Glitz

by Elmore Leonard

  It got Dixie nodding again. “All right, we’ll check him out.”

  “When?”

  “Soon as we can. I’ll give you a call. Where you gonna be, in your suite, taking a bath?”

  Vincent hesitated. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  He unlocked the door to the suite thinking about Linda. She was going to kill him for not showing up . . . Started to push the door open and stopped. Lights were on. His hand went inside his coat to his hip. A voice he recognized, DeLeon’s, said, “It’s cool, come on in. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

  He saw DeLeon in a streamlined gold easy chair with a drink, legs extended, feet resting on the glass cocktail table. He saw LaDonna on the sofa, in front of the window wall reflecting the room in lamplight. LaDonna sat turned, to look at him over the low back of the sofa, her expression—it was hard to tell—solemn? Vacant? She raised her drink in both hands, her eyes not leaving him.

  “Yeah, you had the lights off, didn’t you?” DeLeon relaxed, at home. “That’s right, it was dark we came in.”

  “There’s a notice over by the bar,” Vincent said, “a little card. It says please turn the lights off when you’re not in the room. To conserve energy. They’ve got, what, about a thousand lights on downstairs all the time.”

  “At least,” DeLeon said. “Yeah, it’s a crazy place to be.” He brought his polished boots off the table, rose without placing his hands on the chair. “What can I fix you?”

  “Scotch,” Vincent said, looking at LaDonna, moving toward her now. “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s all shook up,” DeLeon said. “Like Elvis use to say.”

  “I was almost killed,” LaDonna said.

  DeLeon looked over from the bar. “Now, now, don’t lie to him, girl. Tell the truth.”

  “Well, I could’ve been,” LaDonna said. “It was just like I kept thinking it was gonna happen. Remember?” She held her drink on the back of the sofa now, her body turned as she looked up at Vincent and he looked down the front of her purple dress. She seemed too healthy to be sad.

  “I remember,” Vincent said.

  “Well, it happened.”

  Vincent looked at her face, her eyes. She had been crying—that’s what it was. He realized what she was telling him and said, “You were there, with Ching? You and Jackie?”

  “She was almost there,” DeLeon said. “Hey, you heard already?” He handed Vincent his drink, stood close to look down at him, without expression now. “So you in with the police, they tell you things . . . Well, I guess that’s okay. Sit down, my man, we got something to discuss . . . LaBaby, you go on in the bedroom and rest. Be good for you.”

  “God,” LaDonna said, “I keep seeing it.”

  “Girl, you didn’t see nothing. Go on in there, close your pretty eyes. We look in on you, see you’re all right.”

  She left her shoes on the floor, came around the sofa with her mournful look, barely moving. Vincent gave her a pat on the shoulder. She looked at him with her poor-me eyes, trying to smile. What was sad, she was too big and well built to be a baby doll. DeLeon followed her to the bedroom, told her yeah, leave the light on if you want; no, I won’t close the door all the way. Coming back he said to Vincent, “My, but that’s a fine titsy young woman, ain’t it?”

  “She needs help,” Vincent said. Maybe he could talk to her. He came around to the sofa as DeLeon got in his chair. “What’re you, about six-five?”

  “And a half, in my socks.”

  “And you weigh about two fifty.”

  “If I take off some excess.”

  Vincent leaned forward to place his drink on the glass table, reached under his coat then and drew the Smith automatic from his hip. He laid it on the cushion next to him, hand remaining on the grip.

  “Now I’m bigger than you are,” Vincent said. “I can ask why you think you can walk in here and make yourself at home. And if I don’t like what you say, or even your tone of voice, I can throw your ass out and complain to the management.” There, he had to say that. But then had to add, “Even though I’m curious. Even though you’ve got my full attention.”

  DeLeon smiled. “You’re my man. I knew it. I knew soon as you scammed your way in here, got the free ride. I said to myself, here’s the thinking man’s policeman. Let me apologize to you, all right? One, for decking you the way I did, I am truly sorry. And two, for coming in here. See, I had to look after LaBaby. Was suppose to take her home, all the way down to Longport. But I had to see you right away on something can’t wait. Otherwise—I would never walk in without you invite me otherwise.”

