Cat Chaser

by Elmore Leonard

  “Don’t,” Nolen said. “You played that one to death.”

  Moran said, “Remember the day you came here? We started talking about the D.R. and how some trooper across the Ozama almost killed me with a one-oh-six?”

  “It was the next day,” Nolen said. “We didn’t talk much the first day. I registered and asked you where all your palm trees were. You wouldn’t give me a deal on a room.”

  “But I did right after. You were trailing Anita de Boya and the piano player.”

  “I wonder if she’s getting much these days.”

  “You were making a halfway honest living.”

  “Not bad. But living by your wits gets tiresome.”

  “Then you met Jiggs Scully. He still as funny as you thought he was?”

  Nolen stared for several moments. He said, “George, the last thing I want is to see you get hurt. Will you do me a favor?”

  “Let’s talk about it in the house,” Moran said, “while I whip up some sours. What do you say?” He started to go and looked at Nolen again, taking the letter from his pocket. “Guess who I heard from? Here, read it.” Moran walked toward his house with the lemons and the trash bags.

  Nolen puts his beers down and opened the letter.

  Dear George Moran (Cat Chaser!!!):

  Was that really you who was in Santo Domingo looking for me? At first I thought it was a lot of far fetch to think you would come here but then I think no it is something the Cat Chaser would do. (I got your address from the hotel) I am married now and have five big childrens going to school. I bet you dont know who I married. He is the one you shot and became wounded on the roof of the building that time. His name is Alejo Valera. He is a salesman of insurance and is also the manager of the Sosua baseball team. After that war he went to the training camp of the Cincinnati Reds but came home to play baseball here. He is very good. He say to tell you he is glad you did not kill him or we would not be married together and have our family. Well I must close this letter. I wish I had seen you but maybe some other time when you come. I tell people I know you and how brave you were in the war. You did not sit behind the barricades. You came to find us. I am very glad I did not shoot you. Do you still like the Rolling Stones? I like the Moody Blues now very much. Please come to see us.

  Affectionately,

  Luci Palma de Valera

  Nolen straddled a stool at the counter, contemplating the foamy pitcher of whiskey sours, wiping froth from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Much better in the blender. All the difference in the world,” he said and slid his glass toward Moran behind the counter for a refill.

  “Tangy, isn’t it?”

  “Perfect,” Nolen said, “for getting that morning goatshit taste outta your mouth. How many eggs you put in?”

  “One to a blender,” Moran said.

  “Yeah, four makes it too heavy. I overdid it. Which is nothing new, I guess. I figure I’ve got about two years before I land in the weeds and have to join AA. You get to that point your choice is lead a clean life or die.”

  “Why wait,” Moran said, “if you know it’s coming?”

  “I’m trying to get in all the fun I can.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed what a good time you been having.”

  “Well, shit, I try.” Nolen thought of something as he took a drink and said, “Hey, that was a nice letter. Luci sounds like a winner. That part, she thought it was a lot of far fetch.” Nolen grinning, nodding, being a regular guy. “That was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Down there in the D.R. Not knowing shit what was going on. But I had a pretty good time, you know it? Even though I only got laid once and had to take penicillin for it. Come back with a dose and my trusty Forty-five. I used to fire it from up on that grain elevator. For fun, not hit anything.”

  Moran said, “How about if I buy it off you?”

  “George”—Nolen took off his sunglasses to look squarely at Moran—”now we get down to it. I started to say to you outside, do me a favor. Use your head before it’s too late. You have de Boya’s money? Leave it over there in oceanfront Number One where you got your lady hiding and take off. Get far away from here.”

  Moran said, “How’d you know she’s there?”

  “The guy in the Trans-Am, Santos, was into B and E at one time. He snuck around here last night listening at doors. It’s my guess if he heard anything it was in Number One and I’m right, that’s where you got her, isn’t it?” Nolen seemed proud of himself.

  “Jiggs’s coming for sure, uh?”

  “You bet he is.”

  “How much you want for the gun?”

