Glitz

24

TEDDY’S MOM WOKE HIM UP to tell him she was taking Buddy to the pet shop to get his little beak shaved so he wouldn’t hurt hisself. She said, “Were you ’sleep?”

“I was trying to. Jeez.”

“I thought I smelled smoke a while ago. Were you burning something in the fireplace?”

“Just some old stuff I don’t need no more. I cleaned out my drawers.”

“Well, I’ll be. You’re a lazybones, but you’ve always been neat about your things.”

“ ’Ey, Mom-”

“Li’l sleepyhead,” his Mom said, and left with Buddy in a cage.

No sooner the Chevy backed out of the drive and pulled away-peace at last-the front-door chimes rang. He was positive it was the cops, a couple of day-shift guys this time; they’d take him over to Northfield and go through the routine again. You were in Spade’s casino last night? Yes sir, I was. What time was that? I was at Bally’s, the Claridge and the Sands too. Who keeps track of time when you’re gambling and having fun? You win? I did all right. They loved to hassle you. Put you in a lineup with drunks and cops, lights in your eyes. He’d go with them today and make a statement: I’ve answered your questions. What you are doing now is called harassment. Any further questions will have to be directed at my attorney. That sounded good.

The front-door chimes kept ringing.

Have his mom get him a lawyer, not the court. They didn’t have anything on him anyway. They couldn’t.

The damn chimes, that double ding-dong repeated over and over and-shit-over until the irritation of it pulled him out of bed in his black bikini briefs to the front door for a peek through the peephole. Not three feet away from him on the porch was a giant colored guy. He should have stopped to think, kept quiet, but the sight of the guy startled him and Teddy said, “What do you want?”

The giant colored guy said, “You, baby. Open the door.”

It wasn’t the way a cop addressed you. Teddy stepped over to the window, peeked through the grillwork and saw the black limo parked in the drive… Like the limo Iris had got in with those people to go to the apartment. And there had been a big colored guy in that party. Now he was good and confused. If this was the giant colored guy his mom had talked to, where was the bearded guy who had used the bathroom? If the bearded guy was the Miami cop, Vincent, what was he doing with the spade from Spade’s? Man, it was confusing.

Teddy ran through the hall to the kitchen and looked out back. Nobody in the yard. Now the giant colored guy was banging on the door, shaking the house almost, calling “Teddy? Open up, man. I’m a frien’.” The dumbest thing he ever did was ask what the guy wanted. He wondered if he should call the real police. That would be something, wouldn’t it? But decided, no, play a lone hand. Mr. Magic. Now you see him, now you don’t. He got dressed fast and packed a canvas bag, a couple of knit shirts, undies, extra pair of jeans. He slipped on a pair of blue Nikes. The money Marie had given him was in his wallet. Shit, the camera case-he got it, hung it over his shoulder. What else?

He got one of his mom’s VISA cards out of her dresser, then slipped quietly out the side door into the empty garage. Buddy would have to have his appointment today. If his mom was here she’d do something. He’d go through backyards to East Drive and up to Ventnor. Teddy opened the door to the yard and stuck his head out to look one way, across the back of the house, then the other…

The cop, Vincent, said, “Hi, Teddy, you all packed?” Taking the bag and the camera case. “Good.”

Teddy had to go back inside and open the front door. He watched the cop, Vincent, take the Colt out of the camera case and hand it to the giant colored guy. He was even bigger close. The cop headed through the living room then. Teddy knew where he was going and couldn’t help but call after him “ ‘Ey, good luck.”

Teddy began to hum George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone”; see if the giant colored guy knew it and would say anything. But the giant colored guy was studying the Colt automatic, looking it over good. Teddy said, “Careful with that if you don’t know nothing about firearms.”

The giant colored guy looked up, aimed the gun right at him and said, “You remind me. I remember seeing a cartoon, this poor little skinny bum is standing behind this big heavy-set rich cat holding a gun in his back? The little bum is saying to him, ‘Stick ’em up, this is a water pistol, I mean a holdup.’ Little bum, you know he ain’t ever gonna make it. You remind me of him.”

