Ossie stepped back from the edge of the pool, hiked up his trouser legs, and sat down on the end of a pool chair. He rested his elbows on his knees. “And then I commenced to hammering on that hose, giving it some mighty licks and carrying on like that racer was trying to eat me up. I held the hose up for the lady to see, and carried it back, quick, to the shop, so no one would get too good a look.”

Spencer sat down on the cement near the rim of the pool, dipped his hands into the water, and watched as the drops fell from his fingertips. The sun was higher now, and had warmed the cement. The fallen water dried quickly.

“Did anybody figure out your trick?”

Ossie smiled. “If they did, they never said nothing. That poor old hose wasn’t much use to me after that beating, though.”

Spencer peered into Ossie’s eyes. The brown irises were surrounded by whites that had, over the years, tinted themselves a warm custard-yellow.

“Why didn’t you want to kill the snake, Ossie?”

“Son, snakes eat mice, and mice eat corn. Corn that hungry people need to eat.” Ossie stood, slowly, and looked down into Spencer’s face. “Besides, I never killed a living creature in my life, leastwise not on purpose, and I wasn’t about to start just because some crazy white woman didn’t like sharing a swimming pool with a snake.”

Ossie turned and walked a few steps, then stopped. “I strolled by the filter room before I came out here. That pump’s humming a little too high-pitched. What’s the gauge setting at--thirty-five or thereabouts?”

“Thirty-four.”

“About time to backwash.”

Spencer sat in the noon sun drinking a Coke he'd bought from the restaurant at a ten-percent employee discount. He’d finished his morning’s work, and had gone for a swim, trying out the new diving mask and fins he’d picked up at K-Mart two days before. He heard a man’s voice near him.

“Hey, boy. C’mere.” Then a pause, and, “Yeah, you. I need some service over here.”
Spencer cracked open his left eye and saw a large man, sunburned and overflowing the waist of his trunks. He was waving a plastic cup in the air and motioning to where Ossie was carrying a pair of matching brown suitcases. A woman in a plaid jumpsuit and a sun hat followed him. Ossie stopped at room 140, carefully set down the suitcases, and opened the door. He put the suitcases inside the room and handed the key to the woman. Then he walked to the gesturing man.

“Sir, were you calling to me?”

“Yeah, you bet. I need a refresher on my gin and tonic here. Howsabout you head up to the bar and fetch me a double G’n’T? Tell ‘em to charge it to room 256. I’m Mr. Parker.” Mr. Parker’s gaze hadn’t lifted from the magazine which was tented across his belly.

“I’m awful sorry, sir,” Ossie said. “That’s against the rules of the establishment.”

Mr. Parker looked up from his magazine and stared into the face of Ossie. “What rules are those, boy?”

“The Holiday Inn management forbids service personnel like myself to provide poolside guests with liquor from the bar.”

“That’s one stupid goddamn rule.” Mr. Parker brought his glass to his mouth and began to chew on an ice cube. The sun reflected off the man’s right eye in a way that reminded Spencer of the drowned mouse.

“What’s your name, bellboy?”

“Ossie, sir.”

“Ossie?”

“That’s right, sir. Ossie.”

“Well, look here, Ossie. You think maybe you can just bend that rule a bit if I promise you a two-dollar tip?” The man smiled.

“No, sir. I don’t think I can bend that rule for any money you got. I’m truly sorry.” Ossie turned and walked toward the front office.