Glitz

by Elmore Leonard

“It’s for losers . . .”

  “Yes, because they can’t win.”

  “But that’s what this is all about. He wants to pay me back. The cab driver learned something and he killed him. He killed Iris to bring me up there. He killed and raped a woman because he needed money or that’s what he likes to do and before that he did try to kill me.”

  “Because you sent him to prison.”

  “Because he’s crazy. Because he has nothing better to do. Who knows? I think I’ll ask him and find out. Have a talk with him.”

  “Vincent . . .”

  Again there was a silence between them, within the sounds of the restaurant.

  “Let’s wait and see what we find,” Lorendo said.

  “It would be self-defense.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Lorendo said. “Not the way you’re thinking.”

  He drove out of that downtown Hato Rey business world to the tourist world of beaches and high-rise hotels, to Isla Verde and the resort that resembled a mosque.

  “I go in there,” DeLeon said, “I feel I should have a prayer rug with me. You know what I’m saying? Kneel down in the lobby facing Mecca, which would be . . . that way.”

  “That’s Miami,” Vincent said.

  “Well, then over there somewhere. Where I used to live it was a hop to Mecca, though I never went there. Right here, this could be Egypt, except there’re toilets.”

  Vincent sat sideways on a plastic lounge chair facing DeLeon stretched out on one, dark brown and white in white bathing trunks, looking toward the spade-shaped dome of the gambling casino. There were few people still at the pool. The sun, nearly through for the day, laid a flat light on the cement and on the ocean beyond the beach. They would talk about Teddy, leave him and come back, always with something to say.

  “It’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “He’s getting smirky,” Vincent said.

  “Acting up?”

  Teddy had told the cops if they were going to make him stay here against his will they’d have to pay his hotel expenses. So the cops offered him an apartment that was in a tenement behind police headquarters, all the people living there on food stamps. Teddy looked at it—Vincent was told—held his nose and had them drive him to the DuPont Plaza; he’d use a card.

  “He’s gonna sue us,” DeLeon said.

  “He might.”

  “Should bring him out here,” DeLeon said.

  “I was thinking of that. How to work it.”

  “See if we can figure some accident might happen to him. Trip and fall down an elevator shaft.”

  They had arrived two days ago in the late afternoon and handed Teddy over to Lorendo Paz at the airport. DeLeon had introduced Vincent at Spade’s Isla Verde as a special guest—“Check the computer, man”—and here they were, until the computer told the manager to throw them out.

  “Kidnappers Incorporated,” DeLeon said, “resting up between gigs, hoping to shit they don’t get arrested just yet. What’s the man’s name, Herbie?”

  “Herbey.”

  “I think he’s got the idea. One of those boys, they prob’ly do it for you. Take the motherfucker deep in the woods, man, lose his ass.”

  “That’s not bad,” Vincent said. “If I knew where I was going—that’s an idea.”

  “Be too easy just shoot him.” DeLeon raised up on his elbow to look at Vincent closely. “You know what you saying to me? You want to kill him, but you want to do it a way you can tell yourself you didn’t. What kind a shit is that?”

  “I don’t want to kill him.”

  “Mean you don’t want to come out and say it.”

  “No. I’ve done it.” Vincent shaking his head back and forth. “I didn’t want to and I don’t want to do it again. I mean it.”

  “I respect you, man, but what you doing you running a game on yourself.”

  “Uh-unh, I did not want to shoot the guy.”

  “I’m not referring to that one, I mean here, right now. I think, as you see it, you want Teddy to do it, expose himself, make a move on you. Then you can shoot his ass off not wanting to, swear to it, but still shoot his ass off.”

  “I’ve thought of that.”

  “But you make it hard on yourself, don’t you? Got to do it by some book. I never been this close to a good policeman, see how he thinks. You people strap guns, I always believe you like to use them. You don’t, what other way you see is there?”

  “Scare him enough,” Vincent said.

