Bandits

8

“I THINK THEY’RE WATCHING the house,”Lucy’s voice said. “We’ve been sitting at a window most of the day. Dolores and I take turns. She’s there now, writing down what goes by. There aren’t that many-the street doesn’t go anywhere. The trouble is, all the cars look alike, the new ones.”

“The one yesterday,” Jack said, “was a Chrysler Fifth Avenue, I’m pretty sure. But you’re right, they all look alike. It was black.”

“Are you working?”

“I was. I’m at Mandina’s now. I wanted to call you before, but Leo kept coming in. You know Mandina’s, on Canal?”

“I’ve passed by it. Hang on a minute.”

He heard Lucy’s voice, away from the phone, call Dolores and then heard steps on a hardwood floor. Dolores had opened the door last night when he brought Amelita: Dolores a slim black woman in a flowery print dress and high heels, not looking anything like a housekeeper. When Lucy introduced them she said, “Jack Delaney, Dolores Wilson,” and Dolores gave him a nod, closing her eyes, then gave Lucy a strange look-What’s going on here?-no doubt the first time she’d ever been introduced to company. He heard steps again on the wood floor and then Lucy’s voice.

“Jack? The black Chrysler. It drove by twice and then parked down the street, toward the river.”

“How many people in it?”

“Dolores thinks just one.”

“You could tell the police.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. If I cause a scene I’m not sure what might happen. I don’t want the guy in the car to think I’m, you know, sitting in the window. How about you? Anyone come to the funeral home?”

“Only the colonel himself. He’s a little guy, isn’t he?”

“Jack, really? What did you tell him?”

“He was there when I got back from picking up a body. Listen, I think I might have us another guy, too.”

“Jack…”

“I told him we didn’t have an Amelita Sosa. He goes, what’re you talking about? You picked up her body yesterday, at Carville. I said no, it wasn’t us. Must’ve been some other funeral home.”

“But did you put the notice in the paper?”

“No, see, then you’re admitting you have her, or you did. Then they want to know what you did with the body. You say you had it cremated or you sent it somewhere, they can check. There all kinds of records would be involved. I’ve found it’s best, something like this, to open your eyes real wide and play dumb. You don’t know anything. Amelita Sosa? No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong place.”

“But if they check with Carville…”

“So, one of the sisters wrote down the wrong funeral home. They’re human, aren’t they, can make mistakes? I never met a sister who did, but it must be possible.”

“What’d he say, the colonel?”

“He had a guy with him. You remember the other one yesterday who didn’t say anything?”

“He stood in front of the hearse.”

“Yeah, did you get a look at him?”

“I saw him, that’s about all.”

“He’s a weird guy. You didn’t notice his hair? Like he might be part colored?”

There was a pause on Lucy’s end. “Yeah, I did notice him. He looked different.”

“His name’s Franklin. You ever hear of a Nicaraguan named Franklin?”

“Sure, it’s possible.” She paused again. “Or he’s Indian. They live along the east coast, near Honduras.”

“He looked more black.”

“Well, there’re Caribbean Creoles mixed in with the Indians. Yeah, and some have unusual names, you’re right, they got from Moravian missionaries. There was a Miskito Indian at the hospital, his name was Armstrong Diego.” She said then, “But when you told the colonel she wasn’t there, what’d he do?”

“Well, he didn’t believe me. Especially when the guy, Franklin, says I was there, he saw me. But he didn’t do anything about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said, okay, take a look around. We go upstairs, the colonel sees Leo preparing a body and forgets all about Amelita.”

“It didn’t make him ill…”

“No, he loved it. But after a few minutes that was it, he left. Told Leo he had an appointment. See, when I first got there I thought Leo was gonna have a heart attack. He talked to Sister Teresa Victor on the phone this morning and then he and I talked and he did not know how to handle it. The colonel comes, Leo’s scared to death. Afraid to even look at him. The colonel leaves and Leo says, ‘He seems like a nice guy.’ ”

“He didn’t…”

“You have to understand, anybody that’d want to watch an embalming becomes Leo’s friend for life.”

“That was all? They left?”

“I guess he had to be somewhere. But the guy, Franklin… he was weird.”

“I have to learn how to lie,” Lucy said.

“You tell a big one. The bigger the lie, the better chance you have they’ll believe you.”

“But if they believe she’s alive and she’s not at your place, then she must be here. Bertie and his guys. He seems less of a threat if I think of him as Bertie. I found out he’s staying at the Saint Louis. You know where it is?”

“It’s in the Quarter. Very nice hotel, small.”

“Did you ever… pick up jewelry there?”

He said, “I don’t think it was a hotel back then,” picturing the open hallways on each floor that looked down into a center courtyard. Why didn’t the guy stay at the Roosevelt? “You talked to your dad, huh?”

“I called him this morning and apologized. Probably the most deceitful thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Yeah, but were you convincing?”

“He said, ‘Don’t give it another thought, Sis.’ I said, ‘If I decide to borrow one of your guns and shoot the son of a bitch, where would I find him?’ He thought that was funny, his daughter the nun turned reactionary. Or whatever I am, I don’t know. I put him down, criticize his business, his politics, but I used money he gave me to buy the car in León.”

