Up in Honey's Room cw-2

by Elmore Leonard

  “I hope so. I’d hate to see her fall apart.”

  “You mean get drunk?”

  “No, the way she’s worried about Bo.”

  “You believe he’s missing?”

  “Why would she lie about it?”

  “What did you tell me Carl said? He can see her wringing her hands?”

  “He’s a smart-ass.”

  “He has different poses,” Jurgen said. “One time he looks like a farmhand with a jaw full of Beech-Nut chewing tobacco.”

  “Scrap,” Honey said.

  “The next time-this one’s my favorite-he’s looking at something miles away that no one else can see, and you believe he actually can. I think he’s himself, though, when you’re talking to him. He’s straight with you.”

  “He can stop you in your tracks,” Honey said. “You have to think fast to come back at him. He’s more fun than he looks.”

  “You like him,” Jurgen said.

  “I like him as a man, but he’s taken. If he wasn’t, you’d have competition breathing down your neck. He told his wife, Louly, on the altar, he’d stay pure as the driven snow, and he believes he means to keep his word. But then if he happens to get horny, as we all do at times, and he wants some action right now? Something happens. Dumb luck sets in and saves Carl, gnashing his teeth, from going back on his word. I might’ve told him it was his guardian angel fucking with his life.”

  “You know him well.”

  “I learned that about him in less’n two minutes. You know what he is, he’s lucky. And there is nothing in the world like going with a guy you know is lucky.”

  “I think several times in his shooting situations,” Jurgen said, “Carl, yes, has been lucky. The bank robber coming out to the street, the sidewalk, with a woman in front of him, and tells Carl and the few police in this small town, ‘Lay down your guns.’ Carl told me he could see part of the bank robber’s face over the woman’s left shoulder. Carl’s in the street, thirty feet away. The policemen drop their guns, Carl raises his and shoots the bank robber in the middle of his forehead. I said to Carl, ‘You were risking the woman’s life.’ Carl said, ‘I hit him where I aimed.’”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Honey said. “Did he tell you the woman fainted? Carl said something like, ‘Yeah, she slumped over, I was afraid I’d hit her.’ Then shows just a speck of a grin.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, it was in the ‘Hot Kid’ book about him. Kevin loaned me his copy. I haven’t told Carl I read it. I’ve been comparing him to the one in the book.”

  “Are they the same person?”

  “Identical. He’s the only guy I know who can brag about something he did without sounding like he’s bragging. You accuse him of risking the woman’s life and he tells you he hit where he’d aimed. In the book he says, ‘Dead center.’ He’s still lucky.”

  “I was in tanks almost four years,” Jurgen said, “and I’m still alive.”

  Honey said, “I know you are, Hun. I spotted you as Mr. Lucky in Vera’s kitchen, the first time I laid eyes on my Kraut,” patting his thigh.

  “Yes, but if you had to choose between us right now, at this moment-”

  “I’d pick you,” Honey said, “because you love me. I’m getting there with you, Hun, all I have are tender feelings. I don’t see why we won’t make it. Right now I gotta go get the booze.”

  “I’ll get it,” Jurgen said. “Go to bed and I’ll come looking for you.”

  Twenty-eight

  Walter arrived downstairs at twenty to eight, surprising Honey. She buzzed him in and opened the door to the apartment. In the kitchen, Jurgen sipped his martini and raised the glass to Honey coming in with an empty one.

  “To the love of my life. Who was that?”

  “Walter-”

  “I thought he was in Georgia.”

  “Hun, you may have to protect me from him. Walter gets horny at strange times, okay? Shoot him if you have to.”

  “With the Luger, it would be poetic melodrama.”

  She said, “Talk to him while I cut the cheese,” and grinned. “As you learn more of our slang, don’t ever say, ‘Who cut the cheese?’ in polite company.”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about, but paused as he was walking out. “How many of those have you had?”

  “This is my second,” Honey said, pouring herself one.

  Jurgen came in the living room looking at the sofa, the last place he saw the Luger, Honey holding it, aiming at Himmler after kicking him in the nuts, and turns as Walter said, “May I come in?”