  Vincent said, “That’s not bad,” brought his hand away from the gun and picked up his drink.

  “It gets better,” DeLeon said. “Cops told you about the Ching shot dead, huh?”

  “As a courtesy,” Vincent said. “But you must know more about it than they do. You say you were almost there, you must’ve been close by. Is that right?”

  “I wasn’t almost, I was. I was there. You understand me? I saw it. LaBaby and Jackie, they’re in the car having a fight ’cause she don’t want to go in. So Jackie send me in the restaurant, tell the Ching they be in directly. I’m there, I see little Ricky big as life walk up and shoot him. Man. I never seen anything like that before.”

  “Not like in the movies,” Vincent said.

  “Not anything like it.”

  “So you got out a there.”

  “Wait and let me tell it, all right?”

  “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “I see Ricky do it.” DeLeon paused. “But Ricky don’t see me. You know what I’m saying? I’m over behind the coats hanging up, by the hall to the side door there. Ricky comes over, he’s going out. Left the gun on the table. He still don’t see me till he’s right like here in front of me. I step out, I give him one. Drop him like a sack of shit.”

  Vincent raised his eyebrows. “That must be where it comes from, sack the quarterback.”

  DeLeon’s expression became thoughtful. “Hey, I believe you right. Yeah, drop him like a sack . . .”

  “But Ricky wasn’t there when the cops arrived.”

  “Uh-unh. You know why? I took him with me. Jackie don’t know it; LaBaby, she don’t either. I brought him out, hid him in the trunk of the car.”

  Vincent said, “You took him with you.”

  “In pain. I give him a little more elbow than arm. See, and I went low to compensate for him being short as he is. You understand me? Little motherfucker’s built to the ground. I believe I cracked his jaw, I might also’ve separated his shoulder or broke it. He was in pain.”

  “He still in the trunk?”

  “No, I moved him, I put him in a storage room down it’s by the garage. He can’t get out, but to make sure I got the La Tunas to keep an eye on him.”

  “The band?”

  “Yeah, see, three of those La Tunas, they’re Rastafarians. You know what I’m saying? From Jamaica, wear the dreadlocks, how they do their hair?”

  Vincent was nodding.

  “They believe Haile Selassie, man use to be king of Ethiopia? Was God. Don’t ask me why but they do. They find out I’m from over there originally, born there, they want to build an altar, man, set me up on it and blow ganja at me. They think I’m Jesus.”

  “You’re bigger,” Vincent said.

  “They all fucked up with weed, but they nice boys.”

  Vincent said, “Can I ask you something? Why you brought Ricky here?”

  DeLeon straightened in his chair. “You don’t understand? You don’t see the possibility looking at you?”

  Vincent shook his head. “Not right off.”

  “I brought him for you, man. Make it up to you for what I did, for hitting you just ’cause that fatso told me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’ve giving him to me?”

  DeLeon seemed surprised now. “You’re looking for who killed your friend Iris, right? Well, here’s Ricky, man. Talk to him. Ask
him things while he’s in terrible pain, he’ll tell you. You understand me? If he didn’t do it he’ll tell you who did. There isn’t anybody else could know but Ricky. Man, I’m giving you this. Take it, you don’t owe me nothing.”

  “I appreciate it,” Vincent said. “But I already talked to him.”

  “You did?”

  “He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Wait now, he’s got the desire. I mean he’s crazy enough.”

  “I know that.”

  “I saw him kill a man, the Ching.”

  “I might’ve given him the idea,” Vincent said. “But he didn’t do Iris. No, I had a long talk with him.”

  The room was quiet. Vincent got up, he took their glasses to the bar and poured scotch over ice. DeLeon said, “You way ahead of me, huh? You know things I don’t.” Vincent told him about his talk with Ricky, sitting in Ricky’s car in the rain. DeLeon grinned. But wait now. What was he going to do with Ricky? Vincent said, drop him off at a hospital, the cops would find him. DeLeon said he could step on Ricky’s knee first, so he wouldn’t walk out on his own. Vincent said, “I wouldn’t.”

