“I said I was going to be on the dock when Eddie Junior came in. That’s a three-day drive. Kansas City, Pittsburgh, New York. If he can come back from Italy, I can be there on the dock.” Pollack counted out $50,000 and stuffed the bills in a money belt while Joe checked the papers. They were already signed. “I never thought I’d say good-bye to the Casa Mañana or New Mexico, Joe. Something else happening here tonight? Lots of Army trucks sort of hidden off the road.”

“It’s a bombing range, you know.” Joe tucked the papers in his shirt.

“Thought I recognized some soldiers from the Hill.” Pollack draped the money belt over his arm. He’d never put the belt on in front of anyone else; he had too much dignity for that. Just as he wouldn’t go cross-country in a train because he didn’t want to be mistaken for a porter. “You’re going to be okay, Joe. From now on, everyone’s going to be okay.”

“We got out alive.” Joe shook hands gently because his fist hurt so much. “Thanks for everything.”

At the door, Pollack hesitated. “That was the last fight for Big Chief Joe Peña?”

“The very last.”

“Good. I thought this time he cut it a little fine.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Ray said when Pollack was gone. “You own the Casa Mañana? You son-of-a-bitch, you pulled off a deal like that?”

“I’ve got to go.” It was 9:00. Joe counted out $1,000 and pushed the rest of his money with Ray’s. “Hold this for me for a couple of days. Forget about the garbage business. I’m going to turn you into a maître d’. After the test you’re driving people back to the Albuquerque Hilton? Go to the Casa and stick by the cash register until I show up.”

“Serious?”

“Remember, if anyone asks, say I was off to hunt Apaches.”

“You’re serious about me?”

“People are going to be lining up to grease the palm of Raymond the maître d’.”

“In a tux?”

“You better be.”

“That’s better than garbage.”

“Sometimes it happens that way, Ray. Some things actually work out.”

“But it’s a surprise when it does,” Ray insisted.