Glitz

28

IN MAYAGUEZ, in a barrio called Dulces Labios, they found Iris’s grandmother living in a house made of scrap lumber painted light blue. The grandmother sent for relatives to come and Vincent and Linda waited, standing by the white Chevette with red scrape marks on its side. They were tired from the drive. It had rained on the way here from San Juan. They didn’t look forward to the hours it would take them to drive back, or the road or the leisurely traffic. At least they were together; they had been together in this from the beginning and it was part of the feeling between them. When the women came Vincent presented the stainless steel urn to the grandmother. She hesitated before taking it and passed it on quickly as she saw her reflection in the polished metal. Each woman in turn looked away to avoid seeing herself in the urn, passing it on and making the sign of the cross. Vincent told them Iris’s death was an accident; one night she fell from the balcony of an apartment. He said he was very sorry to have to tell them this; he said Iris’s friends loved her and would miss her. The women nodded. None of them asked him how it happened that she fell. She fell; they accepted it or didn’t wish to know how or why or if anyone was with her.

It was done. They were relieved but remained silent until they were out of the barrio called Sweet Lips, past the docks of the port and finally in the country, out in the island. They let the wind blow into their open windows, the sun fading behind them.

“You’ve done this before,” Linda said.

“I’ve never delivered ashes.”

“I mean told people someone was dead, the relatives.”

“Too many times.”

“You do it so well. You show you care.”

He turned the radio on to static and turned it off.

“I’m glad I didn’t say anything at the funeral home. Remember?”

“To young Mr. Bertoia?”

“It would’ve been dumb.”

“There was no need to.”

“You have a nice calming effect on me, Vincent.” After a moment she said, “Except when we’re in bed.”

It was full dark by the time they got back to the Carmen Apartments and pulled into the parking area, the courtyard by the liquor store.

Teddy said out loud, “Well, it’s about time. Where’n the hell you been, sightseeing? Shit, keeping me waiting.”

He watched them from across the street, sitting in the dark-gray Dodge Aries he’d got when he turned the Chevette in as defective. He’d watched the two PRs that worked for Hertz walk around the car running their hands over it, waiting for them to ask what happened. Was he in a wreck? Was it reported to the police? He told them he’d left the car parked on the street and this was how he found it. Somebody must a sideswiped it. They said, on both sides at once? On this side, yes. See, white paint? But on the other side-what did it, a building? Getting smart with him. He didn’t have to explain nothing. He told them to get another car for him, fast, or he wouldn’t give them any more of his business. They had sure taken their time about it.

Vincent and his girlfriend Linda were out of the white Chevette, walking away from it arm in arm. Wasn’t that sweet? They stopped like they were going to go into the liquor store. Nope, decided not to, kept going and went in the apartment entrance.

Teddy slid down some in his seat so he could look up at their balcony now, second floor, directly above the liquor store. He waited for lights to come on… There.

“Now make yourselves a couple of drinks,” Teddy said. He told them they were thirsty from all that sightseeing. He told them to get comfortable and bring their drinks out on the balcony, get some fresh air. Sitting down or standing up, it didn’t matter to him. Or whether he looked in the cop’s eyes or not. The hell with it. Teddy had made up his mind he was going to get it done. Soon as they appeared-walk out into the street like he was crossing, stop, aim his .38 up there and give ’em each three rounds, Vincent first and foremost, Vincent more than three if it was necessary. A woman you could go up there and kill all different ways. Have some fun.

It looked like only one light was on up there. What were they doing? Teddy said, “ ‘Ey, you can screw her anytime. Come on out on the balcony.” He waited. Shit.

A figure appeared, moving the curtain aside.

There was nothing attractive about the street in daylight, a turnoff to the Caribe Hilton at the end of the block. In darkness now the street showed moments of life, cars occasionally moving past, reflecting the liquor store’s lights on painted metal. The ocean, a long block away, lay hidden, with only a faint trace of its scent in the night air. Linda breathed it in and out: Linda on the balcony in the short light wrap LaDonna had worn, Linda seeing the Hilton lights and thinking of LaDonna, who had walked away from the noise, the neon dazzle. No, LaDonna had backed away, still bewildered… soon to appear at shopping-mall openings and say or sing whatever she was told. It would happen because LaDonna wanted to be seen and LaDonna would strike a glamor pose and shine in the glitter of commercial lighting. You had to have talent and style to turn on your own lights and perform for an audience that listened and knew what you were doing and if they didn’t, okay, you played for yourself, and your husband, your lover. How about in a beachhouse on Key Largo? Linda sipped chablis from a water glass, let the curtains fall in place as she heard Vincent.

