Thin Air s-22

by Robert B. Parker

  "They are arguing about whether the guy with the belly is a fucking faggot," Chollo murmured.

  Without a word Dolly lumbered out from behind the har. He took the sawed-off baseball bat out of his hip pocket and hit the tequila drinker hard behind the knees. The tequila drinker howled and fell over backwards. Dolly took him by the collar and dragged him howling to the front door, into the parking lot, dropped him, hit him hard once on each knee with the sawed off bat and came back in, closing the door behind him. He put the sawed-off bat back into his hip pocket and went back behind the bar.

  "Forceful," Chollo said.

  "Well, he didn't bite him," I said.

  "But, oh so gentle," Chollo said.

  The door to Santiago's office opened and the grayhaired guy with the horn-rims nodded for us to enter. Santiago was there, behind his desk. Besides the gray-haired man and Santiago there were four gunnies ranged on the back wall. One of them, the guy Chollo had knocked down last time, had a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Nobody invited us to sit. The guy with the shotgun said something in Spanish to Chollo. Chollo smiled.

  "He says if this time, I would like-to see if I can get my gun out before he pulls the trigger, he would be happy to try it."

  Without looking at him, Santiago said, "Silencio!" to the guy with the shotgun.

  "He's telling him to shut up," Chollo said.

  "Is that what that means?" I said.

  Santiago looked at me.

  "You have a proposition?"

  "If something happened to Luis Deleon, who would be in charge?" I said.

  Santiago smiled. "Eventually I would be."

  "In the short run?" I said. "Ramon Gonzalez, but he would not last very long."

  "Because?"

  "Because Ramon Gonzalez is a jitterbug, a man who runs on cocaine and angel dust. Luis is the one holds out against me. It is hatred, as if somehow it is my fault about his mother. If he were not there, sooner or later the others would be happy to join with me for a better Proctor."

  Whatever he said was tinged with self-mockery so that it was never easy to know what he cared about and what he didn't. Which, I suppose, might have been the point.

  "But they won't go against him?"

  "They fear him more than they fear me. He is so crazy. It makes him"-he looked at Chollo-"feroz?"

  "Ferocious," Chollo said.

  "Si, ferocious. Everyone is afraid of him, because he is so ferocious, and because no one knows what he will do. He is able to bring a lot of business in because so many fear him."

  "What happened to his mother?" I said.

  "She O.D.'d here, in the ladies' room," Santiago said. "Got hold of some uncut heroin and it popped her. Luis would not believe his mother was a junkie as he would not believe his mother was a whore. So he says I killed her." He shrugged. "Why would I bother to kill her? She was just a whore."

  "One of yours?" I said.

  Santiago smiled.

  "Most things in Proctor are mine."

  "Except San Juan Hill."

  He nodded.

  "Except that," he said softly.

  "That could change," I said.

  "All things do," Santiago said.

  "We're going to take him out," I said.

  "If you can."

  "We can, but we'd like a little help from you."

  "I do not wish to be seen as one who turns on a fellow Hispanic," Santiago said. "It would not help people to think of me as the liberator of Proctor."

  "Of course it wouldn't," I said. "We'll be the ones who turn on him. What we want from you is logistical support."

  "I could consider that," Santiago said. "Have you a plan?"

  "Nothing so formal," I said. "But I've been thinking."

  Santiago smiled. "Tell me," he said.

  "You tell him, Chollo, in Spanish. I want everything clear when the time comes. Give him the layout, make sure he knows where everyone is likely to be."

  Chollo spoke in Spanish.

  When he was through, Santiago said, "That is all? A show of force?"

  "And nothing more. And when we say so," I said.

  "Do you wish me to have the police to seal off the area?"

  "You," I said. "Your people. I don't want the Proctor cops within a mile of the place."

  "Certainly," Santiago said. "Will you tell me how this fits into your plan?"

  "No," I said.

  Santiago nodded.

  "If I were you, I would say the same. Plans are best when few people know them."

  "You are very wise, Jefe," I said.

  Santiago smiled.

  "Si," he said. "But you should remember that I am a very vengeful man, and if things turn out to be different than you promised that they would be, I will find each of you and kill you…" He paused, made a searching gesture with his hand, and looked at Chollo.

  "Pavoroso?"

