Elmore Leonard - Pagan Babies

Debbie heard Terry say he went to U of D, too, but Tony didn't comment. He said, "Come on, take the picture."

Joe said, "You want the check in the shot, don't you?"

Tony motioned to Vito. "On the desk."

Vito brought Tony the check and Debbie watched Terry trying to read the figures, Terry smiling, taking the end of the check between his fingers as Tony presented it and then pulled it away from him.

"You don't need to touch it I'm handing it to you. All you have to do is look grateful. Joe, take the picture."

"I want to shoot a Polaroid first," Joe said. "See what we're getting."

"You're getting me and him and the check's what you're getting.

Now take the picture."

Joe went to work shooting, the flash popping, Joe getting warmed up, five shots in the camera, and Tony said, "That's enough. Vito, help Joe with his equipment. Pack it up out'n the hall." He walked over to his desk with the check.

Debbie said, "Well, that was quick. We are grateful, Mr. Amilia, more than I can tell you."

He was looking at Terry. "All right, Father, you all set? Vito's gonna take you back."

Debbie said, "Well, if that's it," standing at the desk now, waiting for Tony to hand her the check.

He turned to her saying, "Father's going home, you're staying awhile. I want to talk to you."

Debbie said, "Would you mind if Father waited? So we can go back together?" She beamed a smile at him. "We're pretty excited."

Tony said, "Do what I ask, all right? I would like you to stay."

She gave him a cute, wide-eyed shrug, all innocence. "I just thought it might be easier-"

The man's expression did not change. He'd spoken and that was it, end of discussion. Debbie said, "No, if you want me to stay, I'd be happy to." God, overdoing it. She heard Terry, behind her, thank Mr.

Amilia.

He said, I'll call you later, Deb."

And sheturned in time to see him going out the door, Vito closing it behind them. She thought of what he'd said in the other room, about their making sure he went back to Africa.

The first thing Tony said was, "Don't be nervous. Come on over here and we'll sit down, have a talk."

He brought her to a grouping of white leather chairs around a slate cocktail table, a phone there, a floor lamp turned low, but she didn't sit down right away. Debbie walked a few steps past the chairs to a glass door that looked out on water, the wide expanse of Lake St.

Clair narrowing in the dark to enter the Detroit River. She stood close to the glass, hands shielding her eyes against the light in the study, to see what was out there. Nothing. Gray shades of night. His voice asked if she wanted a drink. She said without turning to him, "I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"Yes or no."

"Okay, but only if you're having one."

"I don't think I will, Miss Manners, so you don't get one."

Even as he said it she was thinking, Do you hear yourselfЈ? He even caught it. She remained at the glass door looking at nothing, into herself in the dark, wanting to get back to being herself and stop acting cute and so fucking grateful. She'd gone over the top thanking him and that was enough. Now there was a pinpoint of light out there in the gray that was a darker gray than the sky, two lights, moving.

She said, "Is this where you used to bring in liquor from Canada?"

"Me?"

"During Prohibition."

"How old you think I am? No, that was mostly the Jews, the Fleisher brothers and Beeny Bernstein, the Purple Gang. Before my time."

She turned from the glass and sat down with him, the slate table between them. She said, "What's the catch?"

"What're you talking about?"

He reminded her of Ben Gazzara, maybe a bit older and heavier, but that type. She said, "What do I have to do?"

"Oh, you think I want to have sex with you. Pop a few Viagras, listen to Frank Sinatra while we give the pills time to kick in. And you know what? I think it'd be terrific, even with Clara upstairs saying her beads." He said, "Are you fucking the priest?"

Out of nowhere.

Like a heckler in a comedy club, something she could handle. She said, "No, are you? Does he get the check or not?"

Tony brought it out of his inside coat pocket and looked at it, a pale-green check. He said, reading it, "Pay to the order of The Orphans of Rwanda Fund," looked straight at Debbie and tore the check in half.

She said, "Well, that's that. You've got your picture and you'll come off looking great in the paper. I should've known."

"You should've known what?"

She said, "Considering how you make your money."

"You don't know what I do."

"I'm following your trial."

"The feds don't know half of it. I don't talk about what I do, I don't advertise. I don't put on a show. You see these pro backs, these iitterbugs, they score a touchdown and do their dance, the funky chicken? Larry Czonka, one of the greats, said if he ever did that in his time, Howie Long, another one of the greats'd punch him in the head. That's my style, do the job without calling attention to yourself.

You say you should've known, like you know what you're talking about. What do you do? You work for lawyers, right? Personal injury stuff, but you want to do comedy. That's what Ed tells me. He says you're funny. He's never seen your act but that's what he says.

Are you funny?"

"I'm working on it."

"How serious are you?"

"I'm trying seriously to do comedy. How's that?"

"I touched a nerve there. Maybe you have trouble making up your mind what you want. Or how you want to do it. I don't think you have to be that funny to get by. Most of the clowns doing comedy these days're stupid. They come on the stage like they got shot out of a fuckin cannon, and that's as good as it gets. Who's your all-time favorite comic?"

"Richard Pryor."

"Jesus Christ, the iig with the filthy mouth. What about Red Skelton? You ever see him do the Guzzler's gin skit?"

"Gimme a break."

"You don't like Red Skelton?"

"I put him right up there with Milton Berle."

"Now you're the tough kid, uh? On your own turf."

"You have your style," Debbie said, "and I have mine. If I make it, it'll be on my terms."

"Do whatever you have to, uh?"

"Whatever."

"You know I can help you."

She said, "How, write my material?"

Tony smiled at her. "You take chances, don't you?" He got up from his chair saying, "Don't move," walked over to his desk, brought something out of a file folder and came back with it. A check.

This one a pale blue. He handed it to Debbie and sat down again.

"What's the amount?"

"Two hundred fifty thousand."

"Made out to?"

"Cash."

"You notice," Tony said, "it's a cashier's check, not like the other one for the newspaper picture. This one's good the minute you put it in the bank or you cash it. You don't have to wait for it to clear."

She looked up at him. "You're giving this to me?"

"It's all yours."

"Why? Is this like a test?"

"You mean see if you do the right thing? Sweetheart, there isn't any right or wrong about it. I'm giving it to you 'cause I don't care one way or the other about the mick priest and his orphans. There's always orphans around, it's the way it is."

She said, "But the whole idea, what we talked about, you know, his mission-"

"I make the deals," Tony said. "I say it's your money, it's yours, nobody else's."

Debbie was looking at the check again.

She said, "Really?"

"And if you're worried about seeing the priest again, forget about it," Tony said. "I'm sending him back to Africa."

TERRY WANTED TO RIDE IN front with Vito Genoa, maybe this time mention the cigarette business, try to get next to the guy and find out what was going on. Were they getting the check or not? But Vito said no, he had to ride in back. After that Vito pretty much kept his mouth shut. Terry did mention the cigarette business, but all Vito said was, "Yeah?" It was a quiet ride along the freeways, nothing to see.