Cat Chaser

by Elmore Leonard

  “But what’s in the bags Andres took? They weren’t empty, were they?”

  “No, I pulled out the suitcases with the money and then I thought, What if he gets suspicious when he sees me leave and runs upstairs to check? So I packed two other suitcases with old newspapers and shoved them under the bed. The worst part was carrying an armload of papers upstairs. I thought sure he’d see me and I couldn’t think of a good story.”

  “You planned this? How come you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t plan it, I just did it.”

  Moran finally smiled; he couldn’t help it. And for a few moments felt better about the whole thing.

  “I was mad. My mouth hurt.” Mary raised a hand to touch her face and the bedspread slipped from one shoulder. “Now, I can’t believe I did it . . . Do you see a problem?”

  Moran said, “Do I see a problem?” He reached over as if reminded and turned off the lamp. He could still see the neat stacks of currency. “Mary, I don’t think problem’s the word.”

  He was up now, moving to the window next to the door, parting the draperies to look out at the courtyard in a pale glow, a solemn stillness after the storm. It would be dark soon, dull light to dark without the color of sunset this evening.

  She stared at his bare legs, shirttails hanging to cover the Jockey briefs. She thought about making a grab at him, get his attention.

  “George, if Andres wants to fight about it, okay, we’ll go to court. I’ll bring the original prenuptial agreement—I hate that word—and the amendment he forced me to sign. It doesn’t even look like my signature.”

  Moran didn’t seem to be listening.

  He said, “We’ve got to get out of here. I’m gonna run over and get some clothes on.” He was still watching through the opening in the draperies. “We could hide the money . . . No, we’d better just go, quick.” He glanced at her now. “Get dressed. And bring the wet things, don’t leave ’em.”

  She said, “George, if Andres comes it’s because he knows the money’s here. We won’t let him have it, that’s all. I’ll tell him to see me in court.”

  Moran turned from the window now. “And if Jiggs Scully comes, what do you tell him?” He picked up his jeans from a chair, wet and stiff, and pulled them on as Mary watched, eyes staring wide now, holding the bedspread around her. He said, “I’ll be right back,” and went out the door.

  It gave her time to think, to relive the act, the awful anxiety of carrying an armload of newspapers up that open stairway, finding the key in the medicine cabinet of Andres’s bathroom, down on the floor with her heart pounding pulling the suitcases out then retracing, replacing the key, taking the suitcases to her room, trying to compose herself, finally walking out past Andres . . . going through all that so she could give two million two hundred thousand dollars to Jiggs Scully? She thought, I’ve never even spoken to him.

  It gave her a strange feeling because she could not think of a compelling reason to be afraid of Jiggs Scully, except that Moran was and Moran knew him.

  She dressed in sweater and slacks and waited, sitting on the arm of a chair to look out through the draperies at the empty courtyard in the beginning of nighttime darkness, watching his house, waiting for some sign of him. Gone longer now than she’d expected. The door opened and she jumped.

  Then let her breath out in relief. “God, you scared me. Where’d you come from?” He moved to the window without answering, parted the draperies to look out and she said, “We’re too late, aren’t we?”

  “They’re out in front,” Moran said.

  For several minutes they watched the courtyard in silence, until a figure in a long coat appeared out of shadow, walking toward the beach. He seemed uncertain, almost as though he were lost.

  “It’s Nolen,” Moran said, but didn’t move from the window.

  21

  * * *

  NOLEN REACHED THE SIDEWALK facing the beachfront, looked around disoriented, hearing the ocean but no other sounds, missing something. That amber glow at the door to each of the units. No lights showed, not in Moran’s house, the office, anywhere; it gave him a spooky feeling, like the place was closed, out of business. He walked over to Moran’s bungalow, opened the screen and banged on the door three times, so he could say he did. Then walked around to a side window to look in the house. There was nothing to see. An empty pitcher and two glasses on the counter, in faint light from the kitchen window. It seemed a week ago, drinking sours with Moran. He felt useless, in need of a lift. In need of a guide, he thought, stumbling through the lounge chairs now to make his way around the pool. A beer would hit the spot. Christ, even a Coke. But he walked past the machine in the alcove, went out toward streetlight reflections on empty cars and wet pavement.

