Bloody River Blues
Page 27
"You got this fax, John. It's from Marty Weller in Budapest."
And was apparently just about to be transferred out again, to finance Central Standard Time.
She handed it to him and headed back toward a cluster of actors but got no farther than Stace Stacey, who encircled her waist and rose on tiptoe to whisper something in her ear. She giggled.
Pellam unfolded the fax. It took a whole page of producer-babble for Marty Weller to break the news to him that Tri-Star was going to be picking up Paramount's fallen standard and financing the terrorist script, which Weller would be producing in lieu of Central Standard Time. The Hungarians were going to Tri-Star with him. They asked Weller to say hello to Pellam, whom they felt they knew already and whom they had dubbed the American Auteur. They hoped that perhaps in the future they all might work together on a "clever-scripted, hey knock-em-dead cult film noir project."
Pellam folded the paper and slipped it into his back pocket. He lifted another champagne off a passing tray. He closed his eyes and rubbed the cold flute over his forehead.
Stace returned a moment later. He was without the secretary but the expression on the arms master's face was not that of a rejected man. He smiled agreeably and said to Pellam, Tomorrow morning, let's you and me go shooting, what do you say? We'll take the Charter Arms and the Dan Wesson and shoot up some cans. Maybe they even have rattlesnakes around here."
Pellam opened his mouth to make excuses, but then he said, "As long as I don't have to get up too early, Stace."
"Oh, no, sir. Film's over. We're on vacation now."
***
The basketball court on Leonard Street in Maddox is closed most of the time. It's part of a school playground but because of budget cutbacks, the Department of Education can't afford to keep it open when school's not in session, and the gate is locked at 5:00 P.M. Not that it matters much; the local kids have pried apart enough chain link gate to slip through for pickup games any time they want.
The court is asphalt. There's a lot of graffiti on the brick walls surrounding it-names of kids and gangs and some of those flashy, three-dimensional block letters and drawings that the talented punks do. But the asphalt itself is clean as black marble in a church. Nobody messes with foul lines.
Tonight, a mild, humid night in December, two men are at the fence. The opening in the gate would be big enough for them to pass through if one of the men weren't in a wheelchair. It's a small chair, gunmetal blue and sporty, with wheels tilted; at the top, they're closer together than at the bottom. The man who is standing looks around and takes a geared, carbon-tempered bolt cutter from a large, cylindrical canvas sports bag. He props one long handle on his hip and, using both hands on the other handle, severs one side of a link of chain, then the other.
They enter the court. The man in the chair speeds forward under the thrusts of his powerful arms, which are dark with hair.
Pellam says, "Go easy with an old man, huh?"
It takes a while for Donnie Buffett to get used to dribbling but he's played good offense for years and knows how to keep the ball away from his body while controlling it. He does have a problem, though, because he can only coast in for a shot.
If he uses his arm to move forward, he goes in circles. What he does is, he sets the ball on his lap and speeds in for the lay-up.
Pellam whistles loudly through his teeth and cries, "Traveling."
"So what're you back in town for?" Buffett asks him after sinking the shot. "That Missouri River movie?"
"Nope. That's in post production now. July release date. I'm suing the director for my fee and credit."
"That's a hassle."
"Goes with the territory. I just came back to do some scouring for another script."
"What's this one called?"
"Central Standard Time."
"Sounds boring. Who's going to be in it? You should cast Geena Davis. I really like her. Or Shelley Long. You ever watch Cheers?"
"Nobody's in it. Nobody's even making it yet. When I was here I saw some locations that looked pretty good. I wanted to check them out this time of year. That's when the story takes place. Winter."
"That's pretty wild. Two movies in one year. Maybe Maddox'll be the new Hollywood."
"Hollywood started out as a desert," Pellam tells him.
"How long you here for?"
"A week or two. Then I'm heading on to my mothers place, upstate New York, for the holidays."
Buffett usually makes his shots, which Pellam finds extremely frustrating. Pellam has been watching the Lakers all season.
