Chapter 15

The Wildcat slept until the first grey light of dawn announced the day. He got up and stretched himself and drank five or six slugs of free ice water. "Lemme see," he yawned, "whah at is us." His mind covered the events of his immediate past and collided heavily with the battle which had been fought in the night. "Wondeh how ol' Mud Turtle is? I betteh git him fo' de passengers gets up. Wid all dat hoof oil in 'im, 'spec' he'll crave mo' wateh dan a mule."

He opened the door of the linen closet. In the far corner, propped against the wall, sat the Mud Turtle. The dazed expression on his face was completely surrounded by brunet skin and surmounted by a pair of owl-like eyes which blinked at the sudden light.

The Wildcat whispered at him, "Is you pacified? Dast I leave you loose?"

The Mud Turtle replied with a question, "Was many folks hurt in de wreck?"

"Ain't been no wreck, 'ceptin' you like to wrecked me. Come out heah till I helps you 'membeh yo' sinful past."

He hauled the Mud Turtle into the passage way and resurrected him from the interior of the blanket cocoon.

"Come on back heah," the Wildcat directed. "Stretch yo' laigs an' come on back heah whilst I 'splains about you. Take 'at ol' coat off an' put on dis white coat."

The Mud Turtle removed his mud-caked blue coat and donned a crisp white jacket. For a while he sat quiet on the leather seat of the smoking car. Finally he turned to the Wildcat.

"All I 'members is takin' one drink."

"All I 'members pusson'ly is what you did after you took 'at one drink. Thought you said you could handle yo' licker. I neveh seed such a wild man. Boy, you started single, but when you an' 'at drink got confidential you sho' was a' army. Handle yo' licker! Huh! You couldn' handle de bottle, let alone what was in it. How come you lie such a big lie? Start out gentle nex' time."

"Must a bin some new kin' o' licker."

"Sho' acted new. Wid one drink like dat in me when I was fightin' in France, de ole guv'ment wouldn't need no mo' soldiers. I seed de night ob de big wind what blowed New Awl'uns clean up de Mississippi River. I know'd a mule what couldn't live in de mountains 'count o' kickin' 'em over, but las' night when you was goin' good, I says, 'If a mule married a cyclone an' had a boy, he'd be you.' 'Hoof oil,' dey calls it. 'At niggah what chefs in de dinin' car an rabbis when he lays over in Oaklan' give it to me."

The Mud Turtle looked at the broken window beside him. "Did I bus' 'at window?"

"Bust 'at window--you sho' did. All you did was blow yo' breaf at it. I tell you you was bad. I's seed folks what was plastered wid luck. You thinks you's plastered wid mud, but it ain't mud; it's real ol' luck. You had all de luck in de worl' gettin' out ob de claws ob that rabbi juice. Dat stuff is tiger blood. You had enough wild time las' night to last you all de res' ob your life does you live fo' evah."

"Wilecat, you sounds right. When us gits to Oaklan' I craves to settle down. Mebbe I shows you a business I aims to 'vest in."

"You don't show me no business, boy. Only business I craves is to find Lily and Lady Luck. Lily's ramblin' loose somewhere in San F'mcisco wid dem Blue Fezant boys. Does I meet up wid dat goat I'll sho' bust him in de haid fo' leavin' me. Every time me an' Lily gits a divo'ce ol' man Hard Luck camps on my trail. Business sounds good, but me, I 'cumulates Lily an' den I takes dem Blue Fezant boys back to Chicago. Mebbe when I comes back heah nex' time us starts some business. Not now. Naw, suh--not me!"

"Wilecat, some business ain't so bad. All you does is set dere an' take in de money."

"All you does is set dere, you mean, an' listen' to some triflin' niggah wantin' groceries or mebbe wantin' to eat whilst you supplies free grub, does you run a restaurant. Dem boys what buys easy never is got money. Naw, suh, I don't want no business, Mud Turtle. All I want is Lady Luck an' mah mascot goat."

The Mud Turtle continued his business dream without paying much attention to the Wildcat's arguments. "Dere's de anti-hair-kink business; all a boy does is buy some things at the drugsto' an' mix 'em up an' sells 'em at fifty cents a bottle. All de niggahs in de worl' craves to buy anti-kink juice. I's seed some remedies what took off de scalp an' some what removes de brain, but it don't make no diff'unce--niggahs keep on buyin', no matteh how deep de remedy digs in."

"Dat business is ol'," the Wildcat objected. "Dat's too ol' to ketch folks any mo'."

"So's kinky hair ol'," answered the Mud Turtle. "Dat business still ketches 'em. While de kinky hair las', so does de anti-kink business. Dat ain't de only business I knows. You an' me had luck wid fish--part bad luck an' part good luck. Here's de ocean an' here's San F'mcisco bay crowded wid fish. 'Spose us gits a wagon an' some hooks fo' ketchin' fish an' comes home eve'y day wid a wagon load."

"Don' say fish to me, boy! All de bad luck I'se had lately come f'm fish. See kin you talk 'bout some good-luck business does yo' crave to. Ah ain't got oveh mah fish luck yit."

