Glitz

by Elmore Leonard

  DeLeon said, “Try to open his mouth, mmmm, it hurts him. Be cool, Ricky, we gonna take you to the hospital.”

  Ricky kept staring at Vincent, trying to say something, find out what the hell was going on, and still look mean.

  Vincent feeling just a little sorry for him, thinking, They work so hard at it. He said, “I bet Frank was surprised, huh? The cops ask why you did it, tell them it was a mistake.”

  “Tell them somebody messed with your head,” DeLeon said, and looked at Vincent. “He’s gonna have a time even to give his name.”

  “Maybe he should write it down,” Vincent said. “To whom it may concern. How I did the Ching.”

  Ricky groaned something, a word, trying not to move his mouth.

  Vincent said, “What was that, Rick? Speak up. Sounded like he said, ‘Bullshit.’ “

  DeLeon said, “He can write it or I can fix it he has knee surgery while they wire his jaw.”

  Vincent left them, walking out past Cedric with his aura of reefer, his sheen of serenity, Cedric calling DeLeon “Mon,” saying he was a joy, he was so fine . . .

  Well, he wasn’t bad. A good one to have along. Vincent got on the elevator and pressed his floor and then held the button to make the door close and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was almost 2:30 but seemed much earlier. He still hadn’t heard from Dixie. He’d give him a call and if Dix didn’t know where Teddy’s mom lived he’d tell him. In Margate. You believe it? Marvin Gardens, less than five miles away. The only Magyk in the book.

  Linda stood in the doorway to the bedroom. She turned as he came in but didn’t say a word. She seemed calm enough, patient, and he had nothing to hide. Nancy Donovan came into his mind, a glimpse of her, lips parted; but he got rid of it, no trouble, in and out.

  “You’re wondering what Miss Oklahoma’s doing in our bed, aren’t you?” He could fool around, play with it, free of guilt, glad to see her. “I’ll tell you,” Vincent said. “But first, how’d it go?”

  Linda said, no, she’d like to hear about Miss Oklahoma first. So he told her about LaDonna’s fear, her recent experience, what was going on, and Linda raised her eyebrows a few times as she listened, interested but not overdoing it. What a girl. Maybe she could have given it just a little more; but he was satisfied. Linda didn’t act until she got on the stage. “So, how’d it go?”

  “I was a smash.”

  “They liked you.”

  “Vincent, they loved it. We’re doing two weeks to start. The guys are great, better than I ever expected. We start moving and it’s so full. It’s so . . . well, it’s just so full. Three of us, just—it was great. We’re gonna play some music.”

  Vincent said, “You were good, uh?”

  “Not bad. I’m gonna take a bath. What do you say? You feel dirty?”

  “Filthy. Soon as I make a phone call.”

  He spoke to a male voice at Northfield who told him Captain Davies was in conference and would have to return his call when he was free. Vincent asked if they had located Teddy Magyk. The voice said he had no information about that. Vincent hung up and sat looking at the name he had printed on the hotel memo pad in block letters, MAGYK, the number written beneath it. He picked up the phone, pressed nine for an outside line . . .

  Someone was at the door: the sound of three quick knocks and then silence. Too soon for DeLeon to be back . . . Vincent crossed the room, opened the door.

  It was Nancy Donovan.

  Dressed casually now in a navy jacket and slacks. She said, “Are you going to invite me in?” Her voice softer than he had ever heard it, giving him a movie-star look with her eyes.

  Vincent had to think about it a moment. He said, “Sure. Why not?”

  Nancy hesitated now. “I’m not disturbing you?”

  “No, come on in. Sit down, I’ll fix you a drink.”

  “Could I have a small cognac?” She was in now, moving to the couch. Vincent told her she could have anything she wanted and poured a couple of good ones. This was getting to be some night. He handed her the snifter glass and she said, “I want to say I’m sorry . . .”

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I’m not.” Letting him have it, but immediately drawing in again, passive. “I was going to say, I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding. Sorry you got the wrong idea. You had no reason, Vincent, to say what you did.”