He tries to fly up to the basket and stuff the ball in, but he comes nowhere close. He is a terrible player. The Nokona cowboy boots don't help much.
Buffett gets the rebound away from Pellam and sinks another.
"Hell with this," Pellam says. "Let's see a slam-dunk."
They play for a half hour and take a break for beer.
In response to a question Buffett tells Pellam he isn't seeing Nina anymore. "That's over with. It was just a fluke thing. I never knew what to make of her. She was moody a lot. It was like she had some big secret or something."
"I picked that up, too." Pellam wipes his mouth with his sleeve and thinks they're crazy to be drinking beer in December.
And crazy to be playing basketball now, too.
"Did I tell you?" Buffett asks.
"What?"
"Penny's moved out. We're getting a divorce."
"You're going to what?"
"A divorce. Get one."
"God," Pellam says.
"Well-"
"I think that's awful."
Buffett looks away, inordinately embarrassed, and swallows a lot of beer. "It happens."
"Did she find out about Nina?"
"No. She still doesn't know."
Pellam shakes his head and starts to wave his arm at Buffett's legs but changes the motion to encompass the entire court.
"All this and she decides to leave you?"
"No, Pellam. Uh-uh. I'm the one getting the divorce. It's my idea. She's going to live with her parents."
"Oh." This, too, Pellam thinks is crazy. He looks at Buffett for a moment. "All this and you leave her?"
"Yep."
"Why?'
"You were over to the house. You really have to ask?"
"But you'll be living by yourself? A time like this?"
Buffett shrugs. "I guess, yeah."
Pellam gives him a more-power-to-you shrug and practices dribbling. The ball gets away from him. He hops in front and stops it, then asks, "You see Dr. Wendy lately?'
Th'other day."
"So?"
"Nothing new. Same old prognosis."
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
They drink beer for a few minutes, talking about the Knicks and the Lakers. Then Buffett says, 'They've tried these new drugs on me. They don't have any effect."
"You gonna kill yourself?"
"I don't think so. Someday maybe." Buffett is neither joking nor serious when he says this.
"I just thought of something. You play poker?'
Buffett laughs at the idiocy of the question. "Of course I play poker."
"You like chili?'
"No. I hate chili."
A breeze comes up and it's too cold to sit still and drink beer so they head back toward the basket and begin to play again. Pellam comes up fast and gets the ball away from Buffett. He dribbles fiercely and lobs a long one, a three-pointer, which he knows isn't going to go in, but it hits the rim, reverberates back»and forth madly and finally drops through the rusty metal hoop into Buffett's waiting hands.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeffery Deaver's novels have appeared on a number of bestseller lists around the world, including the New fork Times, the London Times and the Los Angeles Times. The author of fifteen novels, he's been nominated for four Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America and an Anthony award and is a two-time recipient of the Ellery Queen R
eader's Award for Best Short Story of the Year. His book A Maiden's Grave was made into an HBO movie staring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel The Bone Collector was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington and Angelina Jolie. His most recent novels are The Empty Chair, Speaking in Tongues, and The Devil's Teardrop. There are two other books in the John Pellam series, Shallow Graves, and the soon-to-be-released Hell's Kitchen. Readers can visit his Web site at www.jefferydeaver.com.
JEFFERY DEAVER is the author ot sixteen suspense novels, including The Empty Chair, The Bone Collector, now a major motion picture from Universal starring Denzel Washington, the New York Times bestsellers The Coffin Dancer and The Devil's Teardrop, and his newest hardcover, Speaking in Tongues. He is a four-time Edgar Award nominee and his books have been translated into fifteen languages. As William Jefferies, he is the author of Shallow Graves, BLOODY RIVER BLUES, and one other Location Scout mystery soon to be published by Pocket Books, Hell's Kitchen. Deaver was born in Chicago, attended the University of Missouri, and received a law degree from Fordham University in New York. He has residences in California and Virginia. Readers can visit his Web site at www.jefferydeaver.com.
***
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