Elmore Leonard - Gold Coast

“He’s threatening her,” Karen said.

“Hey, Marty, am I threatening you?” Staring at her from beneath the low hat brim. “Go ahead, tell ’em.”

“No, he’s not,” Marta said.

“Do you want to make a complaint against this man?” the police officer said.

“No,” Marta said.

“Was he bothering you in any way?”

“No.”

The police officer looked at Karen. Roland looked at her, too. She said, “Can I make a complaint?”

The police officer said to Marta, “How old are you?”

“Twenny-two.”

“If this lady says there was an assault and it was against you, then you’d have to file the complaint,” the police officer said to Marta. “Are you afraid of this man? That he might hurt you?”

“No,” Marta said.

“Or he might hurt somebody in your family?”

Marta shook her head. “No.”

“You and him were just playing around?”

“Yes.”

The police officer stared at her a little longer before turning to Karen. “If you want to make a complaint- Or maybe you ought to tell us what’s going on here.”

Karen said, “Do you really want to know?”

Roland liked that. He grinned, adjusting his hat, fooling with it. He said to Karen, “There you are. They want to hear the dirt.” Roland’s gaze moved to the police officers. He said to them, “You know who this lady is, Mrs. DiCilia? Was married to Frank DiCilia, good friend of Ed Grossi, recently passed away.”

(Sure, they knew it. They’d have been sitting on Roland with a sap under his chin if it was some other backyard.)

“See, we have our disagreements, get into arguments like anybody else,” Roland went on, as though he belonged here, part of the family. “But if we was to start ex plain ing everything to you, you’d be writing reports all night and on your day off… wouldn’t you?”

Roland knew he had hit the nail on the head. The police officers stood there not saying anything. What did they see? A guy chases the maid into the swimming pool and the lady of the house gets pissed off. The lady hadn’t yelled or had a fit. The lady was mad, yeah, but she seemed in control of the situation. (“Do you really want to know?”) Pretty cool about it. It took the policemen off the hook and it made Roland happier’n a pig in shit. The lady saw clearly the position she was in. Call the police and then what? Call them every day?

Roland, in the front doorway, watched the white Lauderdale police car with it’s red bubble, drive over the bridge to Harbor Beach Parkway. He’d pulled it off, made his point.

Roland said over his shoulder, “I knew you were up there watching. You enjoy the show?”

No answer from her.

The cops had eyed his Cadillac and right now were probably calling the Communications Center to punch the code on his license number. Those guys were going to shit when they got the report; but they wouldn’t come back now without a heavy charge and backup.

Karen, standing behind him in the hall, said, “Are we going to talk?”

Roland turned, closing the door. He studied Karen, trying to make up his mind about something.

“You’re different’n before. You know it? You’re a lot calmer. I don’t mean you’re ever excitable, but there’s something different about you. You got something bothering you you’re holding in?”

“You talk a lot,” Karen said, “but you never get to the point.” She turned and went into the living room.

Roland followed her, looking up at the high-beamed ceiling, impressed with the size of the room every time he came in here.

“I believe I owe you a few bucks. I broke some plates.”

Karen said, “Tell me what you want.” She stood by the fireplace. She felt like moving but didn’t want to pace in front of him.

Roland eased into a deep chair. His hat brim touched the cushion of the backrest and he hunched forward a little.

“What’re you offering me?”

“How about twenty-five thousand?”

“Cash? In new hundred dollar bills?”

Karen stared at him.

Roland stared back. He said, “How come you got all those pictures upstairs?” He pulled his Ox Bow down closer to his eyes so he could rest his head against the chair.

“Did you take the money?”

“No, it’s there. I figure it’s for cigarettes and bird feed, uh?”

“I’m waiting for you to come out and say it,” Karen said. “What you want.”

“I’m not bragging or anything,” Roland said, “but ladies have asked me that before. ‘What do you want?’ they say, ‘anything.’ ”

“I haven’t said ‘anything.’ ”

“Not yet. See, the fact you got four million bucks, sort of-the proceeds of it-don’t make you any different from the other ladies asked me what I wanted. And I was in no position to be as nice to them as I am to you. See, Ed Grossi passed on before he changed anything, and guess who they put in charge?”

“I don’t believe you,” Karen said.

“Call Jimmy Cap. Ain’t nobody higher’n Jimmy.”

Karen started to move from the fireplace. She caught herself, moving to be moving, made herself stand motionless, relax, and put her hand on the rough beam that served as a mantel. Why was it so easy for him? Roland. The way he’d handled the police; refused to stand up or answer them. The convenience, the timing of Ed Grossi’s death. She wanted to probe, ask questions, insinuate-

And found she didn’t have to. Roland said, “You don’t know for sure Ed was gonna change anything, let you off, as you told me one time. No, I believe he meant to leave it as is. So you’re lucky, aren’t you, the way things turned out. Now you got somebody you can see eye to eye with.”

“The way it happened to turn out,” Karen said.

“Yeah, I don’t mean we should go out and celebrate Ed’s passing, but it does make it easier for all concerned.”

“That he happened to die,” Karen said, staying with it.

“Hey, they got the guy,” Roland said. “Don’t try and mix me up in that. No, all I’m saying, you work hard and sometimes you get lucky. And here we are, huh?”

“You had something to do with his death,” Karen said.

“I know the boy did it, that’s all. Ask the police, I already talked to them.”

Karen wanted to say, And Vivian, who’s also in this. Where’s Vivian? But she held back, aware of herself standing at the mantel, alone with the man who wore his hat in the house, the backcountry gangster, the Miami Beach hotdog, the good-ol’ boy with his boots on the coffee table-God-making herself remain calm while she felt the stir of excitement, and thought, as she had the first time he came here-you can handle it.

Play it his way. You can take him.

Karen said, “You still haven’t said anything, have you? What you want.”

“Yeah, I said ladies have offered me things, wanting to be nice.”

“How much is nice?”

“No, it’s got to be what you want to give. You don’t understand, do you?”

“I’m having a little trouble,” Karen said.

“Look, you got four million bucks, the proceeds of it. You got everything you should want or need. But if you leave here you’re cut off, the funds end.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I’m reviewing the situation. I can’t see you leaving and giving up four million bucks.”

“I can’t either,” Karen said.

“But your fooling-around love-life is also curtailed, huh?”

“It looks like it.”

“Unless you and me get something going.”

“You mean all I have to do is go to bed with you?”

Roland grinned. “You mention it, I get horny. But see, I’m not going to force you. As I told you the first time I was here, I’m your boy cuz I’m the only one you got.”