  Chollo grinned. "Gruesome," he said. "Terrifying."

  "Gee," I said. "I can't speak for everybody, but that sure seems fair to me."

  "I enjoy laughter, too," Santiago said. "But don't mistake me."

  "I think I'm getting it," I said.

  "Good," Santiago said. "When do we, ah, cause this diversion?"

  "Soon. How much time you need to put your men in the field?"

  Santiago smiled gently and looked at the gray-haired man with glasses.

  "Five minutes," he said.

  "I'll give you more notice than that," I said. "Just remember, everything goes right and you get San Juan Hill to keep."

  "Everything will go right," Santiago said.

  "If it does, all will be hunky-dory. If it doesn't, I may get a little pavoroso myself."

  "That might be interesting to see," Santiago said.

  "No," I said. "It wouldn't be."

  She sat on the floor still, leaning forward, hugging her knees. Luis stood and walked back and forth slowly, never very far from her. He was calmer now. There were no tears, though his face was still childlike.

  "How did you change from Angela to Lisa?" Luis said.

  "Pomona Detox," Lisa said. "Couple of Sheriff's deputies picked me up and took me there. Booze, mostly. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, you know? There was a social worker, used to talk to me every day, and after a while when I was sober and walking around she passed me on to a woman shrink, real upper class, had a little French accent, lived in Beverly Hills, and made a fortune listening to movie stars whine. Once a week she did pro bono work with whatever they swept up and dumped in detox. She liked me, or felt bad for me, or whatever, and she started seeing me two, three days a week. She saved my life."

  "Pro bono?"

  "Yeah, for free, you know? Good works."

  "A woman?"

  "A woman doctor," Lisa said.

  "What did she do?"

  "We talked," Lisa said.

  "That's all?"

  Lisa smiled softly. "That's all."

  "This Woody," Luis said. "Do you know where he is?"

  "No."

  "I will have him killed."

  "He doesn't matter," Lisa said. "All of that doesn't matter now."

  "What did you talk about?"

  "Where I came from, where I was going, what I wanted, who I was, who I wanted to be. I didn't know much of anything about any of that."

  "How could you not know who you were?"

  "It's a way of talking, Luis: Certainly I didn't know who I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. The doctor said I could start by taking care of myself I said I didn't know how. She asked me what I could do. I said I gave a hell of a blow job."

  "Lisa, don't talk like that," Luis said.

  "I was telling her the truth," Lisa said.

  "What did she say? Did she punish you?"

  "She said it was a useful skill, but not for making a living."

  "A woman said that to you?"

  "A woman doctor," Lisa said. "And we talked some more and she found out about how I was a stripper DJ, and we talked about that
and she got me to enroll in some radio and television school on the west side, and I got an apprentice job, Sundays only, at a 5,000-watt station in Barstow, and after a while, when I thought I could leave the shrink, I came home and changed my name and got the job at the radio station and started over."

  "You told me that Lisa was your radio name."

  "I know."

  "But it was your all the time new name."

  "Yes."

  "And no one knew your real name?"

  "No."

  "Not even your husband?"

  "No."

  "But I knew."

  "Yes. I hadn't been Lisa St. Claire long enough. In my head I was still Angela. So I told you."

  "Because?"

  "Because I thought I loved you."

  "You did love me."

  "Yes," Lisa said slowly. "Yes, I guess I did."

  Luis stopped his slow pacing. He stood beside her, looking down.

  "They why did you leave me?"

  "I left the shrink too soon," she said.

  Chapter 38

  "How is Frank?" Susan said. "Nothing new," I said.

  We were in the South End, eating dinner at Hammersley's Bistro. I was having brisket. Susan was eating chicken. The brisket was the kind of meal that Irish Catholics got posthumously if they died in a state of grace.

  "I wonder," Susan said, "if his wife's situation helps keep him from recovering quicker."

  "You mean so he won't have to face it? Like depressed people sleep a lot?"

  "Yes. It wouldn't be conscious, of course, but if you are able to retrieve her, he may come out of it quite soon thereafter."

  A guy in an expensive suit went by with a woman in an expensive suit and shot at me with his forefinger. I waved. Susan raised her eyebrows.

  "Charlie O'Neill," I said. "Guy I used to know."

  "Odd," she said, "he doesn't look like a thug. Is that his wife?"

