Eight Million Ways to Die

by Lawrence Block

Page 44

 

  He broke the mood by getting us both more coffee. When he came back he said, "I dont know why I pick you to tell things to. Like with a shrink, I suppose. You took my money and now you have to listen. "

  "All part of the service. How did you decide to be a pimp?"

  "How did a nice boy like me get into a business like this?" He chuckled, then stopped and thought for a moment. "I had this friend," he said. "A white boy from Oak Park, Illinois. Thats outside of Chicago. "

  "Ive heard of it. "

  "I had this act for him, that I was from the ghetto, that Id done it all, you know? Then he got killed. It was stupid, we werent near the line, he got drunk and a jeep ran over him. But he was dead and I wasnt telling those stories anymore, and my mama was dead and I knew when I got home I wasnt going back to college. "

  He walked over to the window. "And I had this girl over there," he said, his back to me. "Little bit of a thing, and Id go over to her place and smoke skag and lay around. Id give her money, and, you know, I found out she was taking my money and giving it to her boyfriend, and here I was having fantasies of marrying this woman, bringing her back Stateside. I wouldnt have done it, but I was thinking about it, and then I found out she wasnt but a whore. I dont know why I ever thought she was anything else, but a manll do that, you know.

  "I thought about killing her, but shit, I didnt want to do that. I wasnt even that angry. What I did, I stopped smoking, I stopped drinking, I stopped all kinds of getting high. "

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that. And I asked myself, Okay, what do you want to be? And the picture filled in, you know, a few lines here and a few lines there. I was a good little soldier for the rest of my hitch. Then I came back and went into business. "

  "You just taught yourself?"

  "Shit, I invented myself. Gave myself the name Chance. I started out in life with a first name and a middle name and a last name, and wasnt any of them Chance. I gave myself a name and created a style and the rest just fell into place. Pimpings easy to learn. The whole thing is power. You just act like you already got it and the women come and give it to you. Thats all it really is. "

  "Dont you have to have a purple hat?"

  "Its probably easiest if you look and dress the part. But if you go and play against the stereotype they think youre something special. "

  "Were you?"

  "I was always fair with them. Never knocked them around, never threatened them. Kim wanted to quit me and what did I do? Told her to go ahead and God bless. "

  "The pimp with the heart of gold. "

  "You think youre joking. But I cared for them. And I had a heavenly dream for a life, man. I really did. "

  "You still do. "

  He shook his head. "No," he said. "Its slipping away. Whole things slipping away and I cant hold onto it. "

  Chapter 31

  We left the converted firehouse with me in the back seat and Chance wearing a chauffeurs cap. A few blocks away he pulled over and returned the cap to the glove compartment while I joined him in front. The commuter traffic had pretty much thinned out by then and we made the trip into Manhattan quickly and in relative silence. We were a little aloof with each other, as if wed already shared more than either of us had anticipated.

  No messages at the desk. I went upstairs, changed my clothes, paused on the way out the door and got the. 32 from my dresser drawer. Was there any point in carrying a gun I seemed unable to fire? I couldnt see any, but I put it in my pocket anyway.

  I went downstairs and bought a paper, and without thinking too much about it I walked around the corner and took a table in Armstrongs. My usual corner table. Trina came over, said it had been a long time, and took my order for a cheeseburger and a small salad and coffee.

  After she headed for the kitchen I got a sudden flash of a martini, straight up and bone dry and ice cold in a stemmed glass. I could see it, I could smell the odor of juniper and the tang of a lemon twist. I could feel the bite as it hit bottom.

  Jesus, I thought.

  The urge for a drink passed as suddenly as it had come on me. I decided it was a reflex, a reaction to the atmosphere of Armstrongs. Id done so much drinking here for so long, Id been eighty-sixed here after my last bender, and I hadnt crossed the threshold since. It was only natural that Id think of a drink. It didnt mean I had to have one.

  I ate my meal, drank a second cup of coffee afterward. I read my newspaper, paid my check, left a tip. Then it was time to go over to St. Pauls.

  The qualification was an alcoholic version of the American Dream. The speaker was a poor boy from Worcester, Mass. who worked his way through college, rose to a vice-presidency at one of the television networks, then lost it all drinking. He went all the way down, wound up in Los Angeles drinking Sterno in Pershing Square, then found AA and got it all back.

  It would have been inspiring if I could have kept my mind on it. But my attention kept straying. I thought about Sunnys funeral, I thought about what Chance had told me, and I found my thoughts wandering all over the whole case, trying to make sense out of it.

  Damnit, it was all there. I just wasnt looking at it right.

  I left during the discussion, before it was my turn to speak. I didnt even feel like saying my name tonight. I walked back to my hotel, fighting the urge to stop in at Armstrongs for a minute or two.

  I called Durkin. He was out. I hung up without leaving a message and called Jan.

  No answer. Well, she was probably still at her meeting. And shed go out for coffee afterward, probably wouldnt get home until after eleven.