  Walter standing in the doorway.

  Jurgen gestured. “Yes, please.”

  Now Honey was in the room with her martini.

  “Walter, you didn’t go to Georgia.”

  “No, this time I didn’t have to. But he is dead, isn’t he?”

  Honey glanced at Jurgen.

  “The president of the United States,” Walter said. “You didn’t hear he’s dead?”

  “Oh, right, the president. We were shocked,” Honey said. “Where were you, Walter, when you heard?”

  He said, “I was at home,” and after a moment, “awaiting the news.”

  “Have a martini,” Honey said, handing him her glass. She started for the kitchen saying, “You were waiting for the news to come on?” and kept going.

  Walter turned to Jurgen. “She’s like an impulsive child. As I said, I was awaiting the news of his death.”

  Jurgen waited a moment for Honey, back again with a martini. “His radio must have been on. Walter says he was waiting for the report of the president’s death.”

  Honey said, “You knew he was gonna die? What’d you have, a vision?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Walter said.

  “Why not?”

  “I prefer not to talk about it.”

  “He wants us to believe,” Jurgen said, “he had something to do with the president’s death.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “It sounds to me that’s what you’re saying.”

  “Believe what you want,” Walter said, raised the stemware and downed his martini.

  Carl sat in Kevin’s Chevy parked in front of the building, Honey’s apartment up on four, looking at Woodward Avenue from the top floor. Carl was thinking it would be all right once you got used to the streetcars. It was twenty past eight. He was thinking of Jurgen and he was thinking of Honey, back and forth. Thinking he shouldn’t act like Jurgen was an old buddy and get bombed with him telling stories to each other. You don’t ignore your sworn duty, ’less you see nothing wrong in the light of eternity with giving the Kraut a break. Then thinking, If you believe Honey is an occasion of lustful ideas, show that vamping him will get her nowhere. He thought about Vera, too, anxious to see her again. He had figured out what her game was. Honey said she was coming to visit, sounding like they’d have coffee and cookies. But if Bo was missing would she step a foot out of the house? To Carl it meant Bo would be with her. Look who showed up, my darling Bohunk. Something like that. Once he comes in and curtseys, Carl thought, watch him like a fuckin’ hawk. This is the boy who did Joe Aubrey and the other two at the same time, the doctor and his wife, stood there and shot all three of them, and knows how to cut a man’s throat. Vera’s game was to set her dog on anybody who could tell on her, her puppy dog, but a vicious little son of a bitch, wasn’t he?

  Carl had been parked here almost an hour.

  He saw Walter arrive and hadn’t seen him leave.

  He was going to wait for Vera and Bo and ride up in the elevator with them. This late, though, they might’ve changed their mind. Unless they were holding off, making sure everybody they wanted was here. Carl wasn’t sure if Bo wanted him or not. But if you’re here, Carl thought, he’ll have to deal with you. So quit thinking and go on upstairs.

  He saw Jurgen standing there in his sport coat and saw him smile. He looked at Honey and she smiled at him. Everybody happy this evening. There was
Walter holding what looked like a martini in a water glass, judging from the olives in it, and Jurgen and Honey both holding martinis, the killer drink meant to put you out. Carl could take ’em or leave ’em. He said to Honey, “I bet a dollar you still haven’t got a bottle of bourbon.”

  “You win,” Honey said. “Go talk to your friend, I’ll get you a drink.”

  He walked up to Jurgen and Jurgen put out his hand and Carl took it and couldn’t help grinning at him. “The escape artist,” Carl said. “You ought to write a book about how you did it, slipped out anytime you wanted.”

  “You know who’s writing a book, Shemane. I’ll be in there with the whores and crooked politicians.”

  “I’m not taking you in,” Carl said, “not now. I mean it’s too late, and I don’t have my heart in it.”

  “I appreciate it,” Jurgen said. “What I’m going to do is become a star of the rodeo circuit riding bulls.”

  “Talk to Gary Marion,” Carl said. “Remember that kid marshal, couldn’t wait to shoot somebody? You know he left the marshals to ride bulls.”

  “Yes, I’m going to look him up, get him to show me how to stay on the eight seconds.”