  Jiggs stood on the sidewalk by the Coconut Palms office.

  “They’re not there,” Nolen said. “Nobody home.”

  “That’s funny, isn’t it,” Jiggs said, “with his car sitting there.”

  Nolen wondered if Jiggs was going to bust the door in. But Jiggs turned to look in through the dark office, through the windows on the other side, to study the courtyard in moonlight and he seemed calm. Never any different, Nolen reminded himself. Never upset, never excited about anything.

  “How many units in there?”

  “I think twelve,” Nolen said.

  “How many’re occupied?”

  “None of ’em. There’s nobody here.”

  “They could be in any one of those rooms.”

  “I think they’re gone,” Nolen said.

  Jiggs turned from the office window. “He picked her up, he was getting her outta there, that’s all. They were going on a trip they’d be up around Orlando by now, or the car’d be at Miami International. They’re around here somewhere.”

  “Maybe they went to get something to eat.”

  “Stroll down the corner,” Jiggs said. “That’s what I’d do I thought somebody was coming after me.”

  Nolen said, “Yeah, but wait now, get in their head. They wouldn’t know it’s us coming anymore’n we know for sure his wife had the money when she left home. Maybe it’s still in de Boya’s house.”

  Jiggs was patient. He said, “De Boya thought he had it. If he didn’t, who does that leave? You listening or you still smashed? Look, what I want you to do, Nolen, go in there in your room and keep your eyes open. Moran comes out, you been in a bar all day, you don’t know anything what he’s talking about. Stay awake till I get somebody to come over and take a look around. I’ll try and get Speedy, but you got to stay awake till he comes.”

  “Who’s Speedy?”

  “For Christ sake you spent the night with him out cruising the bay. The guy Santos, with the Donzi. I want somebody check the place out isn’t gonna fall over the furniture. I want to keep things as is for now so you can hit the sack and I can go up the corner, the Howard Johnson’s and get my eight hours. Then in the morning, we need a couple more guys I’ll get ’em. But you’ll be awake, have your shower and shave by then, right?”

  Nolen began to nod, concentrating, trying to get his mind working.

  “No booze tomorrow, nothing,” Jiggs said. He studied Nolen a moment. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “I don’t see where you need a lot of guys . . . or you have to hurt anybody,” Nolen said. “Just take it, get out.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jiggs said, “you think I want to bring some guys in, now, we know it where it is? I’m talking about a little surveillance, that’s all. I want to know Moran and the broad’re here and what room the suitcases’re in. The sun comes out, looks like a pretty nice day—I want ’em to think, well, maybe we’re okay, nothing to worry about, no reason to run or call the cops. It’s not like hitting a bank, a liquor store; I don’t do that. I want to come in here tomorrow have a quiet talk with ’em. Show ’em where we stand, say thank you and leave. I don’t want a lot of confusion, somebody calls the cops, some old blue-haired broad up there in her cond
o. It’s too hard to talk you know the cops’re on the way. No, I want everybody to be relaxed, their heads clear, their hands away from the buzzer.

  “Just talk to ’em,” Nolen said.

  “I think that’s the way to handle it,” Jiggs said, “don’t you?”

  Watching at the window reminded him of times in Santo Domingo during his war: a motel yard or a narrow empty street at night were much the same, waiting for the unexpected, trying to sense or anticipate a sign of movement. Not wanting to see that muzzle flash. The vital difference was he didn’t have an M-14 in his hands. It would be an M-16 today or he would settle for Nolen’s .45 with its stopping power at close range and feel much better about the shadows along the edge of the beachfront wall and over back of his house and along the motel units fronting on the street. Nolen had appeared and left. A figure—it became Nolen without his raincoat—appeared again in moonlight reflecting on the office windows and disappeared into shadow. It was nearly two hours later he saw the door to Number Five open and a light go on, Nolen again, a glimpse of him before the door closed. Nolen had finally ceased his wandering and was home. After that was only the sound of the ocean.

