The Royal Family

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I love it because it’s Thursday afternoon and I’m sitting around screwing with this personal injury stuff, Smooth crowed. And indeed he did look happy. Tyler remembered the way Chocolate really came alive only in Tenderloin bars when the music was loudly perfect and color events occurred every second on the giant television screen, or the way that John’s face became joyous when he clicked down more lead from inside his stainless steel mechanical pencil. — Almost as good as a good rape case, Smooth continued. When I do personal injury, I… You’re not listening.

Sorry, said Tyler glumly.

You know, I turned you on to somebody who does something fun. I turned you on to the Queen. And you owe me.

Yeah, yeah.

So open up those envious ears of yours. Or does everybody badger you all the time? Your brother does, I’ll bet. You’re so passive-aggressive that he must be active-aggressive.

Go to hell.

I’m the only person in the whole wide world who always speaks the truth. You know how to be sure it’s the truth? Because it’s ugly, man!

So what’s your truth, then, you preening sonofabitch? What makes you so goddamned ugly? Oh, the hell with it; you always piss me off…

My truth is doom, brother. Yours, too. We’ve both got the state hanging over our heads, and don’t think I don’t know about your sleazy corner-cuttings. Me, I’m waiting for that Gestapo knock on my door because I enjoy consensual sex with minors. And you, now, well, you have your brother ticking and smoldering away, you have financial worries (don’t think I can’t see that in the lines of your forehead), and you have Consumer Affairs watching over you…

Oh, that’s baloney, Tyler said. I don’t know a single P.I. who ever lost his license.

But you can get your license yanked for failure to report, now, can’t you, Henry? If you interviewed me about the Queen and you changed my information for that Mr. Brady—

I didn’t know you when I was working for Brady, and this matter of the Queen isn’t even—

And then Brady gets sued or sues somebody and then you and I both get deposed on the witness stand, boom! Not only are you sued, you’re probably in front of a review board for providing bad information…

Oh, for God’s sake.

Okay, okay. I give in. It’ll never happen. The only thing that’ll happen is that John will find another steamy letter from Irene and beat your ass… You think you’re better than I am?

As a matter of fact, I do. At least I don’t torture other people for the fun of it.

No, you wreck lives because it’s expedient. Don’t you?

Dan, he said, I’m worried about our Queen.

Thank you very much. So am I. And I know something you don’t, even though I’ve told it to you hundreds of times: She’s doomed, too. We’re all doomed. It’s the prophecy, stupid. Do you suppose those Brady’s Boys are going to fade away before they’ve hurt somebody? Everybody loves them. America’s on their side. Everybody hates us.

Yeah, I know, said Tyler, happy not to be attacked for one moment. Sometimes I search for hidden assets. Let’s say a divorced husband sets up a Caribbean bank account. He gets one shot at hiding it. We get fifty shots a year at finding it. Guess who wins? And yet I have to say that they haven’t found us yet; we could start over somewhere…

What do you mean, us? You think you and I are good enough or brave enough to leave the world for our Queen? I don’t see you leaving that fine apartment of yours unless you get busted by Internal Revenue or Consumer Affairs. I know I don’t have the guts.

But—

But your point’s well taken. The Queen could disappear anytime. If she wants to. Does she want to? You’re the one dickin’ her. Why don’t you ask her?

You know how she is.

Don’t worry about her then, the pedophile said, and suddenly Tyler began to feel Smooth’s replies leading him on toward something, good or bad he couldn’t tell yet, like the long thick line of San Francisco lights in the foggy blue night as he came over the Golden Gate Bridge from Sausalito. Whatever you and I know, she knows better.

So you’re not worried at all?

Did your envious ears hear what I said or not? Everybody worries in his own way, Henry.

Well, that’s a beautiful Hungarian proverb, but let me ask you something, said Tyler, swallowing hard and staring into Dan Smooth’s eyes, because in his profession he sometimes encountered what he called “dead-on reads,” meaning people who were absolutely unassailably lying: people whose eyes flicked away or people who blinked too often, or people who answered every single question when the questions dealt with fifteen seconds out of somebody’s day six months before. Smooth was lying about something, or at the very least withholding something. Tyler leaned forward, raised his voice, and said: Dan, is there anything about this whole situation that you know and the Queen doesn’t?

Cross my heart, no, said Smooth, his eyes moving away.

Is there anything you know about Domino that I ought to know?

Sometimes people just don’t want to talk to you, now, do they, Henry? Smooth chuckled. It’s like pulling teeth, isn’t it?

Don’t forget whom you’re talking to. I can check up on you. I can get your tax return for Christ’s sake.

What are you going to do, Henry? Put me through the polygraph? Now there’s a guy down the street who does that. We cross paths. My understanding is you can pop a couple of valium and you can just cruise right through it.

It’s something about Domino, isn’t it?

That Domino, she’s a crack monster. She—

Oh, fuck it, said Tyler.

Henry, I’m sorry. Domino’s balling your brother.