A Long Line of Dead Men

"Sometimes they get a crowd at lunch. Elaine loves the place because she can order anything on the menu. Most Chinese restaurants have the same four or five vegetable dishes, and she gets tired of them."

"She could come here forever," he said, paging through the menu. "You want to order, since you're familiar with the place?"

"Sure. What are you in the mood for?"

"Food," he said. "Good food, and plenty of it."

While we ate, I talked about how I'd spent the afternoon, and how an unpromising sidetrack in a difficult investigation had turned into an unintended Twelfth Step call.

"It's not like you," Jim said. "You've never displayed a whole lot of missionary zeal."

"Well, I never figured it was my job to sober up the world," I said. "Early on I wasn't all that sure if I wanted sobriety for my own self, so the last thing I was going to do was try selling it to somebody else. Then, the longer I stayed away from a drink, the more convinced I became that it was none of my goddamn business whether or not other people drank. Maybe the ones who drink are better off drinking. Who am I to say?"

"Your friend Ballou-"

"My friend Mick Ballou drinks heavily every day of his life, and if he ever walked into a meeting there's nobody who would dream of telling him he was in the wrong place. And I'm sure it's affecting him physically and mentally, even if he's not showing it yet. But he's a grown-up, for Christ's sake. He can make his own decisions."

"But with this fellow uptown-"

"I guess I identified with him," I said. "I looked at his life, or what I figured his life must be, and saw how I could have followed a similar path. Anyway, I didn't set out to drag him to a meeting. I just found myself talking about it, and he seemed interested, and open to suggestion."

"I think it's good for you. You're not sponsoring anybody else, are you?"

"I'm not sponsoring him."

"Well, it sounds to me like you are, whether either of you are calling it that or not. I think it'll do you good to be working with a newcomer. Just don't be surprised when he drinks."

"No."

"You can't get anybody sober and you can't keep anybody sober. You know that."

"Sure."

"And I hope you remember the definition of successful sponsorship."

"That's when the sponsor stays sober."

"You're damn right it is. You know, this stuff fools you. You think you're eating meat but you're not. This here is supposed to be what, eel?"

"I think they make it out of soy."

"There'll come a day," he said, "when they make everything out of soy. Chairs, tables, automobiles, hot turkey sandwiches. Everything. But this is supposed to look and taste like eel, and the thing is if it was the genuine article I wouldn't have anything to do with it, because I don't happen to like eel. I think I'm marginally allergic to it."

"You should have said something when I was ordering it."

"But if it's fake eel, what's the difference? I'm not allergic to fake eel. As a matter of fact, I like it."

"Have some more."

"I intend to. Elaine eats like this all the time, huh? I don't mean this stuff, I mean vegetarian. She doesn't even eat fish, does she?"

"No."

"I'd miss meat myself. Everything good with you two?"

"Everything's great."

"You still seeing the other one?"

"Now and then."

At first I hadn't told him about Lisa, but not for fear of his disapproval. He knows Elaine, and I didn't want to burden him with something I had to keep secret from her, especially if it was something that would end in a couple of weeks. When it didn't, when it went on and on, I talked about it.

"The last time I saw her," I said, "I started out wanting a drink. I called her instead."

"Well, if those were the two choices, I'd say you picked the right one. I don't know that the relationship has much of a future, but I watched a PBS special last night on the greenhouse effect, and you could say the same thing about the human race. She's not likely to try to break up your marriage, is she?"

"I'm not married."

"You know what I mean."

I nodded. "She's just there," I said. "She never calls, and when I call she says to come over."

"Sounds like the answer to a prayer," he said. "Do me a favor, will you? Find out if she's got a sister."

We sat a long time over dinner and arrived a few minutes late for the Big Book meeting at St. Clare's. Afterward I walked Jim home, then kept going to Grogan's Open House at Fiftieth and Tenth. Mick Ballou owns the place, although you won't find his name on the license. He has a farm in Sullivan County, a couple of hours from the city, and another man's name is on the deed. He has a couple of apartments around town, too, and drives a Cadillac Brougham, but for the record he doesn't own a thing. When they finally make their RICO case against him, they'll be hard put to find anything to confiscate.