Get Shorty: A Novel

one? Where’d these guys come from? Michael didn’t tell him. He said one more time he wanted that book. Buddy told him it was his, and left.

Harry said, “Well now . . .”

But there was something Chili wanted to know and he said to Michael, “What he mentioned to you there . . . You mind my asking—what if the other agent says okay, you got a deal? Then will you have the meeting with the woman, the producer?”

“I don’t know, I suppose,” Michael said, “we’d talk to her. I’m not really involved in this.”

Harry said, “Chil, it has nothing to do with Michael.”

And now Michael was nodding. “All it amounts to is a power play, the dance of the agents, circling each other for position.”

“With the woman in the middle,” Chili said, “not knowing what’s going on. I was thinking she’s sitting there like a hostage. Use her to get what you want.”

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“Hey, come on, man. All I want is a book.”

“They say no deal, what do you do, shoot her?”

Chili smiled.

Michael didn’t.

He said, “Why is everybody giving me a hard time?”

It was dark and Catlett still hadn’t spoken to the Bear. Had been calling him since coming home and getting no answer, the Bear’s machine turned off. Right now Catlett was standing out on his deck looking at the night, trying to get his head to settle.

Looking at the view he started thinking about his great-great-grandfather with the cavalry sword, because that original Bo Catlett had lived on a mountain and must’ve had a view of his own, but without any lit-up swimming pools and girls laughing or, tonight, the cool sound of Jobim coming from down there. The original Bo Catlett had his view, had his sword, had his squaw wife—but what did he do? This Catlett’s grandmother said, that time before she died, “Oh, he had plenty to do,” but never said what. So this Catlett started thinking of western movies, wondering what people outside of cowboys did back then. They lived in little towns that had one street, wore six-guns and were always crossing the street going someplace, the extras in the movies. The stunt- men were always getting shot off of horses or off of roofs or falling through the railings on upstairs porches and balconies. Fall against the railing shot and it would give way every time, like the carpenters of the Old West didn’t know shit about putting up railings. Bump against a railing shot, man, you’re going through it . . .

And here he was leaning against a railing himself, his head having come all the way around a hundred years back to now.

You could bump against this railing all you wanted. It was California redwood, bolted together, built solid. The drop was about the same as looking down from a hotel room on the twelfth floor he had stayed in one time. If you fell through like in a movie, you wouldn’t come close to that swimming pool. You’d hit on the slope partway down and from there it would be like falling down stairs, only you’d land in the scrub and shit where the coyotes hid. . . . Seeing this and thinking, Invite Chili Palmer out here.

Thinking, I don’t know why, Officer, but it just give way on him.

Catlett picked up the phone from a deck chair, punched a number for about the twentieth time today and got him. Damn. The Bear’s voice came on and Catlett said, “How you doing this evening?” having decided hours ago to be cool with the Bear, save his emotions.

“The guy faked them out,” the Bear said.

“This Chili Palmer you speaking of? I know that much.”

“You see on the news the drug bust at LAX? They picked up a guy from Miami. Alleged member of organized crime.”

“You watching the news?” Catlett said. “What else? Watch some sitcoms ’stead of calling me?”

“I had to take Farrah to Costa Mesa, to her mother’s. She had the news on and that’s when I saw it. Then I had to stay a while and visit, talk about how I’m always late with the check. I got back, I had to eat. I figured you’d have talked to Harry, found out

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what happened. But I didn’t actually give a shit if you did or not. I don’t work for you no more, or Ronnie. I quit.”

Catlett said, “This the man use to jump offa high buildings talking?”

“Into air bags,” the Bear said. “There’s no cushion under what you’re doing. I got responsibilities, I got Farrah to think about.”

“You always had Farrah. Took her on buys with you.”

“I’m out of it, Cat. Ronnie picked up two keys for Palm Desert. I’ll drop off the rest tomorrow morning and I’m done.”

“Been giving it serious thought, huh?”

“All the way down to Costa Mesa and back.”

“How ’bout we talk about it tomorrow? Tonight, later on, I got one for you doesn’t involve any heavy work. Chili Palmer’s staying with that woman, Karen? I need you to get me in the house.”

“I’m already an accessory on one count,” the Bear said. “You want to get in, bust a window.”

“I’m thinking she might have an alarm system.”

“Good, so don’t do it.”

“Something happened to you, huh? Like that tumble down the stairs shook you up.”

“Or straightened me out,” the Bear said. “It’s different. It isn’t like a stunt gag, you’re ready, you know what’s gonna happen. This guy doesn’t fool around, he comes right at you. You talked to him, yeah, but you don’t know him.”

Catlett said, “Uh-huh,” and said, “Bear, I had an idea. Listen to this.”

Making it sound as though he was starting over and they were still friends.

“You get your saw—no, get your wrench, and fix my deck railing to give way like they do in movies. You know what I’m saying? Like when the guy gets hit he falls against it and it gives way on him? All you do is loosen the bolts that hold the upright part of the rail to the deck. So then I invite Chili Palmer out here to look at my view. Get him to lean over the railing, see what’s down there . . . Huh? What you think?”

“This isn’t a movie, Cat. This guy’s real.”

“It could be done though. Sure, loosen some bolts. I can see it . . . Except how would I get him out here? So I better go in the woman’s house and do him. You helping me.”

There was a silence on the line before the Bear said, “I’m not gonna do it.”

“You sure?”

“I told you, I quit.”

“I hate being alone, Bear.”

“That’s too fucking bad.”

“I hate it so much, man, if I go down I’ll pleadeal you in. Give ’em this ace burglar now one of the West Coast dope kings, if they go easy on the Cat. You dig? Tell ’em where you live, where you keep the product, all that shit they love to hear.”

There was that silence again. This time all the Bear said was “Why?” in a quiet tone of voice.

“ ’Cause I’m a mean motherfucker,” Catlett said. “Why you think?” and hung up the phone.

It was fun playing with the Bear, putting fear in a man his size. Now forget him. He hadn’t needed the Bear to do Yayo or the gas station man in Bakersfield or the fools he did over business, the one in his car waiting at a light, the other one on his front

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steps. He didn’t sit down and plan doing those people. He saw the need and did them. Do this one the same way and don’t think so much, worrying if there was an alarm system in the house. Harry said Chili Palmer had come in the house at night. He didn’t say nothing about any alarm system going off. Chili