  I could have stayed at my own meeting until it ended, then gone to coffee with some of the others. I could join them now, as far as that went. The Cobbs Corner where they hung out wasnt all that far away.

  I thought about it. And decided I didnt really want to go there.

  I picked up a book but couldnt make sense out of it. I tossed it down, got undressed, went into the bathroom and ran the shower. But I didnt need a shower, for Christs sake, I just had a shower that morning, and the most strenuous activity Id had all day was watching Chance working out with weights. What the hell did I need with a shower?

  I turned the water off and got dressed again.

  Jesus, I felt like a caged lion. I picked up the phone. I might have called Chance but you couldnt just call the son of a bitch, you had to call his service and wait for him to call back, and I didnt feel like doing that. I called Jan, who was still out, and I called Durkin. He wasnt there either, and once again I decided against leaving a message.

  Maybe he was at that place on Tenth Avenue, unwinding with a couple of belts. I thought about going over there and looking for him, and it struck me that it wasnt Durkin Id be looking for, that all I wanted was an excuse to walk through the door of that bucket of blood and put my foot upon the brass rail.

  Did they even have a brass rail? I closed my eyes and tried to picture the place, and in an instant I was recalling everything about it, the smells of spilled booze and stale beer and urine, that dank tavern smell that welcomes you home.

  I thought, Youve got nine days and you went to two meetings today, a noon meeting and an evening meeting, and youve never been closer to a drink. What the hells the matter with you?

  If I went to Durkins boozer Id drink. If I went to Farrells or Pollys or Armstrongs I would drink. If I stayed in my room Id go crazy, and when I went crazy enough Id get away from those four walls and what would I do? Id go out, to one bar or another, and Id drink.

  I made myself stay there. Id gotten through the eighth day and there was no reason why I couldnt get through the ninth. I sat there and every now and then I looked at my watch and sometimes a whole minute went by between looks. Finally it got to be eleven oclock and I went downstairs and hailed a taxi.

  Theres a midnight meeting seven nights a week at the Moravian Church on the corner of Thirtieth and Lexington. The doors open about an hour before meeting time.
I got there and took a seat, and when the coffee was ready I got myself a cup.

  I didnt pay attention to the qualification or the discussion. I just sat there and let myself feel safe. There were a lot of newly sober people in the room, a lot of people who were having a hard time. Why else would they be there at that hour?

  There were some people who hadnt stopped drinking yet, too. They had to put one of them out, but the others didnt make any trouble. Just a roomful of people getting through one more hour.

  When the hour was up I helped fold the chairs and empty the ashtrays. Another chair folder introduced himself as Kevin and asked me how long Id been sober. I told him it was my ninth day.

  "Thats great," he said. "Keep coming back. "

  They always say that.

  I went outside and signaled a passing cab, but when he cut over and started to brake I changed my mind and waved him off. He gunned his engine as he drove away.

  I didnt want to go back to the room.

  So instead I walked seven blocks north to Kims building, bluffed my way past her doorman, let myself into her apartment. I knew there was a closetful of booze there but it didnt bother me. I didnt even feel the need to pour it down the sink, as Id done with the bottle of Wild Turkey earlier.

  In her bedroom, I went through her jewelry. I wasnt really looking for the green ring. I picked up the ivory bracelet, unfastened the clasp, tried it for size on my own wrist. It was too small. I got some paper towels from the kitchen and wrapped the bracelet carefully, put it in my pocket.

  Maybe Jan would like it. Id pictured it on her wrist a few times- at her loft, during the funeral service.

  If she didnt like it she didnt have to wear it.

  I went over, picked up the phone. The service hadnt been disconnected yet. I supposed it would be sooner or later, just as sooner or later the apartment would be cleaned and Kims things removed from it. But for now it was still as if shed just stepped out for a moment.

  I hung up the phone without calling anyone. Somewhere around three oclock I got undressed and went to sleep in her bed. I didnt change the linen, and it seemed to me that her scent, still faintly discernible, constituted a presence in the room.

  If so, it didnt keep me awake. I went right off to sleep.

  I woke up bathed in perspiration, convinced that Id solved the case in a dream and then forgot the solution. I showered and dressed and got out of there.

  There were several messages at my hotel, all of them from Mary Lou Barcker. Shed called just after I left the night before and a couple of times that morning.

  When I called her she said, "Ive been trying to reach you. I would have called you at your girlfriends but I couldnt remember her last name. "

  "Her numbers unlisted. " And I wasnt there, I thought, but left it unsaid.

  "Im trying to reach Chance," she went on. "I thought you might have talked to him. "

  "Not since around seven last night. Why?"

  "I cant get hold of him. The only way I know is to call his service-"

  "Thats the only way I know. "

  "Oh. I thought you might have a special number. "

  "Only the service. "

  "Ive called there. He always returns his calls. Ive left, God, I dont know how many messages and he hasnt called me back. "