Elmore Leonard - Mr. Paradise

The two were brothers, convicted carjackers on lifetime probation, six months in violation for not reporting, high school dropouts: "So the boys could find work and support their mom while their old man was doing mandatory life," Anthony Paradiso Jr., representing the mom, told the press. He had filed a wrongful death suit in civil court against the City of Detroit, the police department and Frank Delsa, asking thirty million in restitution. Tony's argument: Delsa's action was overly aggressive, irresponsible in the excessive use of deadly force. Aside to the press Tony said, "It's okay to kill two young boys trying to jack an old Honda? Ninety thousand miles on it?"

Civil court reviewed Tony's suit and threw it out. A board of police executives looked at evidence prepared by Central Affairs, determined that Delsa had gone by the book and returned him to active duty. The department psychologist said that Delsa's reaction was positive, he wished he hadn't had to fire his weapon. He did express some relief that the two he shot were "white guys" and there was no chance of it becoming a "racial thing."

Both of the wide, curving benches in the Medical Examiner's lobby were done in a bright blue fabric within a bright yellow wood frame-that Delsa thought of, for some reason, as high school colors. He could imagine a banner on the wall that said "Home of the Fighting Pathologists." He saw Tony Paradiso right away:

Tony occupying a section of the closer bench, arm extended along the backrest, Tony at ease, comfortable, a guy who was pleased with the way he looked, wore expensive suits and boots with a heel that would get him up to five-ten; a guy who could tuck a dinner napkin in his collar with a certain flair and get away with it. Delsa ran into him at Randy's after the wrongful death suit was thrown out and Tony bought the lunch. He had personalities to fit the occasion, able to soothe the wives and mothers of the dead, scream in the face of an opposing witness. Delsa thought he overacted and didn't care for his type, but got a kick out of watching him show off in court and didn't mind talking to him. Tony was a lawyer, so you had to accept the fact he was opinionated and full of shit. Delsa had never thought of him as a prick, though he probably was if you got to know him. He was a high-priced defender, fifty-three, with dark hair carefully combed and a big ass.

He saw Delsa and said, "Frank, come here, will you? Help me out." But didn't get up. Delsa walked over. Tony said, "They won't let me see Dad." A solemn tone but hope in his eyes looking up at Delsa.

"I guess the viewing room's in use."

"Bunch of Mexicans. Who's dead?"

"Guy named Zorro, with one of the posses."

"Never heard of him. Was it a cop pop?"

Delsa shook his head. "Nothing there for you."

Tony said, "Is that resentment I hear? You still holding a grudge against me?"

Delsa said, "I never did."

Tony said, "Frank, it wasn't personal, I explained that to you after. We could've settled, the city pays out a few bucks, it wouldn't of cost you a dime."

"You didn't offer me a cut."

"Come on, you know I don't do that. The only reason I thought you were quick on the trigger, you weren't gonna let that asshole shoot you with your wife's gun. But I didn't bring that up, did I? Listen, I was sorry to hear about your loss, Frank. Now I've lost Dad, and they won't let me in to see him."

"You don't want to right now," Delsa said, "they're doing a post."

"What I'm saying, I'm not gonna identify him looking at that fucking TV, I want to see him. You have to sit on the floor in there to see the goddamn screen. Boxes of Kleenex all over the room. Go near the door you hear those fucking beaners in there carrying on-a very emotional people, Frank. They give you anything to go on?"

"Not yet. Harris's on it."

"I saw him last night. He said you were there but left. How do you see it, home invasion?"

"For the time being. Tony, there were two young women in the house. What I need to know, which one was your dad's girlfriend."

"The one sitting with him, Chloe. Wasn't it?"

"You assume that."

"It wasn't Chloe?"

"She was identified as Kelly Barr. By Montez."

"Nobody told me that," Tony said. "Kelly Barr? I never heard of her." He said, "Wait a minute-Chloe's alive?"

Delsa told him no, it was Chloe in the chair. He said, "Montez made a mistake," and watched Tony frown at him.

"What're you talking about? He knows her, picks her up, takes her to the house."

Delsa said, "How well did you know her?"

"Me? I kept checking Dad's will," Tony said, "waiting for her name to show up on a codicil. That's how well I knew her."

"You figured she had to be after his money."

"Frank, she was a whore."

"Your dad knew it, didn't he?"

"She walks in the house taking off her clothes-sure, he knew it. Found her on the Internet under pussy. He liked her-why wouldn't he? She helped him get his eighty-four-year-old rocks off, if that's possible. But that didn't qualify her for his will."

"Did he ever propose adding her name?"

"No, but I saw it coming. I was seriously thinking about getting power of attorney. He was losing it, Frank, the early stages of Alzheimer's fucking with his judgment. He was already giving her five grand a week that I knew of."

"Maybe he had another way of taking care of her," Delsa said, "after he's gone."

"What good's it do her? She's gone, too."

That wasn't the point. Delsa said, "What if it was already set up? Say, an account in her name?" And saw six, seven, eight people filing out of the viewing room, each of the three women holding a handkerchief to her face. He watched Harris approach one of the men, an older Hispanic.

"If he left her anything," Tony said, "I don't know about it."

"You mentioned your dad got Chloe off the Internet. He knew how to use a computer?"

Tony thought a moment and said, "You're right, it must've been Montez got her for him. It's what he was there for, get Dad anything he wanted. Dad planned on leaving Montez the house, but then my daughter Allegra thought it would be fun to live in the city, so Dad put it in his will. She gets the house, but now I don't know. Her husband wants to move to California and buy a winery. I can't keep up with him, John Tintinalli. Right now, he's selling bull semen on the Internet, acts as a broker. They sell it to dairy farmers who impregnate their cows every year to keep the milk flowing. Yeah, John represents a number of Grand Champion bulls, Attila, Big Daddy, some others."

Delsa had to ask, "How does he get the semen?"

"As I understand it," Tony said, "they use an artificial cow's vagina and get the bull to ejaculate into it. Or they give him a hand job or stick an electric rod up his ass. There're different ways. You'd have to talk to John about it."

Delsa had trouble picturing the second method. He said, "So your dad and Montez got along."

"Yeah, fine. Dad would sometimes refer to him as his pet nigger. He was not only the boss, he was the white boss. You know, that generation, he still thought of Montez as colored. He was definitely not in the old man's will, but they'd play games with each other. Dad would mellow after a few drinks, start talking like all men were created equal, and Montez would hustle him saying, 'Yes, suh, Mr. Paradise.' Dad loved that Mr. Paradise shit. Now Lloyd, Lloyd was even better at it."

"He didn't tell us much. Said he was asleep."

"'Cause Uncle Lloyd's smarter than Montez, he keeps his mouth shut. 'No, suh, don't know nothin' about that.'"

"Why'd your dad have him around?"

"I just told you, Lloyd doesn't know, hear or see anything. Even scratches his head on cue. And he's not a bad cook. Worked as a sous chef at Randy's after he got out of the joint."