sin headfirst.
“It’s like they wish Mommy and Daddy could get a load of them
with a mouth full of cock,” Sam once told me. “Like they’d love nothing better than to give everybody back home a heart attack.” I’d
heard a few Galveston madams say pretty much the same thing about
a lot of the girls who worked for them.
Sam was husky and handsome and always impeccably groomed,
every curly hair in place even now, just minutes after a roll in the
hay. His teeth were as bright as a movie star’s. Hell, he could’ve
been a movie star if he’d wanted. I’d never seen him in need of a
shave or a haircut, and he always smelled of just the right touch of
cologne. Nobody could make a suit look better. His usual good
spirits were so contagious you couldn’t help getting caught up in
them.
I accepted the Chesterfield he offered, then the flame of his gold
lighter, and then he lit his own.
He told me Rose was up in the gym, and as he walked me back to
the elevator he said, “Hey, you hear about the suicidal twin who
killed his brother by mistake?”
I smiled politely.
••
“Yeah, yeah, okay. How about the nun and the oyster shucker? Sister Mary Antonia goes into this oyster bar, see...”
• •
R ose was punching the heavy bag when I pushed through the
frosted-glass door to the gym. You could tell on sight he was
Sam’s brother. The same curly hair and beaked nose, the same dimpled and slightly double chin. At forty-nine, Rose was seven years
older than Sam and he looked it, at least in the face. He almost always
had blue half-moons under his eyes and his hair was already half gray.
He was a little shorter than Sam and not as husky, but in truth he was
in pretty good shape and he tried to stay that way with workouts in
the gym. Sam was naturally strong and built like a halfback, but his
only exercise was in humping the chippies.
A hulking, bushy-bearded health club worker named Watkins was
bracing the bag with his shoulder as Rose threw hooks and crosses,
bobbing and shuffling, showing good footwork, glaring at the bag
like it was a flesh-and-blood opponent. He popped a few sharp jabs,
cut loose with a roundhouse right, ducked and hopped back like he
was dodging a counterpunch. Sweat ran off his face, and his sweater
was dark around the neck and armpits. He saw me watching from the
door and beckoned me over. Then pivoted and drove a right-hand lead
into the bag like he’d caught his opponent off guard. He followed up
with a pounding combination of steady lefts and rights before finally
stepping back and dropping his arms, blowing hard breaths.
“Okay... thanks, Billy,” he said to Watkins. “That’ll do.”
“Good work, chief,” Watkins said. He exchanged nods with me
and headed for the elevator.
Rose stripped off the bag gloves and tossed them on the table,
then wiped his face and neck with a towel. He draped the towel
around his neck and stepped over to the open locker where his white
suit was hanging and reached into a coat pocket and fished out a pack ••
of Lucky Strike. He put one in his mouth and I took out my lighter
and lit it for him.
“Jab’s looking snappy,” I said.
“You think? How about that right lead?”
“You try it against somebody knows what he’s doing and he’ll take
your head off with a counterpunch.”
“That’s what Otis says. He also tells me you landed a stinger on
him the last time you guys sparred. Says he’s gonna tap you a good
one next time, remind you who’s who.”
“I always expect him to try tapping me a good one.”
“I think he’s right—you’re getting too goddamn cocky.” He softly
spat a shred of tobacco off the tip of his tongue and took a casual look
around. We were the only ones in the gym. “So?” he said.
“Everything’s jake,” I said. I put the valise on the table and worked
the snaps and opened it and he looked inside.
“It’s all he had with him,” I said. “Said he could get
“It’s like they wish Mommy and Daddy could get a load of them
with a mouth full of cock,” Sam once told me. “Like they’d love nothing better than to give everybody back home a heart attack.” I’d
heard a few Galveston madams say pretty much the same thing about
a lot of the girls who worked for them.
Sam was husky and handsome and always impeccably groomed,
every curly hair in place even now, just minutes after a roll in the
hay. His teeth were as bright as a movie star’s. Hell, he could’ve
been a movie star if he’d wanted. I’d never seen him in need of a
shave or a haircut, and he always smelled of just the right touch of
cologne. Nobody could make a suit look better. His usual good
spirits were so contagious you couldn’t help getting caught up in
them.
I accepted the Chesterfield he offered, then the flame of his gold
lighter, and then he lit his own.
He told me Rose was up in the gym, and as he walked me back to
the elevator he said, “Hey, you hear about the suicidal twin who
killed his brother by mistake?”
I smiled politely.
••
“Yeah, yeah, okay. How about the nun and the oyster shucker? Sister Mary Antonia goes into this oyster bar, see...”
• •
R ose was punching the heavy bag when I pushed through the
frosted-glass door to the gym. You could tell on sight he was
Sam’s brother. The same curly hair and beaked nose, the same dimpled and slightly double chin. At forty-nine, Rose was seven years
older than Sam and he looked it, at least in the face. He almost always
had blue half-moons under his eyes and his hair was already half gray.
He was a little shorter than Sam and not as husky, but in truth he was
in pretty good shape and he tried to stay that way with workouts in
the gym. Sam was naturally strong and built like a halfback, but his
only exercise was in humping the chippies.
A hulking, bushy-bearded health club worker named Watkins was
bracing the bag with his shoulder as Rose threw hooks and crosses,
bobbing and shuffling, showing good footwork, glaring at the bag
like it was a flesh-and-blood opponent. He popped a few sharp jabs,
cut loose with a roundhouse right, ducked and hopped back like he
was dodging a counterpunch. Sweat ran off his face, and his sweater
was dark around the neck and armpits. He saw me watching from the
door and beckoned me over. Then pivoted and drove a right-hand lead
into the bag like he’d caught his opponent off guard. He followed up
with a pounding combination of steady lefts and rights before finally
stepping back and dropping his arms, blowing hard breaths.
“Okay... thanks, Billy,” he said to Watkins. “That’ll do.”
“Good work, chief,” Watkins said. He exchanged nods with me
and headed for the elevator.
Rose stripped off the bag gloves and tossed them on the table,
then wiped his face and neck with a towel. He draped the towel
around his neck and stepped over to the open locker where his white
suit was hanging and reached into a coat pocket and fished out a pack ••
of Lucky Strike. He put one in his mouth and I took out my lighter
and lit it for him.
“Jab’s looking snappy,” I said.
“You think? How about that right lead?”
“You try it against somebody knows what he’s doing and he’ll take
your head off with a counterpunch.”
“That’s what Otis says. He also tells me you landed a stinger on
him the last time you guys sparred. Says he’s gonna tap you a good
one next time, remind you who’s who.”
“I always expect him to try tapping me a good one.”
“I think he’s right—you’re getting too goddamn cocky.” He softly
spat a shred of tobacco off the tip of his tongue and took a casual look
around. We were the only ones in the gym. “So?” he said.
“Everything’s jake,” I said. I put the valise on the table and worked
the snaps and opened it and he looked inside.
“It’s all he had with him,” I said. “Said he could get
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