"How 'bout de boot-leggin' business, Wilecat? Dey sho' is big money in dat."

"Nobody to sell to no mo'. Eve'ybody's boot-leggin' now. You steps up to a man on de street an' says 'How 'bout it?' an' he thinks you's tryin' to buy. Eve'ybody's boot-leggin'! See kin you think ob some business what's got some customers, instead ob eve'ybody runnin' de business deyself. Naw, suh, I aims not to let no business 'flooence me. I rounds me up Lily an' meets up wid Lady Luck, an' someday I sees ol' Cap'n Jack agin', an' den I quits worryin'. What I craves mos' is to ketch Lily an' den git some regulah run where I sleeps mos' all de time. 'Less I fin's mah mascot I aims to quit de whole Pullman business an' let 'em git on de bes' dey can widout me."

"Boy, how come you so tame? When we lef' Poteland all you talked about was startin' a sinful life an' bustin' all de speed records on de road to hell. Now all you craves is to settle down. Has de itch got you? 'Pears like you needs quinine."

"I don' need nuthin' 'ceptin' Lily an' Lady Luck--an' mebbe a slug o' gin."

"Cain't git no gin now days."

"Mud Turtle, when us gits to Oaklan' you follow me. I'll bet dat rabbi boy what chefs on dis train knows whah at is some gin. Any man what kin throw a dose ob hoof oil together on short notice what makes a nigger look like a cyclone sho' can dig up a drink o' gin. Quick as us gits to Oakland I trails 'at boy down. Chances is he starts de rabbi business soon as he gits his apron off. I depends on him fo' gin. I's jined up wid de chu'ch when I was sixteen, but now I aims to git backslid back enough to take de road what leads into dis rabbi place. You goes in an' takes off yo' hat, an' as quick as you gits baptized, the ol' preacheh says, 'Boys, what'll it be?' I says, 'Make mine gin.' Ol' Mud Turtle say, 'Make mine gin.' We says 'at 'bout six times, an' away us goes lookin' fo' Lily. At's better'n any business talk you'se talkin'."

"I'll say so, Wilecat--fo'get de business. Us has money, anyhow. There's that fo' hund'ed dollahs you give me an' whatever you'se got left off de Spindlin' Spider boy you cleaned in Poteland. I agrees wid you--fo'get de business."

With the arrival of the train in Oakland, about four minutes sufficed to clear up the Mud Turtle's official obligations to the company. Immediately thereafter he and the Wildcat set out to overtake the dining car chef, whom they had seen leaving the terminal. The Wildcat edged up beside the rabbi. "Boy," he said, "how 'bout some licker? Me an' the Mud Turtle here craves to git baptized wid a couple o' slugs o' gin. Is de gin included in de rabbi business?"

The chef looked at the Wildcat. "Us rabbis handles some gin, but it sho' comes high."

"Boy, us aims to pay high. You ain't talkin' to no busted steamboat niggahs. Us ain't fiel' han's. Me an' my podneh got money; all we craves is gin."

The chef's gaze left the Wildcat's face for a moment and seemed to travel to some more distant point. The Wildcat's statement of his finances had aroused the rabbi's cupidity. "Come on heah," he said briefly.

The three made their way up town and presently entered the door of a ramshackle structure standing midway of a block lined by similar buildings. They walked into a darkened room, and the Wildcat saw a fresco of gleaming white eyeballs ranged about him.

"Whah at is us?" he asked the rabbi.

"Dis heah's de Oaklan' Pleasure Club, sort of a social off-shot f'm de chu'ch."

"What chu'ch?"

"Chu'ch is called Banded Brothehs ob de Loose Barrel Hoop. I rabbis fo' dem when I's in town. When I'se away dey's got another boy what does de rabbi work."

The chef turned to the assemblage. "Boys, meet up wid de Mud Turtle. I 'spec' some o' you all knows him. Dis heah other boy travels under de name ob de Wilecat."

A voice from a corner of the room bellered into the midst of the assemblage. "What'll it be, boys? Dis is on de Wilecat."

The Wildcat put on the financial brakes. "How come?"

"Dis heah's de initiation drink. Eve'ybody what joins de Banded Brothehs buys a drink fo' de congregation."

The Wildcat's eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness. "'Pears like I gits lifted fo' goin' on fo'ty drinks."

Presently half a dozen bottles were mingling around with the congregation, and the Wildcat's words to the Mud Turtle beside him were drowned in a chorus of gurgling throats. The gulping ceased. Out of an obscure corner of the room came the Auditor's tones. "Eighty-two dollars. Wilecat, pay me befo' de long green gits wilted."

The Wildcat was no piker, but the bill hit him pretty hard. "I's seen saloons you could buy complete fo' half de money," he remonstrated. He walked over to where a narrow square of light broke through the wall. He fished out a big roll of bills from which he proceeded to count ninety dollars. He replaced the money in his pocket. As he did so a yellow electric light flashed in another part of the room and burned steadily above a small table upon which was stretched a green cloth. A man beside the table called to the newcomer. "Wilecat, de pleasure part ob de entertainment now starts. Now you gits action."

"How come action? Action what wid?"