“It’s all yours.”

Vincent stood in the living room in his white briefs, buttoning his shirt.

“You have great legs.”

“So do you.”

“As good as LaDonna’s?”

“Who’s LaDonna?”

She held up the glass. “We could use some more of this.”

“It’s on the list. You think of anything else?”

“Bread?”

“We’ve got the rolls. Empanadillas for appetizers, a mixed salad, alcapurrias, what else? DeLeon’s friend’s bringing the piononos. Wine, coffee, I’ll get some booze…”

“Vincent? Am I going to have to learn to cook Puerto Rican?”

“You’ll love it.”

He was going back into the bedroom and she raised her voice. “That’s not an answer.”

She heard him say, “You need cigarettes?”

“Yes. Please.”

“What else?”

“That’s all. What time are they coming?”

“I have to give the Moose a call.” There was a silence. She finished the wine in her glass. Vincent appeared in the living room again, dressed now in his blue shirt and faded khakis. “I didn’t know what time we’d be back.”

“Don’t forget to call the hotel.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell them you’ve got the trots. Puerto Rican food will do it to you.”

“Vincent?”

“What?”

“This is our last night.”

“Our last one here.” He walked to the door and opened it. “We can do a lot better than this. Be right back.”

He was going out as she said, “Can we live on the ocean?” The door closed.

Teddy had six .38 rounds in the revolver, he had six more in his right-hand pants pocket and six in the left. If he couldn’t do the job with-what’d that make?-eighteen shots, he oughtn’t to be here. The gun was so shiny he’d have to keep it in his pants till he was out in the street, no cars coming. Linda had appeared up there, looking cute in her shorty outfit. But no Vincent. Shit. Teddy said, “Come on, Vincent, you son of a bitch,” lowered his gaze to the street and, Jesus Christ, there he was, coming along the side of the building past the cars, coming out of darkness to the liquor store. Look at him, right there across the street. Going in for a six-pack or something. In his shirtsleeves. No place to hide a gun, no way. Teddy wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. He picked up the .38 from the seat close to him.

Walk over there like he had his arms folded. Get behind one of those cars by the building. Wait. Get him coming out of the store.

Linda was pinning up her hair, the shower running, when she thought of it and said, “Cheese” to the bathroom mirror, caught her own smile and was out of there, slipping on the wrap as she hurried through the living room to the balcony, to catch Vincent before he got inside the store-tell him to get cheese and crackers and potato chips, some gringo snacks to go with the empanadillas-and looked over the rail straight down. Too late, missed him.

She looked up to see Teddy in the middle of the street.

Even before the car passed and he continued across and she recognized him she knew it was Teddy coming. Teddy concentrating on the liquor store, cautious, keeping beyond the edge of light on the pavement, walking in a peculiar way. People didn’t walk with their arms folded. She saw his arms unfold as it was in her mind and saw the glint of bright metal and wanted to call out-gripping the balcony rail as hard as she could. Yell for help, yell at Teddy, yell at Vincent the moment he came out-and it could be a moment too late. She saw the gun in Teddy’s hand, Teddy moving toward the cars parked in the courtyard. Linda let go of the rail, aware that she had to run but remain calm, hurry without losing her head and do something dumb.

Vincent’s gun was on the dresser.

It was heavy and her hand was wet. There were catches and strange little knobs, numbers and names etched in the metal. She saw someone in a movie, in a hundred movies, slide the top part of the barrel back and she did it and jumped as a cartridge ejected and the slide clicked back into place. Vincent would keep the safety on. The catch, she hoped to God, by her thumb as she gripped the gun. Push it up…

Vincent saw it coming and thought, Not again.

Carrying the groceries reminded him of that other time. Hearty Burgundy, prune juice and spaghetti sauce. This time chablis, J&B scotch, Puerto Rican rum and a family-size bottle of Coca-Cola, carrying the sack in front of him, both arms around it. That other time he thought he might have seen the guy before, in a holding cell. This time he knew the guy quite well and knew the guy was not going to tell him to drop the groceries and hand over his wallet. This guy’s only intention was to shoot him dead. What had he learned that other time that might help him now? Absolutely nothing. This time he had learned, so far, never go to the store without your gun. But even if he had it…

Teddy said, “Well well well,” coming out of the dark to smirk at him, holding the bright-metal piece low, elbow tight against his side.

