Elmore Leonard - Cat Chaser

“How much?” Mary said.

“The investment? I don’t know, I have to show you the papers.”

“Would you like to show my husband?”

“He has his investment, uh?” Rafi said. “You have yours. What’s the matter with that? I wouldn’t wish to take his valuable time, a man like your husband…”

“He’s coming,” Mary said, nodding toward the bay. “Tell him about it.”

Rafi turned to see the prow of the boat approaching the dock, a heavy rumbling sound reaching them.

“I think you misunderstand me.”

They could hear the boat’s exhaust clearly as the white hull crept toward its berth and a deckhand jumped to the dock with a line.

“Really,” Mary said, “tell him about your profitable investments.”

“Well, I’d be happy to meet your husband, of course…”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“General de Boya. Every Dominican knows of him. It would be an honor.”

“He’s not a general anymore,” Mary said. “He’s… I’m not sure what he is. Ask him.”

Rafi had lost some of his confidence. He seemed apprehensive, watching de Boya, in a business suit, coming across the lawn toward them, and looked at Mary quickly.

“I don’t want to take his time.”

“He won’t let you take his time if he doesn’t want you to,” Mary said. “Tell him whatever you like.”

She glanced at Rafi preparing himself, squaring his shoulders; then waited until her husband was mounting the steps to the sundeck. He was wearing sunglasses, his grim expression in place.

“Andres, I’d like you to meet a fellow Dominican, Rafael Amado.” And told him they had met at the Santo Domingo Country Club on her last trip. “Rafi’s in investments. You two should get along fine.”

She watched Rafi step forward and bow, eyes lowered, as he took her husband’s hand, a commoner in the presence of royalty. But it was her husband’s reaction that surprised her more. His posture seemed to be not the stiff formality he reserved for strangers, meeting someone for the first time, but the more guarded sense of suspicion he usually reserved for her. She wondered if he knew who Rafi was. They spoke in Spanish for less than a minute while Andres eyed him and Rafi looked off nodding, trying to maintain a thoughtful, interested expression; until Andres gave him a stiff nod for a bow, looked at Mary briefly as he excused himself and walked into the house.

Rafi now seemed dazed. He said, “I’ve met General Andres de Boya.”

“And he didn’t take you out and shoot you,” Mary said. “He must like you.”

It was as though Rafi took her seriously, his expression numb, a glazed look in his eyes.

“When I was little,” he said, then paused. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you. It might seem offensive to you.”

Mary shrugged. “No more than anything else you’ve said.”

Now he seemed wounded. “Have I hurt you?”

“When you were a little boy,” Mary began. “What?”

“My mother would threaten me,” Rafi said, “as many of the mothers of small children did at that time. She would say to me, ‘If you’re not good, General de Boya will come and take you and we’ll never see you again.’ “ Rafi gestured with a weak smile. “That’s all. As you introduced me to him I thought of it again.”

“Well, it sounds like something to keep in mind,” Mary said, “no matter how old you are.”

There had been a list of POOL RULES on a board nailed to a palm tree, put there by the previous owner. No running… No splashing… No swimming without showering first… No glass objects allowed on the patio … A list of negatives Moran never cared for. So when the palm tree died and was removed the POOL RULES went with it. He did set an example, though, and when he switched after two cans of beer to scotch he poured it into a plastic party glass with ice and took his drink outside to sit in his deck chair and wait for Rafi.

It was dark now though still early evening. He had not seen Rafi all day. When he saw him again it would be for the last time. He did not have to prepare a speech; what he had to say was simple enough. Get your ass out of here.

He told himself he shouldn’t let things get out of hand like this. He should never wait for things to happen and then have to clean up after. Maybe he should have put the pool rules up somewhere. But then he thought, no. Even if you said No glass objects people could still bring a glass out and break it; they could still cut themselves and sue you. No, rules were cold, unrelenting. You had to handle people individually, take each situation as it came. Just don’t let them talk you into something you don’t want to do.

He wished Mary were here looking at the ocean with him. Looking at the ocean at night made him think of himself in a quieting way. He felt the breeze with a smell of salt in it and thought of turning on some music. Start with Placido Domingo doing love ballads. She said he was more romantic than she’d expected and he told her he felt like he was seventeen. He did. Thinking about her now mellowed him. Start with Placido and work up to J. Geils.

So that when Rafi showed up, coming across the patio from the office, Moran waved-”Hey, I want to talk to you”-and walked toward the swimming pool where Rafi stood in the green glow of underwater lights.

“What’d you lay on Mary?”

“I’m sorry…” Rafi began, not understanding.

“I am too,” Moran said. “Never buy a guy dinner until he proves you shot him.” Rafi still looked puzzled-real or acting, it didn’t matter to Moran. “You weren’t on that roof with Luci anymore’n that little broad’s her sister. So let’s cut the shit. I don’t care if you own up or not, long as you’re out of here tomorrow.”

Rafi seemed hurt now. “George, what is it? Why you saying this?”

“You can try it out on me,” Moran said, “it was kind of interesting, see how you handle it. But you go for my friend, the fun’s over. Take your little hooker and get out of here.”

Rafi said, “My hooker?”

“Your puta . She’s over there waiting for you.” Moran nodded toward Number One, at the figure of the girl in the doorway, and it took him by surprise; the classic pose, the girl’s body outlined in a soft glow of lamplight, inviting without making a move.

Rafi said, “George, you heard her story… I swear to you on my mother’s honor…”

“You better keep your mother out of it,” Moran said, “unless you want to hear some street Spanish about where you came from. You comprende, pendejo? Let’s keep it simple. You brought the girl along so I’ll feel sorry for her and you can make a pitch. Something for poor little Loret, living down there in the slums. And if I get your meaning you don’t have to hold anything over my head. Then what? You parade her in front of Mary?… You knew who she was when we were down there, didn’t you? Must’ve lit your eyes up. What’d you say to her today?”

Rafi took his time. “George, part of what you say is true. Yes, I recognize Mary. But I don’t say anything because I don’t want to… surprise you and you think the wrong thing.”

“Bullshit, you had to come up with a scheme. You followed me today, you followed her… You tell her how much you want or you haven’t made up your mind yet?”

“George, what do you think I want?”

“Not what , how much. I know what you want. Christ, the way you do it, you might as well wear a sign. You’re a fucking lizard, Rafi, that’s all I can say.”

Rafi gave himself a little time. He sighed. “You make it sound ugly, George, I’m surprise. A man like you, run this kind of place.” Rafi looked about critically in the glow of the swimming pool, unimpressed. “You want me to believe it’s very swank. But soon as I come here I realize something, George. You see a good thing you go for it. You accuse me, but, George”-with a smile to show patience and understanding-”I’m not the one fucking General de Boya’s wife, you are.”