  "No. Business associate. Her name is Victoria Wang. I know people who aren't thugs."

  "Name three."

  "Charlie O'Neill, Victoria Wang, and you," I said. "Want a bite of my brisket?"

  "I beg your pardon," Susan said.

  The room was in one of the good-looking old brick buildings that the South End was full of. It had a high ceiling with old beams, and an open kitchen along one side. I thought it was the best restaurant in town. On the other hand, I used to like the food in the army, so people didn't always pay attention to what I thought.

  "Do you really think you can get her out?" Susan said.

  "I don't think that way. I suppose I have to assume I can. But mostly I think about how I'm going to do it."

  "Of course," Susan said. "The question was dumb. It's like asking a baseball player, do you really think you can get a hit? If he didn't think so, he wouldn't be doing what he does."

  "You weren't really asking me that anyway," I said.

  Susan smiled at me, which is always a treat.

  "No, I was asking you to reassure me," she said. "Thank you for noticing."

  "Hey I'm a sensitive guy," I said. "I'm scoring a shrink."

  The waitress brought me a second glass of Pilsner Urquell beer, which went especially well with brisket. Susan's single glass of Merlot was sipped but slightly. A thin air woman in an Armani suit stopped by the table and said hello to Susan.

  "Sarah Gallant," Susan said. "Don't you look wonderful."

  We were introduced. I agreed with Susan but thought it prudent not to say so. The two women talked for a moment. I listened. And Sarah moved on.

  "I wonder how she's being treated," Susan said.

  "Sarah?" I said. "She looks like she's being treated fine."

  "You know I mean Lisa. Aside from the fact that she's probably a captive. We have to wonder what the conditions of her captivity are."

  "Freddie Santiago says that Luis Deleon is ferocious."

  "It doesn't mean he is abusing her," Susan said. "He may have what he wants."

  "Which is?"

  "Possession. She is under his control. It may be enough."

  "It hangs over everything, doesn't it?" I said. "Even we have trouble bringing it up."

  "The question of sexual abuse? Yes, it does, regardless of Lisa's past."

  "Any thoughts?" I said.

  "On whether he will or won't? Has or hasn't? No. Maybe the control is enough, maybe it isn't. Even if I knew them in a therapeutic relationship…"

  "His mother was a prostitute, according to Santiago."

  "Where did she turn tricks?" Susan said.

  "I don't know. According to Santiago, she O.D.'d in the washroom at his club and died on the floor."

  Susan paused and drank some wine. "How old was he?"

  "Deleon? Around fourteen, Santiago says."

  "And no father?"

  "None that anyone knows about."

  "If she brought men home," Susan said, "and a lot of prostitutes do, because they have nowhere else to bring them, it would have been very difficult for him."

  "I guessed that," I said.

  "You are sensitive," Susan said. "They were mother and son, but they were probably a couple too. He would be very angry. And he would be very angry that she died and left him and very angry that she did it for so little reason."

  "Would it lead him to sexual abuse?" I said.

  "It would make him very angry," Susan said. "And he might take it out on Lisa."

  "It is easy to transfer feelings you had for one important person onto another important person."

  "They both left him," I said. "He probably had sexual feelings for both. They were both whores."

  I knew Susan had started with those assumptions and had already moved on. I was just showing off. Susan made one of those little head and facial motions that she made, which acknowledge that she heard you and didn't indicate what she thought of what you'd said. They probably teach it in shrink school.

  "We do much better," she said, "explaining why people did things than we do at predicting what they will do."

  I nodded and gave some attention to the brisket and the skin Susan carefully cut the skin from a piece of lemon roasted chicken. She never ate any fat, being very careful of her weight, which was important, because her waist was nearly the size of my neck, and she worked out barely two hours a day.

  "Would you say that you know me in a therapeutic relationship?" I said.

  Susan widened her big eyes so that she looked like a Jewish Dolly Parton. She shook her head.

  "I would say our relationship is more fuckative."

  "Well the effect is very therapeutic," I said.

  "I know," Susan said, and her wide mouth widened further into her big stunning smile. "Just doing my job."

  What does that mean?" he said. "You left your shrink too soon?"

  "I was hooking up with another bad guy-my father, Woody, all the johns I did were bad guys. Then I come back and start over, and the next thing I know I'm hooked up with you."

