William Vollmann - The Royal Family

He awoke with the taste of Irene’s cunt in his mouth.

They were underneath the Stockton tunnel that night, Smooth had said. He took Tyler down the dripping passageway to where the tall man waited, and then there was a room where a woman’s naked straining back pulsed, the vertebrae alien eruptions held in by frantic fingers.

Hello, Sapphire, he said.

L-l-luh… gurgled that pale masklike face.

In the corner, he saw long arms, long legs scrabbling.

Like these visitor fees, a toothless old transvestite was saying. The Seville where I stay, that place hits up my tricks for ten bucks every time. Not five bucks, but ten bucks. And I don’t really care, Maj, ’cause it’s out of the trick’s pocket, not mine, you know? I’m making money and they’re making money. But the other day I brought my girlfriend in, and they wanted to charge her a visitor fee. So I went ballistic. I said: She’s a friend, not a date, and I’m not making any money off her, and what you’re doing is illegal, so if you want to call the cops you can but if I go to jail then you’re going to jail with me.

Then what?

Then they said, okay, forget it.

Okay, said the Queen. So you don’t really have a problem.

But it’s not right, Maj! They shouldn’t be trying to—

All rightie. What hotel you say it was?

The Seville.

Oh, that place. Can you remember this, Justin?

Yeah, said the tall man.

Okay, Libby. We’ll take care of it. Now run along, sweetheart. Queen’s got other things to do.

The Queen slipped her arm around Smooth and whispered something in his ear. Smooth opened his mouth wide until his tongue and palate became bulging cushions of mirth.

Oh, cut the crap, Smooth, the Queen laughed. Henry, the things he says about you and me. Your ears should be burning.

Seeing a familiar blonde and sullen face behind her shoulder, Tyler said with a wink: Well, maybe they are. I bet you said I was a misogynist, didn’t you, Smooth? That’s what Domino always says.

Who the fuck are you? said Domino. I never saw you before in my life, cocksucker, so where do you get off using my name?

Honk three times whenever I need you, Tyler said. Just like in the fairy tale. Oh, no, it was four times, wasn’t it? And you have a motorcycle scar on your leg.

All right, Henry, the Queen said. What’s the point?

The point is that I paid her good money to bring me to you and she took my money and said she didn’t know anything. I saw her watching me, too. Was that your policy at the time, Maj?

Oh, now they got you callin’ me Maj, too, said the Queen. That’s nice.

I don’t even remember you, Domino said. But it sounds like you were one of my johns. And it sounds like you were a misogynist, all right. And I just did as I was told. And what’s more, if I ripped you off, you just take your place in line before you complain about it. Anyone who would pay to have sex with a woman who has no options deserves to get ripped off. What’d I do, steal your watch or something? No, you’re wearing a watch…

Now, Domino, that’s no way to do business, said the Queen. Maybe I was raised different. Some of you people just don’t show no respect, and that’s no way to run a business. ’Cause that’s what we’re out here doing, Domino, and I’m talkin’ to you. People wanna be nice to you, you wanna give ’em the same courtesy back.

Queen tells it like it is, said the tall man.

Aw, go to hell, Maj.

All right, Domino. We’ll take this up later. Why don’t you go someplace else to be nasty? Now, Henry, excuse me, but it’s been a long night so far and lookin’ like it’s just gonna get longer and longer. What can I do for you?

Oh, I just kind of came by.

That’s nice.

What kind of pudding is in here? whispered Smooth, patting the Queen’s breast.

Plum. Plum pudding, child.

What kind is in here? asked Smooth, reaching between her legs.

Coconut.

Are you my Ocean Queen or my Chocolate Queen?

Both.

Now he’s jealous, laughed Smooth. Tell me, Ocean Chocolate Queen, is Henry jealous of us or not?

That would be private and confidential, said the Queen.

Tyler stared at her, somehow hypnotized by her sagging, used-up face.

Here’s my business card, said Tyler.

Thank you, said the Queen. Oh, you gave me two.

So I did, he said.

He took the extra one back, not touching it where she had touched it, and returned it to the little metal box in his shirt pocket.

Why don’t you keep ’em in your wallet? asked the Queen.

The condoms leak on them, said Tyler, and the Queen chuckled and shook her head.

When he got home he gloved himself in latex, opened the box, laid the card down on his glass slab. He had used the business card trick several times. The cards were imprinted on lightweight plastic sheets — a special order which had cost him an extra ten dollars. This nonabsorbent surface was an almost ideal base for latent fingerprints. Whirling the fingerprint brush between his hands as he pressed down on it so that the bristles fanned out into a configuration not unlike those at car washes, he worked it into soft readiness. Then with a plastic spoon freshly washed in rubbing alcohol and rubbed dry he sprinkled a pinch of fingerprint powder onto the business card — not too much, because that would have darkened the print excessively. Then, holding his breath, he caressed the brush across the card in a series of light passes, and brought to light the Queen’s finger-whorls, alternating white and black, like the wood-grain of German expressionist block prints. Now he could work more finely, and traced his gentle brush along her ridge-tracks, bringing his face down near the places she had touched and slowly allowing air to issue from between his lips, purging the unneeded fingerprint powder. Next for the fingerprint tape. Good cops needed only five or six inches, but he allowed himself eight, tacking down one end to the glass slab and then pressing his thumb along the rest of the tape until it lay flat and firm upon the first sharp print. He recognized his own prints (central pocket loop) and didn’t tape them over. Here was another whorl print, so he taped that. Then he reversed the card and powdered it. There were again the recognizable whorl prints, these somewhat smudged from contact with the adjacent business card, but he taped those anyway. Then he dropped the card into a plastic bag.

He called up a detective he knew, but the detective had been transferred or quit, as it seemed.

This is Henry Tyler, he said to the detective’s replacement. Who’s this? Let me see… — He snapped his fingers. — You must be Detective Collins. Didn’t we meet at the policeman’s ball last year?

You have a good memory, said the woman with her trademark chirpiness. He remembered her as a trademark passive-aggressive bitch. — Now, Mr. Tyler, I’m very busy, and the whole office is swamped. What do you need?

Gosh, that’s funny, said Tyler in wonderment. I’m swamped, too. Fancy that!

I’m sure you are, said Dectective Collins, the angry edge already in her voice.

I was wondering if you could run a check on a set of latents for me, said Tyler. That would really be helping me out.

Does this have anything to do with our jurisdiction, Henry? asked Detective Collins with bitter alertness.

No, it would just be a tremendous favor to me.

Well, Mr. Tyler, as I just explained to you, we’re quite swamped around here. We’re in the midst of a major investigation.

Yeah, I get that, but—

Well, sir, it’s not going to happen, the woman said, irritation in her voice. I don’t even come in until ten o’clock, and I work until seven or eight.