Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

gave him an edge on Willie. Nyx respected the game. Whatever foul cat mood he might be in—hot, cold, hungry, lonely, brooding over his crushed testicles—he never took it out on the game. Left alone as he was most days, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to jump on the board and knock the pieces to kingdom come, but he never did.

Willie and Henry were the first to arrive at Mull Enterprises that day. If Henry did not know where they were headed when they left the temple, by the time the driver turned the Cadillac off Olympic in Santa Monica into the 19th Street Mull parking lot (the depot for heavy construction and drilling equipment had a separate entrance on Michigan Avenue), he understood. He’d been there before, of course, to see Eddie, only to be sent away. True to his nature, he didn’t say a word. The car was parked, and the two men walked inside to be informed that Eddie was on the way. They were shown to his office and sat down under a Yosemite painting by Bierstadt, facing the door.

Entering middle age, the twins still looked alike. They didn’t dress alike or talk alike and their lives and interests had taken different directions, but physically the resemblance was still strong. Eddie was heavier, for he had a less ascetic past, but Willie, consuming strawberry sundaes, was catching up. With their solid builds, slightly olive skin, dark wavy hair, deep brown eyes, easy smiles, they could have played any role in Hollywood, from producers to leading men to extras. Without knowing them, people still tended to look twice as if they’d seen them somewhere or someone very much like them. Some couldn’t tell them apart, though for Henry Callender they were as different as Jesus and the Devil. They traveled in different circles and were rarely seen together, having decided it was best for both of them that way.

Eddie paused momentarily as he entered his office, surprised to see two visitors when he’d expected only one, still more surprised when he recognized the second one. He came quickly forward as his visitors stood, throwing his arms around his brother and embracing him.

“I believe you know Henry Callender,” Willie said.

It was more than awkward. Henry moved mechanically, taking the proffered hand though immediately bringing his hand back as if bitten. Here was the man he’d tried so long to forget. If at times he erased him from his conscious mind, he still bubbled up in his unconscious. Henry was not known as a man of violence, though no man could live the life he’d led without his share of showdowns. It’s like that on the trail. Even if you don’t start quarrels, it’s hard to stay out of them. You pack a gun for a reason. He still had his gun, a Remington Derringer.

His body quivered to the tips of his mustaches, and he struggled to conceal it. How many times had he gone over it with Nyx, telling the story as he made his moves? And now here not five feet away was the man who owed him so much—how much would it be, how many millions? Let it go, let it go, the cat would say. It’s ancient history. But Henry’s mind would wander and wonder what it was like to be a millionaire and live in Bel Air, live like Eddie Mull. “Why isn’t it us up there?” he’d say to Nyx, who understood.

“Henry is my righthand man,” said Willie, enjoying his brother’s discomfort more than he should. Eddie had no desire to see Callender under any circumstances, but certainly could not discuss the Providence with him in the room. “I’m sorry, Henry,” he said quickly, “a family matter has come up. Would you mind leaving us alone for a while?”

Henry looked to Willie, who vexed, nonetheless nodded.

“A family matter?” said Willie when he had left.

Eddie sat down at his desk and told him of Maggie’s accident, leaving out the more lurid parts. Willie was shocked—he was the girls’ godfather in addition to being their uncle and loved them both dearly. He promised to visit the hospital and to say prayers for Maggie. He was also annoyed, wanting to bring Henry back into the room for that was the whole point in bringing him, to reconcile with Eddie, who, Willie saw, had more than Maggie’s accident on his mind.

Eddie turned to gaze a moment into the courtyard. A fountain burbled. He needed a moment to push Callender out of his mind. He had no idea why Willie brought him and would not ask. “There’s something else,” he said, turning back. “It involves the Providence, the gaming ship I believe you’ve mentioned in your broadcasts.”

Ah, thought Willie: He does listen.

“You should know that I have an interest in that ship. I am a silent partner, so to speak.”

Willie’s expression never changed.

“It is legitimate, Willie. You should come out and have a look. People come to the ship for a good time and because they just might go home a little richer. Many do. Don’t think of what we do as any different from the hundreds of games of chance played on Venice Pier, Ocean Park Pier, Santa Monica Pier.” He chuckled. “Though we reward our winners with more than kewpie dolls. It’s the Depression, Willie. People need a little sunshine in their lives. Why begrudge them that?”

“I begrudge no one sunshine. Eddie, what do you want from me?”

The tone annoyed Eddie. They were never brusque with each other.

“Want from you? Whatever gave you that idea? Just understand that we’re in different businesses, that’s all. We take care of people in different ways.”

“I don’t think of God’s work as a business, as you put it, though I agree that we take care of people in different ways. I hope you’re not asking me to condone illegal gambling just because you’re involved in it.”

“How can you call it illegal? What law