  "I am a bad guy? I am like your father? I, who have loved you more than I love life itself?"

  She shook her head.

  "You love your mother, Luis. You're just working it out on me."

  Luis turned from her and pressed his forehead against one of the theatrical flats.

  "Do not say this," he said. "Do not tell me I don't love you."

  He pounded on the flat lightly with his closed fist as he spoke. The fist keeping time with the words.

  "It is to tell me that I don't exist," he said. "I am my love for you, my Angel. I have built this citadel for us, furnished these rooms for us, searched for you since you left, risked everything to bring you here. Do not tell me I do not love you."

  Outside the sealed room there was thunder, but it didn't register on either of them. He turned slowly away from the painted scenery and stared at her intently.

  "Do not say that I do not love you."

  Still seated on the floor, bugging her knees in the dim room, she met his look and held it for a lo
ng silent moment. Then she shook her head, almost regretfully.

  "Whatever you feel for me, Luis, isn't love. You think it is, but it isn't. It feels more like hate to me."

  "Hate?" He seemed nearly speechless. "Hate?"

  "Your old lady was a hooker. You probably hated her for it. Now you transfer that feeling onto me, you know? A woman who was with you and is now with another man?"

  "You…" His breath came in hoarse gasps. "You… think… I am… like… that? That I am crazy?"

  "It's crazy to think that you can make me love you, Luis. You can't. No one can. You can make me fear you. I do fear you. I'm afraid all the time. And you're teaching me to hate you. But I love Frank and can't stop. And I don't love you and can't start. I'd rather die than spend my life with you."

  He sagged against the theatrical flat. He opened his mouth, but he didn't say anything. Then he lunged at her, dropping to his knees beside her on the floor and tearing at her clothes. She tried to push him away, but he was much too strong for her. She tried to twist away, but he grappled her back. Her blouse was torn off, he ripped at her skirt. She tried to knee him but missed, hitting his thigh. She scratched at him. He slapped her and her head jerked back. He put his left forearm under her chin and bent her back, pressing on her windpipe while he stripped her skirt from her, tearing the zipper loose with his right hand. A growling noise came from him, and the guttural sound of him gasping for breath. She grabbed his hair, trying to pull his face away from her, but she wasn't strong enough and the pressure on her throat bent her backwards as he fumbled at her last remaining clothes. She managed to turn her head and bite him on the forearm and the pressure on her throat relaxed for a moment. She twisted and rolled over and scrambled toward her bed.

  He came after her, grabbing at her legs, as she fumbled under the mattress for her iron pipe. She got the pipe, but he yanked her by the hair and the pipe clattered to the floor as she bent back, her legs doubled beneath her. She drove her right elbow back toward him and caught his nose and heard him grunt with pain. Then she was thrown backwards, entirely, her legs straightened beneath her and she was flat on the floor on her back. He forced himself on top of her. His long hair was tangled and wet with sweat, strands of it stuck to his face. His nose was bleeding, and the blood dripped down on her. He forced her hands back above her head and forced her thighs apart with his knees and tried to insert himself into her. She twisted her hips and struggled harder. He pressed his mouth against hers and with the force of his kiss held her head down as he tried to squirm himself into position to penetrate her. His weight pressed her against the floor, his guttural rage forced against her desperate resistance, and they lay like that on the floor in the dim light of the absurd room, locked in squirming hatred while he struggled to consummate the rape, and she twisted to prevent it. He had penetrated her often in the past, and she had liked it. But in her seemingly interminable captivity, something inside her had calcified and her resolve had achieved an opalescent density. She would resist him until he killed her. She twisted her hip and jammed her knee into his crotch. He seemed to sag, as if his strength was ebbing. Slippery with sweat and blood, she wrenched herself out from under him, scrambling after her iron bar. She got it and, lying on her side, swung it and hit him across the chest. He gasped and suddenly it was over. He slumped and his grip slackened. He fell back against the theatrical flat, his arms folded across his chest, hugging the hurt. Crouching against the far wall, naked except for her torn bra and one shoe, her face smeared with the blood from his nose, her lips swollen and bloody from his kiss, her body gleaming with perspiration, holding the bar, she snarled at him, her voice sounding like someone else's as it rasped between her teeth.