Authors: Joseph Wambaugh
“I lost contact with Dr. Maurice after my operation,” Jetsam told Hector.
“I think he retired,” Hector said. Then he checked his watch again and said, “Where the fuck is Mr. B.? Ivana gets to be a problem when she’s juiced. Goddamnit!”
“I could deep-throat another Corona,” Jetsam said.
“Help yourself,” Hector said. “Drink till you hit the wall. If our other honored guest ever shows up, the house belongs to the three of you till tomorrow morning. I’ll be outta here soon as I make the introductions.”
Jetsam grabbed a brew and then poured himself a double shot of vodka, while Hector crossed the room, sat down on the sofa, and lit another smoke. Just as his cell rang.
“Oh, shit,” he said, figuring it was the Korean with something else to bitch about. He was stunned to see that it was Markov.
“Yes?” Hector said diffidently.
“Has Mr. B. arrived yet?”
“No, sir,” Hector said. “Have you heard from him?”
“He had an early dinner meeting at his hotel. It must have gone on longer than he anticipated.”
“We’ll wait a couple more hours,” Hector said, lowering his voice, “but you know, I got this other guest here. I don’t know how long I can hold him.”
“Let your girl work on him if you have to,” Markov said. “Everything depends on Mr. B.’s investment now. Things are going badly for all of us.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that idea,” Hector said. “Our friend Mr. K. is leaning on me heavy. He wants me to find the Mexican girl that quit. In fact, he insists. I don’t understand where he’s coming from, and I don’t like any of this.”
“It will work out if you do as you are told,” Markov said, his tone changing abruptly.
“Told by you or Mr. K.?” Hector asked, surprised by his own boldness.
“We speak as one on this issue,” Markov said. “I have had a disturbing meeting with Mr. K. in which he revealed all of the mistakes he has been making of late. The mistakes have been costly and dangerous for business. Mr. B’s investment can save everything. I have gone all out to please him tonight. That is why I am calling. I have arranged for a surprise guest to arrive. At least, I hope I have it arranged. If he does show up, he will ask for a fee for his presence there. Pay him what he asks. All of the moneys you spend tonight will be reimbursed next week.”
“A surprise guest?” Hector said.
“It is Dr. M.,” Markov said.
“Damn!” Hector said. “How’d you find him?”
“Anything can be done if we are willing to pay for it,” Markov said. “Keep him happy, too, before you leave them alone. Make sure there is taxi fare for all who need it.”
“Is he . . . okay?” Hector asked, meaning, Is the degenerate crackhead able to communicate on the level of a functioning primate?
“I did not see him,” Markov said, “but I spoke to him on the phone and he sounded rational, though I am sure he is in need of funds. That is why I think he will keep his word and not disappoint us.”
“Well, yeah,” Hector said. “He’s probably sucked the price of three Rolls-Royces into his lungs since last year.”
“We are talking on the phone,” Markov reminded him.
“Sorry,” Hector said. “Okay, I’ll take care of everything. I always do, lately.”
When he closed his cell and put it back in his pocket, he sat back and stared at the ceiling until he was aware that the peg-leg guy was standing next to him, like he was trying to eavesdrop. Ivana was pretty much confining herself to the television room, where she was watching a movie, except when she went to the kitchen for a martini refill.
“Everything okay?” Jetsam asked, indicating the phone call.
“Yeah,” Hector said, feeling really tired of this guy and his questions.
“Was that our Russian guest?
“No,” Hector said. “Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?”
“I just did,” Jetsam said.
“Then have some of that chickpea crostini. It’s really good.”
“What’s it take to get into your agenting business?” Jetsam asked, and Hector could see that the guy was getting a buzz from the booze.
“Gotta be in the right place at exactly the right time.”
“Maybe you could use a helper,” Jetsam said. “I got some time on my hands.”
“I thought you were busy selling video poker machines,” Hector reminded him. “What’s up with that?”
“I am,” Jetsam said, “but still. Pink and green? Pussy and money? I could work for free till I learn the business. With me helping out, you could cut your work hours in half. Keep it in mind.”
Hector was thinking that the only thing on his mind was getting the fuck away from this den of debauchery when the doorbell chimed.
Ivana stumbled in from the TV room, and Hector thought, Yeah, she’s wrecked already. He went to the door and opened it.
“Hector!” the guest of honor said, spreading his arms for a bear hug.
