Simmons looked at his watch. “Speaking of the time,” he said, “I really ought to go.” He finished his drink. “So, can we wrap this whole thing up now? Or do we part at impasse?”
“Up to you,” she said. “You can pay me now, or you can hope my luck is good and I never need to come back for those other ten large ones. But every day you’ll wake up knowing this could be the one you get a call from me, see if you’re in the picture market.”
“I’ll give you half of it for the rest of the negatives,” he said.
“I’ll give you half of the negatives for half of the money,” she said. “I’m not bending on this, Allen. I’m a tough son of a bitch to do business with, too, and you oughta know that by now. You and Earl set the price, or he asked and then you did. None of this was my idea, not from the beginning. By the time I find out what he’s doing, he’d already done it enough times to stick it to you. He just wanted more. And then when he ducked out on me, and put the boots to you, well, that wasn’t my idea either. I’d been stalling him for months, just hoping that something’d happen so he’d drop the whole idea. Well, the shit got in the fan. I’m trying, tidy up here, cut my losses and get myself a little breathing room. You gave me some. I want the rest. Pay now or save for later.”
“I’ll give you the ten for the rest of the negatives and next weekend in New York,” he said.
“On the house?” she said.
“Sort of our last fling,” he said. “Just for old times’ sake.”
She shook her head. “I already sang that song. Sang it New Year’s Eve. Except where we’re concerned, well, that’s one old acquaintance that I’d just as soon forget. Well, I’d better, anyways.”
“Seventy-five hundred,” he said.
“Ten grand,” she said, “and a quickie before dinner. I’m not saying I don’t like you, you know, but I’m still a working girl and I don’t work for you these days.”
He sighed and produced a second envelope from his pocket. He put it on the table. She reached into the shoulder bag and took out a white envelope. She put it on the table and picked up the one he’d placed there, putting it in her bag.
“Huh,” he said, leafing through the negatives that she had given him. “You’re not counting it?”
“Don’t need to, Allen,” she said. “I’ve always trusted you.”
On the way out she saw the waiter with his small tray on the counter of the service bar, studying her under a frown. She went over to him, and patted him on the left forearm. “Nice to see you again, too,” she said. “Eric, I think—wasn’t it?” He nodded. “We’ve both moved up in the world,” she said. “I hope you’re not still tipping off house cops, now that you’re high class and all.” The waiter looked alarmed. “Now, now,” she said, “it’s all right, Eric. The house cops tipped us off, too.”
18
Midway through the morning of the last Friday in January, a northeast wind came down Rhode Island Sound at twenty knots and blew along the rocky beach into Lafayette, Rhode Island. The parking lot of the shopping center was nearly deserted. There were no customers at Chuckie’s Discount Liquors. The woman in the black wig with the ringlets leaned her buttocks against the shelf at her checkout station and smoked a Salem, taking deep drags. Between them she held the cigarette aloft in her left hand, her left elbow cupped in her right hand, and stared out the window. She saw a khaki Ford sedan come into the lot from the north and park in the first row opposite the store. There was white lettering that she could not make out on the front doors, and there was more on the lower part of the rear deck. It had no license plate. The driver and his passenger both wore military dress hats. They talked for a few moments and then the passenger got out. He wore a long, dark green overcoat and his green trousers had a black stripe. The skirt of his overcoat flapped in the wind. He was careful to step around the small puddles of melted snow that remained on the macadam as he made his way to Chuckie’s. He showed no interest in the stocked aisles when he entered but came directly to her register. He was in his midtwenties, and had blond hair.
“Whaddaya looking for, Lieutenant?” she said.
He grinned at her. “I was going to buy a pack of cigarettes before I asked you,” he said.
“No need to be polite,” she said. “You should save your money, get them at the PX, right? For what, five cents a pack? No one this business expects military guys to buy what we got for sale in here. Hell, last time my kid was home, I ordered all my booze and smokes from him. Bought in all down at Groton for a tenth of what I’d have to pay here, even with my discount.”
“He’s in the navy?” the lieutenant said. “Down at the sub base?”
“Nah,” she said. “The army. Down Fort Gordon, Georgia.”
“Well,” he said, “at least that’s something. Least you know he’s safe.”
