NOBLES HAD HIS GRIN READY. The door opened and he said, 'Well, look-it who's here, huh?'
He'd decided she would be all eyes, surprised as hell. But she wasn't. Or didn't act it. She gave him a stare like she wasn't going to move.
He said, 'Sugartit, I don't want to knock you down but I been in the car it seems like all day. I gotta go pee pee so bad I'm gonna be spitting in another minute. It just come on me.'
So she had to get out of his way--it was a fact, he would have picked her up and moved her--had to let him through to run down the hall to her bathroom.
Nobles loved it in here, it was full of perfume bottles, bath oils and powder in pale-colored boxes, all kinds of good-smelling stuff. He would like to look in her medicine cabinet sometime, poke around and find intimate things. It was so clean in here, no rust stains in the toilet or the washbasin. He looked around at all her girlish stuff relieving himself, groaning sighs and finally shuddered. Oh man.
She was still in the parlor, sitting at one end of the sofa now, her straw bag on her lap, legs crossed to show him her knee above the chrome coffee table. She seemed calm now, not drilling him with her eyes, though not with what he'd call a sweet expression, either.
He said, 'You glad to see me?'
Huh-uh, she didn't look too. She said to him, 'Richard, what are you doing here?' Calm and patient, like she was talking to a child.
He said, 'I missed you. Did you miss anybody?'
She said, 'What am I going to do with you, Richard?'
That was better. He gave her a grin. 'Well, let's see...'
She said, 'You're just a big loveable bear, aren't you?'
He had never thought of himself that way. Shit--a bear. He said, 'You got anything cold to drink? Man, I'm thirsty from sitting in that car.' He started for the dining room, all shiny glass and silver in there, to go through to the kitchen.
When she said, 'Richie?' and he glanced over, walking past her, he saw the pictures laid out on the coffee table, his own familiar self looking up at him and he stopped, not too thirsty anymore.
He put his hands on his hips. The first thing he thought to say was, 'Man, I would like to know what's going on--this guy taking my pitcher.' He squinted his eyes, looking up at Jean then. 'Wait a minute. How'd you get 'em?'
Jean said, 'Richard, you're priceless.'
'I want to know how you got 'em.'
'He gave them to me. How else?'
'What's he doing--he with a newspaper or what?'
'No, he's not with a paper. He goes out and takes pictures of people.' She seemed to think about it a moment, not quite sure. Then nodded. 'That's what he does.'
'You don't have to get permission?' Nobles said, indignant now. 'Just take pitchers of anybody you want?'
'Would you like to sue him? How about invasion of privacy?'
'Shit, it oughta be against the law.'
She said, 'You could go to the police...'
Wouldn't that be something. Get some cop he knew, like Glenn Hicks up in Boca, to come down on the scudder.
'Except they're going to find out about you anyway. He wants to give them a set of pictures.'
Nobles had to squint again, trying to see this business in his head. It was a queer feeling to know somebody had been watching every move he made, like every time he stepped out of the daylight darkness of that black car. He was right back where he started, asking, 'What in the hell's going on?' Asking, 'Who is he, anyway?'
Jean said, 'It's not so much who he is--his name is Joe LaBrava--but what he used to be. Joe was a Secret Service agent for nine years, Richard. He keeps his eyes open, doesn't miss a thing.'
Nobles felt just a little bit relieved and said, 'Hell, I know boys work as gover'ment agents. You help them out, they help you out. You work a deal.'
She said, 'Richie, do you know what you're talking about?'
He didn't like that bored goddamn ho-hum tone at all and she'd better watch it. He stayed calm though and listened. Heard her say:
'This man knows all about you. He knows you've been bothering me. He knows I can't discourage you, no matter how hard I try.'
Learning amazing things from her now.
'Wait. You told him that?'
And saw her eyes catch fire.
'I had to, you dummy. He saw you. He asked me about you.'
It stung him. But he kept his mouth shut and she seemed to settle back and it was quiet. He could hear the ocean.
She said, 'Why you came to the clinic--God, I'll never know.'
'I wanted to get you out of there.'
She said, 'Richard,' her normal calm self again, 'why do you think I got drunk? Why did I walk out of the bar? Do you know how long I had to wait for a police car? I thought I was going to have to go find one. Richard, before I left, what did I say?'
'The bar?'
'Before I walked out with the drink.'
'What'd you say? You said a lot of things.'
'I asked you not to drink so much.'
'I was keeping up with you is all.'
'I said trust me. Do you remember that?'
'Yeah, I remember.'
'I wrote it on a napkin. Trust me. And told you to put it in your pocket. Trust me and wait, I'll call you. The police drive me to the place in Delray. I have them call Maurice and he comes immediately, anxious to take care of me.'
'Yeah?'
'I stay with him. We talk. He feels even closer to me than before. He feels responsible for me. He wants to help me no matter what happens...'
'Yeah, but you didn't tell me any of that part--how you were gonna bring him in.'
'If you trust me, Richard, I don't have to tell you anything... Do I?'
'Well, you could a told me something. Shit, I didn't know.' He began to get tender feelings again, admiration. This little lady had put it all together, thought it up all by herself.
She said, 'What did you do, the night at the clinic, start a fight? I was afraid you'd get into something.'
'It was the guy, the one you're talking about. The scudder blindsided me while I'm talking to the girl there.'
'Well, you picked the wrong guy, Richard.'
'I didn't pick him--'
She said, 'Listen to me. All right?'
She could be so calm no matter what, keeping her voice low and a little bit husky. He would look at her and get that tender feeling and not care how old she was. She was good looking, she smelled good, had nice legs--that knee looking at him, a little thigh showing...
'You've brought a man into it,' she was telling him now, 'who knows how to watch people, how to follow them. He was onto you for days and you didn't see him, did you?'
'I wasn't looking especially.'
'Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. The police are going to get involved anyway, sooner or later, so maybe it doesn't make any difference. You're going to be the obvious suspect. Especially now. You've not only been bothering me, you've practically advertised--with pictures to prove it--you're into extortion, in one form or another.'