  She was at the end of the sofa, tailored and trim. Vincent eased into DeLeon’s chair to sit at a close angle to her, their knees almost touching.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  She waited a moment, her clear stare turning wistful. “Can we be friends?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Start over?” When he nodded and said you bet, she smiled. “Did I frighten you? Just a little, maybe?” He gave that one a nice shrug and she said, “I thought about it after. I can understand how you might’ve gotten the idea I was, well, sort of coming at you. But I meant well, honest.” Nancy gave him the look over the rim of the glass, head lowered slightly, one he remembered from the Penthouse Lounge, upstairs. She sipped her cognac, swirled it lazily in the snifter bowl and looked at him again. “When we were alone earlier, spying on the casino, we seemed so”—she hunched her shoulders, becoming tiny—“at ease with one another, and yet so aware. It was as if in that moment, Vincent, I knew you and I knew I was right, what I’d felt from that first time.” He said, That first time? . . . And Nancy said, “In San Juan, when you came to my house. I knew then—”

  “God,” LaDonna said, coming out of the bedroom, her white legs coming out of a shorty robe Vincent didn’t recognize, “how long did I sleep?” The robe, or beach cover, would have to be Linda’s. He glanced at Nancy, sitting up to look over the back of the sofa, turned away from him.

  LaDonna said, “Oh, hi. Can somebody tell me what time it is?” The sleepy girl stretching now, reaching out, the cotton robe rising on her milky thighs.

  “Two forty-five,” Nancy said. “I think it’s time for me to go.” She said to Vincent, “Sorry.”

  He had to pull his eyes away from LaDonna to look at Nancy, not sounding anything like the voice from a moment ago. Amazing—no longer tiny in that navy-blue outfit but standing tall, shoving her hands in the pockets now to get back a casual effect, indifference.

  It didn’t last.

  Not with Linda coming out of the bathroom now doing a funky drag step nude, with subtle hip moves, doing things with a towel as part of the vocal number, a rendition of “Automatic” in the Pointer Sisters’ style, a low gutty voice telling them all of her systems were down down down . . .

  Till she saw her audience.

  Vincent was proud of her, the way she did a turn without missing a beat, wrapped the towel around her, even tucking the end in, said, “Well, what do you think?” and threw her arms out to strike a pose. “This, or the banana outfit?”

  Vincent imagined telling his friend Buck Torres about this night. Or Lorendo Paz in San Juan. Yes? And then what happened.

  Then Nancy Donovan left. Yes, of course. How was she going to compete? She was cool though, she took her time. Looked at everybody, said, “I think I’d better say goodnight,” and walked out. Yes? Then Linda and LaDonna started talking. Both of them on the sofa in shorty robes, sitting on their legs having a private talk that I could hear. Linda saying, Look at you. You realize the advantages you have? LaDonna saying, I know. Linda saying, You’re not only a beauty, you’re congenial, you’re thoughtful, you’re a very nice person. LaDonna saying, I try to be. Linda telling her to quit moping and get off her ass, do something, quit the booze, and so on. That Linda, you could put all your money on her . . . Then DeLeon came in, back from dropping Ricky at the hospital, said hands taped and a note pinned to his jacket; shoved him out of the car at the security cop on the door. Then the phone rang, finally, almost four o’clock in the morning.

  Dixie Davies said, “You know where we found your guy?” . . . He said, “We
pulled in the net, got all the sexual assault stars available, including your guy. We put every one of ’em in a lineup for this group from Harrisburg. Nothing. We brought Jimmy Dunne in, let him take a good look at Teddy. Maybe, maybe not. He can tell you all about playing trumpet with Victor Herbert, but not what happened last week. Teddy says he was home all night. His mom says he was home, the parrot says he was home. The fucking parrot bit one of my guys. I got no reason even to offer him a polygraph.”

  Vincent said, “What about the car?”

  “You might have something there . . .”

  “It was him,” Vincent said. “Jesus Christ, it was him, wasn’t it?”

  “Yellow ’77 Monte Carlo, in his mom’s name.”

  “I don’t care whose name. I don’t care what else you say. It was him.”