“Well,” she said, “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I mean, he jumps out of airplanes, right? He says it’s helicopters, which I say: “So what? If it flies then it’s a plane.’ And he jumps out of it. I heard that can be dangerous, matter where you do it. But yeah, I do know what you mean—–he’s not in Vietnam. So whatcha looking for?”
“The Beachmont Motel?” he said.
“Jeez,” she said, “what goes on here? MPs change their uniforms?”
“I’m not an MP,” he said. “What made you think that?”
“I know that joint,” she said, “the type of guys that go there. Only reason I can think of why the army’d want to go there is because somebody tipped you there’s an AWOL staying there. Which’d fit right in—place’s perfect for deserters; they’d give it some class.”
“No,” he said. “Nothing that exciting. Or that pleasant for that matter. Just trying, trace somebody that’s supposed to work at it.”
She nodded. “Oh, now I get it,” she said. “You’re with Intelligence. Well, lemme tell you something, Lieutenant: You already found out everything you need to know without ever going there. Nobody ever stayed the Beachmont should get any kind of clearance. They don’t draw the kind of people we should tell our secrets to. But if you got to, then you got to. Carry out those orders. You just keep right on heading south, it’s right there down the road. Kind of a waste of a good spot—a cheap flophouse like that across the street from a really gorgeous view. It’s two stories, faded green, run-down at the heels. Which sort of describes the owner, too, except for the green part.”
“He’s there most of the time, is he?” the lieutenant said.
“Put it this way, kid,” she said. “When he isn’t somewhere else, that is where he is. Where somewhere else is, that depends on what scam he’s got working, and those change from week to week. But he’s usually there, making life hard for people. Drives a big gray Lincoln and acts like he can afford it. Watch him when you talk to him—don’t believe too much you hear. He’s a shifty bastard and you can’t trust him at all.”
The lieutenant nodded and winked. “Gotcha,” he said, tipping his hat, “you’ve been very helpful and your country thanks you, ma’am.”
She grinned at him. “Pleasure talking to you,” she said. “You’re probably the nicest guy I’m gonna see all day.”
The sign on the orange trailer remained in the Beachmont parking lot but a line advertising “LOW OFF-SEASON RATES” had been added to the legend above “34 AIR-COND RMS.” The listed prices remained “$10.00S. $14 DBL.” The sign vibrated in the wind. There were two cars in the parking lot, a rusted brown Dodge Dart coupe and a new blue Ford Fairmont sedan. “No luck,” the lieutenant said to the driver, who wore sergeant’s insignia. “Hasn’t come in here yet.”
“Think maybe we oughta check?” the sergeant said. He pulled into the lot.
“Can’t do any harm, I guess,” the lieutenant said. “But she said if he is here, then his car is here, and it isn’t. She seemed to know the guy pretty good. But yeah, it can’t hurt to check. You get the wind this time, and I sit in the car. Flag me if he’s here.”
The sergea
nt put the Ford in Park. “Suits me,” he said. “I sure don’t mind. Past ten or fifteen minutes I’ve needed to take a leak. This goddamned detail anyway. If I didn’t hate it anyway, doing what we’re doing, I’d hate it just because a man can’t take a leak.” He shut off the ignition.
The lieutenant said, “No, leave it running. One thing to sit here on my ass; I don’t need it getting cold.”
The sergeant restarted the car and got out, the wind grabbing the door. He closed it after some effort and walked toward the office. One green metal lawn chair had been turned and tipped against the wall. The other had blown over and rested on its side. The spindly white metal table remained upright, but its glass top was missing. The sergeant saw a sign hanging inside the glass storm door. It read: “Back in Ten Minutes.” He opened the storm door. He tried the inside door. It was locked. He shut the storm door and surveyed the first floor. There was a cleaning cart parked four doors down. He looked toward the army car and then pointed toward the cart. He saw the lieutenant nod. He went down to the cart and knocked on the door closest to it. It opened. A small woman in her late fifties with an angry expression glared out at him over the chain lock on the door. “Yeah?” she said. “I ain’t got the key to the office and I don’t know where he is. So I can’t rent you no room and I probably can’t help you.”