“You shouldn’t have trouble with that. You don’t have to like him just ’cause he’s your dad.”

“But I do, he’s a nice guy… Except his values are all screwed up.”

“Wait’ll you meet Roy Hicks.”

There was a silence on Lucy’s end.

“If you’re having second thoughts, I can understand.”

“No, I want to meet him.”

“I might have another guy, too. The only problem is, he doesn’t have a place to live. But we can talk about that later. If the guy in the Chrysler comes to the door, don’t open it.”

“I won’t. But I’d like to get Amelita out of here tonight, if possible. There’s a late flight to L.A. with a change in Dallas. But we’d have to leave here by nine-thirty.”

“We’ll work it out. I’ll call you by eight.”

Jack had a couple of beers and an oyster loaf at the bar, talked to Mario on and off about nothing, and in between thought about the guy, Franklin, and his bluesteel automatic. That was one weird fucking guy. Jack finished eating and drove downtown.

Roy Hicks was putting together an array of pastel-colored drinks in stem glasses along the inside edge of the bar, topping them off with cherries, orange slices, and tiny parasols.

Jack watched him from the front end of the bar, near the entrance to the International Lounge, “Featuring Exotic Dancers from Around the World.”

The way Roy was concentrating, that hard jaw line of his clenched, Jack wouldn’t be surprised to see Roy finish making the drinks and then sweep them off the bar with one of his hairy forearms. Roy always wore short-sleeve shirts, even with the formal black bow tie and the red satin vest. The owner of the club, Jimmy Linahan, had told Roy he’d have to wear long sleeves with French cuffs, but Roy wouldn’t do it; he kept showing up for work in his short-sleeve shirts. Jimmy Linahan said to him, “I don’t want to have to tell you again.” Roy said, “Then don’t,” and went on making drinks.

Jack remembered that day, sitting on this same stool when it happened and Jimmy Linahan coming over to him. They had known each other since they were fifteen years old and used to swim off the levee in Audubon Park and get in fights with black kids or Italians, whoever happened to be there. Jimmy Linahan said, “What’s with this guy?” Roy had given Jack’s name as a reference.

Jack said to him that time, “Jimmy, if I were you I’d let the guy wear a jockstrap with sequins on it if that’s what he happens to show up in. A joint like this, you need Roy more than he needs you. And I don’t mean ’cause he was a cop and knows how to use a stick. Roy has a knack of getting people to agree with him.”

Jimmy Linahan came to appreciate Roy: the fact he never drew complaints or had to give refunds. Roy could put together a drink he’d never heard of without referring to the Bartender’s Guide. And if the patron said, “This isn’t a Green Hornet,” Roy would look at the patron and say, “That’s the way I make ’em, pal. Drink up.” And the patron would see Roy’s eyes, the dead dark stones in there, and say, ‘Mmmmm, it’s different, but good.” Or if the patron bought one of the Exotic Dancers from Around the World a split of champagne and made a fuss when he got a tab for sixty-five dollars, Roy would look at the patron and say, “I bet you can have the money out, plus tip, before I come over the bar. Huh?”

Jack could hear conventioneers behind him having fun, several tables of middle-aged men and women wearing big ID badges. There were a few thousand more of them out on Bourbon Street and it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. Roy was working days this week and would be off at eight.

One of the International girls took the stool next to Jack saying, “Hi, how you doing?” With an accent that would make her an exotic dancer from around the East Texas part of the world. She said, “My name’s Darla. You want to pet my monkey?”

Roy was at the cash register punching keys. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, Darla? Get your hand off his dick. That’s a friend of mine.” He punched some more keys, took the check out of the register, and walked up the bar to the service station.

“He’s an old sweetie, isn’t he?” Jack gave her a nice smile as he said it. He had watched her perform, up on the stage back of the bar, the Exotic Darla naked except for a silver G-string and pink pasties centered on tired, impersonal breasts that looked too old for her. Poor girl trying to make a living. “I tell people,” Jack said to her, “if you’re ever behind Roy at a stoplight and it changes and he doesn’t start up right away, don’t honk your horn.”

The Exotic Darla said, “Yeah?” Waiting for him to continue.

So Jack said, “We were on a 747 one time going to Vegas, one of those junkets where everything’s included, the flight, the hotel… We’ve been drinking for about two hours, Roy decides he has to go to the bathroom. I’m on the aisle, so when I get up I decide, well, I may as well go too. We get to the back of the plane and see these little signs on all the lavatories, occupied. Roy goes over to the other side of the plane where there three more, but they’re occupied too, so he comes back. I’m standing there, he knows these three are occupied, he can see the little signs, but he tries the doors anyway, jiggles the handles. He stands there for about a half a minute and all of a sudden he kicks the door of the one I’m standing right in front of. He kicks it and says, ‘Come on, hurry up!’ The door opens like only about ten seconds later. This guy comes out, big guy, and gives me the dirtiest look you ever saw in your life. Not Roy, me, ’cause I’m the one standing there. The guy walks off, up the aisle, and Roy goes, ‘What’s the matter with him?’ ”

The Exotic Darla said, “Yeah?”

