Big Shots and Bullet Holes

by B David Spicer

  He chuckled. “Never tell the truth when you have a lie handy, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You never change do you, sweetness?” He chuckled and scribbled on some of the papers.

  I dug three hundred dollar bills out of my pocket and tossed them on his desk. “There you go, payment in full.”

  He stared at the money for a second, then looked up at me. “What are you into, Kissy?”

  “Wish I knew.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Bad?”

  “Could be.”

  “How bad?”

  “Some goons tried to fill me full of daylight a few hours ago.” I suddenly felt like I’d drank a full glass of exhaustion. “I’ll be lucky to keep breathing another day or two.”

  He whistled. “When are you gonna learn to play it safe?”

  “One day too late.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  At around 6:00 that afternoon I woke up with a skull-cracker of a headache. The too-bright room forced me to squeeze my eyes shut. I sat up without opening my eyes and felt my stomach roll. I stripped off my clothes and struggled into my ratty bathrobe. It took a few minutes before I had enough ambition to stumble to the bathroom, and when I got there I had to hold on to the sink until the sick feeling in my guts gave up the fight.

  I stood in the shower under the scalding geyser until I felt something close to human again. I combed my hair out of my face and trudged back toward my room. Norman’s radio sang through the transom and I smelled cigar smoke. I knocked on his door and heard his bedsprings creak as he climbed off them.

  He opened the door dressed in trousers and his undershirt. “Hey, Kissy.” He eyed me up and down. “Feeling refreshed?”

  “Not really. Have you had dinner?”

  “Nope.”

  “Get dressed and we’ll eat. I need food. And a cigarette.”

  He held up his Cuban. “You should try one of these.”

  “No thanks.” I crossed the hall and closed the door behind me. I rested my head against the smooth wood of the doorframe for a minute or two before I rustled up enough energy to dress myself. I chose my maroon suit and a violet tie. I put on a crisp white shirt, a new collar, and my usual suspenders to hold up my pants. I regarded my shoes critically. I’d need some new ones soon.

  I washed down a couple of aspirin with a shot of rye whiskey. After I lit a cigarette, I felt much better. I slipped on my jacket, pocketed my Colt, and opened the door. Norman slouched in the hall with his cap pulled low.

  I directed my feet to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Lou’s.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

  “I need to make some telephone calls.” We trooped down the stairs, out the door and across the street to Lou’s. Norman sat in the booth just inside the door, but I went to the public telephone. I asked for the Aristocrat, room 408, and waited while the bell rang. Finally, somebody picked it up.

  “Ruger?”

  “Speaking. Who is this?”

  “It’s Kissy Lisbon. Do you have a message for me?”

  I heard a pause on the line, the hint of a feminine voice, then Ruger again. “I do. Kendall says she doesn’t know you, and she doesn’t want to talk to you. Sorry.”

  “Is she there now? Let me ...” The line went dead. “Dammit.” I turned around and started for the table where Norman sat. Then I heard a voice.

  “Mrs. Lisbon?”

  I jumped, then recognized Mrs. Kendall sitting in the booth next to the phone. “Mrs. Kendall. What a surprise.” I sat in the booth across from her. “What are you doing here? I know it’s not for the food.”

  “I came here hoping to find you.” She smiled weakly. “I have the rest of your money.” She slid an envelope across the table. “I hope cash is acceptable.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Heloise telephoned me this morning. She’s coming home.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is. So I wanted to discharge you, and, uh, settle the bill.” She smiled beatifically.

  I picked up the envelope and flipped through its contents. “Five hundred dollars? That’s not what we agreed.”

  Her smile never faltered. “Yes, I know. Consider the rest a bonus. I’m very pleased with your work. I intend to refer all my friends to you.”

  I started to smell a rat right about then. “When is Heloise coming home?”

  Her lips twitched. “Why, tonight. She’ll be home tonight.”

  “Oh really. How about I come over to meet her, just to make sure everything’s square?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Lisbon. We’ll be quite busy tonight.”

