He turned to face me and stared at me intently.
“I am Lupo,” he said.
“You are?”
“Count Basil de Chenza Lupo,” he continued. “Who are you?”
“The Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones at your service,” I said.
“Do you see any reason why you should run at the sight of me?” he continued.
“Except for the fact that you got a predatory look about you and probably ain’t on speaking terms with your barber, nary a one,” I answered.
“They are fools,” he said. “Fools and peasants, nothing more.”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but you could have timed your call of Nature just a mite better, considering I was holding four bullets and the pot had reached a couple of thousand dollars.”
“Bullet?” he said, kind of growling deep in his throat. “What kind?”
“Well, when you got four of ’em, there ain’t a lot left except clubs, diamonds, hearts, and spades,” I said.
“But not silver?” he said.
“Not as I recollect.”
“Good,” he said, suddenly looking much relieved. “I am sorry I have caused you such distress, Doctor Jones.”
“Well, I suppose when push comes to shove, it ain’t really your fault, Brother Basil,” I said.
“Nevertheless, I insist that you allow me to take you to dinner to make amends.”
“That’s right cordial of you,” I said. “I’m a stranger in town. You got any particular place in mind?”
“We will dine at The Strangled Elk,” he said. “It belongs to some Gypsy friends of mine.”
“Whatever suits you,” I said agreeably.
We walked out of the station, hit the main drag, and turned left.
“By the way, Brother Basil,” I said, “why were all them men running away from a nice, friendly gent like you?”
He shrugged. “They are superstitious peasants,” he said. “Let us speak no more of them.”
“Suits me,” I said. “People what entice a man of the cloth into a sinful game like poker and then run off when he’s got the high hand ain’t headed to no good end anyway.”
I noticed as we walked down the street that everyone was giving us a pretty wide berth, and finally we turned down a little alleyway where all the men were dark and swarthy and wearing shirts that could have been took in some at the arms, and the women were sultry and good looking and wearing colorful skirts and blouses, and Basil told me we were now among his Gypsy friends and no one would bother us, not that anyone had been bothering us before, and after a little while we came to a sign that said we’d reached The Strangled Elk, and we went inside.
It wasn’t the cleanest place I’d ever seen, but I’d been a couple of weeks between baths myself, so I can’t say that I minded it all that much. There was nobody there except one skinny old waiter, and Basil called him over and said something in Gypsy, and the waiter went away and came back a minute later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Well, we filled the glasses and chatted about this and that, and then we drank some more and talked some more, and finally the waiter brought out a couple of steaks.
“Brother Basil,” I said, looking down at my plate, “I like my meat as rare as the next man, but I don’t believe this has been cooked at all.”
“I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “That is the way I always eat it, and the cook simply assumed you shared my taste.” He signaled to the waiter, said something else in Gypsy, and the waiter took my plate away. “It will be back in a few moments, properly cooked.”
“You always eat your steak like that?” I asked, pointing to the slab of raw meat in front of him.
“It is the only way,” he replied, picking it up with his hands and biting off a goodly chunk of it. He growled and snarled as he chewed it.
“You got a bit of a throat condition?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he said. “I apologize if my table manners offend you.”
“I’ve et with worse,” I said. In fact, if push came to shove, I couldn’t remember having dined with a lot that were much more refined.
Well, my steak came back just then, and after covering it with a pint of ketchup just to bring out the subtle nuances of its flavor, I dug in, and just so Basil wouldn’t feel too conspicuous I growled and snarled too, and we spent the next five or ten minutes enjoying the noisiest meal of my experience, after which we polished off a couple of more bottles of wine.
“I have truly enjoyed this evening, my friend,” said Basil after we were all done. “So few people will even speak to me, let alone join me in a repast . . . “
“I can’t imagine why,” I said. “You’d have to search far and wide to find a more hospitable feller.”
“Nonetheless,” he said, “it is time for you to leave.”
“It’s only about nine o’clock,” I said. “I think I’ll just sit here and digest the repast and maybe smoke a cigar or two, that is if you got any to spare, and then I’ll mosey on back to my humble dwelling.”
“You really must leave now,” he said.
“You got a ladyfriend due any minute, right?” I said with a sly smile. “Well, never let it be said that Lucifer Jones ain’t the soul of understanding and discretion. Why, I recall one time back in Cairo, or maybe it was Merrakech, that I . . . ”
“Hurry!” he shouted. “The moon is rising!”
“Now how could you possibly know that, sitting here in the back of the room?” I asked.
“I know!” he said.
I got up and walked over to the doorway and stuck my head out. “Well, son of a gun, the moon is out,” I said. “I don’t see your ladyfriend nowhere, though.”
I turned back to face him, but Count Basil de Chenza Lupo wasn’t nowhere to be seen. In fact, there wasn’t no one in the room except the old waiter and an enormous wolf that must have wandered in through the kitchen door.
“Well, I’ve heard of restaurants that got roaches,” I said, “and restaurants that got rats, but I do believe this is the first eatery I ever been to that was infested by wolves.” I turned to the waiter. “What happened to Basil?” I asked. “Did he go off to the necessary?”
The waiter shook his head.
“Then where is he?”
The waiter pointed to the wolf.
“I don’t believe I’m making myself clear,” I said. “I ain’t interested in no four legged critters with fleas and bad breath. Where is Basil?”
The waiter pointed to the wolf again.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to understand,” I said. “That there is a wolf. I want to know what became of Basil.”
The waiter nodded his head. “Basil,” he said, pointing at the wolf again.
“You mean the wolf is named Basil, too?” I asked.
The waiter just threw his hands up and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the wolf.
Well, I looked at the wolf for a good long while, and he looked right back at me, and as time went by it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen no other wolves in all my wanderings through Europe, and that some zoo ought to be happy to pay a healthy price for such a prime specimen, so I walked over kind of gingerly and let him smell the back of my hand, and when I was sure he wasn’t viewing me as a potential appetizer, I slipped my belt out of my pants and slid it around his neck and turned it into a leash.
“You come along with me, Basil,” I said. “Tonight you can sleep in my hotel room, and tomorrow we’ll set about finding a properly generous and appreciative home for you.”
I started off toward the door, but he dug his feet in and practically pulled my arm out of the socket.
“Now Basil,” I said, jerking on the leash with both hands, “I ain’t one to abuse dumb animals, but one way or the other you’re coming with me.”
He pulled back and whimpered, and then he snarled, and then he just went limp and laid down, but I was determined to get him out of there, and I started dragging him along the floor, and finally he whined one last time and got to his feet and started trotting alongside of me, and fifteen minutes later we reached the door of the Magyar Hotel. I had a feeling they had some policy or other regarding wild critters in the rooms, so I waited until the desk clerk went off to flirt with one of the maids, and then I opened the door and me and Basil made a beeline for the staircase, and reached the second floor without being seen. I walked on down the corridor until I came to my room, unlocked it, and shagged Basil into it. He looked more nervous and bewildered than vicious, and finally he hopped onto the couch and curled up and went to sleep, and I lay back down on the bed and drifted off while I was trying to figure out how many thousands of dollars a real live wolf was worth.
Except that when I woke up, all set to take Basil the wolf off to the zoo, he wasn’t there. Instead, laying naked on the couch and snoring up a storm, was Basil the Count, with my belt still around his neck.
