The Offer (Based on Fact)

((1968—San Francisco) (based on fact))


“Chick Evens,” said the short man.
“Yaw,” said Evens.
“What does that mean, ‘Yaw?”
“Nothing in particular, yes I suppose.”
“Do you ever watch gangster movies?” asked the short well dressed young man.
“Yes.”
“Do you like them?”
“Kind of I guess: I like action movies….”
“Why, ‘kind of I guess?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Go on, say it!”
“Sometimes they get too bloody,” Evens tells the short man and turns about, reaching for his beer on an end table.
“I guess that’s all right,” said the short man. Adding, “This is a fine night in San Francisco. Would you like something else?” he asked Evens.
“No.”
“I’ve got some good pot, Acapulco Gold, and some near pure heroin, and any kind of booze you’d like.”
“Just another beer, if you don’t mind,” said the red-headed karate expert. Adding, “Listen, you’re a new friend and I feel what you do is your own business, but I don’t use drugs, matter-of-fact, I avoid booze too, I prefer just beer.”
“You won’t take a little pot?” asked the little man, his bodyguard behind him, two other fellows in a back room sitting at a card table, playing poker, drinking and smoking weed.
“So you’ve never tried pot, heroin, or LSD?”
“Correct, I never have.”
“If you work for me, you’ve got to use a little now and then, to show the buyers you’re okay; it frightens them if you don’t.”
“I see,” said Evens.
“Yes!” said the little man. “Could you guess I got the finest little business in San Francisco, I need someone I can trust, and good at protecting me, and our mutual friend, the hippie Jorge, told me you’re the man. You know he uses the stuff like drinking water?”
“Yes I know he does, he’s cool, but I don’t think so, it’s not for me,” said Evens with a solid smile.
“You don’t think so—why not?”
“Well, I just don’t want to use drugs, I like my beer, and the stuff scares me: that’s it in a nutshell, that’s all!”
“Give him another beer,” said the little man to his bodyguard. “I suppose drugs can get in the way of your training?”
“I suppose it could…I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Okay,” he says. “It was kind of a whim on my behalf, to invite you over for a drink and conversation, but listen up buddy,” said the little man, with a hard look, “I’m faithful to my employees, and I pay them well. That’s the god’s truth. I’d stake my reputation, yes, even my life on that statement.”
“So I’ve heard. Jorge, he’s mentioned that in passing to me, said you’re a man of your word.”
“I’ll double whatever you’re making on your job now.”
“No,” said Chick Evens. “It won’t do any good in jail.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“We better get off the subject then,” said Evens.
“No,” said the other, “Pardon me but, this is the reason why I wanted to talk to you. What’s the matter with getting a little high and getting paid for it, and if you go to jail, I’ll do all I can for you.”
“I just stopped by to listen to the offer,” said Evens.
“Those bastards want to kill me; I need a good man covering my back.”
There was a long hesitation, silence…
“I suppose you’re right though,” said the little man. “Don’t you ever get in trouble?”
“Not really, just parking tickets and a few drunken fights now and then.”
“Well, if we annoy you by being here, you can go, you know.”
“No,” said Evens. “I rather like you.”
“Oh,” said the little man, flattered. Then he grabbed his arm. Evens jerked it loose, and the little man added, with squinting eyes, and a serious voice:
“I’ll put a hit on you if you ever speak to anyone about our dealings here, our conversation this evening!”
Sitting unsteadily, Evens saw in his face he meant it.
“I don’t want anybody to harm you. I don’t blame you for not wanting to get involved, damn, it’s hard to find a good man in this city, and this business.” He sat back slightly.
“Like I said before, it’s none of my business what you do, and that’s the way it will stay.”
“I’ve got to talk business with some people now…” said the little man.
“Sure,” said Evens, standing up, shaking his hand, looking for the door, and finding his way out by himself.


#843 (12-26-2011)