  “That’s not a problem, I can come over tomorrow. How about noon?”

  “Unfortunately, we’ll be busy then as well.”

  I watched her for a minute, then lit a cigarette. “Who put you up to this?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She kept on smiling, made me shiver the way she held onto those teeth.

  I slid the envelope back across the table. “Yes, you do. Heloise didn’t call you. She’s not coming home. Somebody told you to tell me that, and I think it was Gottlieb.”

  She didn’t bat an eyelash at the name. “Who’s Gottlieb?”

  “Don’t know him?” I exhaled tobacco. “Was it the Feds? Did they get to you?”

  She stubbed out her smoke in the ashtray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She slid the envelope toward me again and started to rise. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Lisbon.” She took my hand in her claw and shook it. “Thank you, again.” The artificial smile clung to her chin as she fled the diner.

  I shook my head as I flopped into the seat across from Norman. I didn’t say anything but put the envelope in my pocket.

  He looked up from his steak. “I ordered you the lamb and potatoes. Hope that’s okay.”

  I watched him eat for a minute. “Have you ever felt like you were adrift in the sea, all alone and far from shore?”

  He tilted his head. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  “That old lady was Kendall, right?”

  “Yeah.” I poked at my lamb chop.

  “What did she want?”

  “She said Heloise is coming home. Then she gave me $500.”

  Norman spluttered, then fell to coughing. “What?” He went on wheezing.

  “Yeah, she gave me $500. Said I’d done good work. She even thanked me.” I tugged at my lip. “Thing is, I know she was lying to me.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, Kissy. People just hand you money these days.” He grinned and shoveled potatoes into his maw. “This is the best gig we’ve ever had.”

  “People who lie to me give me money, or let me take it without protest. Somebody put old Kendall up to this. I called the Aristocrat.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Got Ruger. He said Kendall didn’t want to talk to me.”

  He shrugged. “Who cares? She’s coming home and we got paid. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  I hissed out smoke. “It’s not over, Norman. Somebody’s playing me for a fool, and I don’t like it.”

  He stopped feeding long enough to scowl at me. “Come on, Kissy. Let it go. We got paid; who cares if the girl comes home or not?”

  “I care.” My lamb chop was cold.

  “Why? You got the money.”

  “It’s not about money.”

  He tossed his silverware on the table. “What’s it about, then?”

  “Pride.”

  His eyes took on a shade of bovine confusion. “What?”

  “It’s about knowing that I can be more than a grifter. All those con jobs, you think they made me proud?” My voice cracked as it rose an octave. “I’ve wallowed in shame until it covers me like slime. I’ll never feel clean, Norman, until I can stand to look at myself in the mirror. Until I ha
ve something, some act that lets me reclaim an ounce of dignity, I’ll feel dirty, ashamed. That’s what this is about. I need to see it through to the end, so I can scrub away enough sin to find my soul again.” I rattled some smoke into my chest, blinking the sting out of my eyes.

  He sat staring at the table for a few minutes before he spoke. “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

  “I don’t cry.” I shoveled cold potatoes into my mouth.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” We finished our meal in amicable silence.

  Rain fell in sheets as we stepped through the door. We stood under the awning of the shoe store next to Lou’s diner, watching the water splatter on the world. Norman fished the last remnants of the licorice I’d bought him out of his pocket and chewed it thoughtfully. “So, what now?”

  I tossed my cigarette into the gutter. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  He shot me a gray-toothed smile. “Okay!”

  I’d left my car parked around the corner, so we splashed through the monsoon to get to her. We giggled like children when we got inside. I fired up the engine but didn’t turn on the lights. A white Packard careened past us and turned the corner at the end of the block.

  Norman hooted. “Look at them go! They’re in some kind of hurry!”

  “I am too.” I pulled into the street and we sailed like a clipper ship through downtown.

  “So, where’re we going?” He sounded like an excited child.