  “It’s not for sale. I’m telling you—you know all about how to take it and run; well, this time you gotta leave it and run.”

  Moran opened a drawer on his side of the counter. He brought out a packet of hundred-dollar bills secured with a money strap, a narrow paper band, and placed it in front of Nolen.

  Nolen said, “Jesus Christ,” and seemed afraid to touch it. “How much is that?”

  “Ten thousand,” Moran said.

  Nolen’s gaze came up, a solemn expression, mouth partly open. “You did it, didn’t you? Jesus, you really did it.”

  “If that isn’t enough . . .”

  Moran reached into the drawer again, brought out another packet of inch-thick hundreds and laid it on top of the first one.

  “How’s that?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Moran reached to take back the money.

  “I’ll go get the piece,” Nolen said.

  “I already have,” Moran said. “When I picked up the trash. It’s loaded, isn’t it? Full clip?”

  “Yeah but . . . George, don’t try and be a hero, okay? You wouldn’t have a chance. That man’s a pro, it’s what he does.”

  “It gives me a little more confidence,” Moran said, “that’s all. I don’t feel so helpless.”

  Nolen was looking at the money again, almost in a daze. He said, “You really did it, huh?” A wistful tone, subdued. “Will you tell me something?”

  “Maybe,” Moran said.

  “How much you get? Both suitcases.”

  “No, I’m not gonna tell you that,” Moran said. “It isn’t any of your business. It isn’t any of mine either, when you get right down to it.”

  “Your lady walked out of the house with it, didn’t she?” Nolen said, watery eyes showing the pleasure of it. “Where can I get me one like her? Walked right out past her husband, Jiggs, everybody. Of course with you there to help.”

  “I didn’t do much,” Moran said. “But I’m looking after her best interest now. You understand I’m not gonna see anything happen to her.” He watched Nolen touch the packets, finally pick them up and feel them, fingers gracefully playing along the edges, riffling the stiff new bills. “Nolen?”

  “What?”

  “When’s Jiggs coming?”

  “He said around noon. He said he’d set things up then get his eight hours and have a late breakfast. Then he’ll stop by. That’s how he said it, like it’s a business call.”

  “What’re you supposed to do?”

  “Act dumb. Tell you I don’t know anything, where Jiggs is or what he’s doing,” Nolen said. “But if you look like you’re getting ready to leave I’m supposed to tell you he phoned and wants to see you for a minute, have a quiet talk.”

  “What do you do when he comes?”

  “Exit. He’s on then.”

  “Nolen?”

  “What?”

  “Where’s de Boya?”

  Nolen took a sip of whiskey sour and said without looking at Moran, “He’s dead. So’s Corky.” Nolen’s gaze came up slowly now. “Jiggs made them take their clothes off and get in the shower, both at once. Then he shot them.”

  “Because they didn’t have the money?”

  “He didn’t even know it till after. He was so sure.”

  “Were you there?”

  “When he did it? No, I came later.”

  “Where’re
they now?”

  “Still in the shower. Place west of Lauderdale, out in the country.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s looking to make a deal,” Moran said, “when he says he wants to talk.”

  “No, that’s not Jiggs,” Nolen said. “But he does have to talk to you, find out for sure you have the money and where it is. After that he’ll kill you. That’s why I’m saying leave it, forget the whole thing. You run with the money—it wouldn’t work, I’m telling you.” Nolen was emphatic now. “A woman like Mary de Boya, where’s she gonna hide? The cops, once they find her husband, they’ll be looking for her anyway. You see what I mean? It doesn’t matter where she goes Jiggs’ll be hanging around, threaten her till she pays up. So get it over with now, leave it.” Nolen looked at his watch. “We’ve got less’n an hour.”

  Moran said, “You on our side now?”

  Nolen said, “George, come on. You know where I am. Nowhere. The idea, score off a guy like de Boya, it sounded great, worth the risk. But I saw him in that shower, man . . . I got sick and you know what Jiggs did? He patted my back while I threw up on two guns down in the toilet, telling me he’d take care of me. I wanted, today, I wanted to look like I was helping him but tell you to get out and then disappear, go to L.A. and get lost among the weirdos and hope to Christ I never make a name for myself. You said it the other day, George, I’m in a no-win deal.”