“Well, one of the things,” he said, “I was hoping to use the men’s room.”
“We ain’t got one of those, soldier-boy,” she said. “Only the can inna room. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Never heard gas stations? That’s where the men’s rooms are.”
“Well,” he said, “could I use the can in here?”
“I’m not supposed, let anybody in here when I’m working,” she said. “You wouldn’t think so, look at it, but the owner’s very particular. Says he don’t want anybody seeing any room that’s not made up.” She snickered. “ ‘Gives the wrong impression, people see rooms not made up.’ Beat that? Anybody comes to this crummy-looking joint, if the bed’s not made up, I didn’t put in towels, well, I don’t think it’s gonna get them all upset so they go off somewhere else. Only people we get here’s cheap bums anyway.”
“I won’t tell anybody,” he said. “Please just let me go to the latrine.”
She laughed at him. “I dunno,” she said. “The bed’s not made up or anything, but that might not bother you. You one of those raper guys? That why you really wanna come in? You gonna rape me, is that it? Might have to call the cops.”
He laughed. “Look,” he said, “I promise I won’t rape you, at least not until I’ve used the bathroom there. Then, we like each other? Well, let’s see how things work out.”
The lieutenant saw the door close and reopen, and the sergeant enter the room. After a few minutes the door opened again and the sergeant came out. He paused at the threshold and leaned down. He kissed the cleaning lady on the cheek. “Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said. “Today you’ve served your country well.”
She blushed. “Ahh,” she said, “it was nothin’. You’re actually kind of cute. I think I’ll tell people that you did come in and rape me. My friends’ll all be jealous.”
The sergeant returned to the car. He said, “He’s not here. She doesn’t know when he’ll be here. If he’s not here, in the morning, it usually means he’s home. But not always. She can’t call him up because he keeps the only key to the office, and the phones in the rooms don’t call out unless someone’s in the office and throws a switch.”
“Hmm,” the lieutenant said. “You find out where his house is? How to get to that?”
“More or less,” the sergeant said. “It’s about five miles south of here, off back in the woods.”
“Or we could have an early lunch,” the lieutenant said.
The gray Lincoln came into the parking lot from the south, moving fast. The driver swerved it to park next to the mobile sign but spotted the khaki Ford as he started the turn and racked the steering wheel over so that the tires howled and threw gravel, and the car hunkered down on its port side. It did not fully stabilize until he brought it to a halt next to the Ford. “My guess is, that’s him,” the sergeant said. “Time to do our full routine. Get your patter ready.”
“Crazy fuckin’ bastard, isn’t he?” the lieutenant said reflectively. “Roll that son-bitch, doing that, someday his luck runs out.” The cleaning lady opened the motel room door and stood on the threshold in the wind.
Battaglia left the door open when he got out of the Lincoln. He wore a trench coat, open, and a red velour collared sweatshirt over blue jeans. His hair was standing up, and his face was mottled. He came up to the driver’s side of the Ford and slammed his left hand down on the door. “Rollah window down,” he said, making a cranking motion with his right hand. The sergeant obeyed the order. “What the fuck’re you guys doing here?” Battaglia said. “You just wanna tell me that? What the fuck you’re doin’ here?”
The sergeant glanced at the lieutenant. The lieutenant shrugged. The sergeant looked back at Battaglia. “We’re trying to locate a man named James Battaglia,” he said. “Battaglia or Battles. Understand he goes by both.”
“Well, you fuckin’ did it,” Battaglia said. “But I have to say you got a fuckin’ funny way of doing it, the way you fuckin’ did it.”
“Sir?” the sergeant said.
“You ever been married, asshole?” Battaglia said. “Either one of you two assholes, either one of you been married?” Both of them shook their heads. “No,” Battaglia said, “I didn’t fuckin’ think so. And I knew, I fuckin’ knew, that if one of you was, you would not’ve pulled the fuckin’ stunt that you just pulled on me.”
The sergeant looked at the lieutenant. The lieutenant shrugged. The sergeant looked back at Battaglia. “Sir?” he said.
