “Well, we all got problems, brother.”
Bruce looked up quickly. “I’ll remember you said that.”
Wager smiled
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