  DeLeon said, “You way, way ahead of me, ahead of Jackie, ahead of everybody. He shook his head saying, “All this hip shit. You understand what I mean? The casino business, all this razzle-dazzle. All the people thinking they know everything. Now you, I see you go about quietly doing your business, I know I been exposed to Jackie too long.”

  “He’s fun to watch,” Vincent said.

  “Yeah, he’s fun to watch, but he tires you out you with him for a while. I would like to get out of here. You know what I’m saying? Man, I’m a free agent. Why not? Go some place nice, like Puerto Rico.”

  “I could live there,” Vincent said.

  “Set us up a kidnapping business.”

  They sipped their drinks and had another one while Vincent told him about Teddy Magyk. DeLeon sat without moving or interrupting, finally nodding to say he liked it, the possibility. “Like he put your name in Iris’s panties to bring you up here,” DeLeon said.

  And Vincent nodded. “I can see him doing it.” But what was in Teddy’s head, if he did?

  “Making you his career,” DeLeon said.

  “That’s what I mean. Why am I so important to him?” He wanted an opinion and said to DeLeon, “You did time on the drug bust, didn’t you?”

  “Six months in Dade, then a halfway house. I wasn’t there long enough to get crazy. Or I was lucky, I knew I fucked up good. Let myself get taken in by the dudes, the sporty jock freaks with the boats, the cute blond-haired ladies, the private clubs. You know what I’m saying? Got myself into all that deep shit till the only way out was through the county. You understand? You asking me what’s in those people’s heads in there, doing time, or what’s in this Teddy’s head. Who knows? Ask them, they lie to you from jump street, don’t know how else to talk.”

  “Lay the blame somewhere else.”

  “Anywhere else. I couldn’t do it. My mother come to visit me—she not my mother but like my mother. This little woman come to visit, I’m in the stockade there, you know the place. She look me in the eye, I could no more lie to her I could to a polygraph. They repossessed her house, was in my name. She never mentioned a word about it. Only thing matter to her, this little boy had lied to himself. You understand me?” Thoughtful. “I got her another house now, in Miami. Send her money every month.”

  “My mother lives in North Miami,” Vincent said. “She sells real estate, lost her second husband last year . . . I’m older than my dad. You ever hear of that?”

  “I know what you mean,” DeLeon said. “Me too. I never even met my daddy.”

  “I didn’t either. I’ve only seen pictures of him.”

  “Now my mother,” DeLeon said, “the lady I call my mother, she like to grow things, she in the yard all day.”

  “I’m wondering about Teddy’s mom,” Vincent said, “if she’s been supporting him.” He told DeLeon he was waiting to hear from the county police, find out if they’d got a lead on Teddy or where his mother lived.

  DeLeon said, “You look in the phone book?”

  22

  * * *

  THERE WAS HIS MOM’S FACE right on top of him. Teddy tried to push back away from her into the pillow. He thought, opening his eyes, she was going to kiss him on the mouth and it scared him. It was the middle of the night and the ceiling light was on in his bedroom. His mom’s stale breath came over his face as she whispered, “There some men here to see you.”

  “What men?” Scowling at her. Wanting her to get away from him.

  “They’re policemen, they showed me. Sonny? . . .”

  “What?” Why didn’t she get away? All eyes and hair curlers.

  “Why do they want to see you?”

  “I don’t know.” Crabby. Feeling crabby. “Would you mind?” Jesus. She straightened finally, picked up his Japanese robe, and held it open.

  “Here. So you don’t catch cold.”

  Teddy walked into the living room, hands in his sleeves. The two detectives were looking at Buddy, one of them crooking a finger at Buddy’s beak and pulling it away. He looked up and Buddy bit his finger, good, as the other one said, “Mr. Magyk?” and introduced himself and the detective sucking his finger, both of them heavyset and serious, as all cops were. He asked Teddy if he’d mind riding just over to Northfield with them to MCS headquarters—cops loved initials—like Northfield was only a couple minutes away.