The Russian kissed Hector on both cheeks, and Hector said, “So good to see you, Basil!”
The Russian had left his suit coat and tie in the limo waiting in front of the house. His white dress shirt was open at the throat, tufts of furry salt-and-pepper chest hair springing out. Jetsam saw that Basil was middle-aged and beefy, with the most amazing head of hair: black except for a streak of white that began at the widow’s peak and swept back to the crown. He was carrying a small photo album in one of his big, hairy hands.
“You look younger than ever, Basil!” Hector said, slapping the Russian on the back a few times.
“I am young! Full of blood like a Siberian tiger!” the Russian responded with a booming laugh.
During the noisy greetings, Jetsam, standing by the canapé table, turned his back and whispered, “I guess you know that skunkhead is here” into the wired mike strapped to his chest.
Ivana walked uncertainly to the doorway with her most seductive smile, but she didn’t make physical contact until Basil held out his arms and grinned. Then she staggered forward and kissed him on the mouth and said something sotto in Russian.
“And this is the young man I am hear-ink about,” Basil said. His eyes went immediately to Jetsam’s shoes, obviously trying to determine which held the prosthesis.
Jetsam stepped forward with an uneasy smile and said, “Nice to know you, sir.”
“We are friends!” the Russian thundered. “You shall call me Basil. We have much to talk about. Many thing to share. I must hear all, but first I must have vodka!”
Ivana had already poured half a crystal tumbler full of cold vodka, no ice. She smiled saucily when she handed it to him and led him over to the hors d’oeuvres table, and he winked back at her and swallowed half of it down in one gulp.
Hector felt relieved. He wanted desperately to leave and head to the moderately priced local motel he always used on nights like this. In fact, he’d forgotten about the possible appearance of Dr. Maurice until the doorbell chimed again. Then he remembered.
He was shocked to see the former physician. Dr. Maurice was sepulchral, his belly receding to his backbone. In the past year the former physician must have aged ten or more. He had a face full of scraggly hair that he never bothered trimming. The hair on his head was colorless and sparse, drooping over extra-large ears, and a stray nose hair hung down nearly to his upper lip. The lines in his cheeks and brow had turned into deep crevices, but the saturnine eyes told it all. They were filmy and red, darkly rimmed, and had sunk into hollow shadows. The blue of the irises was washed out and ran to a grayish hue, like the rest of him. He was a fading-to-nothing gray man with tiny, jagged, darkened teeth.
He coughed and sniffled for a good twenty seconds before he nodded almost imperceptibly, by way of greeting.
“Dr. Maurice, I presume,” Hector said, trying a little levity to mitigate the shock he knew must be registering on his face, and thinking, Welcome to the wonderful world of chemistry.
Dr. Maurice said, “I want five hundred dollars before I step foot in there.”
“Sure, Doc,” Hector said, reaching into his pocket and peeling five Franklins from the roll that had been allocated to pay for the party. He’d set aside two thousand, and now hoped it would be enough to get him through this night of the iguanas.
The former physician tucked the money into the inside pocket of the threadbare sport coat he wore over a black T-shirt. Then he entered.
Hector led him into the living room where the Russian was stuffing his face with smoked salmon and caviar, and the host announced, “Basil, I have a surprise. This is Dr. Maurice Montaigne, who is known to other guests in this room!”
Basil lumbered forward with a little bow, as though he were meeting the patriarch of Moscow. Ivana staggered toward Dr. Maurice, so drunk she’d made up her mind to get him alone and ask him to look at a suspicious sore on the lip of her vagina. Jetsam froze in place, standing by the canapé table, a crostini halfway to his mouth.
Basil’s thunderous voice was quieted a bit by the august presence of the infamous surgeon, and he said respectfully, “Dear Doctor, I am waiting three years to meet with you. I am full of eagerness to learn about your work.”
Jetsam used that greeting as a chance to turn his back and whisper into the mike, “Maybe I can bluff my way through this. Or maybe not.”
Now Jetsam remembered Flotsam’s admonition to know where the exits were, and to be ready to use anything at hand as a weapon. He saw Dr. Maurice staring at him but saying nothing.
Hector and Basil were looking from the doctor to his putative former patient and back again. Only Ivana was oblivious to the doctor’s reluctance to greet the man whose foot he’d purportedly amputated.