  “We checked Eastern . . .”

  “And they came on the same flight.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Get a warrant,” Vincent said, “go through his house.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “You’ll know it when you find it. Come on, I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “I lay the warrant in front of the judge, is that what I tell him? They don’t do it like that here. I got to show cause the guy’s a suspect and I’m looking for hard evidence. I don’t even think he did the woman, and I got no reason to hold him for anything else.”

  Vincent hesitated. “You still have him?”

  “He’s sitting in the green room. Very polite young man. Says he wishes he could help us.”

  “Keep him another hour. Can you do that?”

  “For what?”

  “I want to talk to his mom.”

  23

  * * *

  THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE in the front door Verna May Magyk saw a white man with a beard, hippy-looking, and the biggest colored man she had ever seen in her life. It made her shiver and feel goosebumps up the back of her neck. She said, “Oh, my Lord,” and jumped as the chimes rang again. The porch light was on, she could see them good. As they stepped apart, looking at the house, she saw the black car parked in front. A real long one, shiny even in the dark. An undertaker’s car, that’s what it was. Teddy’s mom was relieved, though not much. She said through the door, “You have the wrong house. There’s nobody dead in here.”

  Then realized she’d made a mistake as the hippy one with the beard said, “Mrs. Magyk? We’d like to talk to you for a minute. Would you open the door, please? Sounding just like the detectives that had come for Teddy.

  She said, “Where’s my son?” and saw them look at one another.

  “He’s fine, he’ll be home pretty soon. Could we come in and talk to you, please?”

  She told them just a minute and took about that long to get the door unlocked and then unfasten the catch on the storm door. They were as polite as the others. They came in, the big colored man looking around, the man with the beard going over to Buddy’s perch and saying he understood Buddy bit one of the detectives. It made Buddy nervous; he edged away.

  Teddy’s mom said he did no such thing. Buddy was a good li’l birdie boy. Arn’cha, huh? Arn’cha? She said, “Pretty bird, pretty bird,” and Buddy said, “Hello, May. Want a drink?” Wasn’t he a li’l cutie? Teddy’s mom let Buddy peck a sunflower seed from her mouth, prompting him with, “Kisser mom, kisser mom,” and holding her kimono closed so the men couldn’t look down it. “There. Did he bite me?”

  “That’s a beautiful bird,” the colored man said.

  Close to Buddy Teddy’s mom said, “He has to have his li’l beak shaved so he don’t hurt hisself, huh? Huh, Buddy? I’m taking him for his appointment at ten o’clock. Yes, I am.”

  “Did Buddy, I mean Teddy get Buddy for you in Puerto Rico?” It was the man with the beard. He said, “I was down there one time myself.”

  Teddy’s mom told him no, Buddy had been in the family twelve years; but Teddy had sent her a beautiful handcarved parrot that was supposed to have been delivered but never was.

  “That’s interesting,” the man with the beard said. “I wonder what happened to it.”

  Teddy’s mom didn’t think it was so interesting; she didn’t believe Teddy had even sent it. He liked to fib. Then he’d get that guilty look. He’d be mean to Buddy and there would be the look. Police questioned him about different things and there was the look again. She believed it was his guilty look that had got him sent to jail those times. All it was, he was self-conscious. She said to the big colored man looking all around the living room, “What is it he was suppose to’ve done this time?”

  The big colored man said, “Who’s that, ma’am?”

  “My son, Teddy.”

  “Oh, they just want to talk to him is all. See what he thinks.” He said, looking around again, “My, but you got parrot things. Must be a valuable collection.”

  She was a judge of character and liked the looks of this colored man. He was polite, he wore a suit and tie—which the other one did not—and he appeared to be clean. She said to him, “Do you like parrots?”

  “Love ’em.” He was looking at the display of china parrots on the mantel. “I wouldn’t mind you showed me all the different parrot things you got.”

  Teddy’s mom said, “Well, let’s see . . .”

  Then the one with the beard asked if he could use the bathroom.