Teddy said, “Come on, don’t fool around, ‘ey?”

The cop, Vincent, came back in empty-handed, of course. Teddy said, “Didn’t find what you were looking for? That’s too bad.”

“You got rid of everything,” Vincent said.

“You mean the pictures? Oh, they got burnt up in a fire. Yeah, all my PR memories. Like I wasn’t even there.”

“I’m glad I saved a couple,” Vincent said, taking two prints out of his coat pocket to hold them up. “Didn’t you miss them? Or’d you just burn everything without looking?”

Teddy said, “ ’Ey, wait a minute…”

The cop was holding up the two shots of Isidro, the cab driver, and it didn’t make any sense. What did the cab driver have to do with Iris, here? Was the cop trying to confuse him or what? Then the cop was saying he hoped he’d packed his resort clothes and Teddy said again, “ ‘Ey, wait a minute…”

Rosemary comes in his office with some letters for him to sign. She stops dead, can’t believe her eyes. “Mr. Garbo, what are you doing up there?” And he says to her, “I’m tap-dancing on the fucking desk. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

That was how the day began in his mind, Jackie getting out of bed. What should be one of the happiest days of his life: Frank Cingoro dead, Ricky Catalina in custody, the undesirables off his back. But his vibes were bothering him. Something was going on. He’d stayed at the hotel last night because he couldn’t find the Moose; he’d called LaDonna at home three times this morning and got no answer. Now the narky-looking cop from Miami was sitting in his office and he was trying very hard to be cordial, in light of the guy’s twelve grand deposited with the cashier.

“The Moose says I made a mistake. I should offer you an apology.”

“No need to,” Vincent said. “But there is something you could do for me.”

Jackie’s mind telling him, Get him a broad, get him tickets to the show, autographs, take him backstage… and said, “You’ve noticed the personally inscribed photographs I have here on the wall? Every one of ’em major showroom attractions.” Jackie moved toward the display, pointing. “Like my very dear friend Lee, wearing the jacket there cost him a hundred and fifty grand. Or the inimitable Engelbert, right here. You name me somebody of their statue, as my pal Norm Crosby would say, and if the star you name isn’t up on that wall-mister, I’ll give you a brand-new hundred-dollar bill.”

Vincent took a moment. He said, “Joe Cocker.”

Jackie said, “Joe Cocker? You putting me on?” He looked over to see DeLeon standing in the doorway. “You decide to make an appearance?” Jackie shook his head. Look at him, going for the sofa. “Where’n the hell you been?”

“Doing chores, Mr. Garbo, sir.”

“We’re gonna have a talk, my friend, soon as I’m through here.” He turned to Vincent, sitting in a chair by the desk. “What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Joe Cocker.”

“You got to be kidding.” Jackie looked over at DeLeon. “You ever hear of him?”

“Yeah, Joe Cocker, man.”

Now the Miami cop said, “He had a big hit, ‘With a Little Help From My Friends.’ You remind me of it. I don’t know if we’re exactly friends, but since I helped you out, you might say, I thought you might want to do something for me.”

Jackie leaned on his desk and nodded, like he was giving it some thought. “You helped me out…” He checked with DeLeon. “You know what he’s talking about?”

“Listen to the man,” DeLeon said.

“He helped me out-is he kidding? Guy walks in, gets the management in an uproar, the Donovans, Dick and Jane at the fucking seashore, I can’t turn around I’m tripping over one of ’em trying to fuck me up, the broad dying to. I got them on one side, I got La Cosa Nostra on the other, I got more people trying to dick me than if I turned tricks for a living-this guy says he helped me out.”

“You not listening,” DeLeon said, “you talking.”

Jackie said, “Hey, Moose, you got nothing to do? Go polish the fucking car’r something. Jesus, the help you get these days, I’m telling you. I start out this morning I was feeling pretty good, my stomach, no heartburn, no indigestion…”

Vincent said, “That’s because you missed the dinner with the Ching. You were pretty lucky.”