Battaglia slapped his right hand on the door of the Ford. He took his left hand off the door and put both hands on his hips. He took a deep breath. He looked at the sky. He turned and kicked a small stone along the macadam. He turned back and put his hands on the door of the Ford. He bent down. “Listen, all right?” he said. “Just fuckin’ listen to me. You come down here from God knows where, to do what God knows what, and the minute that you get here, the first fuckin’ thing you do’s get things in a fuckin’ uproar. And, why’d you fuckin’ do that? Because you don’t know anything. There’s two of you, for Christ sake, and the two of you between you haven’t got enough brains to come in the fuckin’ rain.”
The lieutenant coughed. He leaned forward and bent down so that he could see Battaglia’s face. “Mister James Battaglia?” he said.
“Yeah,” Battaglia said, “I’m James Battaglia. And after all the shit you raised, you should be damned glad of that.”
The lieutenant nodded. He opened the passenger door of the Ford and got out, shutting it behind him. He looked at Battaglia over the roof of the car. “Mister Battaglia,” he said in the wind, “if you’d permit Sergeant Fulling there to leave the vehicle …” Battaglia stepped back from the Ford. The sergeant opened the driver’s side door and got out. The wind nearly snatched the lieutenant’s hat, and he clamped it back on his head with his right hand. “It’s pretty windy here, sir,” he said. “Could we use your office?”
Battaglia looked resentful. “I suppose we can,” he said, “but I don’t see why we fuckin’ need to, or the fuck you’re doing here.”
“Please,” the lieutenant said, starting toward the motel. The cleaning woman retreated back into the room and closed the door behind her.
Inside the office Battaglia moved at a half trot behind the counter and seized the stool behind it. He clasped his hands on the counter and stared at the two soldiers. “Aw right,” he said, “what is it?”
“This is Sergeant Walter Fulling,” the lieutenant said, opening his coat. “United States Army. My name is Oliver McKissick. Lieutenant. Also U.S. Army. It is our sad duty to locate the next of kin of Specialist First Class Keith P. Battaglia, and deliver to said next of kin a te
legram from the secretary. Of the army.” He took an envelope from the inside pocket of his overcoat.
Battaglia stared at him. “Keithie’s down in Georgia, there. Keithie’s down in Georgia. Nobody dies in Georgia, asshole. Nobody dies down there. Everybody lives forever.”
The sergeant frowned and looked at the lieutenant. The lieutenant cleared his throat. “Sir,” he said.
“No,” Battaglia said, unclasping his hands and slapping the counter with the palm of his right, “I don’t want that shit from you. Keith is down, Fort Gordon, Georgia, with his fuckin’ wife and kid. I got a Christmas card from him. Got it what, a month ago? He’s down in fuckin’ Georgia and I know he’s all right there. There’s been some kind of a mistake here like you guys’re famous for. Like going to the wrong house, in the wrong town, and getting everyone fucked up until it’s fuckin’ straightened out. Just like you did this morning, in the fuckin’ liquor store. Get my fuckin’ ex-wife all fucked up so she fucks me, the fucking woman. I knew she was fuckin’ nuts, but I never heard her like this. Like you guys got her this morning. ‘I got a premonition,’ she says. The cunt calls me at home. I’m fucking my wife, all right? I got a right, I think. And then the goddamned phone rings, so I have to answer that, and who the fuck is it that’s interrupting us? It’s my fuckin’ ex-wife’s who, and why’s she doing this? Because you fucking assholes stopped and asked fucking directions, and she’s got a fucking ‘feeling.’ That she knows what you’re here for. Well, I told that fucking woman. I said: ‘Look, you’re fucking nuts. Whatever these assholes want, it’s not what you think it is. It’s not for fucking Keith, all right? It’s not for fucking Keith. He’s down in fucking Georgia, I made fucking sure of that. And I made sure he fucking stays there, when I called up a fucking guy that made a call for me. And you know that’s where he was, because I came in and told you. Which I didn’t have to do and I did so you wouldn’t worry. So you know that’s where he is. And now after I did that, well, I wish you wouldn’t fuck with me while I’m fucking Maria.’ And she says that’s the way I always was, all the things she hates. All I can ever think about is myself and my cock. Well, goddamnit, not this morning. Not this morning, I’m not. Because you two assholes riled her up, you got her having visions. And she called me at home.”
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