William Vollmann - The Royal Family

She had fallen asleep on the toilet seat now, with piss running down her thighs.

Oops, said Irene. See what I did? I messed up the point, so I’ll have to break it off. I won’t do it here.

Her head sagged until her hair touched the floor

Okay, where’s my top? she said, sitting on the toilet, stinking, scarred, and naked.

You got any tissue? she said. Lemme put this here for a few minutes.

You got any more money? she said.

You tryin’ to jack me up? she said.

No, he said, almost stifling in sadness and boredom.

You’re a detective, so that means you’re cop, she suddenly pronounced, sitting up wide-eyed and stinking on the toilet seat.

Glad you have it figured out, he said listlessly.

Well, ain’t I right?

Not really. Cops and everybody pretty much turn a blind eye to what we do. Anyhow, I—

Would you please please please be quiet for a minute? she said. I need to think. I think maybe I dropped a little chunk of rock somewhere in this bathroom, but maybe it wasn’t here…

He remembered being alone with the true Irene once when she had started yawning, getting distant: Yes, I’m tired, she admitted. — But when others came out, Irene, smiling and gracious, said to everyone: No, I’m not tired.

Just after dark on the first Friday night in July he sat in his car with the window rolled down and a pad on his knee, watching the neon lights squirming uneasily in and out of brightness along the borders of the sign for the Jade Galore Jewelry Co.; a bank sign glowed cold steadfast, and red ideograms gripped the windowpanes of the Tong Kee Restaurant like athletic crabs. Irene was out dating. Between the Tong Kee and the Dick Troi Hair Salon, a tall alley, full of sky, lured his attention by means of a succession of awnings. Between him and the alley, the flank of a car or van frequently occluded itself, or the heads of tourists, or Chinese mothers carrying their babies; but these flickers passed as quickly as they came, leaving the alley for Tyler. An Asian cop labored up the sidewalk, chewing gum, his pistol and baton dragging down his Sam Browne belt. The cop looked at his watch and entered the Tong Kee Restaurant. Small white lights shone uselessly in the alley. A Chinese woman passed quickly smiling, arms folded across her tiny breasts. The fishes swiggled their tails and flippers most languidly behind the window of the Tong Kee. A stooped old lady, clutching many plastic bags, stopped in front of the alley for a long time. Tyler sighed, doodled on his pad.

After an hour he went home. It was still early.

He picked up the phone, dialled, and said: This is Henry Tyler. I waited all night and Mr. Chong never came out.

That’s right, he said, narrowing his eyes. You heard what I said. I figure he’s clean. I figure we don’t need to bother him.

Well, that’s too bad, he said. I don’t want this case. I’m busy.

Fine, he said. I’ll send you an invoice.

Tyler, waiting for hospital visiting hours so that he could go see Irene, whose abscesses had finally won her admission, inspected his reflection on the plasticized marble wall behind the firehouse red beer tap of what used to be Blackie’s Club and was now the Wonderbar although the Blackie’s Club sign was still up above the back door. Oldies on the jukebox brought teary smiles to his alcoholic neighbor. The door of happiness opened on TV. Loreena the barmaid, hand on her hip, served the gesticulating or placidly nodding drinkers.

Well, what do you have to tell me? said Dan Smooth, easing his plump buttock onto the stool to Tyler’s right.

There’s a bull market for twelve-year-olds’ earwax is my news, said Tyler. What else can I tell you? Oh, I know. A stitch in time saves nine. How was Amsterdam?

Don’t talk to me about sewing, said Smooth, with his habitual angry leer. It reminds me of the little girls in pink tutus who—

OK, mum’s the word then, said Tyler carelessly. Buy you a shot?

In a moment, said Smooth. You see, I still have a special secret taste on my palate.

Tyler sipped his tequila silently.

And how are your business worries progressing? said Smooth.

Oh, they’re progressing, all right. I’m barely making my rent and car payments as it is.

You’ll be happier when you let it all go and become homeless, Smooth replied quickly. And, you know, I was just talking with the Queen about you, and she says that’s destined to happen.

After the other Canaanites get put to the sword?

Exactly. And I go to the lions. Not that I’m a Christian or anything… Shit. There goes the taste. What a pretty taste. It’s fading now; it’s gone … what a shame. Buy me a drink, Henry. The hell with your rent money.

Tyler raised a finger. — Loreena! Could I get a beer for this gentleman?

Sure, sweetie, said Loreena.

How’s everything for you, dear? said Smooth.

The same, said Loreena. I’m thinking of filing a restraining order. Excuse me. That guy down there got eighty-sixed last week. I need to go kick him out. Hey, Domino just told me a good one. What do you get when you cross a nymphomaniac with a kleptomaniac?

A rapist, said Tyler.

Oh, cut it out. A fuckin’ thief. Isn’t that rich? Ha, ha, ha!

The bar was getting more crowded now. Tired men, old men, hopeless men, and a pair of whores gradually entered through the swinging door, fluttering about as prettily as the international flags strung over Grant Street. Two drunks were arguing across the pool table.

Dan, said Tyler suddenly, do you think you could hook me up with the FBI? Get me a big job that would last a while?

Hee, hee, said Smooth wiggling his finger in the mouth of his beer bottle. God love you, Henry, are you asking for another favor?

Yeah, said Tyler.

You know I used my influence for you. With the Queen, Henry, with the Queen . You know that, or you don’t know?

I know, muttered Tyler, tapping his foot.

And have you profited by your introduction to her?

What the hell’s that supposed to mean?

Word on the street’s you’re giving up on that new Irene she got you. You said all you wanted was to have Irene back and she did that for you and you’re still not satisfied. You’re just a—

I’m going to the hospital to see her.

I rest my case. You’re keeping her in the hospital, not at your place, so what kind of goddamned caring is that, son?

It’s all true. And so I don’t know if I’m not trying hard enough — if I don’t have enough faith in the Queen to really love Irene and believe in her — or if I’m actually being faithful to the Irene who’s lying in the ground. And I–I don’t know what to do.

Well, at least you’re sincere, Smooth said. The Queen loves sincere people.

Yeah, Tyler said despondently.

And you believe in justice?

What do you mean?

You believe that if you were working for the FBI you’d be helping good people and punishing bad people?

I, uh—

Tell me a story about our great justice system, Henry.

Know how the police broke this one guy? said Tyler with a sneering chuckle. What they did was they hooked him up to a photocopy machine. And on the glass over the electric eye, underneath the cover, they put a piece of paper that said “FALSE.” So every time they’d ask the suspect a question, they’d hit the “START” button. And then a piece of paper that said “FALSE” would come out. So they’d show that to the suspect and say: See? You’re lying. And they broke that guy. He confessed.

All right. Fine. You’re on our side. You’re a Canaanite. And how much influence do you think I have with Louis Freeh?