  Teddy said, “Why, what’s the matter?” Wide eyed. Look at how innocent he was. Polite too.

  The detective told him he didn’t have to talk to them if he didn’t want to. Teddy said, well, if they would tell him what it was about . . . The detective said he could agree to come with them or they could go to Municipal Court and get a warrant, if Teddy wanted to give them a hard time. What hard time? They became deadpan, immobile, giving him a brick wall to butt his head against. There was no way to win if they felt like being mean. It made him mad though.

  “You want to stick me in a line-up, don’t you?”

  One of the detectives said, “Why would we want to do that?”

  “I know you guys.”

  “Is that right, Teddy? How do you know us?”

  Teddy said, “I been here all night.”

  His mom said, “He’s been right here with me.”

  The detectives said, “You coming, Teddy?”

  Shit. He got dressed and went with them, the two cops in front speaking once in a while in low tones, a woman’s voice coming over the radio now and then but not making any sense; otherwise it was dark and quiet out on that lonely Margate-Northfield road across the islands, no other cars. The one driving flicked his lighter and held it to his cigarette.

  Marie would flick her Bic down underneath the Boardwalk, stooped over in the trash and weeds. She’d say, “I don’t see it nowhere.” Looking for his lucky quarter. “I don’t see it . . . Listen, I got to go.” He hit her with an old beer bottle he’d picked up, brought it down on the back of her head. She dropped the lighter making a funny sound like a yelp, surprised. He struck again, in the dark now, and realized she had her hands up on her head. She yelled louder and he felt her right up against him, facing him, saying, “Oh, help me, oh,” not realizing he was the one had hit her. He hit her again but couldn’t see what he was doing. He grabbed the front of her suit as she tried to take hold of him for protection it seemed like, putting her arms around him and was so close he’d chop at her but wasn’t able to get anything behind his swing, to put her away. She was moaning, oh or no or oh no, as he hit her. Then headlights came on up Kentucky Avenue about a half block up the street and it gave him enough light to see her, catch glimpses of her cut face, her glasses gone. He was able to push her away, see what he was doing now, and give her a good one over the head with the bottle. It wouldn’t break, darn it. He hit it against a support timber, it still wouldn’t break. He shoved Marie against the timber, banged her head agains
t it good a few times and that seemed to do the job. He had learned trying to shoot somebody in a hotel room didn’t work spur of the moment; and he had learned a beer bottle was no good for knocking a person out quick. The trouble was, he didn’t like the sound of it hitting the person’s head. What might’ve happened, he held back just a little each time instead of swinging through, not wanting to hear that mooshy sound of the bottle doing its job. So it took longer, finally beating her senseless against the timber. Once that was done it was quiet under here and even a little cozy in that faint headlight beam up the street. He cleared trash away and got down with Marie in the damp sandy dirt. God. All alone with this woman he could do anything he wanted to. Get some of her clothes off, feel her body all over. Ouuuu, it was mooshy. He wanted to look at parts of her too. He got her clothes undone, pulled off her pants and her big panties, big as his mom’s hanging in the bathroom. Then got out hotel matches, lit and held each one as long as he could, getting a good close look at her. He had not planned on making love to Marie, but was getting the urge staring at her puss, wondering how long it had been for her. Tickle, tickle, tickle. It looked worn or moth-eaten, strange. Oh well . . .

  In that ride to Northfield, across the channels and marshy islands, Teddy was thinking next time what he might do, try to keep the woman awake or semi-out till he started making love to her. Be doing it to her and then, right at the right moment, hit her over the head. But not with a beer bottle. He’d never use one again. He ought to have checked with certain people while he was at Raiford. Sit around in a circle on folding chairs and have a group session. He’d tell them when it was his turn: Rule number one, Put the money away first, before you start having fun. Else you could get carried away and forget it. He almost did.

  Cedric, the head La Tuna, was waiting in the cement hallway back of the casino. He unlocked the storage room and there was Ricky on the floor between rows of slot machines, sitting with his head down, holding his arms to his body. He looked up slowly, his dead-eyed expression in place—until he saw Vincent.