XXVI
They were waiting for Nudger by his car, around the corner from Fat Jack's. Frick and Frack. His stomach growled something that sounded like 'Please, noooo!' He considered turning and running, even though they'd seen him and could easily overtake him. Fear and memory churned around in his gut like something alive and violent. He tried to fight it down; it wouldn't stay.
Nudger figured the best way to deal with this was to walk on to his car and try to hide his fright. His aches from his previous beating seemed to flare up now that he was in the proximity of perpetrators Frick and Frack. He wished he'd stayed in Fat Jack's office and opted for Livingston instead of being here now, walking like a school kid toward two class bullies.
At first Nudger thought the little red subcompact had a flat tire. Then he saw that its left front side was six inches lower than the right because Frick had one of his gigantic feet resting on the bumper. When Nudger got closer the car bobbed level as Frick removed the foot, straightened up, and both men stood facing him squarely, not smiling, waiting for him.
'Don't worry, my friend,' Frick told him. 'None of the rough persuasion this time.'
'Nice of you to let my internal bruises heal,' Nudger said, stopping a safe five feet from the two men. His voice hadn't squeaked as much as he'd feared. Traffic continued to flow past where the car was parked; a few drivers slowed down to gawk at the impressive bulk of Frick and Frack, then drove on in a hurry, hoping they hadn't offended with their slackened speed and curious glances, praying their engines wouldn't stall.
'Ain't you gonna have one of those little white things you chew?' Frack asked. He shifted his body to the side and dropped his shoulder slightly, as if ready to throw a stiff left jab, trying to appear more menacing. He didn't need the theatrics; he'd probably menaced his mother's obstetrician upon emergence from the womb.
Nudger obliged him by thumbing an antacid tablet directly from the roll into his mouth. 'What's this about?' he asked, chomping loudly, as if noise might bluff away his uneasiness.
'Mr. Collins said you and he need to talk,' Frick said.
'About what?'
Frick did smile now. 'What difference does it make? Mr. Collins wants a word, my friend, and you can find out what that word is about when he decides to tell you. That's the way it is with Mr. Collins.'
'Who am I to break tradition?' Nudger said. He wouldn't push things. He couldn't be sure if Frick and Frack knew about Ineida's disappearance. He would bet that they did, and they were here for that reason. But it seemed unwise to try to anticipate David Collins, so Nudger stayed silent.
'Get in the car,' Frack instructed.
Nudger glanced around. 'What car? Where is it parked?'
'We're going in your car,' Frick said. 'That way you won't have to take a cab back to your hotel. You drive.'
Nudger didn't argue with such uncompromising consideration. They watched as he unlocked the car. Frick sat in front next to him, knees cranked up almost beneath his chin. Frack was somehow packed into the back-seat area, his huge knees digging into Nudger's back through the thin upholstery of the tiny bucket seat.
'Don't them seats go up farther so I got more room?' Frack asked.
Frick reached down awkwardly, yanked a lever. Instead of moving forward, his seatback slammed backward as far as it would go into the reclining position. It could only go halfway because it hit Frack, who grunted in surprise and pain and shoved the seatback forward again violently, almost causing Frick to strike his head on the windshield.
'Christ!' Frick said. 'Easy.'
'You guys are too big for this car,' Nudger told them, when the subcompact had stopped rocking.
'Fuck it,' Frack said. 'Drive. We'll give you directions.'
Nudger drove. Less than an hour later, the dwarf auto labored up the long driveway of a plush and rambling Spanish-style house several miles outside the city. It was all stucco and rough-sawn timber, painted white with dark-stained trim. Each end of the wide house was marked by a chopped-off kind of guard tower with small rectangular windows. Just the place for Rapunzel if she were twins. Flowering bougainvillea had crawled halfway up one of the towers and bloomed a wild riot of color, floral anarchists trying to escape from the neatly manicured green shrubbery around the foundation. There was a circular driveway that ran beneath a tile-roofed portico before tall, dark-stained wood front doors adorned with black iron. Beyond the house, where the ground sloped up gradually toward a distant chain-link fence, a gardener was working slowly but diligently with a shovel, piling earth off to the side in a neat mound. Nudger tried not to think of what he might be digging.
The red subcompact strained and clattered up to the crest of the driveway. The overheated little radiator sighed in relief as Nudger obeyed Frick's instructions and parked beneath the portico and finally switched off the engine.
Nudger felt like part of one of those circus acts where a dozen or so clowns pile out of a tiny parked car. What Frick and Frack lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in poundage.
Frick and Nudger stood waiting patiently outside while Frack grunted and growled and levered his contorted body loose from the back of the car. Nudger wondered how he could explain to the rental company how the car had gotten stretched. Did the insurance form he'd signed cover that? As if angry at the car for being small, Frack slammed the door so hard the window almost popped out.
With Nudger between them, the two big men stepped up on the porch, pushed open the doors without knocking, and entered the house; they were familiar with their imposing surroundings, and they had returned with what they'd been sent to get.
The interior of the house was as plush as the exterior suggested it would be. There were acres of tiled floor, expensive-looking throw rugs, heavy Spanish-style furniture, ornately framed oils hung on the sand-finished walls. Nothing seemed to be used or worn in the slightest; it was as if professional decorators had placed the furnishings just so and then left things to be dusted lightly by someone every few days.
Frick led the way down a hall, through a door, and down a flight of wide, brightly lighted stairs. Another door opened into what Nudger assumed was the house's basement level. He was beginning not to like this.
They walked down another hall, this one lined with more paintings. These were unlike the traditional oils upstairs; they were modern, canvases splashed with indecipherable forms that were somehow ominous. Jackson Pollock possessed by Poe.
Frick stopped near a bend of the hall, stepped to the side, and motioned for Nudger to turn the corner first.
Nudger did, not without apprehension, and there was a small, dark-haired man sitting in one of half a dozen black leather chairs in a large, carpeted room.
Unlike upstairs, this room was comfortably sloppy. The walls were lined with shelves cluttered with various collectibles: glass curios, antique steel banks, some old cast- iron toys, several rows of antique jars. There was a big-screen TV in one corner, its viewing area a bored, opaque eye. In another corner a bar was set up. There were telephones sitting about like ashtrays; nobody would have to get up from any of the plushy upholstered black chairs in order to take a call. A well-fed yellow cat lounged on the arm of a black sofa, its head turned and drawn back tightly to stare at Nudger with calm disdain, as if on its list of things due respect, Nudger ranked far below litter box. New Orleans had no shortage of cats, and they all seemed to share the same low opinion of Nudger.
The dark-haired man saw Nudger and stood up. He was medium height, broad-shouldered yet very thin, younger- looking than Nudger had anticipated, with an even-featured face that was handsome despite deep acne scars that mottled his cheeks. He looked at Nudger with rather large, clear brown eyes. His expression was the same as the cat's. So was his complexion; his flesh had a yellowish tinge to it. He said, 'Sit down, Mr. Nudger.' His voice carried just the hint of a lisp.
As he spoke, a tall, chestnut-haired woman, who'd been sitting outside Nudger's range of vision, stood up.
'I'll be back in a few hours, darling,' she said to the yellowish man and strutted from the room, regal and brassy as a showgirl. She appeared to have been crying, but it probably served to make her more beautiful, human as well as statuesque. Mrs. Collins?
As the door closed behind the woman, Frick placed a hand on Nudger's shoulder and guided him to one of the