“You think so, huh? I’ll tell you something,” Jackie said. “There’re three things I attribute to what’s made me a success in life. One, I don’t worry about anything happened in the past I can’t change. Two, I don’t hold a grudge. Revenge is for losers, guys that got nothing else to do. And three, most important of all, I watch my ass so nothing unexpected comes up behind me. And the closer I watch it, my friend, the luckier I get.”

DeLeon said, “Shit,” with a grin. Which Jackie took to mean appreciation, until DeLeon said, “Was this gentleman here saved your ass.”

Jackie said, “Oh, is that right? This gentleman, all I’ve seen this gentleman do is come in here, stumble around and almost knock over the whole shithouse. If that’s called saving my ass…”

The Miami cop was looking at his watch.

“I don’t want to hold you up,” Jackie said, “you have to be somewhere.”

“Pretty soon. I want to tell you,” Vincent said, “you have a point. I went after the wrong guys and it could’ve got you in a lot of trouble… from what I understand of how things work here. I mean if it ever came out in testimony you’ve been operating outside the casino. Like for that Colombian gent. Also your associations with Frank Cingoro and the wise guys. But so far it’s turned out in your favor. Good, you might say, has come of it. Frank’s dead and Ricky should get twenty-five years… unless he cops and makes a deal, tells ’em things they’d like to hear. So what my stumbling around did, when you look at it, get all the facts, was put you in the clear. Not all the way, but you won’t be getting it from both sides now. That ought to be worth something to you.”

Jackie said to DeLeon. “You hear this guy?”

“Man saying you owe him something.”

Jackie looked at Vincent again. What would a thirty-grand-a-year cop go for? Cop on the take who comes here, wants to be treated like a high roller? “What would you like, a six-foot showgirl? Or how ’bout a broad with hair under her arms and a mustache? More like what you’re used to. Name it, my friend.”

“All I’d like you to do,” Vincent said, “is fly three of us down to San Juan in the company plane. Maybe four, but no more than that. You won’t have to serve us lunch or anything. Couple of drinks, that’s all. How’s that sound?”

Jackie said to DeLeon, “You hear this guy?”

“Ask him what happens you don’t do it.”

“You think I should?”

“Might be interesting.”

“Don’t think of it as what happens if you don’t,” Vincent said. “Be positive. Think of it as insurance. You’ll be doing it so nobody’ll testify against you before the Control Commission. Tell about all the deals you’ve been into and you lose your license. Yeah, what it is, it’s license insurance.”

“Wait,” Jackie said. He touched his ear. “Hum it for me again, that’s a familiar tune. I think it’s the same one you played yesterday. Yeah. What’s changed? You’re still trying to shake me down, for Christ sake. I knew you were on the fucking take the minute you walked in. You still are.”

“No, it’s different now,” Vincent said. “I got a witness that can put the stuff all over you.”

“This should be interesting,” Jackie said, “Who?”

“Him,” Vincent said, hooking a thumb toward DeLeon on the sofa. “Now get the plane gassed up.”

He had to watch Jackie switch roles, from tough guy to tragic figure, the little casino manager sinking into his high-backed chair, lost, staring with a pained expression at DeLeon.

“No, not the Moose, I don’t believe it. You’re not gonna tell me after all we been through, these many years, you’d all of a sudden betray me.”

DeLeon said, “Betray you?”

“That’s what he said. I heard him,” Vincent said, looking at Jackie behind his big desk, not as entertaining in his new role. Vincent said to him, “We’re using leverage on you, Jackie, that’s all. You’re sitting in a spot where you don’t want to make a lot of noise. You want things to quietly pass over. So what you do, you call the airport and make arrangements. Okay? Think of your secrets of success. You don’t worry about anything you can’t change or waste time thinking about getting even. Those are good ones. As for watching your ass, well, so you missed one. You’re still lucky.”

“Him,” Jackie said, extending his arm to point at DeLeon, showing them a gold cuff link. “My betrayer.”

“Man likes that word,” DeLeon said.