  Mary said, “You saw Jiggs; you’re certain that’s who it was.”

  “I saw Nolen’s car pull in,” Moran said. “I was going to the office to leave Jerry a note, tell him I’d be gone a few days. I saw Nolen get out of his car as Jiggs pulled up in that red and white Cadillac, you can’t miss it. They had to have seen my car. Then after that Nolen wanders around, probably checked the bar up on the corner—where am I? I’ve got to be here somewhere. But that doesn’t mean they think you’re here too.”

  “I left the house with you. Jiggs saw us.”

  “I could’ve dropped you off, taken you to the airport.”

  “He knows better than that,” Mary said. “And if he thinks we have the money, well, the only way would be if he’s found out Andres doesn’t have it.”

  Moran said, “He might think Andres faked him out and the money’s still at home.”

  She said, “Do you believe that?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “You wouldn’t bet on it though,” Mary said. “You don’t want to come out and say it because if Jiggs opened Andres’s suitcases the chances are Andres is dead. Isn’t that right?”

  In the dark of the room he didn’t have to answer immediately. He assumed Andres was dead and realized, now, Mary accepted the possibility.

  She said, “If I find out he is, I doubt if I’ll feel much grief, and I’m sure not gonna pretend to. But I’ll tell you something, Moran,” her voice gaining a quiet force, an unmistakable edge. “I don’t know Jiggs Scully, I’ve never even spoken to him. But I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna give him my money. It absolutely infuriates me, that he thinks he can walk in and I’ll simply hand it over. I’ve been sitting here wondering, is Andres dead? I have a feeling he is. Then do I call the police? What do I tell them? ‘I think somebody killed my husband, at least it’s possible, and now he’s after my boyfriend, my lover and me.’ Do you like it so far? ‘He’s after us because we’ve got over two million dollars, cash, in a couple of suitcases . . . ‘ And you know the first thing they’ll ask?”

  “Where’d you get the money,” Moran said.

  “Exactly. Then try to explain, beginning with Trujillo’s assassination, why Andres kept two million dollars under the bed.”

  “First they check you out,” Moran said, “see if you’ve ever been arrested for narcotics.”

  “Yeah, find out if I was using the dock that blew up to bring in cocaine and grass. ‘No, I’m just a housewife—I mean a homemaker, officer. I play tennis and meet my lover at motels.’ And after we get through with all that, maybe, just maybe they’ll go after Jiggs and arrest him.”

  “For what?” Moran said. “He hasn’t done anything we know of.”

  “That’s right, we have to wait till he comes in and takes it.”

  There was a silence. Moran said, “I’ll talk to Nolen. See what he knows.”

  “Now?”

  “Tomorrow when he’s hung over, in pain. Act like I don’t know anything and find out what’s going on. I’ll call your house, see if Andres came back . . . You stay here, out of sight and maybe it’ll work. Jiggs’ll sniff around and go away.”

  “I don’t think I can do that,” Mary said. “I know damn well if I see him I’ll want to walk up to him and kick him right in the balls.”

  “You get mad, don’t you?” Moran said. “You don’t hold back.”

  “Why should I hide? I haven’t done anything. How long do I stay in here? A couple of days? A week?”

  Her tone was great; little jabs of anger that poked at Moran and stirred him, made him feel restless.

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Are you gonna bring me food every day? Wait till it’s dark and sneak it in? While the police wait for Jiggs to do something, break a law? What is this, Moran? I’ve never hidden from anything in my life and it makes me pretty goddamn mad to realize that’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re right,” Moran said. Boy, she was good for him. “The hell’re we doing sitting here?”

  He moved away from the window, found the two suitcases in the dark and picked them up.

  “Let’s go over to my house and get a drink and something to eat. Christ, I’m starving.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Mary said.

  22

  * * *

  IT SEEMED LIKE SEVEN YEARS AGO, in another life, coming out to bright sunlight to see Nolen in a lounge with a beer can resting on his chest, sandals and black socks V-ed as though he was sighting on that tanker bound for Port Everglades.

