Read Online Canvas Coffin by William Campbell Gault - Free Book Online
Authors: William Campbell Gault
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Mary Kostanic first gained prominence in Los Angeles — sporting circles. Don’t you read the
Mirror?”
“Not if I can help it. What’s on your mind?”
“A hot-fudge sundae. They’re famous for them.”
“It’s no place for a decent girl.”
“If it’s good enough for Mary Kostanic, it’s good enough for me. Are you frightened, Champ?”
“For you. Not for me. Some guy gets wise, and I’ll be obliged to pop him, and — ” I shrugged.
She climbed out of the car. “Well, then, I’ll go in alone.”
We went in together.
Coming from the brightness of the street, it was like a dungeon. Four booths and a bar, a mangy-looking stuffed owl returning my stare from a pedestal atop the back bar mirror. Two workingmen drank beer in the rear booth; a girl sat at the far end of the bar, reading a
Racing Form.
Her eyes studied me appraisingly a moment, shifted to Sally, and returned to the
Form.
The man behind the bar wasn’t much bigger than Carnera. He wore a nearly white shirt and a black bow tie and a few ring scars.
Both his hamlike hands were on top of the bar, and his gaze was steady on mine. “Well, Champ! Slumming?”
Somewhere, I’d seen him before. But whether as friend or foe or neither, I couldn’t recall.
“Dropped in for a drink,” I said. “Haven’t we met before?”
“At Stillman’s,” he said, “in ’46. Before my fight with Burke.”
“Harry Bevilaqua,” I said, and held out my hand. A smile distorted his huge face as he gripped me up to the elbow.
“This is Sally Forester, Harry,” I said. “My girl.” Sally nodded and smiled. “You were a heavyweight, I’ll bet.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The bar shook, the windows rattled and the truck traffic right outside the door was blanketed by the blast of his mirth.
He could laugh. After what Burke had done to him. Burke had battered him into a lumpy, bloody mountain of smashed flesh, though he hadn’t put him down. Burke had done everything but subdivide him.
Sally started to laugh, too, after a second, and I managed a smile. Remembering the Burke fight, the smile was a chore.
I said, “What ever happened to Burke?”
“Selling roofing, in Milwaukee. Burke would have gone some place, if he had a punch, you know that? Clever kid, but no punch.”
“I never watched him much,” I said. “You sound happy though, Harry.”
“Punchy,” he explained. “These days, that’s a big help.” And he laughed again, though not as loud. “Beer, Champ? A small beer? Or champagne, on the house? And the little lady, maybe a Martini? You looked good, those last couple rounds against Charley. You were kind of rough on him, though. You usually aren’t so rough with Charley, are you? Friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“A small beer for me will be all right,” I said. “I don’t know about Sally.”
“Who knows about women, huh, Champ? How about Giani?”
“How about Burke?” I answered.
He laughed. “Yeh. Feather puncher, though. I’m an easy bleeder, Champ. What’ll it be, Miss Sally?” He was drawing a short beer.
“Oh — champagne,” Sally said. “Did you know Mary Kostanic very well, Harry?”
The girl at the far curve of the bar looked up quickly, saw my eyes on her, and dropped her gaze to the
Form.
Harry studied the collar on my beer, still under the tap. The sound of the trucks was suddenly louder in the quiet room.
Harry continued to look at the beer. “Who?”
“Mary Kostanic. Brenda Vane.”
Harry set the beer carefully on the bar, his eyes never wavering from it. “I knew her well, very well. Mary liked fighters. And marines and thugs and even some cops. Tough guys, Mary liked.” He looked up, and straight at Sally. “I liked Mary. I liked her a lot. She was kind of a strange girl, but we’re all queer enough.”
“How was she strange, Harry?” Sally’s voice was gentle.
“Why? Why do you want to know?”
“Not because I’m nosy or catty,” Sally said. “Not for any
Mirror?”
“Not if I can help it. What’s on your mind?”
“A hot-fudge sundae. They’re famous for them.”
“It’s no place for a decent girl.”
“If it’s good enough for Mary Kostanic, it’s good enough for me. Are you frightened, Champ?”
“For you. Not for me. Some guy gets wise, and I’ll be obliged to pop him, and — ” I shrugged.
She climbed out of the car. “Well, then, I’ll go in alone.”
We went in together.
Coming from the brightness of the street, it was like a dungeon. Four booths and a bar, a mangy-looking stuffed owl returning my stare from a pedestal atop the back bar mirror. Two workingmen drank beer in the rear booth; a girl sat at the far end of the bar, reading a
Racing Form.
Her eyes studied me appraisingly a moment, shifted to Sally, and returned to the
Form.
The man behind the bar wasn’t much bigger than Carnera. He wore a nearly white shirt and a black bow tie and a few ring scars.
Both his hamlike hands were on top of the bar, and his gaze was steady on mine. “Well, Champ! Slumming?”
Somewhere, I’d seen him before. But whether as friend or foe or neither, I couldn’t recall.
“Dropped in for a drink,” I said. “Haven’t we met before?”
“At Stillman’s,” he said, “in ’46. Before my fight with Burke.”
“Harry Bevilaqua,” I said, and held out my hand. A smile distorted his huge face as he gripped me up to the elbow.
“This is Sally Forester, Harry,” I said. “My girl.” Sally nodded and smiled. “You were a heavyweight, I’ll bet.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The bar shook, the windows rattled and the truck traffic right outside the door was blanketed by the blast of his mirth.
He could laugh. After what Burke had done to him. Burke had battered him into a lumpy, bloody mountain of smashed flesh, though he hadn’t put him down. Burke had done everything but subdivide him.
Sally started to laugh, too, after a second, and I managed a smile. Remembering the Burke fight, the smile was a chore.
I said, “What ever happened to Burke?”
“Selling roofing, in Milwaukee. Burke would have gone some place, if he had a punch, you know that? Clever kid, but no punch.”
“I never watched him much,” I said. “You sound happy though, Harry.”
“Punchy,” he explained. “These days, that’s a big help.” And he laughed again, though not as loud. “Beer, Champ? A small beer? Or champagne, on the house? And the little lady, maybe a Martini? You looked good, those last couple rounds against Charley. You were kind of rough on him, though. You usually aren’t so rough with Charley, are you? Friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“A small beer for me will be all right,” I said. “I don’t know about Sally.”
“Who knows about women, huh, Champ? How about Giani?”
“How about Burke?” I answered.
He laughed. “Yeh. Feather puncher, though. I’m an easy bleeder, Champ. What’ll it be, Miss Sally?” He was drawing a short beer.
“Oh — champagne,” Sally said. “Did you know Mary Kostanic very well, Harry?”
The girl at the far curve of the bar looked up quickly, saw my eyes on her, and dropped her gaze to the
Form.
Harry studied the collar on my beer, still under the tap. The sound of the trucks was suddenly louder in the quiet room.
Harry continued to look at the beer. “Who?”
“Mary Kostanic. Brenda Vane.”
Harry set the beer carefully on the bar, his eyes never wavering from it. “I knew her well, very well. Mary liked fighters. And marines and thugs and even some cops. Tough guys, Mary liked.” He looked up, and straight at Sally. “I liked Mary. I liked her a lot. She was kind of a strange girl, but we’re all queer enough.”
“How was she strange, Harry?” Sally’s voice was gentle.
“Why? Why do you want to know?”
“Not because I’m nosy or catty,” Sally said. “Not for any
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