Pulp (15 page)

Both of his monkeys smiled at that one.

“You sleep with these guys, Sanderson?”

“Sleep? What the hell you mean, sleep?”

“Sleep. Close your eyes. Play hand up the cheek. Stuff like that.”

“Belane, I ought to bust you up so you’re less than a fart in an empty church!”

Both of his monkeys giggled at that one.

I inhaled, exhaled. Somehow, I felt as if I were going a bit mad.

But I often felt that way.

“So, Sanderson, you say you can put the Sparrow in my hand?”

“Beyond a doubt.”

“Well, screw you.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘screw you!’”

“What’s the matter with you, Belane? Going a bit mad?”

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

“Just a moment…”

Sanderson gathered his two monkeys close to him. I could hear them buzzing and chirping. Then the huddle broke.

Sanderson looked solemn.

“It’s your last shot, punk.”

“What? What is?”

“We’ve decided to let you have the bird for 5 grand.”

“3 grand.”

“4 grand is our final offer.”

“Where’s the fucking papers?”

“I got ’em here…”

He reached into his coat and threw them on the desk. I tried to read them. There was much legal jargon. I was to sign for a loan from the Acme Executioners. 15% interest a month. I could make that out. Also, something else.

“This thing still reads as a 10 grand loan.”

“Oh, Mr. Belane, we can fix that,” said Sanderson. He snatched the papers, crossed out the 10, changed it to 4, initialed it.

He flipped the papers back on my desk.

“Now, sign…”

I found a pen. Then I did it. I signed the god-damned thing.

Sanderson snatched the papers up and put them back in his coat.

“Thanks a bunch, Mr. Belane. Have a nice day.”

He and his two monkeys turned to leave.

“Hey, where’s the Red Sparrow?”

Sanderson stopped, turned.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, oh,” I said.

“Meet us at the Grand Central Market, tomorrow afternoon, 2 p.m.”

“That’s a big place. Where?”

“Just find the butcher shop. Stand by the hogs’ heads. We’ll find you.”

“Hogs’ heads?”

“Right. We’ll find you.”

Then they turned and walked out of there. I sat there looking at the walls. I had a vague feeling that I had been screwed.

So, it was 2 p.m. I was at the Grand Central Market. I had found the butcher shop and I stood at the hogs’ heads. The holes in the skulls, where the eyes had been, looked at me. I looked back, took a puff at my cigar. So many things to make a man sad. The poor boiled those skulls for soup.

I wondered if I had been set up. These guys might never show.

A poor soul walked toward me. He was dressed in rags. As he got close I spoke to him, “Hey, buddy, you got a dollar for a beer?

My damned tongue is hanging out…”

The miserable bastard turned and walked off. Sometimes I gave, sometimes I didn’t. It all depended upon how my feet hit the floor in the morning. Maybe. Who knew?

Well, there wasn’t enough money to go around. There never had been. I didn’t know what to do about it.

Then I saw them. Sanderson and his two monkeys. They were approaching me. Sanderson was smiling and carrying something covered by a cloth. It looked like a bird cage under there. Was it a bird cage?

Then they stood in front of me. Sanderson looked over at the hogs’ heads.

“Belane, just be glad you’re not a hog’s head.”

“Why?”

“Why? A hog’s head can’t fuck, eat candy, watch tv.”

“What you got under the rag, Sanderson?”

“Something for you, baby, you’re going to like it.”

“Sure,” said one of the monkeys.

“Yep,” said the other.

“These guys ever disagree with you, Sanderson?”

“Uh-uh, that would be death.”

“We wanna live,” said one of them.

“To a ripe old age,” said the other.

“Like I said, Sanderson, what you got in the cage?”

“Oh, this ain’t your cage, this cage is empty.”

“You gonna give me an empty cage?”

“This is the decoy, Belane.”

“What do you need a decoy for?”

“We just like to play. We’re playful.”

“Great. Now, where’s the real cage?”

“In the front seat of your car.”

“My car? How did you…”

“Oh, we’re good at that, Belane.”

“But why did you say I was going to like it?”

“Like what?”

“That cage you’re holding there. You said I was going to like it and your two doormats agreed.”

“Just playing. We like to play. It was small talk.”

“Small talk? When you going to stop playing? When is the talk going to get large?”

“The front seat of your car, Belane. Check it out. We’re going now.

