Al Sarrantonio - Cold Night

"Let me see Izzy," Paine said.

He saw Izzy, behind the redhead, just reaching the bottom of the stairs. It looked like she had found her aging mate.

She said, "You're not from Max Dugan's Agency-" and then she stopped. She tried to close the door on him but he put his arm against it and pushed his way in. She almost fell. He closed the door behind him and helped the redhead balance herself. He walked her toward the kitchen, where Izzy was moving around, pulling drawers open.

When he got to the open doorway of the kitchen he pushed the woman in ahead of him. He had expected Izzy to come at him with something substantial but he had only a steak knife and he was backed against the open drawer he'd pulled it out of. As Paine entered the room, Izzy tensed back, sliding the drawer closed with his butt.

"Get the fuck away," Izzy stammered.

He was closer to the way Paine had imagined him than the woman was, runty, balding, but where Paine's imagination had stopped he was also tanned, and dressed in a silk robe with a Spandex brief swimsuit underneath. There were three or four gold chains around his neck.

"Goddammit, Izzy!" the redhead yelled. She was both accusing and cheering him on. "Goddammit!"

She backed toward Izzy, who hadn't moved, and she grabbed the steak knife from him and went toward Paine.

He waited patiently for her. She came at him with the knife overhead like any good movie psycho, but she knew more than Paine had counted on and at the last moment she brought the knife down in a roundhouse and barely missed his side. He threw his arm out and met her at the elbow, but she proved even better, and instead of the force of contact knocking the knife from her hand, she moved with his blow and brought her wrist back and then toward him.

This time she drew a thin serrated cut through the top of his knuckles. It was time to take her seriously. He kicked her feet out from under her and stepped on her wrist, pressing down to make her drop the knife. She didn't. She held on to it and curled it up at his ankle, cutting him again. Paine put all his weight on her wrist, and her hand began to turn purple and she let go of the steak knife. Paine kicked it away. He had a good idea what she would try next, so he bent down and punched her smartly in the mouth before she could get her teeth on him. She quit, then.

"Jesus, why did you do that!" she screeched, rolling over on the floor, continuing to whine through the sore hand she held to her bleeding mouth.

"I'll do it again if you don't shut up."

"Christ! How can I work like this?"

Izzy found his legs and tried to run past Paine, who easily blocked his way.

"Let's talk," Paine said, putting the flat of his hand on Izzy's chest and pinning him against the wall.

"Jesus, man, don't hurt me," Izzy begged. He looked at the redhead on the floor. "Don't do anything to me."

"We'll see," Paine said.

"Jesus," Izzy said. His hands clutched protectively at the front of his robe.

Paine removed his hand from Izzy's chest and drew out the note from Les Paterna's office. He handed it to Izzy.

Izzy gave the same intake of breath he had on the phone. In person it was more dramatic. His eyes rolled back for an instant. He looked at Paine; something he thought he saw on Paine's face made him loose in the knees and he buckled to the floor and began to plead in earnest.

"Oh, Jesus, I'll get you the money. If that's what you want I'll get the thirty-three grand. That bastard Paterna. That bastard. He sold it to you, didn't he? That stinking bastard." He was wringing his hands, and now he turned on the woman on the floor. "I told you we couldn't trust the bastard, didn't I? Sooner or later, didn't I tell you that? Didn't I say the first time he got into trouble he'd sell that note? Didn't I tell you not to trust him when he didn't give it back to us?" He motioned a kick at her and turned to Paine.

"Jesus, please. I'll give it all to you next week. The whole thirty-three. Mona's got work coming the end of this week, I've got something at Universal on Monday-I swear it. Jesus, just don't blow me away."

"What about her?" Paine asked.

He looked at Mona, who was sitting up, eyeing Izzy with a kind of awe.

"Jesus, kill her, fuck her, do whatever you want. I'll get you the money, just don't hurt me."

"Shut up," Paine said to Izzy.

"Oh, God, oh, Jesus, just tell me we can talk, say you won't blow me away before we talk."

"Shut up."

"Oh, Jesus, Jesus."

Izzy moaned, holding his head in his hands.

Paine pulled out a kitchen chair from the table and said to Izzy, "Sit down."

"Oh, God, oh, Jesus."

Izzy did as he was told. As he passed Mona, she grabbed his leg and sunk her teeth into the calf. Izzy gave a womanly scream and threw his hands into the air, falling across the kitchen table with Mona's mouth still attached to the back of his shin.

Paine kicked Mona and she let go of Izzy, cursing him through her broken lip. "Motherfucker. Tell him to kill me, fuck me." The tear in her lip made her wince. She lowered her invective to a mumble. "I'll fuck you, you shit."

"Oh, God!" Izzy sat bent over his middle, clutching the back of his bleeding leg.

"What do you do-TV comedy?" Paine asked, gaining a sullen stare from Mona and a reprieve in Izzy's self-absorption.

"Answer me carefully," Paine said. He made himself sound like somebody who had, in fact, come there to blow their fucking heads off.

"Anything you want," Izzy grimaced. "Anything-"

"Motherfucker-" Mona spat at him.

Paine took out the photos of Paterna, Druckman and Steppen and handed them to Izzy.

If anything, Izzy's intake of breath was even more dramatic this time. "You've got all three." He looked more puzzled than alarmed. "I don't get it. Did he send you?" He handed the photos to Mona.

"He's not here to do us," Mona immediately snapped at Izzy.

A light came into Izzy's eyes. "Let me see your piece." The fear in his voice was gone.

Paine did nothing.

Nursing the back of his leg, Izzy practiced a tiny smile. "Let's see it, big shot."

"I don't have a gun," Paine said. "I'm going to do you with my bare hands."

"Magnum, P.I.!" Izzy cried triumphantly. He stood, winced with pain and sat down holding his leg. "Magnum, P.I. -that was the show!" He snapped a finger. "There was another script they called me in on, last-minute job. Setup just like this. Guy coming in from the side, doing a little free blackmail by giving another guy his own note to collect on." He looked up at Paine. "Paterna sent you, right?"

"Paterna's dead."

Confusion filled Izzy's face. "Then maybe you found the note, figure a little action for yourself-"

"Shut up, Izzy," Mona said. She was eyeing Paine like a falcon. "This guy's a jerk. He doesn't know anything."

Paine took out the second packet of photographs and handed it to Izzy. The result was the normal dose of surprise. Izzy handed them to Mona and said, "For somebody who knows nothing, he's got plenty."

"I told you to shut up, Izzy." She handed everything back to Paine. "Get out," she said.

"Now wait, Mona," Izzy said. "If Paterna's dead, maybe we should find out-"

"Fuck you, Izzy." Her sharp eyes stayed on Paine. "He's a P.I. and he knows nothing." She stood finally and put on the bad-actress smile she had greeted Paine with at the doorway. "Good-bye," she said, waving her hand theatrically at the front hallway.

Paine shrugged and began to walk toward the front. "Fine," he said. "If it means anything to you, at least three people have already been murdered in this mess, including Les Paterna." He took one of his cards out of his pocket and tossed it on the floor. "I'm getting out of this lousy town of yours and going back to New York. You're on your own. You were afraid enough of dying ten minutes ago, but if you want to be brave now, be my guest."