The Kings Of Cool

151

John arranges to meet Doc down at Dana Point Marina.

Doc shows up in a bloodred Lamborghini Countach and pulls up beside John’s Porsche.

It bothers John because cops hate this kind of flash. The straight cops think you’re rubbing it in their noses and go after you all the harder; the guys on the arm don’t like you flaunting it, because the honest citizens see what they think are drug dealers tooling around openly and wonder why, if they can see it, the cops can’t.

Plus, the cops on your payroll see you riding a $300,000 sled and think maybe you’re not paying them enough.

It’s just a bad idea.

Doc sees the look of disapproval on John’s puss and says, “Hey, we take the risks, we should enjoy the rewards, right? Otherwise we might as well be selling insurance.”

“There are limits, Doc.”

“That’s not exactly a Toyota,” Doc answers, pointing at the Porsche.

John sees that there’s no point in arguing-Doc is tooted up. It’s becoming a problem, Doc hoovering his own product. It makes him irrational, unpredictable, prone to mistakes. Maybe one of those mistakes got him popped, John thinks. Maybe it’s true.

It’s a problem. John and Doc aren’t just in the dope business together-they have a restaurant together, a bar, a couple of apartment buildings. John gets popped and the feds could take it all.

They walk through the marina, then across the bridge out toward the long, narrow jetty.

“Taylor’s pregnant,” John says.

Doc says, “They know what causes that now, you know.”

“She was on the Pill.”

“That’s what she told you.”

“You’re saying she got knocked up intentionally?”

“You saying she didn’t?” Doc says. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Grow up.”

John gets what he’s saying. Another word for “baby” is “income.” A fat check once a month for the next eighteen years. Taylor wouldn’t be the first woman to palm the Pill for a payday.

“No,” John says, “she’s getting an abortion.”

“She wants you to stop her,” Doc says.

“You don’t know Taylor.”

(“I have my career to think about,” Taylor said. “I can’t audition if I’m all fat and blotchy and shit.”

John wanted to answer, “What fucking career? Six seconds on Mannix and you haven’t been to an audition in a year.” But he didn’t need another fight.

Quit while you’re ahead, right?

Anyway, she already called the clinic and made an appointment. She only told him because [a] she needed the money to pay for it, and [b] it would be nice if he took her and brought her home.

Which he’s not real keen about doing, but will.)

“Okay.” Doc smiles.

They walk onto the jetty. It gives them a long view-they can see anyone following them, and the cops would need a hell of a microphone to pick up anything at this distance.

“So what’s really up?” Doc asks. “It isn’t just your girlfriend getting knocked up.”

John’s surprised he feels nervous. Has to suck it up to ask, “You have something you want to tell me, Doc?”

“Like what?”

“Like you got busted?”

“The fuck you talking about?” Doc laughs.

Suddenly he looks sneaky to John. Say what you will about Doc, he was never that. He was always straight up, out there, who he was.

John hates it. Says, “If you have a problem, let’s talk about it. We can work it out.”

Doc laughs.

“That’s big of you, junior,” he says. “But save the Beatles songs for somebody else. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you getting this shit?” Doc asks. “Who you been talking to? Ron? Bobby?”

John doesn’t answer, but Doc knows the answer.

“Look,” he says, “those assholes wouldn’t have known coke from Coca-Cola if it wasn’t for me. I was first at the party. Shit, I started the party. Now the guests want my house.”

It makes some sense, John thinks. If the other guys contaminate Doc, he goes into the dope version of quarantine-people won’t deal with him-and they can move in on his market share.

“They’re working you, J,” Doc says. “Trying to drive a wedge between you and me.”

That also makes sense. Doc and John are fucking Batman and Robin. You can’t fight them together, but split them up…

“I’ll deal with Bobby,” John says.

“No, don’t,” Doc says. Then he does a terrible Godfather imitation. “‘Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.’ Stay close to them. Get the lay of the land. Feel them out, find out who’s with me, who’s against me. Can you do that, Johnny, can you do that for me?”

“Sure.”

“You and me,” Doc says. “It’s always been you and me. Always will be. Nobody can get between us, right?”

No, that’s right, John thinks. They go too far back, and Doc’s been

Like a father to me.

“Anyway, look,” Doc says. “I’m working on some shit. I didn’t want to bring it to you until it was more, you know, fully formed, let’s say, but now…”