Elmore Leonard - Cat Chaser

They waited to hear the toilet flush, raised their pistols and began firing point-blank into the center of the door, the reports earsplitting in the confined area. Then silence. Corky turned the knob carefully, opened the door a crack, stepped back and used the sole of his foot to bang the door completely open.

Jiggs came out of the shower stall arms extended, holding a blue-steel automatic in both hands, ignoring Corky to level it straight at de Boya’s face. He saw those ice-water eyes wide open for the first time.

“Something I learned a long time ago, General, never take your joint out with guys you don’t trust. Specially you hot-blooded fellas like a lot of noise, shoot the place up. Come in here. Come on,” Jiggs said, stepping back on broken glass and bits of porcelain to let them come in past him. “Drop the guns in the toilet… That’s the way. You too, Corko. What’s this a truss?” He snapped the elastic strap of Corky’s shoulder holster. “You got a hernia? That’s it, in the toilet. Now I want you to take your clothes off. That’s what you do, right, General? Strip ’em down bare-ass.”

As he began to undress de Boya said, “I pay for my life, uh? How much I have to pay you?”

“Gonna make it easy,” Jiggs said, edging past them to sit down on the toilet. “Only take your suitcases. Corky, gimme the car keys. I’ll get ’em after.”

“I begin to think it’s what you want,” de Boya said, “but I don’t see how you know about it.” He paused unbuttoning his shirt, occupied with his thoughts. “Unless it was my wife?”

“You told me yourself,” Jiggs said, “talking to Jimmy Cap, that day out at Calder. All the rest of the bullshit is just bullshit, way to get you here.” He said to Corky, “What’re you looking at? Come on, get your clothes off.” He raised the automatic in Corky’s face. “Can’t figure out what this is, can you? Looks like your standard nine-millimeter Smith Parabellum except for that hickey sticking out.” Jiggs dug into his side coat pocket, brought out a five-inch gunmetal tube and screwed it onto the threaded stub, the “hickey” that extended from the muzzle of the automatic. “Factory-modified. They call it a Hush-Puppy. Come on, General, take it off. Take it all off-like the broad says with the shaving cream. You too, Corko, drop the Jockeys, but keep an eye on the general there he don’t try and cop your joint… Shoes, everything.”

He seemed proud of his gun and showed them the profile with the silencer attached.

“Got a slide lock here on the side. You fire once it doesn’t eject, so you don’t hear the slide click open. You don’t even hear that poumpf you get with a silencer. You know why? I use a subsonic round, very low muzzle velocity. Take the lock off you hear the slide jack open and close as you fire, but that’s all, just that click-click … You guys ready? Leave your clothes on the floor there.”

De Boya said, “You’re going to take our clothes?” He stood straight, shoulders back and seemed to be in good shape, heavyset but not too much flab.

“I’ll see they don’t get wrinkled,” Jiggs said. “Now get’n the shower. Go on, move.”

“Both of us?” de Boya asked.

“Both of you the same time.” Jiggs stood up now and motioned them into the stall. “Corky, watch yourself. Don’t drop the soap.” Corky was skinnier than he looked in clothes; chewing on that pussy mustache like he was going to cry. “Okay, turn the water on. Get it how you like it.”

De Boya said, “What is the need of this?”

Jiggs said, “Just turn the water on, will you, please?”

He shot de Boya high through the rib cage with his arms raised to adjust the shower head, lung-shot him and shot him again in near silence as de Boya flattened against the wall and began to slide, smearing the tile. Corky was screaming now, hunching, holding his hands out protectively. He shot Corky twice in the chest through one of his hands, Corky’s body folding to fall across de Boya curled up like he was trying to keep warm. He watched their heads jump with a final twitch as he shot them each again, watched the stream of water cleanse them, then pulled the shower curtain closed. He’d let the water run while he went out to get the suitcases.

THE BAR JIGGS HAD PICKED OUTfor Nolen was on the corner of Atlantic and SW Sixth Avenue on the west side of Pompano, about thirty seconds from the freeway.

Nolen was wearing sunglasses and an old raincoat, creased with wrinkles, his cowboy boots hooked in the rung of the barstool that was as close to the phone booth as he could get: sipping scotch with a twist, fooling with the swizzle stick that was like a little blue sword. Four swords on the bar plus the one he was playing with. The bartender had tried to take them and Nolen told him no, he needed the swords to keep score. He was allowing himself six, no more than that. Just enough to keep his motor responses lubricated, idling. He didn’t count the pitcher of sours; that was breakfast. It seemed a long time ago-still there in Moran’s house sipping when he got the emergency call from Jiggs, Jiggs saying he was in de Boya’s garage and the starting time had been moved up to right now , he’d call him at the bar when they got to Boca; only it might not be Boca, the general wasn’t being very cooperative. All that at once while Nolen was trying to ask him what he was doing in the garage, for Christ sake, and what were all the sirens.

The place was dark and had a nice smell of beer, the bartender down talking to the one other customer that looked like a retiree with his golf cap.

They both looked up as the phone rang in the booth and watched the weird-looking guy in the raincoat and sunglasses almost kill himself getting off his stool, the seat of the stool next to him spinning, throwing him as he leaned on it to get up. The bartender said, “I sure hope that’s your call.”

Nolen waved at him, went in the booth and closed the door. As soon as he heard Jiggs’s voice he said, “The hell’s going on?”

Jiggs’s voice sounded calm. Nolen listened, holding back on all his questions as Jiggs told him where to come, not Boca, but a place west of Lau-derdale and not too far.

“Just tell me how it went?”

Jiggs’s voice said it went fine, no problem.

“You got it?”

Jiggs’s voice said he was going to get it out of the car right now.

“Where’s de Boya?”

Jiggs’s voice said he was in the bathroom. The voice stopped Nolen then. It said, “Nolen, you want to talk on the phone, shoot the shit, or you want to get over here and help me count?”

Moran said to Jerry, “Mary’s gonna be staying with us maybe a few days. Oceanfront Number One.”

Jerry took a moment to adjust before coming on full of cordiality. “Why sure, that’s the one with the view. Except today. But the paper says it’s gonna clear up by tomorrow.” He got the key and said to Mary, “You like to register now? Or you can do it later if you want.”

Mary held back. Moran said, “Jerry, she’s not here. Okay?” He took the key and handed it to Mary. “If anybody asks.”

“I never saw this young lady before in my life,” Jerry said.

“I mean even if it’s the police. All right?”

Jerry sobered. He adjusted his golf cap, resetting it in the same position, cocked slightly to one side. “Yeah, well I don’t see any problem.”

“We won’t take any guests for a few days. Not that they’re breaking down the door.”

“Turn the No Vacancy on?”

“No, let’s not tell anybody a thing. I appreciate it, Jerry.”

“I know you do,” Jerry said. He gave Mary a wink, getting the feel of his new role.