  Moran said, “Well, here we are.”

  Nolen said, squinting through his sunglasses, “You want me to go first? All right. I waited in the bar out by Ninety-five all afternoon and Jiggs never called, so I came home. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. What’s yours?”

  “I was wondering,” Moran said, “if you had any lemons.”

  Nolen waited for that to make sense to him and decided it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I got some lemons.”

  “And I’ve got a blender,” Moran said. “You didn’t know that, did you? I’ll get ’em when I pick up your trash. But I’m not gonna make your bed.” He walked off toward the office saying, “I don’t do beds.”

  Jerry was behind the counter looking through the mail delivery. Moran came around and pulled a black plastic trash bag from a Hefty box, Jerry saying, “Well, look at this.” He handed Moran a letter. “Notice the postmark. Sosua, Rep. Dom. Is that anybody we know?”

  Moran put the folded trash bag under his arm and opened the letter with a strange feeling, knowing it was from Luci Palma, the girl who used to run across rooftops . . . one page of ruled paper neatly handwritten, though each line rose on a slight angle, up and away and he thought, She hasn’t changed. He read it standing there and put the letter in his shirt pocket when he finished. The letter made him feel good and at another time he would have read it to Jerry. But not now. He said to Jerry, “You call de Boya’s again?”

  “He still isn’t back. Maid says they haven’t seen him since yesterday. I called the Coral Gables Police, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. Kept asking who I was, so I hung up.”

  “They get a lot of calls like that,” Moran said. “How about that Trans-Am?”

  “Still parked down the street.”

  “Jerry, you don’t have to stay around . . .”

  He said, “If I thought coming here was work, George, I wouldn’t be doing it. I’m your police contact, aren’t I?”

  “You sure are. You got the number handy?”

  “I know it by heart.”

  “ ‘Cause I might only say ‘Jerry’ but that’s what it’ll mean. Call ’em quick.”

  “They know my voice,” Jerry said. As Moran went out he said, “Take her easy now. Don’t do nothing dumb.”

  Moran said, �
�I keep trying not to.”

  Nolen took a sip of beer, turned his head enough to see Moran come out of the office unfolding a trash bag and go into Number Five with the passkey. Nolen yelled over, “In the fridge! Hey, and bring a beer!”

  Moran came out within a couple minutes, the trash bag hanging weighted now with beer cans and whatnot, the sack of lemons and a cold one he handed Nolen. Nolen took it and popped it open to hold the two cans now on his chest, soothing the erratic action of his heart.

  He said, “The last time I saw you, George, you stormed out of here, determination flashing in your eyes. I guess you didn’t get shot, did you?”

  Moran said, “No, but I bet somebody did. De Boya never came home. Hasn’t been seen since he drove off in his Rolls.”

  Nolen took a drink of beer. “With police swarming all over the place.”

  “I thought you didn’t talk to Jiggs.”

  “George, if I’m inconsistent, what’s the difference? We’re just gonna lie to each other anyway.” He raised his head and took a long sip from the other can.

  “You drink two at once? You been putting it away lately,” Moran said, “haven’t you?”

  “Jesus, you sound like my wife.”

  “Is that right? I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Three times. You sound like any one of ’em,” Nolen said. “I got to win soon, man, get the fuck outta here. You make me nervous, feel like I’m being watched.”

  “Well, there could be truth to that,” Moran said. “You know that Cuban you say wears sunglasses at night and drives a Donzi?”

  Nolen squinted in the sunlight, adjusting his own glasses. “What about him?”

  “Does he also drive a Trans-Am, black one with the hood flamed red and gold? He’s parked in front of the Nautilus, next door, and if he isn’t watching you then he’s watching me.” Moran half-turned to look toward the beach. “There’s another one out there on an army blanket getting a Cuban suntan with all his clothes on. Your pal Jiggs doesn’t care for ’em, but he sure uses ’em, doesn’t he? Like the Mendozas, Rafi. He seems to use everybody he can.”