Unknown Man #89

“You don’t know how glad I was to see you.” In her white bikini panties now in the lamplight, taking off her work shirt, very natural about it, but still keyed up and in her mind, concerned about him, no bra, good, those neat breasts, white, and the slim tan body, hooking her thumbs in the panties now. He loved the word girl. She was a girl. She was more than that, way more, someone who talked to him with quiet awareness in her eyes, the person in there looking out as they looked at each other and talked and didn’t have to finish sentences-which was beyond his comprehension, to feel natural, more himself, because of a closeness to someone else-but what made it even better, he was always conscious of her girlness. He wanted to touch her and hold her, and when he did he couldn’t touch and hold her enough.

“What’re you waiting for?”

“I’ll be right back.” She went out of the room, still in her panties. Ryan lay back, settling his head on the pillow.

He began to think of Raymond again, what Raymond would do if he hadn’t been picked up-Raymond out there loose, reporting to his keeper, and Mr. Perez throwing him a fried shrimp and patting him on the head. Jesus, call the police and get those two put in a cage, quick.

No, he had to hear from Virgil first. If Virgil got the papers, the list-okay, then call the police. If he didn’t-shit, then what? Get Raymond arrested, involve Mr. Perez if that was possible. Go on. And Mr. Perez fingers you as an accomplice. Or he doesn’t get arrested but says fuck this, it isn’t worth it, and takes off. And nobody ever gets to touch the hundred and fifty thousand. Sitting there.

He had to quit thinking. Or else call Virgil right now.

“I stuffed newspaper in your shoes so they wouldn’t curl up,” Denise said, coming into the room as he rolled out of bed. “Where you going?”

“I got to make a phone call.”

“You always talk on the phone naked?”

“Not always.” He thought of Virgil, his hat shading his face, Virgil doing something, letting the phone ring. Virgil not home yet. There was a click. The voice said, “How you doing?”

“The other way around,” Ryan said. “How’d you do?”

“Say ten thousand, huh, for all this paper?”

Ryan let his breath out, relieved, all the worrying for nothing. “You got it.”

“Yeah, I got it. I’m looking at it.”

“Any problems?”

“No problems,” Virgil said, “some questions in my mind. Like what is it in here worth the money? Worth how much?”

Ryan felt himself tense. He kept his voice calm, though. “You said ten thousand, your figure, right? I said I wasn’t going to argue with you. Remember?”

“I remember how easy you said it. Worth ten thousand to you.”

“I agreed with you. Why argue?”

“But maybe worth more, huh?”

“I thought we made a deal. You holding me up now, seeing if you can get more?”

“I’m asking you, worth how much?” Virgil said. “Or worth how much to somebody else?”

There it was. Ryan came up with a pretty good imitation of a laugh. He said, “Hey, you want to see if you can get some bids? You don’t even know what you’re selling.”

“But you know,” Virgil said, “and so does the man used to have it. Think about can you go any higher than ten and maybe I’ll call you back.”

“You want to discuss it,” Ryan said, “okay, but I’ve got to see what you’ve got first. Virgil?” He was saying it as Virgil hung up.

Ryan got a cigarette from the counter and lit it going into the bedroom. The lamp was turned off, Denise was in bed.

“Virgil’s holding us up.”

“He got the papers?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s got, but he thinks it’s worth more than ten.”

“Why don’t you come to bed?”

He stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand and got in next to her.

“Warm me,” Denise said.

“I should’ve known better, handing him something like that.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore tonight, okay?” Denise said, moving close to him.

“You know who he’s gonna call now.”

“Let’s not talk about anything unless, you know, you want to say something… good.”

“You feel good.”

“So do you,” Denise said in the darkness. “I know the feel of you now. I could be blindfolded and pick you out in a crowd, you know that? In a locker room at the Y. I’d feel my way along, just feeling arms and maybe chests. I love to touch your chest… and your flat stomach, and your… thigh.” She waited. “Where are you?”

“You haven’t said that in a while.”

“I’m not saying it for me this time, I’m saying it for you. Where are you?”

“I’m here.”

“No, you aren’t,” Denise said, “not yet. But I’m going to get you here.” She did, too, touching him and saying, close to him in the darkness, “What do we need?”

“Here we go,” Virgil said.

“Here you go,” Tunafish said. “You doing it.”

Virgil picked up the phone and dialed a number, glancing at the phone book open next to him. The suitcase and most of the papers were on the floor of Virgil’s living room. The Gideon Bible was on the coffee table. The picture of the cat on the boat with the busted mast and the storm coming was on the wall over Virgil’s hi-fi system. He had given the .32 Beretta to Tunafish, making him take it.

Tunafish watched Virgil. He wanted a smoke, but Virgil didn’t have any. He didn’t like it at all, getting into something else now, thinking each time, Okay, when it’s over he won’t need me no more. Then Virgil would call him again. Add them up, the things he was in.

Shooting Lonnie.

Following the man. Getting nothing for it.

Stealing the other man’s papers.

Add stealing the panel truck for shooting Lonnie.

Stealing the papers. What else?

Having the man’s gun in his pocket.

Now some other shit going down.

Virgil said, “Yeah, 1705, please.”

Add what the police didn’t know about him, Tunafish was thinking, to what they did know. Right now, extortion, Bonzie’s idea, making the phone calls to the mamas: bring money to save their little girls. Tunafish saw himself in shit up to his chin with the chance of it covering his head any day now. The police kept worrying him about the extortion, telling him what Jackson would be like for the next three to five. Asking him which mamas was it he had called and which Bonzie had called, asking him what did he want to hang around with Bonzie for, asking him how Virgil was doing, slipping Virgil in, asking if he’d seen Virgil lately. Asking did he want to tell them anything was bothering his mind.

“Line’s busy,” Virgil said, his hand over the phone. He straightened in his chair then, getting ready. “No, she can ring now.” Virgil waited, then seemed to smile. “Who am I speaking to, please?”

“Who do you want?”

Tunafish, sitting in his leather coat, deep in a chair, could hear the man’s voice.

“You the man lost something this evening?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I lost something.”

“Well, I’m selling scrap paper,” Virgil said. “Paper that’s gonna get scrapped if nobody wants to buy it. You dig?”

Mr. Perez placed a call to the Elmwood Motel in Windsor, Room 115.