Elmore Leonard - Cat Chaser

“Yeah, it’s sort of a euphemism. She said Ballbusters Incorporated it would’ve been closer, but that doesn’t sound right on the phone, it’s too graphic.”

Moran waited, letting Nolen talk. The guy was onstage.

“Dorado either manages or controls all the businesses-the restaurants, the furniture stores, dry cleaners-that were into them for shylock money and couldn’t make the payments. We’re talking about the wise guys. You understand?”

Moran nodded. “Yeah, go on.”

“So Dorado, the wise guys, foreclose and take over the business. All I’m saying is things like that go on, you know that, Miami’s very heavy into all kinds of shit. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about, nothing. Except I want you to appreciate where Jiggs Scully’s coming from, his background. He’s like a bill collector. He’s on call. Dorado has an outstanding debt or, say, they believe one of their drug dealers is skimming they call Jiggs and he straightens it out. De Boya is something else entirely. I assume he’s been into deals with Dorado Management and that’s how he got to know Jiggs. But I don’t know anything about the deals and I don’t want to know. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Moran said, “What’re you getting into?”

“I’m not getting into anything.”

“You gonna start wearing a black overcoat. Pack a gun?”

“They don’t wear overcoats down here, George. I’m telling you who’s who, that’s all. You want to know who Scully is, I’m telling you.”

“You think he’s a nice guy.”

“I think he’s funny,” Nolen said. “He says funny things.” Nolen grinned. “He says, ‘Something’s wrong, what they teach you in school. How come, I’m an altar boy, I go to mass and communion every morning of my young life, I end up working for the fucking guineas, the fucking spics, carrying their bags?’ “

“That’s pretty funny,” Moran said.

“You have to hear him, the way he says it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t bother me too much I never saw the guy again,” Moran said. “And if you’ll excuse me-I want to rest and get cleaned up.”

“Hey, that’s right-how was the trip?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.” Moving Nolen to the door.

“Yeah, good. You gonna be around?”

“I don’t know yet. I might go out.” Practically pushing him through the door.

“I want to hear all about it, George. What was your platoon down there? Ass Chaser? You get much this time?”

“Get out of here,” Moran said and closed the door on him.

She had told him her phone number and he’d memorized it on the spot. He dialed and waited, standing at the counter, anxious, without a story for the maid or whoever answered. A woman’s voice with an accent said, “Yes, may I help you?”

“Mrs. de Boya, please.”

“May I say who is calling?”

Shit… “Tell her Mr. Delaney.” When she came on he said, “Mary?”

She said, “Who’re you supposed to be, a relative?”

“Do you have any?”

“Not around here. They’re all up in Michigan.”

“Then I’m visiting… I miss you already.”

“I do too. I ache.”

“Can you talk?”

“Not comfortably. He’s home.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside on the deck, having a glass of sherry. I’m nervous.”

“I can hear a boat,” Moran said. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“I just walked in the door.”

“I mean have you seen him.”

“Yeah… we said hello. That was about it.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“On the cheek.”

“I’m not good on the phone. I miss you.”

“I miss you more. God, I miss you. Let’s go back.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Let’s meet somewhere.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No, let me think… Do you know where Matheson Hammock is, the park?”

“Yeah, just south of you, on the bay.”

“Drive out to the point. To the left of where you go into the beach.”

“I know where it is.”

“I’ll meet you there tomorrow at… what time?”

“Six A.M.”

“How about noon?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I love you, George.” She hung up.

He had to pace the room a few times before settling down, getting organized. Through the window he could see Nolen sitting by the pool, alone with his beer. The bit actor, part-time private eye who thought Jiggs Scully was funny. Turned on by the guy’s deadpan involvement with businessmen who hired him to break legs and collect the vig on money owed. Moran moved from the window.

He had all he could handle for the time being. Nolen Tyner would have to look out for himself.

From the sun deck she could see the park and tropical gardens, a peninsula of jungle extending out of the coral shoreline a half mile to the south, where she would meet him tomorrow. The sky, streaked red above the jungle and fading, darkened as her gaze moved east into the ocean, to the faraway Cape Florida light at the tip of Key Biscayne. Looking at the ocean made her feel safer, above suspicion to anyone in the house watching her. Resting after a two-hour flight and the usual airport hassle. Innocent. Though not eager to talk to a husband she hadn’t seen in five days. If not innocent at least honest. What was there to talk about? Andres made statements, issued commands, grunted… breathed through his nose when he made love, finished and left her bedroom. He might come to her tonight.

On the lawn that extended to the seawall a figure moved out of shadows, a stand of young acacia, crossed open ground to the dock where the de Boya cruiser was moored, then continued on in the direction of the swimming pool, secluded among tropical palms. Day and night armed guards moved about the property: either Corky or one of several serious young Dominicans Andres employed. More security guards than household help: millionaire self-sufficiency and thoroughly modern, from the weapons the Dominicans carried to the video scanner mounted above the front door.

Altagracia, their maid, served dinner: chicken breasts glazed with fruit flamed in brandy by candlelight, the shadow of Altagracia moving across polished wood, soundless. Mary said to her, “The next time I go down give me your mother’s number and I’ll call her. If you’d like me to.”

Altagracia said, “Yes, señora. But she don’t have a phone.”

Mary said, “Oh.” Altagracia finished serving them and left. “We haven’t made plans to go back, but I thought if we ever did…” Mary let her voice trail. She raised her eyes to the candlelight, watched for a moment as Andres ate with his shoulders hunched over the table, lowering his head to the fork barely lifted from the plate-the can cutter who had become a general. “We had a wonderful time.”

She could hear his lips smack. When they were first married she had enjoyed watching him eat, even to the way he sipped his wine with a mouthful of food, sipped and chewed; there was something romantically hardy and robust about it, for a time.

“The weather was perfect. A few afternoon showers, but they didn’t last.” Mary tried hard to remember more about the Dominican weather.

Andres said, “That friend of yours, the fat one with hair like a man. I saw her.”

It was coming now. Mary sat very still, then made herself reach for the salt. He was watching her now.

“You mean Marilyn? She was with us.” Bold now, getting it out in the open. “When did you see her?”

“Yesterday. I was going in the club.”

“Then she told you I was staying an extra day.”

“She told me nothing about that.”

Mary could see his eyes in the candle-glow, age lines making him appear tired, less rigid, the look of vulnerability she had mentioned to Moran. But it was the lighting, she realized now, that softened him, not something from within.