ELMORE LEONARD - Unknown Man #89

Dick Speed said, “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Not yet,” Ryan said. “What’d you find out?”

“I just want to say, your new friends are certainly interesting people. Take Mr. Francis X. Perez. Sixty-eight to seventy-two, he served four and a half years at Angola.”

“That’s a prison down there?”

“You bet it is. Louisiana.”

Ryan felt pretty smart for a moment. “Embezzlement, or some kind of con, right?”

“Wrong. Accessory to murder. He was convicted of paying a man by the name of Raymond Gidre, a part-time employee, to shoot another man in the chest five times. Raymond Gidre was brought to trial, but they had to settle for second degree, I don’t know why, and he got off with eight years hard time… released, let’s see… just a couple of weeks ago. You know him, too? Raymond Gidre?”

“No, I never heard of him. But how’d they get him as an accessory? Perez.”

“He was doing some kind of business with the guy who was killed and they tied Perez in with Gidre, checks or something, and I think the three of them were seen together. It sounded circumstantial. In fact, it looks to me like hearsay, but they convicted them. Perez appealed and lost it.”

“Can I get the details from you?”

“What I have. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

“I told you. Perez hired me to find Robert Leary. And the stock part of it. I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Buddy, you want some advice. Get back to serving papers as fast as you can.”

“I am ,” Ryan said, “as soon as I find the guy. I’m not involved in this. I give him an address and I’m done, I don’t even have to talk to Leary.”

“But you have to talk to Perez,” Dick Speed said, “you’re dealing with the man.”

“I’m working for him. How does that look on my rйsumй? Shit, I don’t like it at all, but I could be right next to fifteen grand.”

“Okay, but remember,” Dick Speed said, “nobody hands you money for nothing, unless you’re giving a lot more than you think.”

“Wait a minute,” Ryan said, “I want to write that down.”

They would talk and not say anything for a few minutes, exchange a few words and lapse into silence, and Ryan would concentrate on picking at his egg roll and chop suey.

When he looked at Rita again he said, “You know how long it takes me to make fifteen thousand? About eight or nine months. I’ve got a chance, I could make it in one day.”

“What’re you arguing with me for?” Rita said. “You’re going to do what you want.”

“I’m not arguing.”

“Then you’re talking to yourself. What do you want me to say, go ahead? I’ve already told you what I think.”

“What about if I give it a week? If I don’t find the guy within one week, I forget the whole thing.”

“Darling boy, I’m not your wife. Are you asking me for permission?”

“I’m laying it out,” Ryan said, “so I can look at it.”

“Why?” Rita said. “You’ve already made up your mind.”

Maybe she was smarter than he thought. Or maybe he was dumber. What was he doing? Rationalizing. Like finding an excuse to have a drink. In this case it wasn’t a drink, it was fifteen thousand. Maybe he did want permission, someone to tell him it was all right. Then if he messed up, got into something over his head, it wouldn’t be entirely his fault. Someone else had said sure, go ahead. But it wasn’t that way at all, was it? Rita was right, he had already made up his mind. So why keep talking about it? Do it. It was his decision, his responsibility for whatever happened to him.

There.

“Will you do me a favor?”

“If I can,” Rita said.

“Call the News and the Free Press tomorrow. I want to put a message in the personals for the day after.”

“Sure. What do you want to say?”

“I’ll have to think about it, the right words.” He looked at her now and grinned. He could relax again, for a while. He said, “How about if we went in there and laid down, took a little rest? Aren’t you tired?”

Rita stared at him, her expression softening. “Now the little boy comes back. You’re a hard guy to know, Ryan.”

Rita left a little before midnight.

At two-fifteen in the morning, Ryan’s phone rang again.

“I’m fucking up,” the girl said, her voice sounding faint, far away from the phone. “I’m really fucking up good and I don’t want to. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be inside me, but I can’t get out. I don’t know how.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m so tired. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I know,” Ryan said.

“I’m so fucking tired of thinking and being in here and I can’t-goddamn it, I can’t get out .”

“Lee? Where are you?”

“I’m-the place’s closed, I have to go home. Listen, I’m sorry. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“Give me your address,” Ryan said. He listened closely as she mumbled something and he said, “What? Give it to me again.” He reached for his notebook and wrote down the street and number on Cass. An apartment upstairs. Two-oh-four. Probably within a block or two of the bar.

“Go right home, okay? Go to bed. But listen, Lee? Leave the door unlocked.”

“I told him, I don’t give a shit what happens to him. I don’t give a shit if he exists even. The son of a bitch.”

Ryan waited. “Who’re you talking about?”

“Christ, Bobby. Who do you think?”

“Was he with you?”

“I mean it. I don’t give a shit what happens to him. And do you know what?”

“What?”

“I never did. He wants me to-”

Ryan waited again. “What does he want you to do?”

“I told him he can go fuck himself.”

“Lee, go on home now, okay?… You hear me?”

“I hear.”

“Good,” Ryan said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

THE VOICE ONthe phone said to Virgil Royal, “You still in the subcontracting business?”

Virgil recognized the voice. “Yeah-but I got something on right now.”

“I know what you got on. Thing I don’t see is what you living on. Some lady feeding you?”

“I’m scratching,” Virgil said. “I don’t want this one to get away.”

“Somebody’s gonna tell you when he come out on the street. What you worried about?”

“Man’s got people anxious to see him beside me. Got to get to him first or wait in line. But yeah, I could use something. How much we talking about?”

“I can go fifteen hundred for some fast action. Like today.”

“You too busy?”

“Yeah, shit,” the voice said, a tired, slow tone. “I got one, man won’t sit still. It’s taking some time. This other one, somebody wants right away. Reason I’m calling you this early. You want it, I can give you what you need.”

“Who we talking about?” Virgil said.

“Name of Lonnie-used to work for Sportree? You know him?”

“Lonnie? With the high heels and shit? He’s a doll baby.”

“Talking doll,” the voice said. “The policemen play with him and he talks to them. You want it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Lemme see, I need some working capital, get me a driver. Only thing I got right now’s this twelve-gauge Hi-Standard I was saving for somebody.”

“Flite-King?”

“I don’t know. Six-shot pump action. One thirty-four ninety-five.”

“Yeah, it’s all right. It’s a big motherfucker.”

“I already cut it down,” Virgil said.

“I can give you a nice clean piece, still got the factory oil on it,” the voice said. “If you want it. I never tell a man his business.”