  There it was, the Mora theory of saving lives, and Buck Torres asks how you were supposed to know when it was working or not, in that moment before you shoot and save your own life or don’t shoot and maybe lose it.

  “Get him scared enough to quit. Maybe even confess.”

  DeLeon said, “You serious?” He said, “Shit. How you gonna scare him? Police up there, police down here, they try all kinds of ways to nail his ass and they can’t do it. Man must believe by now he’s got fairy dust on him. Isn’t nothing can touch him.”

  “Mr. Magic,” Vincent said.

  “He don’t look like but a reject, but he must have something going for him. Little homicidal motherfucker. The sneaky ones, man, are the worst.”

  Vincent asked him what he was doing this evening. DeLeon said going to Old San Juan and do loop-the-loops. Vincent asked him if he’d make a stop on the way. “I’d like you to meet Modesta, the cab driver’s wife. See what you think.”

  “Love to,” DeLeon said. “She a cute woman?”

  Well, for a little round two-hundred-pounder smelling of laundry, her dress barely reaching her knees because of her size. Skinny legs with strange knots on her shins. A black-black African black woman, a silhouette in the doorway looking out to the street. She said, “Come. Please.”

  It was a relief to turn around and go back outside, get out of the hot-grease smell of the place and the noise: the washing machine working, the electric fan blowing hot air, the television turned way up. Her kids were watching “Love Connection,” wanting to see if the young lady contestant had picked the computer programmer dude, the bartender dude or the car salesman . . .

  Or none of them, DeLeon thinking, following Vincent and the woman outside into light once more, across the hardpack junky yard to the street, the woman saying, “I understan’ it now.”

  “What’s that?” Vincent asked her.

  “I dream of riding in a carriage without no horses, a black one,” she said, approaching DeLeon’s limousine. “I sit in it as you speak to me. If you would turn on the radio music, please, and the air condition . . .”

  DeLeon looked at Vincent who gave him a look in return as she waved to neighbors and got in the back seat, Vincent following her in. She rolled the window down and waved some more as Vincent asked her how she knew Teddy was going to be released. She stopped waving and seemed surprised at the question.

  “Because he’s Mr. Magic. I told you that.”

  “That’s why he’s free. But how did you know it? How did it come to you? In a dream?”

  “I come in my head. Also the police tell me.”

  Vincent said, “Oh.”

  DeLeon, half-turned behind the wheel, taking all this in, saw Vincent look at him—no expression but disappointed. What did the man expect? Vincent must have been hopeful though. He said to the woman then, “Do you know what’s going to happen to him now? I mean now that he’s free?”

  “I don’ know that unless I see him.” The woman raised a hand to her neighbors. “If I see him, maybe I can tell you. I don’t know.” She turned from the window to look closely at Vincent. “But be careful of him.”

  When Vincent looked at him again and nodded, DeLeon picked up the blue canvas bag from the front seat and handed it back to him. He watched Vincent take out the stainless steel urn.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  The woman reached out to touch the urn with the tips of her fingers. She began to stroke it, gently. DeLeon saw her eyes close.

  She said, “I se
e a girl . . . falling from the sky.”

  DeLeon felt chills and thrills and saw Vincent’s eyes, alive, come at him again.

  * * *

  The house was in the same neighborhood where Iris had lived, an upstairs flat like hers with paint peeling from the shutters and dirty walls. A weak light was on in the ceiling of the living room where two women and a skinny PR guy in an undershirt were watching “Love Connection.” One of Teddy’s favorite programs.

  Teddy was in the kitchen doing business with another skinny PR guy who wore a snappy little straw down on his eyes and a dirty T-shirt. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a counter, so Teddy could hear “Love Connection” even when he wasn’t looking at it. At the same time he was telling the PR guy in the kitchen no, he couldn’t use a whole baggie, all he needed were a few joints. When the PR guy heard this he acted impatient, like Teddy was wasting his time.

  He had given a busboy at the DuPont Plaza ten bucks to recommend this house. Get anything you want there. Anything? Anything.