  Moran said, “What if we call the cops?”

  “And what?” Nolen said. “He sees cops he waits. The only way, you’d have to have ’em hiding in the closet when he takes his gun out and then pray they’re quick.”

  Moran thought about it, picturing Jiggs standing in the living room. “He sure likes to talk, doesn’t he? Goes on and on.”

  “He puts you half-asleep,” Nolen said, “telling you stories. Like a fucking spell he puts over you.”

  “No, he never rushes into it,” Moran said, “he gives you time to think.”

  “This’s the first time in my life,” Nolen said, “I’m gonna suggest we leave what’s in the blender and get the hell out.”

  Moran said, “Stay there,” walked around the counter and said, “Mary?”

  She came out of the bedroom, her expression composed, eyes moving to Nolen to see him getting off the stool, surprised. She said, “Can you tell me exactly where Andres is?”

  Nolen said, “I thought you were over in Number One. You’ve been right here all the time?”

  “I wanted you to feel free to talk, be yourself,” Moran said. “You said the place was west of Lauderdale.”

  “Yeah, like a farmhouse. Off Eighty-four.”

  Mary nodded, almost to herself. “I think I know where it is. Near the airport.”

  Moran said, “Let’s wait a little while before we tell the police.”

  “But if you can’t deal with him,” Mary said, showing concern now as she looked at Nolen. “Isn’t that right?”

  Nolen shook his head. “I wouldn’t even think about it.”

  “I just want to ask him something,” Moran said. “Alone.”

  23

  * * *

  JIGGS STOPPED at the flamed Trans-Am and stuck his head in the passenger side. Hunched over like that his seersucker coat parted at the vent to show the seat of his pants hanging slack, as though he had no buttocks and all his weight was in front. When he straightened, pushing his glasses up, the Trans-Am came to life, rumbled and moved off. Jiggs came on to the Coconut Palms straightening his blue-striped tie, smoothing the front of his shirt. Entering the office he said to Jerry, “Hey, how you doing? My pal George around?” He looked at one of the inside windows and said, “Yeah, there he is. Nice seeing you again,” and left Jerry adjusting his golf cap, staring after him as he went out to the swimming pool.

  Jiggs saw Nolen in a lounge. He saw Mary in an expensive-looking T-shirt and white sailor pants also in a lounge, both of them up by the oceanfront walk in the sun, and a silent alarm went off in his mind. Setup.

  He couldn’t believe it; Moran didn’t seem that dumb. Unless the cops were here and had coached him. Make it look natural. Like nothing out of the ordinary is going on. Fucking cops. Like they knew what they were doing. He saw Moran coming across from the front of his house, white T-shirt and old work jeans, barefoot. Maybe—it surprised Jiggs—Nolen was better at this than he gave him credit. Maybe these folks were in for a surprise and he’d tell in about half a second—now—all of them looking this way now and, yeah, they did seem to clutch up and were motionless as he approached them.

  Jiggs said, “Beautiful day, huh? You get one of those hard rains it’s always nice the next day. You notice that? Mrs. de Boya, how you doing? . . . George? Nolen there, he looks a little hung over. You okay, Nolen? Have a beer you’ll feel better. I just had a pot of coffee. I wondered”—looking around—”George, you got a toilet I can use?”

  “In the house,” Moran said.

  Yeah, something was up: Mary trying to act natural as she looked at Moran, Christ, gripping the arms of the chair. You’d have to pry her hands off. Moran walked over to the house with him and held the door open. Very polite this morning.

  “It’s through the bedroom.”

  “Thank you, George, I appreciate it. Be only a minute.”

