Elmore Leonard - Cat Chaser

Rafi was quiet now, cautious, because he saw himself in the presence of his future, the opportunity of a lifetime. Here you are. What can you do with this situation? The obvious, of course. But wait and see.

Though not for long. The conversation wound down and the woman covered yawns, smiling at the Marine with sleepy bedroom eyes, the idiot Marine sitting there fooling with his coffee spoon. In these moments, in the Mesón de la Cava, Rafi began to feel contempt for the Marine; he should take the woman away from him. A lovely woman wasted on a man like this was a mortal sin. Move in… She’ll buy you gifts.

But on the other hand…

It was an either-or dilemma. Go for the woman, get her to turn those eyes on him and have her. Or, use the affair with the Marine to score far more in the long run.

Or do both. Was that possible? Bleed the bleeding heart. Yes? And then take the woman? It was a shame she wasn’t married to the Marine and having the affair with de Boya. As it was there were interesting possibilities to think about.

Rafi cautioned himself again to go slowly and said, “I think I should see you two back to your hotel.” There was no argument. “I’ll call you tomorrow if I learn anything, all right?”

What else? It seemed enough for now. Don’t be eager. At least don’t appear eager.

They got into bed in Mary’s suite and held each other in silence, tired and wanting nothing more than this closeness, until Mary said, “It’s coming to an end. I can feel it.”

He said, “Are you a worrier?”

She said, “No, not usually.”

He said, in a soothing way, “You know what’s coming to an end and what isn’t. I don’t think we have a choice, we’re stuck with each other. But it’s gonna be a lot harder for you than it is for me. I mean if we plan to see each other.”

“We have to,” Mary said.

“Good.”

She said, “I’ve never done anything like this before. Have you?”

“When I was married? No.”

“Did you ever have an affair with a married woman?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve never done it either. We’re amateurs. I’ve never even thought about it.” She paused. “No, that’s a lie. I used to look at you and think about it a lot.”

“I did too.”

“I used to stare at you and when you’d look over I’d say let’s get out of here and go somewhere, be together.”

“I would have gone.”

“Would you?”

“I wanted to.”

“Boy, we’ve come a long way.” She said then, “Where will we meet?”

“You can always come to the Coconuts. Andres’s sister and her boyfriend love it.”

“We’re not like that, are we?”

“I was kidding.”

“We’re not shacking up… Are we?”

“No, there’s a big difference.”

“God, Moran, I’m gonna have trouble handling this Sneaking around, not telling anybody. I’ve got to get it settled with Andres, but I don’t want to involve you.”

“He was suspicious before he even had a reason.”

“He’s not dumb. But I’ve got to make him understand why I’m leaving and that it’s got nothing to do with you.”

He said, “What about your friends at Casa de Campo?”

She said, “Oh, my God.”

“You forgot to call them.”

“I haven’t even thought about them. When I left the embassy party I said I might change my plans and Marilyn, one of the girls, gave me a look-ah- ha , have fun. I’m pretty sure they have an idea what’s going on, but you’re right, I ought to call, get our stories straight.”

“Are they close friends?”

“Not really, but we get along, play tennis a few times a week.”

“They wouldn’t call your home-I mean to see if you’re there.”

“No, but I’d better let them know where I am.” Mary said then, “Shit. They went home today.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Call one of them tomorrow, at home.”

“I’d better. How long are we staying?”

“You mean it’s up to me? You don’t sound too worried.”

“I am though. I’m starting to get nervous. And this is just the beginning, isn’t it?”

Moran went to sleep; maybe for only a few minutes, he wasn’t sure. Lying on his side he held Mary’s back curled into him, his knees fitting into the bend of hers. He said, “Mary?”

“What?” She was close to sleep.

“Rafi’s left-handed. You said tonight you were sitting with two southpaws and he didn’t know what a southpaw was.

“Remember?”

She didn’t answer.

Moran opened his eyes to see the balcony in sunlight, the sheer draperies stirring, puffing in the breeze. Facing away from Mary he felt her move and get out of bed saying, “Yuuuk, I drank too much wine.” Moving toward the bathroom her voice said, “What time is he going to call?”

“I don’t know, maybe he won’t… Mary?”

“What?”

“The guy I shot was right-handed.”

She said, “You can remember that?”

He heard the bathroom door close. He lay staring at the clear sky framed within the balcony, hearing the water running in the bathroom, thinking of the swimming pool then and winter ballplayers. The bathroom door opened again and Mary’s voice said, “I forgot. I brushed my teeth and drank the water.” She came into his view, her slim body in the nightgown clearly defined against the sunlight. “If I’m gonna die I don’t want it to be from drinking water.”

Moran said, I can see him holding his weapon and he was right-handed. Somebody shoots at you you can close your eyes and see it anytime you want. He wasn’t that far away.”

She turned from the sunlight, eyebrows raised in question, her face clean and alive.

“He was wearing a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap,” Moran said, “an old one. I can still see him.”

In Boca Chica, twenty miles from Santo Domingo and twenty years ago, the home of a wealthy family close to Trujillo was confiscated soon after his death, turned into a clubhouse by the sea and passed along to a succession of young men who drank rum and looked for girls and sold goods on the black market. The house now stood in an old section of the resort community that was decaying, losing itself to debris and tropical vegetation. Nearby was a beachfront café that had once been a gas station but now seemed dirtier with its litter of paper cups and ice-cream wrappers that were never picked up. There was blue Spanish tile in the men’s room where, to Rafi’s recollection, the toilet had never flushed. Late in the morning he would walk from the house to the café for his coffee or sometimes a Coca-Cola and sit outside beneath the portico at a metal table. He made phone calls from the café and brought girls here that he picked up on the beach, to buy them treats and eventually talk business. In an informal way the café was his office.

This morning he was interviewing a girl by the name of Loret. She was seventeen and had some good points, some not so good. She was attractive, she seemed intelligent enough-at least not out of the cane-but she was sullen; her normal expression was a frown, almost a scowl.

“Smile,” Rafi said.

Sitting with her can of Seven-Up, Loret bared small teeth. Her smile seemed defensive.

“Relax and do it again… That’s better. Now relax your smile very slowly… There. That’s the expression you want on your face. Very nice. And sit up straight; don’t slouch like that.”

For a girl so small her breasts seemed to fill her T-shirt and pull her shoulders forward with their weight.

“What do you use on your hair?”

“A rinse, I make it lighter.” It was a shade of henna, too bright for her tawny skin.