Vincent said to Jackie, “Look, you don’t want to think ill of DeLeon, okay, I’ll use Ricky. I can arrange for Ricky to tell stories about you thinking he’s gonna get a plea deal. Which he won’t, but the cops would find out about you and they’d tell Gaming Enforcement-you know how cops are, like to help each other-and there you are. So what’s the difference? We’re talking about leverage.”

“Prick,” Jackie said.

“He’s feeling better,” Vincent said to DeLeon. Then turned to Jackie again. “But what this is all about, what you tend to lose sight of because of your personal problems, is Iris. You remember Iris?”

“I never made her do a thing she didn’t want to,” Jackie said. “She knew exactly what the deal was.”

“All I asked was, do you remember Iris?”

Jackie paused. “Yeah, I remember her. So? What do you want me to say?”

Vincent thought about it, looking at Jackie behind his executive desk; Jackie, if he was thinking about her at all, remembering some little broad who’d worked for him at one time.

“Maybe you better not say anything,” Vincent said.

A quarter to twelve Vincent came away from the cashier’s window with the twelve thousand dollars in the blue canvas bag. Somebody’s twelve thousand; he was still reasoning his right to it. If he couldn’t return it to Ricky and if he felt no obligation to give it to the State of New Jersey, who was left? He had never pocketed a dime of confiscated money or accepted a bribe in his life. When he had lunch at Wolfie’s on Collins Avenue he went along with them charging him only half price. But he tipped on the full amount. He was an honest cop and this was a unique situation. He could tell himself he was using the twelve grand in the line of duty, sort of.

From the casino, Vincent cut through the lounge toward the lobby. He noticed Tommy Donovan behind the bar talking to the barman. It caused Vincent to hesitate. He thought, why not? And walked over to the bar to stand a couple of stools away. Tommy was talking very intently about something. The barman saw Vincent, but didn’t want to interrupt his boss. Finally he said something and Tommy turned as the barman came over.

“A draft,” Vincent said.

Now Tommy stepped over extending his hand. “Tommy Donovan. How are you this morning?”

“Not too bad,” Vincent said.

“I was just saying to Eddie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a blue mixed drink. Have you?”

“I don’t think so,” Vincent said. “I don’t think I’d want to either. Drinks should be sort of a gold color. Amber. Some are no color at all, they’re okay. But I prefer the amber ones.”

“You’re my kind a guy,” Tommy said. “What’ll you have? It’s on the house.”

The barman placed the beer in front of him. “This’s fine,” Vincent said. “I never drink hard stuff till the evening or I’m finished work.”

“I don’t either,” Tommy said. “I think I’ll have one with you.” He looked at the barman who moved off to draw another. “You have to be careful, especially mixing business with pleasure here. On the one hand I have to socialize. On the other I have to know what’s going on. You understand my position.”

Vincent said, “Are you the Tommy Donovan?”

“Well, I’m the only one around here, anyway.”

“You own the place.”

“I work at it.”

“Behind the bar?”

“I know what’s going on in every area of this operation. To me, the bar is as important as the casino. I don’t want to see any skimping on drinks or indifference to patrons. Eddie here”-the barman placed a draft beer in front of Tommy-“we were just discussing different kinds of drinks, seeing if we could come up with a new one, something unusual.”

“It must be interesting work,” Vincent said, “running a place like this.”

“Well, it keeps you out of trouble.” Tommy drank off part of his beer and touched a napkin to his mouth. “You just come in?”

“No, I’m checking out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How’d you do?”

“Not bad. I got what I came for.” Vincent raised the canvas bag, placed it on the bar and zipped it open. “Take a look.”

Tommy leaned close in the timeless semidark. He said, “Jesus Christ, I hope you didn’t win all that here. On the other hand if you did, well, that’s how it goes. How much you win?”

“Twelve grand.”

“Well, yeah, you know I thought you looked familiar.”

“You comped me,” Vincent said.

“Sure, I remember. You were pointed out to me.”

“I’m on my way now to San Juan. Try my luck there.”

