Elmore Leonard - Pagan Babies

You wonder what gets into people, don't you?"

"They killed children, too," the priest said. "These orphans're some that are left." He looked up then, placing the machete on the table, and said, 'I'll tell you what happened, Mutt. I believe that's your name?"

"Yes, it is."

"I asked Tony Amilia if he'd help me feed these starving children.

Look at this one, picking through a garbage dump. Tony said yeah, he'd get the money from Randy. You probably know about that."

"You're right," the Mutt said, "and Randy didn't want to give it to him."

"But Tony made him, didn't he? Randy gave him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars that was supposed to be for these children, but Tony kept it for himself. I haven't seen one nickel of it."

It caused the Mutt to frown and squint.

"You understand what I'm saying?" "Yeah, but I already got paid."

"To get rid of Vincent Moraco, wasn't it? Johnny told me on the phone."

"No, I got half up front to hit Mr. Moraco. But it was him, Mr.

Moraco, paid me to hit you."

For a moment there the priest looked confused, but said, "To keep me from getting Randy's money, right?"

"Yeah…?"

"And I didn't. Tony's got it. You want to shoot somebody, go shoot Tony. You got no business with me." The priest turned to the pictures again. "Unless you want to give something to feed these poor orphans. Look at these little fellas here. Look at their eyes."

Fran and Mary Pat were on the sofa in the library watching television.

They both looked up as Terry came in, Terry wearing a white shirt now and jeans. "He's gone?" Fran said.

"Yeah, he left."

Fran said, "He has to be the weirdest-looking gangster I've ever seen. What'd he want?"

"He heard about the orphan fund," Terry said, "and stopped by to make a contribution." He saw Mary Pat giving him her cool appraising eye as he held up a wad of bills. "Five thousand dollars, cash."

"He had that much in his pocket?"

"I guess he just got paid," Terry said. "You never know where it's gonna come from, do you?"

Mary Pat kept looking at him, but still didn't say anything, holding his gaze as he stood there.

Fran said, "Will you please sit down and talk to us?"

"When I get back," Terry said.

He went over and kissed Mary Pat on the cheek.

"I got to go see Debbie."

HE PUSHED THE BUTTON NEXT to D. Dewey and waited in the light over the doorway to hear her voice on the intercom or for the door to buzz open. She would know who it was. He pushed the button again and waited and then stepped back on the sidewalk to look up at the windows. But then he remembered her apartment was in back and faced the golf course and remembered looking out from the door to her balcony and seeing all that space where crops would be growing in the country he had left, seeing it that night as land going to waste. He ran around to the back of the two-story building and there was her balcony. Lights on in the apartment. He stood at the edge of the fairway looking up and called out, "Debbie!" A light came on in the aparient below hers. He called her name again and saw her at the glass door to the balcony. "It's me!" She saw him. He waved and ran around to the front and pushed her button and still had to wait for the door to buzz open. What was she doing? The door buzzed and he went up the stairs to 202.

She was wearing a pink kimono he hadn't seen before. She smiled, but in a tired way, nothing in her eyes.

"Why aren't you the happiest girl in town?"

She said, "I was in the bathroom." She turned from the door saying,

"I thought you'd at least call first."

"What happened? He tried to iump you, didn't he?"

"Nothing like that. You want a drink?"

He followed her into the kitchen saying, "Are we celebrating or what? Why did he want you to stay?"

She brought an ice tray from the refrigerator and cracked it open.

Her vodka and the bottle of Johnnie Walker were on the counter, left from that first night he was here, her bag with the shoulder strap lying next to the bottles. She said, "He asked me a lot of questions. He seemed to think he could help me."

"Do what?"

"Get into comedy. He thinks he can open doors, even get me on Leno."

"Why, because they're both Italian?"

"He said he had a connection."

"Are you all right?"

She said, "I'm tired, I'm worn out," and pushed his drink to him across the counter.

"Tell me what happened."

"He tore up the check."

Like that. No attempt to get him ready for it.

Terry had picked up his drink. He put it down again. "What do you mean he tore up the check?"

"He tore it in half."

"You're kidding."

"And then tore it again. That's what I mean when I say he tore up the check."

"The one he was handing me we're having our picture taken."

"That one."

"But he said okay. He gave us his word."

"Terry, the guy's a fucking gangster."

"Did you happen to, in some way, piss him off?"

"He asked who my favorite comic was and I said Richard Pryor.

His is Red Skelton."

"You didn't hit it off like you thought."

"Oh-and when he said he could help me? I go, 'What're you gonna do, write my material?'"

"Really? You said that to the boss of the mob, the mob boss? 'What're you gonna do, write my material?'" Terry paused as he saw Lauren Bacall delivering the line and his mind picked up one of her lines, his favorite, and changed it to, You know how to write, don't you, Tony? You put your pen in your hand and… He said,

"It's a good line except for your timing, the occasion. What did he say?"

She came close to Tony's low voice saying, " 'You take chances, don't you, kid?' No, he didn't say 'kid,' just that I take chances."

"And you took one and it didn't work."

"Actually I think he liked it, the line."

"Then why'd he tear up the check?"

She said, "If he ever meant to give it to us in the first place. I don't know… He's very matter of fact. He asked if I wanted a drink. I said, 'If you're having one.' He said, 'I'm not, so you don't get one.'

Gruff, but kind of cool."

"You seeing him again?"

"No. God, no. Why would you ask me that?"

"You think he's cool."

"I thought the line was cool. He said it and right away I wondered if I could work it as a bit."

Terry picked up his glass. He looked at the Scotch and swallowed most of it.

"What'd you say when he tore it up?"

"I said I should've known."

"You weren't surprised?"

"I was, but that's what I said."

"What did he say?"

She let her eyes close and opened them again. "Terry, I'm tired, I want to go to bed."

"You want me to stay?"

She took a sip of her drink. "If you want."

"Tell me what he said."

"He said, 'You should've known what?' I said something about how he makes his money, without coming right out and saying he's a crook, and he said…" She paused. "He said, 'You don't know what I do.' Like no one does, because he keeps a low profile, he's not a show-off. He compared himself to that guy who used to play for the Dolphins, Larry Czonka, who said if he ever did the funky chicken after he scored-and I wondered if I could do that as a bit, how pro football players showboat. If he ever did it this other guy would punch him in the head."

"Howie Long."

"That's the one. I pictured a guy in uniform punching another guy in the helmet, and the guy saying, 'Oh, shit, my hand.'"

Terry said, "I did, too, when I heard it." He said, "So I guess the whole thing, Tony just wanted to talk to you?"

"Well, nothing came of it. If you're staying, Tell, let's go to bed."

"But he went to all that trouble-"

"I don't know… Come on, Terry, let's go do it." She walked away.