was working.
“I told you I quit and I meant it.”
Telling him more than that.
“What’s wrong with me?” Catlett said. “You talked to Chili Palmer, didn’t you? Since you quit. When was it, last night? . . . This morning?”
The Bear didn’t answer, or have to, Catlett seeing the dumbass half-a-grin on the Bear’s face, trying to look wise, the Bear here because Chili Palmer was coming.
Catlett said, “Bear, I’m glad you stopped by,” and left him, went in the bedroom and got the big .45 out of the bureau where he’d put it, slipped it in the pocket of his dressing gown and had to keep hold of it on account of the gun’s weight and size. He heard two sounds then, as if timed to come one right after the other:
Heard a car drive up to the front.
And heard Marvin Gaye begin his “Star-Spangled Banner,” recorded at the Forum before an NBA All-Star game: Marvin’s soul version accompanied by a lone set of drums. Listen to it. A way to start this show by dawn’s early light. Marvin’s soul inspiring Catlett, setting his mood, telling him to be cool.
Chili found the house looking for a van parked in front, a little stucco Spanish ranch house, half two-car garage, it looked like, till he was inside and saw how the house was built out into space. Across the living room the doors to the deck were wide open. All he could see out there was sky starting to show light. He wanted to have a look and must have surprised Catlett and the Bear when he walked past them saying, “So this’s one of those houses you see way up hanging over the cliff.” Meaning from Laurel Canyon Drive. It didn’t get any kind of comment.
He half turned in the doorway, light behind him now, to see the Hawaiian Bear standing by a suitcase on the floor, Mr. Catlett in his bathrobe, hands shoved in the pockets, soul music coming from somewhere in the white living room. Hardly any color showing at five-thirty in the morning. White carpeting, white sectional pieces forming a square, white artwork on the walls that might have spots of color. Green plants showed dark, the suitcase on the floor, dark, Catlett’s face dark, his bare feet in the white carpeting dark. He would say he hadn’t been out of the house. It didn’t matter. Chili knew where to begin and was about to when he realized, Jesus Christ, it was the national anthem playing, some guy doing it as blues.
Chili got his mind back on Catlett and started over saying, “I’ve been shot at before—once by accident, twice on purpose. I’m still here and I’m gonna be here as long as I want. That means you’re gonna have to be somewhere else, not anywhere near me or Harry. If you understand what I’m saying I won’t have to pick you up and throw you off that fuckin balcony.”
“My turn,” Catlett said, feeling Marvin Gaye behind him and the big .45 in his right hand, inside the silky pocket.
He moved toward Chili Palmer saying, “You mean out there,
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man. You gonna try your rough stuff I want to move us off my seventy-bucks-a-yard carpeting, so it don’t get messed up.”
The way Chili Palmer stood looking at him Catlett thought he’d have to show the gun; but the man moved, walked out on the deck looking across to where the canyon road cut through to climb over into the Valley. Catlett glanced aside, motioning to the Bear to go out there too.
“Say you been shot at before,” Catlett said, following them out. “I can believe it. What I can’t understand is you’re not dead.”
“I been lucky,” Chili said, “but I’m not gonna press it. Okay, what can I do, go to the cops and complain? I read in the paper a guy was knocked off and dumped out’n the desert ’cause he was trying to ace this woman out of a movie deal and she had him killed. I was surprised—you know, it’s only a movie. But it’s high stakes, so I guess it can happen. I look at me and you in maybe the same kind of situation. I get shot at over it and I think, you bet your ass it can happen. But I’m in and you’re out. You understand? That’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“It cost forty million and some to make that movie,” Catlett said, “the one the guy was killed over. But you know what? The movie bombed, man, and everybody lost money. It’s high stakes and it’s high risk too. What I’m saying, I’m not gonna let you be in my way.”
He heard Marvin Gaye coming to “home of the brave,” the end of the anthem, and felt a need to hurry, get this done. Time to bring out the Hardballer and he did, putting it on Chili Palmer standing in the middle of the deck.
“You broke in my house and I have a witness to it,” Catlett said, glancing at the Bear. “Witness or accessory, I’ll go either way.” He said to Chili Palmer, standing there looking stupid in a purple Lakers T-shirt and suit pants, “Only no sound effects this time, huh? John Wayne and Dean Martin shooting bad guys in
“It was
“Robert Mitchum was the drunk in
Chili couldn’t tell if Catlett believed him or not, but it was true. He had won five bucks off Tommy Carlo one time betting which movie Dean Martin was in. He could mention it though he doubted it would interest Catlett much. So he got down to what this was all about and said to him, “Okay, you win. I go back to Miami and you become the mogul, how’s that? I’m not gonna argue with anybody holding a gun on me.” The biggest fuckin automatic he’d ever seen in his life. “I’ll leave today. You want, you can see me get on the plane.” Catlett kept pointing the gun, but with a fairly calm look on his face. Chili had a feeling the guy was going to say okay, go. And then maybe threaten that if he ever saw him again . . .
But it was the Bear, for Christ sake, who got into it then, the Bear saying, “I’m a witness, Cat. Go ahead, do it.” And Chili saw the gun barrel come up an inch or so to point right at his chest.
“You don’t have to,” Chili said, “I’m telling you. It’s not worth it, man.”
That fuckin Bear, now what was he doing? Taking Catlett by the arm, telling him, “You got to
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set it up, have a story for when they ask you how it happened. If I’m in it, I won’t do it any other way. It’s like I used to choreograph fight scenes,” the Bear said. “You’re over there and he’s coming at you. You don’t want to shoot him and he knows it. So you keep backing away till the last second and you don’t have any choice.”
“Like I say, ‘I warned him, Officer,’ ” Catlett said, getting into it, “ ‘but he kept coming at. me . . .’ Hey, but he should have a weapon, a knife or something.”
“We’ll get it later,” the Bear said. “He’s here . . .” The Bear took Chili’s shoulders in both hands and moved him two steps back, toward the door, then motioned to Catlett. “You’re around on that side. Yeah, right there. Okay, now you start backing away. Go ahead.”
Catlett said, “You worked this in a movie, huh?”
“Now you go toward him,” the Bear said to Chili.
Chili didn’t move. He said, “You’re out of your fuckin mind,” and tried to turn, get out of there, but the Bear got behind him to grab hold of his shoulders again.
“This’s okay where he is,” the Bear said to Catlett. “You understand why we’re doing this. You see it happen, you’re able to remember each step when you tell it.”
Chili watched Catlett, about five feet from the railing, the view of Laurel Canyon behind him, give the Bear a nod. “Don’t worry, man.”
“Okay, when I say go,” the Bear said, “I duck out of the way. Give it two beats and move to the railing, quick, you’re desperate now. Grab it with your hand, turn and press your back against it for support as you aim the piece with both hands. You ready?”
Catlett nodded, half turned, ready.
“Go!”
Chili wanted to turn, make a dive for the living room, but the Bear was still behind him, his big arms going around him tight and he couldn’t twist free, couldn’t move because the Bear hadn’t moved, the Bear not even trying to get out of the way.
