Three-Finger
Schnupp
Billy Schnupp crossed and
re-crossed his hands over the kitchen table.
“You’re not going
to do it,” Maggie said. She stared at the percolator on the stove.
“Well, why the
hell not?”
His argument was
not convincing himself either.
“Because you know
it’s stupid, and it goes against...”
“God?”
“Yes. And because
you know better.”
The baby began to
fuss.
“No. It goes
against opposing batters, and I’ll be the winner.” He twisted his wedding band.
“You and me will be the goddamn winners.”
She went to the
earthen jar and pulled up their bread knife. She clattered it onto the table.
“Then do it.”
Billy sighed. “Dr.
Carroll said he will.”
“A degenerate
gambler.”
“He brought you,
me and Em into the world.”
“Degenerate.” She
wished that the coffee would hurry.
Billy frowned at
his hands and at the knife.
“Honey, this pitch
is gonna work.”
“According to?”
“Yeah, yeah...
Teddy.”
“Oh, yes, our dear
Edward Devins, the drunken, irresponsible cheat.”
“That was only
once.”
He looked again at
his hands on the table. He examined the true blade of the knife, comparing its
edge to that of a scalpel. He used both hands to rub his forehead. The
percolator began to pop. She wiped her hands on her apron, and he could feel
her gaze. He could feel her gaze upon the knife.
“Do you think
either one of them would stick by you if it didn’t work? They wouldn’t need you
anymore, so why don’t you cut out the middlemen? Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“It would be for
you and Em.”
“Then do it. Do it
for me.”
As only a woman can,
in one motion she banged down a cup of coffee without a spill, snatched the
bread knife, and shoved the handle into his palm.
“Make us all
rich,” she said.
“I don’t get you.
I’ve got a way to do it, the curveball to beat all, the curve, and you don’t want me to do it.” He looked at his
hands. “I don’t need it so much. I don’t even want it so much.” He poked the
knife hard into the Formica, and the steel blade bounced, startling him. “It’s
only a fuckin’ finger. What difference does it make?”
She sat down with
her own cup of coffee, smoothing her apron as she did. Her fingers splashed
over her thighs in a manner that neither he nor she noticed.
“Billy, it matters
to me.”