  “The Aristocrat.”

  I saw him slump in the seat. “Oh. Okay.”

  “I heard a woman’s voice in the background on the telephone when I called Ruger’s room. I need to know if it was Heloise Kendall or not.”

  He slid me a quick glance. “All right, let’s go find out.”

  I found his willingness to go oddly touching. I grasped his hand. “Thanks, Norman. This means a lot to me.”

  His smile lit up the whole car. “Sure. It’s fine, Kissy.”

  I parked as close to the hotel as I could, which wasn’t really very close. We dashed toward the hotel, but still got well soaked. I don’t know what it is about getting rained on, but it forces you to grin like a lunatic. We grinned our way to the elevator, where we found the dwarf waiting.

  I gave him a smile. “Hello, Mikey.”

  “Hello. What floor?”

  “Four.”

  He looked at me uncertainly as he jerked the lift into motion. “Here to see Mr. Ruger?”

  “Yeah, is he home?”

  Mikey shook his head. “No ma’am, I’m afraid Mr. Ruger has checked out.”

  I shot a glance at Norman, then looked down at Mikey again. “Do you know when?”

  “The day operator said that Mr. Ruger checked out before lunch.”

  I gave my lip a tug. “That can’t be right. I just telephoned him an hour ago.”

  “Perhaps I misheard.” Mikey retreated into his superhuman calm.

  “We’ll check. You’re probably right.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He rattled open the cage door, and we stepped down the hall. I stopped in front of room 408 and knocked. We stood there, straining to hear the sound of approaching footfalls. Nothing.

  Norman shrugged. “Looks like nobody’s home.”

  I tried the handle, which turned easily. I gave it a little shove and the door creaked open, showing a swath of opaque murk. I stepped into the room and tried the light switch. Nothing. I took another step. Still nothing.

  Norman threw me a harsh whisper. “Kissy! Come out of there!”

  As I turned toward him, a ton of bricks wearing a cheap suit slammed me into the wall. My receding headache cracked open again and showed me the stars up close. I heard voices, grunts and the sound a book makes when someone drops it on the floor. I forced a breath into my lungs and squeezed my brain back into my head. Somehow, I got my feet under me and I staggered into the hall. Then I screamed.

  Norman sat with his back against the wall of the hallway. Blood trickled from his nose in twin red rivers. He held his fingers over his belly, but the red stuff that came out of him wasn’t slowed much by his hands. He looked at me and tried to smile. “I tried to stop him ... I tried ... Kissy ...”

  “Oh God! Not again!” I tore out another shriek. “Help! Somebody get help! Call an ambulance!”

  I saw Mikey rush out of the elevator on his stubby legs. He looked down at Norman with his mouth agape. I snatched his shoulders and gave him a shake. “Call an ambulance! Now!”

  “Yeah!”

  He raced away, and I turned back toward Norman, who surprised me by wheezing out an attempt at laughter. “Great, my life depends on a running midget.”

  I stroked his hair and sobbed out a chuckle. “Yeah. He’s gonna save you. You’ll see.”

  He struggled to keep breath in his lungs, but he still touched my wet cheek. “You ... don’t ... cry.”

  “That’s right. So you’d better not die. I won’t cry for you.”

  “That’s ... okay. I love you anyway.” Then he closed his eyes and his head slumped forward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lightning stabbed the night, splashing light across the sky and silhouetting the city’s crumbling bones. Water fell from the clouds, but there would never be enough rain to wash the blood from the streets into the gutters. With the lights out, I sat with my knees drawn up to my chest in an easy chair, watching the storm lash its fury on the outline of downtown.

  In the other rooms of Suite 408, the police did what they do. I could hear their footsteps scampering to and fro and the ceaseless drone of their chipmunk chatter. They spoke to me: who, what, when, where, why? I drew the chair to the window, lit a cigarette, added a brick to the wall with every tobacco breath, and denied them the joy of interrogation. Eventually they gave up the fight and left me to my solitude.

