“I didn’t see him at the Playhouse. Just his boots. But I saw him before that, down at the ocean. I was running on the beach. When I got back to the lot this guy was nosing around my car. I was probably a little less than polite about it. A few words. I ended up backin’ into his Beemer. Gave it a little bump with the Grand Prix. You know, meatball like that, easily offended.”
“Easier when it’s you.”
“Come on, Joe, I’m not interested in any more of that shit. Honest to God,” I said, like I really meant it, because I really did. “Though I guess I provoked him somehow. Anyway, he’d’ve killed me if he could. I know that.”
Sullivan flipped ahead in his casebook.
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Buddy Florin. From upstate. Ten years for manslaughter. Two other charges, later dropped. Freelancer from out of the City. He’s a punk. Old-fashioned kind. That tell you anything?”
“Bad luck.”
“Nothing else, huh? No other bells going off? Nothing else you want to tell me about?”
I thought about it for a minute.
“I’m glad I fucked him up,” I admitted.
“Oh, you fucked him up, all right.”
“Better me than Eddie. If I’d’ve let him out, there’s no telling.”
Eddie picked his head up at the mention of his name. The fur on the left side of his face was pushed up from sleeping on it, imparting a look of lunatic disequilibrium. Sullivan looked down at him and brushed the hair back into place.
“Yeah. I’m nervous just sittin’ here.”
“You sure you can’t have a beer or something?”
“I can have a beer. Actually, it’s encouraged. Fraternizing with the public.”
I got it for him and we spent the next hour or so talking about the Knicks, a subject I felt more comfortable discussing, whether with honest Irish cops or earnest gay tycoons.
For some stupid reason I walked Eddie on a leash before we went to bed. It was either the smell of evil out on my lawn or the adrenaline still itching at my nerves. Whatever it was, it kept me awake, so even after Eddie was zonked out on the bed I was up pacing around. On an impulse I got Buddy’s gun out of my sock drawer where I’d stashed it before Sullivan showed up. It was a Glock 23, .40 caliber. Fashionable gun for an old-fashioned punk. Probably liked the look of it. Matte black, polymer and steel. Lots of kick.
Too wired to sleep, and nothing else to do, I took the gun down to my father’s workbench so I could look at its innards. Typical hard-assed engineer. Always curious about instruments of death.
Eddie stuck me in the ribs with his back feet when he jumped off the bed, barking like mad. It was daylight, but I hadn’t been sleeping very long, so it took a little while to get my bearings. I could hear the sound of someone banging on the front door even through all the frantic yelping.
“Goddammit, Eddie.”
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and answered the door.
“Hi, Jackie.”
“That has got to be the stupidest car on the whole planet.”
“The standard shift throws a lot of people.”
“Did I wake you? I hope so. What happened to your hand?”
Eddie had regained control of himself and was out on the lawn, buzzing around with his nose an inch off the grass.
“Coffee?” I asked her.
“No. Pickup truck.”
My automatic coffee pot had done its duty a half-hour earlier and the results were wafting around the house.
“Come on, it’s already brewed.”
“You got a lot of nerve.”
“You don’t want to know what happened?”
“Jesus Christ.”
After I had her hands filled with my biggest ceramic mug I was able to talk her into waiting for me out on the porch while I took a shower. She was still thoroughly pissed, but her curiosity, as always, held her on the line. I told Eddie to keep her company.
“Just don’t give him any dope. He’s loopy enough as it is.”
I poured myself a cup and took it with me to the outdoor shower, which I used until the pipes threatened to freeze, usually after the first of the year. Even in the early morning light, the day was clear and full of color, the sky the deepest blue.
I squandered gallons of hot water, creating clouds of steam that billowed from the shower and upset the local climatic balance. The floor of the shower was filled with red, yellow and orange leaves from the oaks and maples overhead. I cleared the drain with my feet and watched the water swirl away in a tiny vortex. I turned the hot water up another notch to massage my shoulders and the back of my neck. I took a sip of the coffee. I tried to picture Regina seducing Carl Bollard, but it wouldn’t work. I wondered what she looked like as a young woman, and that was easier. Tall and straight-shouldered, firm handshake and wary eyes. A hard outer shell that was tough to crack, but once you did, it was all soft and tractable inside. Hopeful, but afraid of hurt. In need, despite her better judgment.
And always braced for the worst kind of disappointment.
I was able to stay clear of Jackie’s questions until I was in my clothes. I could feel the frustration penetrate the wall between my bedroom and the screened-in porch. She was pacing when I got there.
“I owe you big time,” I told her, before she had a chance to speak. “I know that.”
She was wearing a short wool coat in a giant red-and-black plaid. Her thick strawberry hair was tied up in a ponytail that spewed like a fountain almost from the top of her head. On her feet were a pair of beat-to-hell cowboy boots. Ready to start kicking.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to apologize,” she said.
“Actually, I need another favor.”
“Now who’s smoking dope?”
“Just drive to the Village with me. I’ll tell you everything on the way.”
She squinted at me as if contemplating a right hook. Probably pack a more effective punch than Jimmy Maddox.
“You think I have nothing else to do?”
“Okay. You’re hired.”
“What?”
“You’re hired. For real this time. Where do I sign?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Your last client just shot himself. You got an opening.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come on. We gotta move. I’m not paying you to just stand around.”
Eddie was unhappy in the back seat of the Grand Prix. I rolled the windows down so he could stick out his head. The wind made it hard to talk, but I felt I owed him, after leaving him inside for so long the day before. I was still able to tell Jackie the gist of what I wanted to tell her before we got to the big parking lot behind Main Street. I gave it to her in a disorganized, disconnected jumble, without a lot of detail, but that was fine. If I’d told her more she’d have bailed out of the car.
“What’s my role here again?” she asked as I parked the Grand Prix behind the bank.
“Bodyguard.”
“Great.”
“Just stay alert and watch my back.”