"Action wid de freckled bones what knows 'rithmetic."

The Wildcat accepted the invitation. Here was a chance to retrieve the price of the drinks. He walked over to the corner. "Whah at's de bones?"

In allowing his opponent to supply the weapons he had committed a serious technical error, but the only other dice in the crowd were the taper cubes belonging to the Mud Turtle, and the Wildcat knew that the production of these dice in that congregation would probably result in his immediate disintegration under the blades of some hungry social razors.

The boy on the opposite side of the table spoke. "Shoots fifty dollahs!"

"You sho' starts blooded." The Wildcat peeled fifty dollars from his roll. "You'se faded. Roll 'em."

The boy rolled them, and an ace-dooce bloomed under the electric light.

A grunt of disappointment went up from several interested veterans of the Banded Brothers gathered around the table, and the rabbi plunged his way into the crowd. He used a few words not commonly included in a rabbi's vocabulary. "Git out o' de way. Gimme dem dice. How come you makes dis mistake?" He took the dice from the loser. "Wilecat, Ah shoots fifty dollars!"

The Wildcat divided his winnings and laid fifty dollars on the table. "Rabbi, roll 'em."

The rabbi breathed a fervent prayer upon the speckled cubes and cast them away from him into the outer darkness. "Freckle tops, git right! Bam! I reads seven. Lets it lay. Shoots a hund'ed!"

"Roll 'em, you'se faded." The Wildcat trimmed himself for another hundred.

The rabbi made another throw. "Luck dice, ketch dat Wilecat. Whuff! An' dey says five an' a six. Dey sho' is lucky."

The Wildcat grunted. "Lucky fo' you."

"Pussonel luck is de luck I likes best," the rabbi returned. "I lets it lay. You has yo' chance. Shoots two hund'ed."

The Wildcat skinned his roll for two hundred dollars. "Dese heah frog skins sho' has got de quick dwindles. You'se faded. Roll 'em."

The rabbi abandoned his ecclesiastical lingo and fell into the vernacular. "Tiger dice, claw me! Turtle dice, off de log! Soap dice, git slick. Clean dat Wilecat. Gun dice, pull de triggah--wham! An' I reads six-ace."

The Wildcat's fingers began to itch for the possession of the bones. He turned to the Mud Turtle, who was close beside him. "Hot dam, boy, dat talk sho' sounds nat'chul! Dat boy growed up someplace else befo' he started de rabbi business."

The rabbi raked in his winnings. He slipped half the roll and laid it on the green cloth. "Shoots two hund'ed. Fade me is you reckless!"

The Wildcat was in too deep to back out. He pared two hundred dollars from his roll and laid it beside the rabbi's stake. "Boy, yo' luck's got to bus' sometime, even is you a rabbi. Roll 'em an' see kin you roll to de po' house."

The rabbi spoke confidentially to the dice for a few moments and then his voice lifted above the murmur of the congregation. "Snow babies, let de soot specs read seven. Rooster dice, crow de pay call! Hen dice, hatch de money eggs. Mule dice, kick dat boy into de rivah! Bam! An' I reads five-dooce."

This triumph of the rabbi was a signal for a revolt on the part of the Wildcat. "I quits. I craves to handle dem bones pussonal. Does you own 'em all de time I quits."

The rabbi handed a pair of dice to the Wildcat. "Roll 'em does you crave to," he said. The concession was made only after he had switched the dice. The Wildcat got hold of twin dice which were loaded to come out dooce, trey, or twelve on the first throw. He warmed the dice to a functioning temperature in the palm of his right hand. In his left he held the remainder of his roll. He laid the money on the centre of the table. "Shoots it all. Two hund'ed dollars. Fade me, boy."

The rabbi counted out two hundred dollars, but before the Wildcat threw the dice the Mud Turtle beside him spoke up. "I shoots fo' hund'ed on the Wildcat's luck. Shoot's fo' hund'ed. Fade me, boy."

The rabbi grunted and dug into his roll for another four hundred.

The Wildcat turned to the Mud Turtle. "Boy, us is bust does I lose!"

"I been bust befo', Wilecat. So is you. Roll 'em see kin you git double or nuthin'."

The Wildcat said a few words to the dice, and an instant later they rattled across the green cloth. "Cyclone babies, blow dat rabbi to hell! Whuff! An' I reads--ace-dooce. Doggone, Lady Luck, whah at is you?"

The Mud Turtle grabbed the Wildcat by the arm. "Come on heah befo' dey gits yo' clothes."

The Wildcat turned away from the table. "Us sho' needs 'at mascot goat. Was hard luck a minny us done ketched a whale. Trouble wid luck, it's always changin'. Don' stay on de good side long enough fo' a boy to git settled down." He bade farewell to the rabbi. "You sho' was right. I'll say gin comes high. Fo' hund'ed dollars a drink!"

The rabbi laughed a hollow laugh. "Come on back sometime an' try de thousan' dollah gin when you feels strongeh."

"Does I find Lily an' Lady Luck I comes back an' shows you some million-dollar gin--mebbe."

"On your way, boy--at's de quinine talkin'!"