  The overhead light was on in Teddy’s room: a young boy’s room with scarred bird’s-eye maple furniture, a single bed, slept in, unmade. A watercolor print of a parrot in a jungle setting, on the wall above the bed. But no posters, no records, hi-fi or radio, books. Vincent changed his mind: not a young boy’s room, a guest room. Teddy was here but had not moved in. Vincent went through the dresser, each drawer, feeling beneath the clothes; stepped into the closet to feel Teddy’s trousers and jackets, sweaters. He found the Colt .38 automatic in the camera case, looked at the gun in the overhead light without touching it and put the case back on the closet shelf. A new leather-bound photograph album was on the desk, its pages empty. In the drawer were envelopes of prints, several from a Fast Foto shop in San Juan. Vincent began to look at pictures of familiar places. He saw the beach at Escambron in a dozen or more shots of Iris and himself. There was his rattan cane hanging from the chair. Iris talking to him as he tried to read. Walking with her. Eating pineapple. Like pictures taken by a friend but not posed. He slipped one of the prints into his jacket and looked through another envelope quickly. Shots of San Juan landmarks, those familiar buildings, narrow streets, monuments, flower beds, trees, old ones, trees high in the clouds . . .

  Vincent stopped.

  He turned the desk lamp on, hunched over to look at a print. Then another one. The two almost identical. The same figure in both pictures in the same pose. It was the background that was familiar. Remembered from another time, a different person in the picture. But a background that would never change. Vincent could see it with his eyes open or closed.

  It was light out by the time Teddy got home. He waved to the unmarked light-tan Fairmont pulling away. Assholes. His mom was still up, waiting to tell him about the hippy and the huge colored man who’d been here while he was gone. Sure, Mom. What’d they take, the refrigerator or just the TV? She said they didn’t take nothing; this was a very nice colored man, a great big one, his head almost touched the ceiling. Teddy said that’s how they grew them these days; the big ones played basketball and the skinny ones became millionaires selling you paper towels in the men’s rooms. Teddy’s mom kept going on about the colored man, how he was polite and clean. Sure, Mom. Her old arteries controlling her mind. Weird. A lack of blood in her head bringing colored guys into the house to steal things.

  “They must a taken something.”

  “Well, they didn’t. Police don’t rob you. Don’t you know nothing?”

  “You’re saying they’re cops?” This was a new one. “They show you their I.D.?”

  “They said you’d be home soon, the others just wanted to
talk to you.”

  “Get my opinion on world affairs. They look around the house?”

  His mom said she kept an eye on the colored man because you never know. But they were both polite. Even the hippy one with the beard, “He asked could he use the bathroom and said please.”

  Teddy said, “Je-sus Christ,” and ran into his bedroom.

  His gun was still in the camera case. Whew, that was a relief. He’d better either hide it good or get rid of it. Then thought, why? He’d shot at the cop with it, but so what? He’d only actually killed one person with it and they couldn’t do nothing about that here. Except cops were sneaky and he could get two years just for having the thing in his possession. Teddy looked in his drawers; his clothes seemed in order. He went over to the desk. If the one with the beard was the cop Vincent, who was the big jig his mom thought was so polite? Man, they were sneaky.

  He had marked the print envelopes and put them in numerical order in the drawer to trap his mom, be able to tell if she looked through his things.

  Well, they weren’t in order now. He began to feel a little tense looking through the Escambron beach shots. They seemed all here. Then counted the ones of the cop and Iris. He believed there were twenty of them . . . But there weren’t. He counted them twice and got nineteen each time. Well, nineteen or twenty, he’d better get rid of them—anything that linked him to Iris—just to be on the safe side. Teddy went through the rest of the envelopes looking at his postcard shots of sunny Puerto Rico . . . There was the liquor store in the Carmen Apartments. That couldn’t screw him up, could it? Naw. What else. More postcard stuff . . . Wait a minute. He went through every print in one of the envelopes, expecting the shot he was looking for to come up next. Two, there were two he was looking for. He went through all the envelopes, just to make sure. But the two prints were missing. Both of them. Jesus Christ. Unless he had thrown them away himself. Now he couldn’t remember; it seemed so long ago he was down there.