  Carl said, “Here’s a boy name of Tex Schrenk from Cologne, way out in the panhandle.”

  “I keep wondering if I’ll ever go back.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? Pay a visit, see your old dad.”

  “He was killed in a bombing.”

  Carl said, “I’m sorry to hear it. You can use mine if you ever need a dad. You know Virgil, you shook his pecan trees.”

  “I loved Virgil, with his opinions.”

  Honey handed Carl a highball. “He loved you too, he told me. Go ahead and pat each other’s asses.”

  Now Walter came over with his water-glass martini.

  “I don’t see you people mourning your Führer, Franklin Roosevelt.” Walter sounding more robust.

  “I’m wearing black, aren’t I?” Honey said. “You want another martini? You’ve only had four.”

  “I want to know,” Walter said, “what you think about your president and his unusually sudden death.”

  “I think Stalin wore him out,” Honey said. “Dealing with that maniac. Vera said he was a pygmy, wore lifts in his shoes.”

  “I might say,” Walter said, “the sudden and mysterious death of your president-”

  Carl said, “What’s the mystery about it?”

  “The circumstances. You believe it or you don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Carl said, “Walter, quit messin’ with us and say what you’re dying to tell.”

  Jurgen said, “Tell us, Valter,” sounding German, having fun drinking martinis, “or I have you tortured.”

  Carl said, “Honey told me on the phone. She said, ‘Roosevelt’s dead,’ and I thought of you, Walter.”

  Honey was nodding. “He did. He said, ‘You don’t think it was Walter, do you?’ I said something smart like, ‘Not unless he has the paranormal ability to cause our president’s brain to hemorrhage.’”

  Carl was shaking his head. “You said, ‘Not unless Walter got the president on the phone and bored him to death.’”

  Honey said, “I did, didn’t I?” and turned to Walter. “But I didn’t mean it, Hun. The point I was making, no, you didn’t have anything to do with the president’s death, how could you?”

  “Believe what you want,” Walter said.

  The buzzer buzzed.

  Twenty-nine

  Vera came in talking about the weather, how she thought this morning, good, they were going to have a spring shower for her perennials, but no, the dreadful gloomy sky remained a bore, refusing to open up and rain, for God’s sake. Now she waved to Jurgen, Carl and Walter at the opposite end of the living room. She gave Honey a kiss on one cheek and then the other, close to her as she said, “What are you looking for, chills and thrills? You’re too smart to be involved with these people. You sell dresses.”

  “Better dresses,” Honey said. “I have a cocktail dress, black, spaghetti straps, that would look stunning on you.”

  “Really? What size?”

  “Ten,” Honey said. “You haven’t heard from Bo?”

  “Not yet,” Vera said and brightened, as if starting over. “I’m sure he’s with friends. He stays out all night, I say, ‘You can’t call, let me know where you are?’”

  “They have no idea,” Honey said, “how mothers worry.”

  “I’m not his mother.”

  “You know what I mean,” Honey said. “Come on, I’ll get you a drink. Let me have your coat and your bag.”

  Vera slipped off her black Persian lamb and handed the coat to Honey. “I’ll hold on to the bag, with my cigarettes.” Now she was looking down the length of the room. “What are the gentlemen having? Is that an ice-cold martini Jurgen has? Bless your heart-make mine very dry, please. Only a drop of vermouth.”

  Honey turned to the front closet and Vera raised her hand to Jurgen and Carl by the bookcase. Then to Walter seated by himself now, forlorn, frowning, and called to him, “Walter, hold your head up. Your intention will be remembered by all of us. Think of it as God’s intercession, Walter, stepping in front of you to have His own way with the president.” She turned to Honey waiting for her. “You people must think I’m insane talking like that. Especially Carl.”

  “He knows what’s going on,” Honey said. “Everyone seems to know what’s going on, but no one makes a move to do anything.”

  “The end is near,” Vera said, holding her Persian lamb bag that matched the coat, and followed Honey to the kitchen. “Have you heard that expression?”

  Honey stood by her bar set up on the counter. She watched Vera open her big envelope bag on the table to get at her cigarettes.