Vincent looked him in the eye, trying for an expression that would show honest surprise. What’s going on? What is this? He didn’t want to look threatening. He didn’t want Teddy to take anything the wrong way and all of a sudden empty the gun. He wanted to reason with Teddy, at least try. The trouble was, Vincent had to concentrate so hard on appearing harmless, surprised-while hiding the fact he was scared to death-he couldn’t think of anything to say. Drop it, motherfucker, or I’ll blow your fucking head off kept coming to mind. It was a good line, but not one that would work here. Blow his head off with what?

Teddy said, “I want to be looking in your eyes as I pull the trigger.”

“Why, Ted?”

“I’m not Ted, I’m Teddy.”

Shit. “Okay. Would you tell me-see, I don’t understand-why you want to do that?”

“You don’t know what I feel or anything about me. You think you do.”

“I give you that impression?”

“Cut the bullshit. Time you busted me seven and a half years ago, I could tell. Like you thought you could see inside me. Well, you can’t.”

“No, I’d be the first to admit that. I think what we have here is a misunderstanding…” Jesus Christ, did they.

Vincent was about to stumble on, think of something, anything, when he saw a figure in white, beyond Teddy’s right shoulder, run from the building entrance to the cars parked in the courtyard, and he said, “What we should do is clear it up.”

“What else you gonna say, I got a fucking gun aimed at your gut?”

The figure was beyond Teddy’s left shoulder now, among the cars, coming out toward them. Linda, Jesus, in her skimpy white robe.

“You don’t want to be in the position, get brought up for murder-you know, that’s pretty serious-and find out you were wrong. I don’t mean wrong, I mean you misinterpreted, made an honest mistake of what you thought I was thinking.”

Hearing himself but seeing Linda, Jesus, holding his police gun out in front of her in both hands, sneaking up hunched over, maybe twenty feet away and closing in. Teddy was saying “Bullshit!” repeating it with feeling, with everything he had, working himself up. Teddy saying, “Look at me! Look at me in the eye, goddamn it!” Vincent wanted to. He raised his eyebrows to stretch his eyes open wide, felt like an idiot and didn’t care, wanting with all his heart to tell Linda about the safety at the back end of the slide on a Smith & Wesson Model 39 parabellum. If it was on and she tried to fire and Teddy heard her… Wait. Or if it was off and she did fire a steel-jacketed nine-millimeter round right at Teddy right in front of him…

Teddy was saying, “Open ’em wide! Come on, wider!” Showing the whites of his own wild eyes, Teddy right at the edge…

As Linda stretched both arms all the way out, braced herself and fired.

And Vincent closed and opened his eyes, saw her juggle the gun and drop it as Teddy slammed into him and Teddy’s gun went off between them into the grocery sack of bottles, went off again and went off again, the bottles gone now as Vincent tried to grab hold of Teddy clinging to him and put him down, step on his gun. But something was wrong. Shit, he knew what it was. It wasn’t pain, not yet, it was his strength going. He had been shot somewhere and the rug-burn pain would come once his adrenaline drained off. He had learned that the other time. He had to find Teddy’s gunhand right now, Teddy holding on like dead weight. He got hold of Teddy’s arm and took a step and threw him as hard as he could, but it wasn’t enough. Teddy reeled off, staggering, but stayed on his feet. Vincent started after him and his legs lost their purpose, wouldn’t work. It was Vincent who went down and had to crawl in the dark toward Linda’s white bare feet on the pavement-where his gun was supposed to be and wasn’t-Linda saying something, mad or urgent. He couldn’t tell or stop to look up at her and listen, not now, or explain what he had in mind. But she knew. She came down to him on her knees holding the Smith and put it in his hand, grip into the palm. She knew. He turned with one hand on the ground, gun extended in the other and put it on Teddy. Vincent paused to say “Drop it.” Gave him that option.

Teddy looked wobbly, drunk, weaving as he aimed the bright-metal piece right at them, at one or the other, from less than twenty feet. So Vincent shot him. Put one dead center through Teddy’s solar plexus and killed the poor wimp who thought he was magic and couldn’t be scared.