“That’s the end of the story.”

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Jack said. “You want to hear another Roy story?”

She thought a moment. Maybe that’s what she was doing, Jack wasn’t sure. She said, “No, thank you,” swiveled around on the stool, looking over the room, raised both arms to adjust the halter holding her tired breasts, and left him.

Roy came down the bar holding a bottle of vodka by the neck. He poured a shot into Jack’s glass, then twisted off another one, Jack saying, “Darla’s got bruises on her arm. You notice?”

“Bumping into the wrong guys. That girl’s a sack of roaches.”

“I read in the paper that in the U.S., I think it was just this country, a woman is beaten or physically abused something like every eighteen seconds.”

Roy said, “You don’t tell me.”

“Somebody made a study.”

Roy said, “You wouldn’t think that many women get out of line, would you?” He walked off.

Jack watched Roy making a drink down the bar. He wondered why he remembered a short piece in the paper about women being abused but hardly anything at all about Nicaragua.

When he came back Roy said, “Delaney, you know what broads do when they get sick? I’ve never seen it to fail, they throw up in the washbasin. They don’t throw up in the toilet, like you’re suppose to.”

“That’s interesting,” Jack said. “You think that’s why they get beat up?”

“Who knows why. They’re all different and they’re all the same.”

“Still hate women, huh?”

“I love women. I just don’t trust ’em.”

“I met one you can.”

“Yeah? Good for you.”

“And heard an amazing story you aren’t gonna believe.”

“But you’re gonna tell me it anyway.”

“You’d be hurt if I didn’t. You’d pout and probably never speak to me again. It’s an opportunity story, as in chance of a lifetime.”

“Is it about money?”

“Five million, give or take a few bucks.”

“That’s money. Where is it?”

“You’re jumping to the best part. It belongs to a type of individual, Roy, that if you can take it from him you’d not only never have to work again as long as you live, you’d be performing a service to humanity. The kind a thing that makes you feel good all over.”

Roy said, “You understand I serve humanity every day for eight hours and it doesn’t make me feel worth a shit. They come in, a guy wants a Sazerac. He has no idea in the world what a Sazerac is, but he’s in New Orleans. I serve him something with a lot of bitters in it. Another guy comes in, looks around, he whispers to me, ‘You got any absinthe?’ He says, ‘They don’t have none at the Old Absinthe House. They tell me it’s against the law to serve it.’ I say how do I know, to this little pussy fella, you’re not a cop? He shows me he’s from Fort Wayne, Indiana. I glance around the bar, get out a clear bottle I make up that’s got Pernod in it and a piece a deadwood with a caterpillar stuck on it. Asshole drinks five of ’em at five bills a shot. Serve humanity, I serve ’em any fucking thing they want.”

Jack said, “That’s why I’m talking to you, Roy, you’re a sensitive, understanding person. This guy gets finished collecting his five million he’s most likely gonna hop in a private plane and leave the country with it. We get a half share we split three ways.”

“Who’s we?”

“You and I, maybe Cullen.”

“Cullen, they let him out?”

“Medical release, so he can get laid.”

“What was he in, twenty-five years?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Jesus, they’d a had to shoot me off the fence.”

“Well, he’s out and feeling pretty good.”

“What’re we talking about, a bank, for Christ sake?”

“Not anything like it.”

“Then what do you need Cullen for?”

“I think he’d enjoy it. Why not?”

“You’re feeling pretty good yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been born again. Since yesterday I have an entirely new outlook on life.”

“This guy’s gonna collect five mil you say, give or take… Are we talking about cash, with bank straps on it?”

“You’ve never heard of one like this, Roy. It’s never been done before.”

“It has to do with the funeral business.”

“Not unless somebody gets shot.”

“This doesn’t sound like you atall, Delaney.”

“I told you, I’m a different person. You want to know what it is, or you rather guess?”

“I know every kind of scam or heist there is grown men have tried to pull and fell on their ass doing.”

“All except this one.”

“Have you seen the guy? You know who he is?”

“I met him today.”

“Yeah?… Well, what is he?”

“He’s a Nicaraguan colonel.”

Roy stared at Jack. He turned then, walked down the bar, made a drink, rang it up, and came back.

“You met a woman you say you can trust and she told you an amazing story I’m not gonna believe. How to pick up five mil.”

“Give or take.”

“How come she gets half? The guy her husband?”

Jack shook his head. “She needs it to build a hospital, for lepers.”

Roy paused, then nodded. “A leper hospital, yeah, that’s a good idea. You know why lepers never finish a card game?”

“They have to quit,” Jack said, “when they throw in their hands.” He looked at Roy with the same deadpan expression, because he knew he had him and knew they were going to play this one and might even have a pretty good time working it out.

He said, “What I need at the moment is a police officer. Or someone who knows how to speak in that same ugly, obscene way they have of addressing offenders.”