He'd told himself well, he wasn't doing it, Richard was. The trick then would be to keep from thinking about it, put it out of his mind in Paris, France, with $150,000, push it way away. Except he'd seen a man killed one time, shot dead. He'd had nothing to do with it, it was a crazy insane mother-fucker name of Bobby Lear who'd stuck his piece in the man's car window and shot the man two, three times while the man's little boy about 3 years old sat on the seat with his big eyes wide open. Then somebody later on had shot Bobby Lear in the Montclair Hotel and that was fine, helping to make the streets safe again. But seeing somebody shot in real life was not anything like seeing them shot in the movies. That business with the .38 Smith? Saying to Louis nobody was gonna stand in his way if it meant going to Jackson? That was two kids saying how far they could spit. Back on the stool with his rum drink, Ordell said to himself, Could you see it, pulling a trigger on the woman, really for true? Then how come he'd thought it was all right for Richard to pull the trigger?
Something had been wrong with his head after talking to the tall chick he should've left in the ocean. That would've been different and not too hard to do with the tall chick. But he wouldn't have to've done that either. He just had to think of another idea. Or go back to the original million-dollar idea and not let the tall chick mess up his mind. Tell her, Hey, shit, I'm doing it. Bug the fuck off. She was something though--my. He went out to the phone in the lobby again and called her at Fairway Manor.
'What's happening?'
'Just a sec.'
She always was saying just a sec when he called and would be gone before he could stop her.
'Wanted to see if he's awake yet,' Melanie said. 'He's been in the bag for two days now, drinking and taking little nappies.'
'His wife--' Ordell said, 'Nothing happened to her.'
'I know. She called this morning,' Melanie said. 'How come?'
'You talk to her--she's home?'
'If you don't know that,' Melanie said, 'I think I've got the wrong party. What happened?'
'The man was supposed to do it's no longer with us,' Ordell said. 'But listen to me. I want to talk to you, get a few things straightened out.'
'What I don't understand,' Melanie said, 'if she's home, how come you're still here?'
'I'm saying to you I want to talk.'
'Okay, we will.' Very laid-back, no problem. 'But not right now, okay? This guy's like a fucking yoyo. Up, he keeps telling me what a dynamite success he is, how much money he's making all the time. Then he dives and takes a guilt trip for awhile. I've got to get his head on straight and then I'll be in touch. Okay?'
'You want him straightened,' Ordell said, 'I'll hold him over the balcony by his feet, straighten him some. I can hold you off it too, girl, or we can go out in the boat. Call Cedric to come in from the airport where he's sitting. You understand what I'm saying?'
'Hey, Ordell?' Melanie said. 'I love you when you're pissed off, but don't get so hot-blooded, okay? Let me work something out and I'll come over and see you later.' Melanie paused and said quietly, 'Ordell?'
'What?'
'You ever do it Florentine style?'
Frank lay in bed as though wounded, staring, the sheet twisted about his lower body, a leg exposed, arms lifeless at his sides. He was thinking that if there were Japanese investors would they bring their clubs or would he have to get clubs for them. Little short ones. But where? No, first, the question was, did they play golf? And Frank decided they must, if they had money. He'd speak to what's his name at the New Providence Bank about potential investors in a big condominium project. Maybe Canadians. He really would, he'd talk to the guy this afternoon. Except it was too late. And tomorrow was Saturday. He began to stir, moving his hands to his chest, raising the knee of the exposed leg. He wanted to be doing something. And began thinking about his Grandview condominium project in Detroit, in Sterling Heights, really. He'd better get back. He could stay here until Sunday, but he couldn't remain in this goddamn apartment any longer or in the house where he'd stayed yesterday, alone, pacing the floor, looking out at the scrub and imported palm trees. He had to get back, go to work. Settle something. Face it. Do it. You're goddamn right. He sucked his stomach in, running one hand through his chest hair. He didn't get where he was putting off making decisions. Fucking-A right. He kicked at the sheet, hard, to straighten it.
Mickey was home, so they must've let her go; she obviously hadn't escaped. She was home. He'd see her, he'd tell her exactly what he wanted to tell her and no more. He'd handle it.
The other problem, the extortionists--he'd talk to Ray Shelby, see who could possibly have known anything, like some guy who might've worked for him and was fired. A colored guy. Christ, there were all kinds of colored guys working for him.
Melanie was peeking in at him. 'You awake?'
'I'm going home,' Frank said.
'You mean home home?' She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, getting a warm expression in her eyes, ready to smile or look sad.
'I've got to go back, I've got a business to run.' 'Did the phone wake you?'
'No'--eyes opening with alarm, ruining his determined look--'who was it, Mickey?'
'It was the black guy again. You sure you don't know him?'
'What'd he say?'
'I don't think his heart's in it anymore. He tried another sort of half-assed threat and I said hey, hold it there, sport. You'd call the feds on Mr. Dawson with a kidnapping charge hanging over you? Bullshit.'
'How much does he want?'
'He's down to $150,000. I asked him how he'd arrived at that, a hundred and fifty. You know, why not a hundred and sixty, that's ten grand more. He mumbled something.'
'If I knew who it was--' Frank said.
'Well, it's up to you, but I know what I'd tell him. I mean after all, you know it's a bluff. They've already let your wife go, I think because they're scared shitless. They got into something over their head. This guy probably got high on something and decided to come in with a discount offer, you know? Like one last try.'
'Did he say he'd call back or what?'
'No, he doesn't know what he's doing,' Melanie paused. She said, 'Frank, you're an awful lot smarter than I am, but if you want a suggestion--'
'What?' Frank reached over and took his girlfriend's hand. 'Tell me.'
'I'd go home,' Melanie said, 'and act as though the whole thing never happened, if you're worried about your wife I mean. If I were you, I suppose I would be too.'
'Come here,' Frank said, reaching for her. 'Lie down with me, Mel.'
Mel. She hated to be called Mel. But she curled up next to him, putting her hand on his chest and giving him some breast against his bare skin. Very softly she said, 'I've been so worried about you, Frank. I just want it to be over.' Her hand moved down from his chest, down over the mound of his stomach. After a moment she heard him suck in his breath and let it out slowly. 'Do you like that?' Still softly. 'All I want to do is make you happy, Frank.'
He murmured something about how they would be together for a long long time.
Ordell said, 'That's the Florentine, huh? What else you got? ... Hey, where you going? He lay back on the pillows against the headboard and had to wait for her to go to the bathroom. When she came out he said, 'You sure a fine big girl.'
'Thank you,' Melanie said. She stood looking at him, hands on her hips, thoughtful. 'We've got a minor problem. Well, actually we've got some good news and some sorta not so good news.'
'Yeah, I had a feeling you had some kind of news,' Ordell said. He put his hands behind his head, waiting there at ease for her to tell him.
Melanie walked over to her shirt and cut-off jeans lying on the imitation-Swedish hotel chair. 'He's leaving tomorrow, going home.' She stepped into the cut-offs, pulled them tight over her can, wiggling her hips, and zipped up. She said, 'Ouch,' and made a face. 'I'm always catching my pubes.'
Ordell was patient, with a mild expression in the flat light of the room. 'Is that the not so good news?'
'It's not bad really, is it?' Melanie said. 'His story is, he has to see his wife now, make an appearance, and get back to his business.' She stood facing Ordell in pants but no top. 'And, he wants me to come to Detroit. Which is fine, right? I'll be able to stick fairly close to him and report in. But it does fuck up getting anything settled right
