Denis Johnson - Nobody Move

Juarez said, “Gambol, do you see this?”

“Yeah.”

“He just got out his equipment.”

“Let’s eat,” Gambol said.

Juarez drew his head back and regarded Luntz as if through a bad pair of glasses. “You’re a poker player.”

Luntz said, “Wait a minute.”

Juarez leaned in close. “What just happened to your eyes?”

“I made a mistake. It’s two-point-three. Not two-point-five. Two-point-three.”

Juarez stared very carefully into Luntz’s eyes. “I gotta admit,” he said. . but it took him a long minute to admit anything. . “your pupils are normal.”

“Two-point-three million dollars. That’s what it’s going to cost you to — you know. Your famous act.”

“I have to get your face away from me.” Juarez rose and went to the kitchen and sat at the table by the window. Gambol and the Tall Man stayed quiet, and Luntz, so as not to look at Anita, closed his eyes and sat holding perhaps for the last time his manhood in one hand.

After two minutes Juarez stood, turned, and resumed the ottoman facing Luntz. “Do you know why you’re not dead?”

Luntz said nothing, because he didn’t know the answer.

“Because you called me ‘asshole.’ That was the touch. That was the touch right there.”

As Luntz made a slight motion, Juarez said, “But don’t put your balls away yet. Somebody has to draw me a map to the treasure.”

Luntz looked at Anita.

Her eyes raced around the room as if a mob were tearing her clothes off. “I still want my half.”

Mary looked smart today — gray skirt, spiked heels, tight white blouse. Not, Gambol hoped, for the benefit of Juarez. You can’t blame a woman for looking good.

She asked for a cell phone with a restricted ID. Juarez handed her his.

She signaled for silence, though the others were silent already — Gambol himself, Juarez standing over Luntz, Luntz’s woman shrunken into the couch, the Tall Man against the wall.

She sat on the ottoman, put a cigarette in her lips, set her purse aside, and crossed her legs. She punched the buttons while holding her lighter in her hand.

“This is Louise. I’m the sub today. . No, Kilene can’t make it. I just thought I’d check in with you. How’s he doing?. . Any special instructions? They said he doesn’t need to be lifted — is that right?” She lit her cigarette and smoked awhile. “Okay, dumb question — when am I supposed to be there?. . Damn”—she leaned backward to see the kitchen’s wall clock—“I’ll be about fifteen minutes late. You go ahead and leave — he can go fifteen minutes on his own, right?” She took the phone to the kitchen counter.

“Listen, I want to check in with the agency, but I’m in the car — have you got the number handy? And what’s the patient’s full name?”

She made a note on a pad on the counter and came back to the ottoman, punching buttons.

“This is Eloise Tanneau. I’m Judge Tanneau’s niece. I’m looking after him tonight, so can we skip the night nurse? And he may be coming home with me a few days. . Probably next Wednesday. I’ll call first thing tomorrow and let you know for sure.”

She closed the phone and put out her cigarette and crossed her legs and clasped both hands around her knee, leaning forward. “Phew!”

Juarez said, “I should’ve never divorced you.”

“Yeah? I divorced you.”

Gambol watched all this.

Juarez went into a corner with the Tall Man and spoke to him, looking only at the Tall Man’s yellow shoes. Gambol heard him say, “Jag-you-are.”

He came back to Gambol and said, “I want the Jag,” and Gambol turned over the keys.

Juarez pointed to the Tall Man, pointed to Luntz’s woman. “Take him. Take her. Mary goes to the movies.” He lifted the sharp toe of his boot and rested it on the chair between Luntz’s legs. “Leave this customer with me.”

Mary said, “I just saw the fucking movie. Twice.”

Juarez said, “Stay away for one hour. Keep your phone on.”

Mary touched the back of Gambol’s hand with all four fingers. “See you later.”

Juarez observed the gesture. “See,” Juarez said angrily, “this is what I like about people. People surprise you.”

Luntz counted himself still in the game — his pants still open, but his balls back inside his shorts. But alone with Juarez, and Juarez holding an automatic pistol.

“Gambol won’t like it if you’re the one who smokes me.”

“I’ll like it.”

“I’m just saying — you know. Friends like to do things together.”

“I want his Cadillac. It isn’t your property. Give me the keys.”

“The keys are in it. Sort of. More like sitting on the roof of it.”

“Where’s it parked?”

“About three miles off the main highway. Then way up there. Up the Feather River.”

“You piece of shit. Let’s go.”

“Now?”

Juarez sighed.

“Unbuckle my leg.”

“Unbuckle your own leg.”

Luntz managed the belt, but he didn’t feel capable of standing. “What are we doing?”

“We’ll drive there, and we’ll get his car.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll present it to him. When he gets back from what he’s doing.”

“And your car’s going to be — where? Where his car is now?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you exist,” Juarez said, “at the level of a lizard. Gambol will understand the gesture.”

They stood side by side as the door thundered and the last of the day’s light filled the garage. Juarez nudged him into the passenger’s side with the point of his gun. “Ladies first.” He lifted his shirt and holstered the pistol. “Remember who has the power.”

While Juarez moved to the driver’s side and opened the door, Luntz felt around beneath the seat. Juarez got in, saying, “This is a test drive. I’m considering a Jag-you-are.” As he reached his hand toward the ignition, Luntz put Anita’s gun to his neck.

The Tall Man removed his hat and set it on the dashboard and turned almost fully toward Anita in the back seat. He counted four seconds before she looked away. He said, “What? I thought you said something,” because he wanted her to.

“Excuse me?”

“What sort of car does this judge drive?”

“It’s in the garage.”

“I realize. But what kind is it?”

“A Cadillac.”

“Like this one.”

“But it’s black.”

The house belonged in New England — stone walls and dark vines of ivy, a big entry with stained glass either side of the door. Gambol had been standing at the door a long time.

“This man is very slow answering. You said he’s in a wheelchair, correct?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. You’re right. Mary said it.”

They had the Cadillac running and the windows closed for the air conditioner, but the sound from the house was audible to them as Gambol broke a pane of leaded glass with the butt of his revolver. They watched his shoulders rock slightly as he scoured the jagged edges of the pane with the gun’s barrel, and then he turned sideways and slipped his arm up to its elbow into the interior.

Anita said, “What?”

“I said, are you worried about Luntz?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure this man has a computer on the premises?”

“What? Yes. I mean, I think so.”

“Luntz is dead by now.”

“Oh.”

He breathed the syllable in. He tasted heartbreak. “His last moments were impressive. Do you think he kept his balls?”

“Oh. . his balls?”

He inhaled deeply. The cell phone hummed twice in his hand. He checked the ID. “That’s Gambol.” He shut off the car’s engine. He replaced his hat and pulled the brim down as far as visibility permitted and headed for the house without looking to see if she followed.