“Excuse me?”
“My granduncle Guillermo. That was probably his. I found it and the cigar case in a drawer in his—now my—bedroom. I decided that if he had known what a splendid fellow I am, he would have left me both in his will, so I took possession.”
Tony had to smile. He was glad it was too dark out here for the Pride of the Marine Corps to see his face.
“And the house, too?”
“The house belongs to my father. Uncle Bill lost it betting on the horses.”
“No shit?”
“Uncle Bill was a man after my own heart. According to my father, he spent his life drinking good whiskey, laying all the women in Buenos Aires, gambling on horse races, and playing polo. I have decided I want to be just like him.”
“You know how to play polo?”
“We used to play it at A and M. We called it polo, and I guess it was. But we did it on cow ponies, using brooms and a basketball.”
“What’s A and M? For that matter, what’s a cow pony?”
“A and M, you ignorant city slicker, is the Texas Agricultural and Mechanical Institute. You really never heard of A and M?”
“Yeah. Now I know what it is. You went there?”
“For two years. I finished up at Tulane in New Orleans.”
“So what’s a cow pony?”
“A horse, most often what they call a quarterhorse, a small one, trained to work cattle. When we played ‘polo,’ the cow ponies made it clear they thought we were insane. We had them running up and down a field, and we were yelling and making a lot of noise, and there wasn’t a cow in sight.”
Pelosi chuckled.
“But you never played real polo?”
“No. I’ve been wondering if I could. Maybe. Christ knows, I grew up on a horse.”
“Really?”
“On a ranch in West Texas. I was raised by my aunt and uncle.”
“So those cowboy boots are for real? I thought maybe you thought they just looked good.”
“They feel good. When I went in the Corps and had to wear what they call ‘low quarter’ shoes—do they call them that in the Army?—I felt like I was running around barefooted.”
“Yeah, they do. When I went in the Army, the goddamned boots killed me. I was blisters all over. Then I got used to them, and then I got to wear jump boots, and they’re really comfortable, and I felt the same way, barefoot, when I had to start wearing civilian shoes again.”
“Well, keep your fingers crossed, and maybe pretty soon you can put your jump boots on again and get back to jumping out of perfectly functioning airplanes.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you’
ve tried it,” Tony said. “I like parachuting.”
“I don’t,” Clete said. “I tried it once and hated it.”
“How come you tried it?”
“There was a Japanese pilot who was much better than me,” Clete said.
“No shit? You were shot down?”