Then Dr. Maurice simply said, “I have never seen you before in my life.”
“Come on, Doc,” Jetsam said, feeling the heat in his face and the chill in his gut. “A year ago. Clínica Maravilla, in T.J. Remember?”
Dr. Maurice looked at Hector and at Basil and said, “I have never seen this man before now.”
“What is happen-ink here?” Basil demanded. “Hector, I do not like this! What is go-ink on here?”
Jetsam tried an affable smile. “Doc, you look like you might be doing a little too much of that crack you smoked down there at the clinic. Remember when we talked about how the T.J. crack was better than—”
“I have never seen this man,” Dr. Maurice interrupted. “And now I’m leaving here and driving home with my fee. Don’t try to stop me.”
“Hector!” Basil bellowed again. “What is this about?”
“He’s confused. Look at him,” Jetsam said to Hector, who stood frozen, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes moving from one man to the other in utter bewilderment.
Dr. Maurice grew white around the corners of his mouth, and spittle formed on his lips. His sunken eyes opened wide when he glared at Jetsam and shouted, “Confused? Confused? I’m not confused! I know who you are, Judas!” Then he turned to Hector and said, “I know who this is!”
“Who?” Hector said.
Dr. Maurice said, “He’s a treacherous, sneaky paid informant for the California Medical Board!” He turned again to Jetsam and said, “Haven’t you people persecuted me enough? I have no license to practice, and I can’t make a living! Isn’t that enough? What do you want from me, a pound of flesh?” He picked up a knife from the canapé table and said, “Here, take it! Take my flesh, but leave me alone! All I want is to live out my life without you people hounding me!
Hounding
me!”
Ivana screamed when Dr. Maurice raised the knife overhead, but Hector grabbed the frail upraised arm, taking the knife away and saying, “Calm yourself, Doc! Calm yourself!”
“All I’ve ever tried to do is help people by giving them what they want from me!” Dr. Maurice cried out. Then he screamed at Jetsam, “Judas!” And began weeping.
“Are you trying to run a game on me?” Hector said to Jetsam. “Something’s sideways here!”
“Well, yeah, bro,” Jetsam said. “The doc’s all sketched out from smoking crack. He’s totally thrashed and in, like, the final stage of addiction. He don’t know his ass from the sushi pile over there.
He’s
the thing that’s sideways.”
“But I know
you,
Judas!” Dr. Maurice sobbed as Hector led him to the door.
Then Hector turned to Jetsam and said, “You stay right here till we find out what’s going on!”
Hector Cozzo wasn’t aware that the moment Dr. Maurice had parked his rusted junkyard Pontiac and shuffled up to the entryway, Sergeant Hawthorne of the Hollywood vice unit had realized who this new guest was. And he’d set in motion an emergency escape plan for Jetsam by using the tactical frequency to request a patrol unit from West Valley Division, code 2.
After having ordered his peg-leg guest to remain where he was until he could get to the bottom of things, Hector took Dr. Maurice out to the front porch to calm him down. It was there that he encountered pandemonium.
“Stop!” a voice yelled, scaring the living crap out of both Hector and Dr. Maurice. “Stop, or we’ll shoot!”
Hector was about to throw up his hands and plead for his life when he saw a tall man with a suntan like the peg-leg guy’s running along the sidewalk, where he was overtaken right in front of Hector’s house by a uniformed police officer with a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.
The cop yelled, “Down! Get down on your knees, hands on your head, or I’ll blow you away!”
That did it. Basil bellowed something in Russian and came running outside, followed by Ivana, who grabbed her purse but didn’t bother with her massage accoutrements. They both raced toward Basil’s limo, where the dozing driver had been jarred out of his snooze by all the commotion.
The uniformed cop’s partner ran onto the scene in front of the house and handcuffed the tall blond guy. Then he turned to Hector and Dr. Maurice and said, “Did you see him throw a gun anywhere?”
“No!” Hector said. “We just heard you guys and came out to see what’s what, is all. We didn’t see nothing.”
“I want to go home!” Dr. Maurice wailed to Hector Cozzo.
“Where’s the gun?” the cop demanded of his handcuffed “prisoner,” now proned out on his belly.
But the prisoner responded, “I want my mouthpiece, copper!”
The doorway was filled again. Jetsam pushed past Hector and Dr. Maurice, saying, “I’m outta here, bro. This fucking party sucked!”