“Sure.”
“Very interesting,” he added, “that you react like so. Why do you not like Nevada?”
“No reason,” I muttered, shifting a little. “Let’s get on with this.”
“Of course, of course,” he said. “Just curious, that is all. Why you react that way?”
“It doesn’t matter, okay?”
“Okay with me.” From the bar, I could see the heavy-set man, indicating it was okay with him also. “You pay me three thousand dollars now and rest when we deliver documents. Everything will be ready in one week.”
I tossed a wad of bills on the table. He sat back down and counted them, all two thousand dollars.
He shrugged. “Bien,” he said. “Acceptable. We give you new identity in one week. Have you thought about old one?”
“What do you mean?”
“Very simple,” he explained. “If old identity were to die, make it less likely that new identity will be looked for.”
“I still don’t get it.” But I did-I got every damn bit of it.
“For fifteen thousand American dollars Johnny Lane could die in car accident.”
I didn’t say anything. Even though I knew where he was heading, it stunned me. Because maybe I had been-
“Body burnt beyond recognition,” he continued. “Wallet and passport left with body, and as far as United States concerned, Johnny Lane dies in tragic accident. No need to search for him. Very good bargain, believe me.”
“Who will you get to play me?”
“Does not matter. Body will not be examined closely. I make sure of that.”
From the doorway I could see Marge walking by. Her head turned, and as she caught sight of me she did a double take. With a nervous smile, she squeezed through the bar area and made her way to our table.
“I was just coming back from shopping and saw you sitting here, Johnny. I bought an itsy-bitsy bikini. Maybe we can go to the pool later and you can let me know what you think?”
She shot Hawknose a glance, and he shrunk back in his chair looking a little startled. She said nervously, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Just an old college buddy. Look, why don’t you go try that on? I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
“You better.” She pouted, but it was forced. She was uneasy with my company. She reached over and gave me a kiss, letting it linger. As she pulled away her eyes flashed. She gave Hawknose a curt nod, then turned and walked out of the lobby, letting her hips sway to an exaggerated beat as she moved.
“Excellent,” Hawknose exclaimed, nodding admiringly. “Very shrewd to bring her. Her body will be found only little bit burnt, yours like . .. . charcoal. It will be, as you say, open and shut case. Tragic jeep accident while riding to mountains. Very good, we do it for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
I shook my head involuntarily.
“No?” he asked. “I do not understand. Why you bring her then?” That couldn’t be the reason. But why had I brought Marge?
“I see.” He smiled. “Okay, let us not haggle. Twenty thousand dollars. We got deal, no?”
“No!” It couldn’t have been for our nightly tumbles, though. I never have any problems meeting gals for that. Just step in a bar and smile. But if I didn’t bring her for that, could it be possible I . . . .
Looking perturbed, Hawknose turned to the heavy-set man who shrugged and scratched his head. He was going to try to argue with me, but something about my look told him it was no use. “Okay. If you change your mind, contact me. We do it for same price. Trust me, nothing to worry about, but could be if you don’t get smart.”
He stood up and gave me a sour look, and then followed his associate from the lobby.
I ordered a drink, then another, and before long it would’ve been cheaper to have bought the bottle. Sometimes it’s hard to understand why you do certain things. You think it’s for one reason, but all you’re really doing is just playing along. Maybe deep down you understand, maybe not, but when the time is right it all comes straight out of you. You end up reacting like a cold-blooded automaton, doing what you were meant to do from the start. Maybe I had planned that for Marge. Maybe I just hadn’t realized it yet.
* * * * *
By the time I left the lobby I could’ve flown to my room because that’s how high I was. I guess I must’ve been wobbling a bit. When Marge saw me she turned up her nose in disgust and told me I was drunk. I grabbed a bottle of rye and made my way to the bed. I almost cried when I saw the bottle was already three-quarters empty.
“That guy gave me the creeps,” she said, wrinkling her upturned nose. “Who is he?”
“Santa Claus,” I said, taking a swig. “Going to be bringing us bag loads of presents. But you’ll only get yours if you’re extra good. What are you going to do to be extra good?”
“You’re stinking drunk!” She reached for the bottle, but I was quicker. “What are trying to do?” I asked her. “Make me spill some? That’s not being extra good.”
“I didn’t come here to lie around this crummy hotel room with you all day,” she said. “That’s all we’ve done and I’m sick of it!”
Not as sick as I was, I could guarantee her that. I took another swallow of rye, hoping it would dull the red- hot poker jabbing around in my stomach.
“I got fired!” she shouted, veins streaking down her neck. It made me kind of sad seeing that, because it made her look so damn worn-out, and she had no right looking that unattractive.
I guess it also made me a little mean. “You can hardly blame them,” I said. “You can’t say you didn’t deserve what you got.”
Her mouth gaped open. The black hole slowly closed and she took a step back. “That’s a pretty rotten joke.”
“What can I say? I’m only as good as my material.”
She studied me quietly and then took a step forward, apprehension pulling at her mouth. “Let’s not fight, Johnny. I’m sick of fighting. I want to do things with you, not just sit here all day and watch you get drunk. I hate this lousy fleabag hotel.”
“Yeah, well,” I said. “Honey, we’ve all got crosses to bear. You’re stuck in a lousy fleabag. And I’m stuck with a lousy fleabag.”
“You dirty drunken-” She pulled back and took a swing at me and then broke down crying. Her face got flabbier and more creased until it was looking worse than a sharpei’s rear. Even though neither of us moved, she seemed to be gliding away from me, her face shrinking to a small white point. And then there was nothing. Even the sounds of her bawling faded away.
* * * * *
I spent the next three days apologizing. She took it quietly, mumbling stuff about it all being forgotten, but making sure I knew how good and sore she was.
It took about all I had keeping her quiet at night, and I just didn’t have anything left to persuade her with during the day. By morning, I couldn’t do much else but spend my time curled on the bed trying to hold my stomach together.
Sometime Thursday afternoon whatever was heating up inside her boiled over. She slapped a bottle out of my hand and stood over me, glaring.
“Aw, Marge,” I said. “Why’d you go and do that? How many times do I gotta say I’m sorry? Come on, be a good little gal and get me that.”
“Lover, it’s time for you to get out of bed. You’re taking me out to dinner tonight. I made the reservations and I don’t want to hear a damn word about it. You better get up and take a shower.”
When a gal’s got murder in her eyes, you listen. As I was closing the door to the shower, she screamed, “And lover, my name’s Margo. M-A-R-G-O! Quit calling me Marge!”
* * * * *
The place Marge dragged me to was this marble mausoleum where you had to tip a half-dozen folks before you even sat down. Once you were seated the show really began; three attendants stood beside your table like propped-up corpses.
One guy seemed to be eyeing our water glasses, and I was pretty sure his job was to keep the water at a