  “With an olive?”

  “Several, please, I’m famished.”

  “I can make you a baloney sandwich,” Honey said. “Or an egg and baloney, with a slice of onion?”

  “That’s what you eat? I saw cheese and crackers in the other room, I’ll gorge on that.”

  Honey offered a martini, several anchovy olives crowding the bottom of the stemware glass. Vera came over for it and held up the martini, staring at it as she said something to herself-Honey watching her painted lips move-and finished the martini in one motion, then paused and poured the olives into her mouth, catching each one to chew and swallow, and now she was lighting a cigarette.

  “Another?” Honey said.

  “Please,” Vera said. “I’ll sip this one. Tell me how Walter’s behaving.”

  “He’s drinking doubles,” Honey said. “He’s louder than I’ve ever heard him and being very cagey. Only he doesn’t know how to do it. He wants us to think he took some part in the president’s death.”

  Vera nodded. “Because he wanted so much to be his assassin. Poor Walter. What he knows how to do is cut meat.”

  Honey poured Vera’s second martini and watched her pick it up and finish the drink in two swallows.

  “You didn’t get olives that time.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll have one more,” Vera said. “You can tell me how you’re doing with the Hot Kid.”

  “We came close, but now it’s cooling off.”

  “You’re losing interest? I see Carl as a prize, if you can subdue him.”

  “I’m pretty sure I could get him to fall in love with me,” Honey said, “if he isn’t already. But I don’t want to break up his marriage, be the other woman nobody likes. That’s a drag.”

  “You don’t lack confidence,” Vera said.

  “And I want to stay alive,” Honey said. “His wife’s already shot two guys trying to mess up her life.”

  Vera said, “What about Jurgen? You could go for him?”

  “He’s at the top of my list,” Honey said. “He’s the best-looking guy I’ve ever met, he’s kind, he’s thoughtful for a Kraut. He takes his clothes off-now there’s a picture you want to keep.”

  “I can imagine. I actu
ally can,” Vera said. “Oh, you could have done so well in a job like mine. I can see them telling you whatever you want to know.”

  “I’ve got a question for you,” Honey said. “Aren’t the police looking for Bo?”

  She watched Vera deciding how to answer, her makeup overdone but it was Vera and it worked for her. Now she was starting to smile. “Who told you that?”

  “Carl said Bo took after him with a machine gun.”

  “Bo? No, it must be someone else has it in for Carl.”

  “What’s Bo got against him?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. Bo has only met him I believe once.”

  “Carl sent the Detroit police after him.”

  “That’s who it was,” Vera said. “The police came to the house, I told them Bohdan was up north with his friends. They go in the forest, usually at the time of the equinox. They dance-Bo calls it a rites of spring celebration.”

  “You’re putting me on,” Honey said.

  “Really. Bo asked me to come along. I told him I’m not much on pagan rituals.”

  “You’re changing your story,” Honey said.

  “Am I?”

  “You said you haven’t heard from Bo and wish he’d call.”

  “Only to keep it simple,” Vera said. “Otherwise you’d want to know if the police believed me, what they said. One of them asked me, ‘Oh, they do the dance of the fairies up in the woods?’”

  “Do they?” Honey said.

  Earlier that evening Bo had thought of taking one of Dr. Taylor’s pills, but wasn’t sure which way to go, up or down, wide wide awake or loose as a goose. He had a few belts of ice-cold vodka before they left the house, Vera saying in the car, “Can’t you wait?”

  “For what?”

  “Until we get there.”

  “You want to socialize first? Have a couple of drinks and say, ‘Would you all form a line here, please, against the wall?’ Darling, I’m going to walk in and hose the fucking room. Whoever’s there will be lying in a pool of blood as we amscray.”

  “Please, not Jurgen,” Vera said.

  “Yes, Jurgen. We agreed, anyone who knows what you’ve been doing. Unless you want to clean the prison shithouse for twenty years. Anyone with style, that’s the job you get. You have to realize, Vera, Jurgen is not fundamental to our future. He could fuck up our ability to stay out of prison. So I told the feds where to find him.”