Normal? For that read abnormal.
I stood watching the shore line. I had only a few dollars now. Rescued by a homicidal child, supported by a prostitute. And now leant on by a dog that was still trembling with fright. The cut on its face was about a tenth of an inch, the worm.
Tye had gone. Prunella had gone. All right, Magda lied—she’d told me she wouldn’t try to contact Tye. But she’d come to warn me.
Zole came, threw Sherman some unspeakable protein, and passed me a glass. I tasted gingerly. Wine.
“Hey, ma man. Whyn’t you ball Magda? See, ifn you stick each other, we’s team animals, right?”
I turned to inspect him, leaning over the glittering dark river. He was hardly out of nappies, and listen to his language.
“Where’d you get the automatic, Zole?”
“Bought it. Cheaper’n N’York.”
“There could have been another accident. What if the safety catch hadn’t been on?”
He snorted scorn. “Ain’t no safeties on revolvers, Lovejoy. On automatics, sure. This wasn’t no ’matic magna.”
I scrutinized him. “You ever shoot anybody before, Zole?”
“Nope. ’Cept a numbers drek near East 43rd one time.” He showed a scar on his shoulder, pulling his shirt down for me to see. “Got cut bad bad, man. Dee bee recoil, y’know?”
He reached down and embraced Sherman, now wolfing the meat. Drinkers whooped by, yelling something about going fishing.
“Lovejoy? Tye comin’ after us?”
That hadn’t occurred to me. Leaving me to face Hirschman’s hoodlums was one thing. But would Tye hunt me down? Zole saw clearer than I.
“Dunno, Zole.”
“Then what’s the plan, ma man?”
“Yes, Lovejoy. What’s the plan?”
Magda. Another tour boat creamed out of the darkness with lights and music, paddle wheels splashing. People waved and shouted, and our lot waved and hollered. Zole took a bead on the bridge and went, “Pow-pow-pow!” I almost clipped his ear as correction but thought better of it.
“I’ll tell you the story, love. See if you know.”
Zole went and brought drinks for us both while I told my tale, every detail, including the phony scripts, how I’d tried to bring in a number of fake pages to prove to Gina I’d combed the kingdom for the Sherlock grailer. I explained that would expose Moira Hawkins as a fraud, so allowing Gina the chance to eliminate Moira from the gamesters. I spoke with grievance. I’d done well by Gina. And now Tye makes a mistake like this, almost gets me killed.
“Why, Lovejoy?” Magda asked when I’d done.
“He
“Well, see, Magda, it’s like this…” Like what? Nothing came to help. “It’s complicated, see? It’s raising millions from antiques and art —”
“So?” She lit a rare cigarette and smiled wrily when I moved to windward. “So why her people let you get killed when you raisin’ so good?”
“Wastin’ yo’ time, Magda. He but
“Shut your face. Magda, I think she said something about…”
Magda shook her head slowly. “I’ll say for her. She’s the hots for Denzie Brandau, right? Along comes Moira Hawkins with the big dig, the dream scheme. Dumb Denzie falls for Moira’s play — that president crap—leaving Gina washing the coffee things. See? So she minds to wreck Moira Hawkins’s gran’ plan.”
“But…” But that wouldn’t explain Tye’s failure to come and protect me from Damski Hirschman’s goons, would it?
“Gina Aquilina gets your pages, like you sent. She has them tested. Sure, they’re dud. She’s all the evidence she needs to confront Denzie Brandau and Moira Hawkins. So out goes Moira. And guess who that leaves to pick up Denzie’s daisies?”
“So Gina withdraws Tye Dee… ?”
And the peanut eaters, and the plane from New Orleans. And the bank credits I was using. And Prunella. And the rest of my little circus. A dead man wouldn’t need helpers. Yet I’d been successful. If Gina was sure that she and Nicko would win the California Game, she’d be sure of snaffling Denzie Brandau as well once he ditched the shadowy Moira. Plus his big run at the presidency, with Gina his First Lady, perhaps after Sophie had bought some tragic but convenient accident?
“Lovejoy,” Zole said. “How you
I counted out my few dollars, watched by them both. “That’s it. I’ll understand if you cut and run.”
“See how dumb he really is?”
“Stop talking, Zole,” Magda said evenly. And the lad subsided. I didn’t believe it. Never listens to a word I say, but heeds her matter-of-fact shush. “I haven’t got much more, Lovejoy.”