  Moran walked around to the kitchen side of the counter. He moved the blender and the sack of lemons aside. Squared the telephone around on the end of the counter. He got a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. Brought a bowl of ice out of the refrigerator. Found two clean glasses. He poured about an ounce and a half of scotch into one and drank it down. He heard the toilet flush. He put ice in the glasses and was pouring scotch when Jiggs came out pushing his glasses up, buttoning his seersucker jacket and then unbuttoning it to leave it open.

  “There he is,” Jiggs said. “I had to take a leak, George, but I also hoped we’d get a chance to talk, just the two of us if that was possible. You understand, not get emotional about anything, right? Why do that? What I thought, let’s lay it out, look over what we have here.”

  Jiggs stepped back from the counter and glanced around the room.

  “You don’t have a tape going, any of that kinda stuff, do you, George? I wouldn’t think so, but somebody might’ve talked you into it.” He was looking at the hi-fi system now.

  “I can put a record on,” Moran said. “You like J. Geils?”

  Coming back to the counter Jiggs said, “George, I don’t know J. Geils from jaywalking, which is about the only thing I never was arrested for. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the point I want to make—” He picked up the drink Moran set before him. “Thank you, I believe I will. Little pick-me-up. The point I want to make, I’ve been arrested, well, quite a few times, suspicion of this and that, I think on account of the people I been associating with the past few years. But I never in my life been convicted of anything. I’m cherry, George, as far as doing any time and I’m sure you can understand why. Because I’m careful. Because I don’t go walking in someplace I don’t know what’s on the other side of the door. Entrapment don’t ever work with me, George; because I don’t partake of controlled substances, I don’t fuck lady cops dressed up like hookers and I don’t deal with people I don’t know. So there you are. If you think you got me to walk into something here and you’re gonna pull the rope and the fucking net drops on me, don’t do it. Okay? Let’s just talk quietly and make sure we understand each other.”

  “Fine,” Moran said. “What do you want?”

  “I want the two suitcases and everything was in ’em. You can tell me something first,” Jiggs said, “cause the suspense is killing me. How much we talking about?”

  “Two million two hundred thousand,” Moran said.

  “I’ll tell you something. I enjoy talking to you, George, you got a nice easy style. I told you that once before. All right, how ’bout this? You keep the two hunner K, that’s yours, for your trouble. You and the widow’re gonna have more dough’n you’ll ever be able to spend anyway.
And you give me the rest. How’s that sound?”

  “What if we don’t give it to you?”

  “Then you got a problem. I put a lot of time in this, George. See, I don’t have a pension plan, profit-sharing, anything like that. This’s gonna be my retirement and if it doesn’t come through I can’t complain to some insurance company, can I? No, I got to take my beef to you and Mary and you know what I mean by that. See, I’d rather part friends, George. Maybe stop around and see you sometime in the future—how’re things going? Shoot the shit about old times—by the way, something else I got to know. Where’d he keep it? The money.”

  “Under his bed,” Moran said.

  “Come on, you’re kidding me. Guys like that”—Jiggs shook his head—”they’re simpleminded, you know it? Under the fucking bed . . . Now where is it, under yours? I’d believe it. Jesus, I’d believe anything now. Whatta you say, George?”

  “Mary says no,” Moran said. “You don’t get it.”

  “Yeah, but what do you say?”

  “It’s her money.”

  “I bet you can talk her into it, George. Lemme show you something.” Jiggs got off the stool again and looked around the room. “What’s that down there, top of the bookcase? Looks like a vase.”

  “It’s a vase,” Moran said.

  “You buy that thing, George?”

  “It was here when I moved in.”

  “Keep looking at it,” Jiggs said. “Don’t look at me, look at the vase. I’m gonna show you a magic trick I do.” Jiggs moved back toward the front door so Moran would have to turn to face him, see what he was doing. “You looking at it?”

  “I’m looking at it,” Moran said, staring at the vase that was about twelve or fourteen inches high and glazed with the portrait of an old-fashioned girl holding a bouquet of flowers.

  “You ready?” Jiggs said.

  “I’m ready,” Moran said.

  The vase came apart, fragments of china flying outward with only the sound of it breaking, pieces hitting the floor.