  On some primal level I knew he’d come, and he did. He entered the little bedroom, pulled the wooden chair from the desk, and sat next to the window. Pale silver light crashed through the rain-streaked pane and illuminated his face, Paolo’s intimately familiar face. He didn’t speak right away, and for a while we watched the sky weep over Cincinnati.

  I spat the expended cartridge of my cigarette onto the floor, where a dozen of its compatriots smoldered their death throes. I pulled another round from the pack, loaded the chamber, and fired it into my lungs. Paolo watched me through a cloud of tobacco smoke for another minute, then reached into his coat and pulled out a leather object. He opened it and showed me his badge, which he carefully placed on the windowsill. I stared at it for a moment then looked into his ocean-blue eyes.

  “Kissy, I’ve taken off my badge, so for the moment I’m not here as a cop. I’m here as your friend because I think you need a friend more than you need a cop right now.” Even though he waited for me to say something, I didn’t answer. Eventually, he went on. “They took him to the hospital. He was alive when the ambulance left, which is good news. I’ve known two or three guys who had gut-shots and lived, so don’t give up on him just yet.” I could see him watching me, I could see his concern for me written in his posture. Poorly healed scabs, five years old, tore free and began to bleed somewhere deep inside of me. I drew in another gust of smoke and continued my statue-like vigil.

  He hung his head, picked up his badge and stood. “All right, Cassandra. I won’t force you to talk to me.” He slipped his badge into his jacket pocket. “I’ll go for now, but when I come back into this room I’ll be a cop again. I don’t have a choice in the matter.” He stood next to my chair and draped a hand onto my shoulder. “Again, I’m sorry about your friend.”

  He started to leave, and suddenly I wanted him to stay more than anything else in the world. I threw away my smoke and grasped his hand and held it between my own. “Paolo.” My voice rasped like used sandpaper. “Don’t go.” I closed my eyes and pressed his palm to my face and held it there, a touch I remembered so well. A touch I needed more than I could admit. A touch I’d forbidden myself a long time ago.
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  With his free arm he brought his chair close to me and sat down. He let me keep his hand and leaned close to me. “Kissy, what happened? Who shot Norman?”

  My hands trembled; I knew he could feel it. “I don’t know.”

  He nodded slowly. “Why were you here, in this hotel?”

  “Who’s asking? The cop or the friend?”

  He looked away. “Can’t they be the same person?”

  “No. You know why.”

  He nodded. “Because of Mary.”

  I clutched at his arm in a sudden mania of need. “It’s happening again, Paolo! Don’t you see? It’s all the same! It’s my fault, just like before.” I squeezed his hand to my chest. “If he dies, I won’t be able to bear it. It’ll kill me this time!”

  “Shh, shh, shh. Kissy, don’t give up hope yet.” He pulled me to him; my arms coiled around his body without being told to. He held me close, and I shuddered in his embrace. Tears came, and I cried for all the people I’d murdered. For Norman, for Mary, for Cassandra. The sky wept regrets with me, our bitter tears commingling on the cold unforgiving ground. All through the storm Paolo held me, and I held him.

  Finally, I pulled away from him and sat back in my chair. He wiped tears from my face with his fingers. “No more tears, okay?”

  “I don’t cry.”

  He smiled a little. “Oh yeah. I forgot.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “May I ask you something, as a friend?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you and Norman a couple? You know, together? An item?”

  That made me laugh. “Good lord! No!”

  “I see. So, he’s just a friend?”

  “More like a pet.” I spat out a bitter chuckle. “He’s helpless, and more stupid than I can describe, but he’s also sweet, loyal and totally in love with me.”

  “Yeah, I saw that the other day.”

  “That was the last thing he said to me. That he loved me.”

  Paolo closed his eyes and hung his head. “Oh, God.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”

  He shook his head, eyes still closed. “No. No, I haven’t forgotten. Mary’s last words to you were, ‘I love you, Cassy.’”