After space, there was alwaysone more river to cross ... thefar side of hatred and murder!
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
The bar didn't have a name.No name of any kind. Noteven an indication that ithad ever had one. All it said on theoutside was:
Cafe
EAT
Cocktails
which doesn't make a lot of sense.But it was a bar. It had a big TVset going ya-ta-ta ya-ta-ta in threeglorious colors, and a jukebox thattried to drown out the TV withthat lousy music they play. Anyway,it wasn't a kid hangout. Ikind of like it. But I wasn't supposedto be there at all; it's in thecontract. I was supposed to stayin New York and the New Englandstates.
Cafe-EAT-Cocktails was rightacross the river. I think the nameof the place was Hoboken, butI'm not sure. It all had a kindof dreamy feeling to it. I was—
Well, I couldn't even remembergoing there. I remembered oneminute I was downtown NewYork, looking across the river. Idid that a lot. And then I wasthere. I don't remember crossingthe river at all.
I was drunk, you know.
You know how it is? Doublebourbons and keep them coming.And after a while the bartenderstops bringing me the gingerale because gradually I forget tomix them. I got pretty loaded longbefore I left New York. I realizethat. I guess I had to get prettyloaded to risk the pension and all.
Used to be I didn't drink much,but now, I don't know, when Ihave one drink, I get to thinkingabout Sam and Wally and Chowderheadand Gilvey and the captain.If I don't drink, I think aboutthem, too, and then I take a drink.And that leads to another drink,and it all comes out to the samething. Well, I guess I said it already,I drink a pretty goodamount, but you can't blame me.
There was a girl.
I always get a girl someplace.Usually they aren't much and thisone wasn't either. I mean she wasprobably somebody's mother. Shewas around thirty-five and not sobad, though she had a long scarunder her ear down along herthroat to the little round spotwhere her larynx was. It wasn'tugly. She smelled nice—while Icould still smell, you know—andshe didn't talk much. I liked that.Only—
Well, did you ever meet somebodywith a nervous cough? Likewhen you say something funny—alittle funny, not a big yock—theydon't laugh and they don'tstop with just smiling, but theysort of cough? She did that. I beganto itch. I couldn't help it. Iasked her to stop it.
She spilled her drink and lookedat me almost as though she wasscared—and I had tried to say itquietly, too.
"Sorry," she said, a little angry,a little scared. "Sorry. But youdon't have to—"
"Forget it."
"Sure. But you asked me to sitdown here with you, remember?If you're going to—"
"Forget it!" I nodded at thebartender and held up two fingers."You need another drink," I said."The thing is," I said, "Gilvey usedto do that."
"What?"
"That cough."
She looked puzzled. "You meanlike this?"
"Goddam it, stop it!" Even thebartender looked over at me thattime. Now she was really mad,but I didn't want her to go away.I said, "Gilvey was a fellow whowent to Mars with me. Pat Gilvey."
"Oh." She sat down again andleaned across the table, low."Mars."
The bartender brought ourdrinks and looked at me suspiciously.I said, "Say, Mac, wouldyou turn down the air-conditioning?"
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