“Well, hey, you’re gonna stay at Spade’s, aren’t you? I insist. Sure, we’ll comp you exactly the same as you got here. It’s on the computer, we just punch it down there.” Tommy grinned. “Give us a chance to get even. Yeah, your face is very familiar, I just haven’t been able to put a name to it.”

“Vincent Mora.”

Tommy began to nod. “That’s right, sure. Mora, you came down from Boston, didn’t you?”

“I came up from Miami.”

“Yeah Miami. Listen, I got a tell you, I have a little trouble with names, Vinnie. But faces, I never forget a face. Actually, once I have a drink with a guest I never forget his name either. Next time I see you I’ll know. Vinnie Mora, from Boston.”

Tommy, Jackie, Ricky, Teddy, Eddie… Vinnie. It was time to get out of here. Vincent finished his beer, offered his hand. “It was a pleasure, Tommy.” He stared away from the bar and looked back. “Hey, and say hi to your wife for me.”

Vincent left him standing there.

He eased down to sit on the edge of the bed, not wanting to wake her, not yet; but saw her eyes open in the moment before he kissed her and felt her arms come around him and strain to hold him, keep him here. Linda said, “I’m not going to let you go.”

“Come with me.” Raising up on his arms to look at her.

She didn’t say anything. Their eyes held in the dim light, the bedroom draperies closed, her eyes changing now. It wasn’t the look he wanted to take with him. There were good ones he already had stored away. This one was solemn, almost sad; it meant she cared about him, but it was not the one he would look at when he thought of her. He said, “I wouldn’t ask you to leave your job.”

“My gig.” Trying to smile.

“Chiquita Banana. You are some entertainer.”

She said, “I don’t have a name for you, not yet. But I’ll think of one.” She said, “You have to go, don’t you?”

“DeLeon’s putting Teddy in the car, the limo. You might as well use mine as long as you’re here. It’s on a card and I’m rich. Right? The keys are on the desk… They’ll probably ask you to leave…”

“I’ll get a place. Don’t worry.” Looking at him with sad eyes again. She said, “Vincent?” and hesitated.

“What?”

“Is it going to work? What you’re doing?”

He felt she was going to say something else and changed her mind. “It has to. I don’t see any other way.”

She said, “Vincent?”

Her hands moved over his shoulders, bringing him to her. They held onto each other as long as they could, until he whispered to her, “I have to go.”

She missed him with the sound of the door closing, in the silence now. She saw him in darkness in his white jockeys holding the gun upright against his shoulder and saw him-looking out the window of Room 310 of the Holmhurst-in the street light, out in the cold mist in his skivvies. He had never told her what the man coming out of the hotel said, the drunk, seeing him like that. They had made love. A man fired shots into their room and they made love after, under the covers, the room cold because of the broken window. He had not told her what the man said and there were things she hadn’t told him. They should have told each other things. Maybe they didn’t have to, but there were things that were good to hear. She got up and went into the living room.

The car keys were on the desk, lying on a hotel envelope addressed to CHIQUITA. Inside were twenty one-hundred dollar bills and a note that said:

Dear Chiquita,

This is scale, the going rate for getting shot at and being part of all this. I hope it is only the first part and we will have a lot more parts to come, but I have to leave it up to you. I’ll be at Spade’s Isla Verde. Maybe even comped.

Vincent the Avenger

Vincent came off the elevator, hesitated and turned left toward the casino instead of the other way, into the lobby. Twelve-thirty in the afternoon the room was alive with players, with flashing lights and bells going off. He was beginning to feel at home here. He dropped a quarter into the first free slot machine he came to and pulled down on the handle. The drum, illustrated with bars, cherries, bells and oranges, rolled, jolted to a stop. Nothing. He dropped in another quarter, pulled the handle down, watched the drum spin and stop. Silence. He slipped his last quarter into the machine, yanked on the handle and walked away, indifferent, but ready to hunch his shoulders against the sound of clanging coins, jackpot bells…

Well, there were all kinds of ways to gamble in San Juan.