Look what you turn it into.”
“He threw down on me,” I said.
“None of this had to happen.”
“He threw down on me,” I said. “Next time he’ll have to do it lefty.”
“You’re a goddamn psycho. I had a dog like you, I’d have it put down. The only reason you’re living is, Halliday wouldn’t like I killed someone he didn’t say to. You come at him again, or me, and I’ll forget what Halliday wouldn’t like. Now get going.”
I let him have the curtain line. He hadn’t said anything inaccurate. His colleague was still out, making wet snoring noises. I turned and headed back for my car. In front of the entryway, I saw what looked like a little brocade package on the sidewalk. Lotus Blossom had run out when she heard the shots, hadn’t liked what she’d seen, and had hunkered down hugging her legs, her head tucked against her knees. As my footsteps came closer, her head came up slowly, like someone was pulling it up on a string. Her shiny black eyes were the size of hubcaps, and her mouth was open.
“I think your right profile’s your best,” I said as I went by.
I had a card for an after-hours place in Gardena, and I went there and stayed until past three, drinking and trying to cool down. I was still asleep next morning when someone started hammering on my front door. I opened my eyes and watched the knob shiver. I was too tired to swear. The drapes were shut. A smart guy, even a half- smart guy, would have pretended nobody was home. I pulled on some pajama pants and opened the door. Two neatly dressed men with guns backed me smoothly into the room. Neither of them stood higher than my chin, but they didn’t seem to have a complex about it. One had a very round head and the other had light green eyes with rusty brown hair, the kind that makes ridges. Aside from that, they were nondescript, the way men like that ought to be. “Someone wants to talk to you,” the round-headed one said, almost pleasantly. “Let’s go.”
I stood there scratching my belly and staring. Then I turned around and walked back to my bed. “Nuts,” I said, climbing in. “You didn’t come to shoot me, or it’d be done. So you must want to tell me something or ask me something. Either way, I can hear you from here.”
I closed my eyes.
“They told us you were a cutie,” the green-eyed one said. “I guess we were warned.”
“If you came here to tell me I’m cute, consider me told. Close the door on your way out, and tell your boss I’m tired of waltzing with his punks.”
“We’re not Halliday’s boys,” the round-headed one said. “We’re not as easy as Halliday’s boys. C’mon, let’s go.”
I fixed up the pillow again and got comfortable.
“You know your problem?” Round Head said. “One of ‘em? You make more of things than you oughta. My guess is, what we’re discussing here? Is ten minutes of conversation. No lie. You could be back in your own little bed while the blankets’re still warm.” I heard him hit a few licks at random on my typewriter.
“Don’t do that with no paper in,” I told him, opening my eyes. “It’s bad for the platen.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m always after my kids to quit monkeying around with ours.” He picked the typewriter up one-handed by the frame, swung it around, and held it out at arm’s length. The floor was linoleum over concrete slab. No give. Ten bucks would’ve bought me another typewriter just as good, but this was the one I’d used to write everything I’d ever tried to write. And I didn’t have ten bucks to spare. I climbed back out of bed and said, “Let me get some clothes on.”
“You’re beautiful just the way you are,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Green Eyes walked beside me and Round Head followed behind as I slopped out the front door and past the office to the parking lot, barefoot and naked except for a pair of old pajama bottoms. It was a pretty day. I had that feeling in my gut you have when somebody’s about to do something, maybe you, maybe not. There was a long cream Caddy in the lot, the windows tinted almost black. Green Eyes opened the door and I climbed inside. Through the murk I could see Round Head leaning back over the front seat, tracking me with his gun. The man in the back seat was about thirty-five, a solid, compactly made man whose face didn’t fit. It was narrow and all jaw. You could have plowed the North Forty with it. He wore a sharkskin suit with lapels that were almost too wide, but not quite, and a look of mild disbelief that seemed to be permanent. The door thudded shut behind me and the Caddy eased away from the curb and slipped into traffic like it was slipping into a warm bath. The man said, “What happened last night at the Jade Mountain?”
I said, “What makes it your business?”
The look of mild disbelief didn’t change. “You know who I am?”
“No.”
“I’m Lenny Scarpa.”
“Okay, I know who you are. Everybody says the nicest things about you, too.”
“What happened last night?”
“What the hell makes it your business?” I said. “You drag me out of my bed, eight in the morning, the head nun come to spank me with a ruler. C’mon, buddy, youse are goin’ fer a ride. Jesus, you must love old movies. Ask me a civil question and I might answer it, but right now? I’ve got no reason in the world to talk to you.”
Scarpa glanced at Round Head, amused.
“What,” I said, “the gun? What good’s the gun? All you can do with it is shoot me or club me, and either way, your question goes unanswered.”
“You think I couldn’t make you sorry?”
“If you’re Lenny Scarpa, I hope to God you got better things to do than ride around Hawthorne making me sorry.”
“These guys,” he told the roof of the car. “There’s a place someplace, and out comes these guys, and they come to me.”
He began to laugh.
“
“Not at all, my son,” I said. “And what can I do for you today?”
“What the goddamn happened at Jade Mountain?”
“Job interview.”
“Take him someplace and hurt him,” he told Round Head.
“That’s the house number,” I said, grinning. “Why wouldn’t it be? Halliday thought he could maybe use me. My own manners must’ve been poor. He told his punks to lean on me. I leaned back.”
“You tailed him there from the Centaur.”
“I wasn’t going to make my play in front of a room full of people who think he’s an independent producer.”
“Why would you want to work for him?”
“I need a job.”
“It adds up,” he admitted. “You’re just the kind of Mau-Mau Halliday likes. Wild. No control. You know, those guys, they’re both still in County General, and one of ‘em’s prob’ly ruined.” He sat there, thinking it over. He gave me the look while he was at it. He did it pretty well. I still thought I should be getting a professional discount. Then he fished in his breast pocket, brought out a deck of cards, and shuffled them expertly without looking. He fanned them and held them out to me.
It was a Tarot deck. The card I picked showed a man standing on one foot in front of a tree. Then I saw I had it wrong way up. The man was dangling head-down from a branch by a rope around his ankle, his hands tied behind his back. He looked like he wanted to go back a few bars and take it from the bridge. “That’s your significator,” Scarpa said. “The Hanged Man, reversed. Huh. I would’ve guessed the Fool.”
“You think those cards’ll tell you the truth?” I said, handing it back.
He shrugged, tucking the deck away. “I never heard of anything or anybody that’ll tell you the truth. But I’ll buy your story.”
