hell, Dushan riffled a deck of cards at lunch. Sure as hell, he found some suckers to play against him. Chester shook his head when Dushan looked his way. He knew when he was fighting out of his weight. Two lessons had been plenty for him. If he’d had any real sense, one should have done the job.
“Back to it,” Mordechai said after a precise half hour. Again, he was the first one going up a ladder.
At the end of the day, all the workers from the whole tract lined up to get their pay in cash. A fellow with a .45 stood behind the paymaster’s table to discourage redistribution of the wealth. The paymaster handed Chester four heavy silver dollars. They gave his overalls a nice, solid weight when he stuck them in his pocket. Cartwheels were in much more common use out here than they had been back East.
He walked to the trolley stop, paid his fare and collected a transfer, and made the return trip to the little house he and Rita were renting east of downtown. The neighborhood was full of Eastern European Jews, with a few Mexicans like José for leavening.
On his way back to the house, a skinny fellow about his age wearing an old green-gray Army trenchcoat coming apart at the seams held out a dirty hand and said, “Spare a dime, pal?”
Chester had rarely done that before losing his own job in Toledo. Now he understood how the other half lived. And, now that he was working again, he had dimes in his pocket he could actually spare. “Here you go, buddy,” he said, and gave the skinny man one. “You know carpentry? They’re hiring builders down in Gardena.”
“I can drive a nail. I can saw a board,” the other fellow answered.
“I couldn’t do much more than that when I started,” Martin answered.
“Maybe I’ll get down there,” the skinny man said.
“Good luck.” Chester went on his way. He’d keep his eye open the next couple of days, see if this fellow showed up and tried to land a job. If he didn’t, Martin was damned if he’d give him another handout. Plenty of people were down on their luck, yes. But if you didn’t
try
to get back on your feet, you were holding yourself down, too.
“Hello, sweetheart!” Chester called. “What smells good?”
“Pot roast,” Rita answered. She came out of the kitchen to give him a kiss. She was a pretty brunette—prettier these days, Chester thought, because she’d quit bobbing her hair and let it grow out—who carried a few extra pounds around the hips. She went on, “Sure is good to be able to afford meat more often.”
“I know.” Chester put a hand in his pocket. The silver dollars and his other change clanked sweetly. “We’ll be able to send my father another money order before long.” Stephen Douglas Martin had lent Chester and Rita the money to come to California, even though he’d lost his job at the steel mill, too. Chester was paying him back a little at a time. It wasn’t a patch on all the help his father had given him when he was out of work, but it was what he could do.
“One day at a time,” Rita said, and Chester nodded.
“R ichmond!” the conductor bawled as the train pulled into the station. “All out for Richmond! Capital of the Confederate States of America, and next home of the Olympic Games!
Richmond!
”
Anne Colleton grabbed a carpetbag and a small light suitcase from the rack above the seats. She was set for the three days she expected to be here. Once upon a time, she’d traveled in style, with enough luggage to keep an army in clothes (provided it wanted to wear the latest Paris styles) and with a couple of colored maids to keep everything straight.
No more, not after one of those colored maids had come unpleasantly close to murdering her on the Marshlands plantation. These days, with Marshlands still a ruin down by St. Matthews, South Carolina, Anne traveled alone.
On the train, and through life,
she thought. Aloud, the way she said, “Excuse me,” couldn’t mean anything but,
Get the hell out of my
“Back to it,” Mordechai said after a precise half hour. Again, he was the first one going up a ladder.
At the end of the day, all the workers from the whole tract lined up to get their pay in cash. A fellow with a .45 stood behind the paymaster’s table to discourage redistribution of the wealth. The paymaster handed Chester four heavy silver dollars. They gave his overalls a nice, solid weight when he stuck them in his pocket. Cartwheels were in much more common use out here than they had been back East.
He walked to the trolley stop, paid his fare and collected a transfer, and made the return trip to the little house he and Rita were renting east of downtown. The neighborhood was full of Eastern European Jews, with a few Mexicans like José for leavening.
On his way back to the house, a skinny fellow about his age wearing an old green-gray Army trenchcoat coming apart at the seams held out a dirty hand and said, “Spare a dime, pal?”
Chester had rarely done that before losing his own job in Toledo. Now he understood how the other half lived. And, now that he was working again, he had dimes in his pocket he could actually spare. “Here you go, buddy,” he said, and gave the skinny man one. “You know carpentry? They’re hiring builders down in Gardena.”
“I can drive a nail. I can saw a board,” the other fellow answered.
“I couldn’t do much more than that when I started,” Martin answered.
“Maybe I’ll get down there,” the skinny man said.
“Good luck.” Chester went on his way. He’d keep his eye open the next couple of days, see if this fellow showed up and tried to land a job. If he didn’t, Martin was damned if he’d give him another handout. Plenty of people were down on their luck, yes. But if you didn’t
try
to get back on your feet, you were holding yourself down, too.
“Hello, sweetheart!” Chester called. “What smells good?”
“Pot roast,” Rita answered. She came out of the kitchen to give him a kiss. She was a pretty brunette—prettier these days, Chester thought, because she’d quit bobbing her hair and let it grow out—who carried a few extra pounds around the hips. She went on, “Sure is good to be able to afford meat more often.”
“I know.” Chester put a hand in his pocket. The silver dollars and his other change clanked sweetly. “We’ll be able to send my father another money order before long.” Stephen Douglas Martin had lent Chester and Rita the money to come to California, even though he’d lost his job at the steel mill, too. Chester was paying him back a little at a time. It wasn’t a patch on all the help his father had given him when he was out of work, but it was what he could do.
“One day at a time,” Rita said, and Chester nodded.
“R ichmond!” the conductor bawled as the train pulled into the station. “All out for Richmond! Capital of the Confederate States of America, and next home of the Olympic Games!
Richmond!
”
Anne Colleton grabbed a carpetbag and a small light suitcase from the rack above the seats. She was set for the three days she expected to be here. Once upon a time, she’d traveled in style, with enough luggage to keep an army in clothes (provided it wanted to wear the latest Paris styles) and with a couple of colored maids to keep everything straight.
No more, not after one of those colored maids had come unpleasantly close to murdering her on the Marshlands plantation. These days, with Marshlands still a ruin down by St. Matthews, South Carolina, Anne traveled alone.
On the train, and through life,
she thought. Aloud, the way she said, “Excuse me,” couldn’t mean anything but,
Get the hell out of my
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