  Teddy believed the girl was nuts to have picked the car salesman, a show-off type with long sideburns in this day and age. They’d had their date and were now telling Chuck Woolery, the “Love Connection” host, all about it. How the car salesman’d had car trouble, Jesus, and was two hours late to start with. Then had taken the girl to a Japanese place where the girl said she was totally turned off by all that yukky stuff. The audience liked it when she said raw fish and hot wine were not her cup of tea. Then Chuck Woolery gave the audience his innocent look and asked the asshole car salesman if the evening got any better, if there was any romance. The asshole car salesman, backstage, but on a screen there on the show, said, well, he had given her a pretty good kiss goodnight . . .

  As Teddy was saying to the PR guy in the snappy straw, “See, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here. Maybe just a couple days and I can’t take weed home on the plane with me. Can I? Why don’t you roll me five joints? I bet you roll ’em they’re like tailor-made.” The PR guy got out a shoebox . . .

  Teddy could see himself on that program talking to Chuck Woolery. Chuck asking if the date was a success and him saying, well, she didn’t go for the raw fish too much, Chuck, but she sure raved when I put the meat to her. See what old Chuck’d say to that.

  The women and the skinny PR guy in the living room were discussing the date in Spanish, arguing, yelling at each other. While the PR with the snappy straw had his shoebox open and was showing him other products would be good for a short stay. Cocaine, percs, ludes . . . It was time to make his move. What he’d come for.

  Teddy looked up from the box and said, “No, I don’t think so. I’ll tell you what, though.” He took 200 dollars worth of folded twenties out of his pocket and got set to peel them off one at a time. “I bet you got a gun you could sell me. A pistola. Am I right or wrong?”

  26

  * * *

  VINCENT WALKED PAST the open-air front of the restaurant, along the boxed hedge. The blue canvas bag hung from his shoulder. He spotted Teddy right away. Teddy wearing a red knit shirt, in there among the hanging plants and green oilcloth-covered tables. Tourist with camera case, head lowered, ordering a late breakfast from the placemat menu. Vincent continued along Ashford Avenue to Walgreen’s and dialed the number DeLeon had given him.

  “This better be important.”

  “I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

  “Your house could be on fire, but I’d never tell from your voice, would I?”

  “Pick up the cab driver’s wife and drop her off at Consulado. You know where it is?”

  “Everybody knows where Consulado is.”

  “Teddy’s there.”

  “Hmmm, I like to see that.”

  “Better hang back. We don’t want to gang up on him.”

  “Just shake him some if you can. Scare him?”

  “You never know.”

  “You don’t know what you interrupted here.”

  “You have to rest sometime.”

  “I do?”

  Teddy was eating pancakes with one hand, holding onto his plastic glass of Coke with the other. Vincent wasn’t sure if he could watch him: Teddy cutting a big wedge out of the stack, shoving it into his wide-open mouth, then taking a sip of the Coke before he began to chew. Vincent sat down at the table-for-four across the aisle, hung the canvas bag from the back of his chair.

  Teddy, hunched over his plate, turned his head to look past his shoulder. “ ‘Ey, we got a stop meeting like this.”

  Was he honestly off the wall or pretending to be? Playing the nerd. Eyes with a watery glaze this morning. Hungover? Maybe. He didn’t seem on guard or the least concerned. Vincent could be someone from back home . . . An old pal thinking how simple it would be reach into the back of his pants beneath his jacket, pull out the old Smith and put him away. One shot. There. Tell the waitress, let’s see, I think I’ll have the eggs over easy.

  “What’re you following me for? It won’t do you no good.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “What’ve you been doing all morning? I saw you go by here.”

  “You used to follow me,” Vincent said, “take pictures . . . What were the pictures for? You mind if I ask you?”

  “What’ve you got, a wire on you?”

  “Come on, you’re off the hook, you know it. I’m not trying anything. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “Why’d I take pictures? I’ll tell you,” Teddy said, his mouth full. He paused to take a drink of Coke, work his tongue around in his mouth. “I wanted to look at your face.”

  “Why?”

  “See how you look at people.” Teddy squared around to face Vincent directly. “See if you look at them the same way you look at me.”

  “How do I look at you? I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Tough shit. That’s all I’m saying on that particular subject at this time. It may come up again, but we don’t know for sure or when . . . Now you want to talk, it looks like. On the airplane, when you were so sure my ass was going to jail, you didn’t have a word to say, did you? No, you and that big jigaboo sat there laughing with each other—oh boy, are we having fun, taking Mr. Magic to jail. I thought sure you’d want to ask me some questions then.”

  “Can I be honest with you?” Vincent said.

  “Well, please do.”

  “I was afraid if you said anything I might open the door and throw you right out of the fucking plane. But I got over that.”

  Teddy moved his shoulders, acting cute. “Oh, you’re not mad at me no more?”

  “What can I do?” Vincent said. “I’ve been a policeman fifteen years. I know when I bring the state attorney, the prosecutor, evidence and he says it’s not enough, okay, that’s it. I’m not gonna go around the law just because I think the guy’s guilty.”

  “What about getting me out on that ferry? That wasn’t nice.”

  “Well, that was different. I was trying to keep you from doing something dumb. You know what I mean? I was trying to scare you, get you thinking straight.”

  “I got lost,” Teddy said, “took me two hours, easy, get back to the hotel. First those two PRs take me out there, not knowing where’n the hell I am. Then you step out of that other car . . . You think I wasn’t scared?”

  “But not enough,” Vincent said. He eased back in his chair, looking down at the placemat menu. “Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway, does it?”

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  “I thought you could take a fall on any of three homicides, no problem. But, I was wrong.”

  “Wait a minute. What three?”

  “The cab driver—I know you did him. But that’s neither here nor there. The woman and Iris.”

  “What woman?”

  “The one underneath the Boardwalk. Beaten to death, raped. That sounds like our Teddy.”

  “Her name was Marie, I believe.”

  “Anna Marie Hoffman.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah? That her name?”

  “And there was Iris. But I don’t think now you did Iris.”

  “Yeah? Why not?”

  “I think it was some other creep. You’re not the only creep in the world, Ted. There could be millions.”

  Teddy said, “Is that right?” Face drawn tight as he picked up his camera case from the table and came over. “You think it was some creep, ‘ey?” He pulled the chair out across from Vincent and sat down, the camera case in his lap now, looking right at Vincent, Vincent lying back, waiting, Vincent very happy with the way it was going. “I hear she did a double back flip off that balcony,” Teddy said. “I hear it wasn’t a bad dive, but she only scored an eight-point-five. You know why? She didn’t keep her feet together.”

  Vincent had to wait a moment. He picked up his glass of water and took a sip. He had to let himself ease back down.

  “I understand she didn’t scream,” Vincent said. “I wonder why.”

  Teddy shrugged his shoulders, staring at Vincent. “Maybe she was dead or close to it. Can’t they tell things like that? Do some tests?”

  “It takes time,” Vincent said.

  “Or maybe she was on something, you know, like ludes, and had passed out.”

  “Iris didn’t do that kind of stuff.”

  “She didn’t? Maybe somebody talked her into it. Take that bitchy edge off her. But maybe she was worn out and it got to her quick. You know? Can’t you figure things out? Speculate on it? Hell, I’m the one ought a be the dick. I’ll tell you something though. You can keep surveillance. I don’t want any parts of surveillance work. Other than following some stove-up cripple walks with a cane.” Teddy grinned. “That’s different.”

  “What about the woman?”

  “Who, Marie?”

  “Yeah, what happened to her?”

  “What happened? She got taken, it looks like. That kind of talkative woman, she picks up with a friendly stranger and she happens to have something he wants, there you are.”

  “Like financial assistance.”

  “Could be.”

  “But why rape her?”

  “Why did he . . . do what he did to her? I don’t know. Maybe it seemed like a good idea. Maybe she wanted him to.”