See you around town. In 30 days.”

They walked off. And I was left with the hogs’ heads.

Well. I got out of there and walked toward parking. As I walked along I saw a wino leaning against a wall, his head down. The flies were having at him. I stopped and stuck a dollar in his pocket.

Then I was into parking. I walked toward the car, got in. There was another bird cage there, covered. I made sure all the windows were shut. Then I took a deep breath and pulled the cloth away.

There was a bird in there. A red one. I looked close. It wasn’t a sparrow. It was a canary dyed red. Umm umm. Ow. Oh.

They could have gotten a sparrow and dyed it red. No, they had to get a fucking canary. And I couldn’t turn it loose. It would starve out there. I had to keep it. I was stuck.

And taken.

I started the car and drove out of there. I hustled the signals and finally got on the freeway. As I drove along I heard a little sound.

The cage door had popped open and the bird had gotten out. It began to fly wildly about the car. The red canary. A guy in the other lane saw the action and began laughing at me. I gave him the finger.

A huge dark scowl crossed his face. I saw him reach. He rolled down his window and pointed the gun at me, fired. He was a lousy shot.

He missed. But I felt the wind from the bullet passing by my nose.

The bird flew wildly and I gunned the car. There was a bullet hole in each of my windows, one made going in, the other out. I didn’t look back. I had it to the floor. I kept it there until I got to my exit.

Then I looked back. My friend was nowhere in sight. I felt the bird then. He was standing on the top of my head. I could feel him there.

Then he let go. I could feel the bird droppings as they dropped.

Not a very good day.

Not a hell of a very good day for me.

I was in the office. I think it was a Wednesday. There were no new cases. I was still on the Red Sparrow caper, mulling it over, sorting out my moves. The only move I could think of was moving out of town before 25 days were up.

No way. They weren’t going to run my ass out of Hollywood. I
was
Hollywood, what was left of it.

There was a very polite knock on the door.

“Yeah,” I said, “drag it in.”

The door opened and here was this little fellow, dressed all in black, black shoes, black suit, even a black shirt. Only his necktie was green. Lime green. His gorilla loomed up behind him. Only a gorilla had more brains.

“I’m Johnny Temple,” he said, “and this is my assistant, Luke.”

“Luke, eh? Tell me, what does he do?”

“Whatever I tell him.”

“Why don’t you tell him to leave?”

“What’s the matter, Belane, don’t you like Luke?”

“Do I have to?

Luke took a step forward. His face began to contort, he looked as if he were going to cry.

“You not like me, Belane?” Luke asked.

“Luke, you stay out of this,” said Temple.

“Yeah, stay out of this,” I said.

“You like me, Johnny?” Luke asked.

“Of course, of course! Now, Luke, you go stand in front of the door and don’t let anybody in or out.”

“You too?”

“What do you mean, Luke?”

“I not let you in or out either?”

“No, Luke, you let me in and out. But nobody else. Not until I tell you to.”

“O.k.”

Luke walked over and stood in front of the door.

Temple pulled up a chair, sat down.

“I’m here from Acme Executioners. I’m here to brief you. Our salesman, Harold Sanderson…”

“Salesman? You call that guy a salesman?”

“One of our best.”

“I guess he is,” I admitted, “look at that!”

I pointed to the bird cage hanging in the corner. Inside was the red canary.

“He sold me that,” I said.

“Harry could sell the skin off a dead body,” said Temple.

“He probably has,” I said.

“That’s neither here nor there. We are here to brief you.”

“Go ahead but make it brief.”

“You’re not funny, Belane. We loaned you 4 grand at 15% interest a month. That will be $600. We want to make sure you understand everything before we come to collect.”

“Suppose I don’t have it?”

“We always collect, Mr. Belane, in one way or the other.”

“You break legs, Temple?”

“Our methods vary.”

“Suppose those methods fail. Would you have a man killed for 4 grand and interest?”

Temple pulled out a pack of smokes, tapped one out, lit it with his lighter. Then he slowly inhaled, exhaled.

“You bore me, Belane.”

Then he said, “Luke…”

“Yes, Johnny?”

“See that red bird in the cage?”

“Yes, Johnny.”

“Luke, I want you to walk over there, take that bird out of that cage and I want you to eat it alive.”

“Yes, Johnny.”

Luke started to walk over to the cage.

“JESUS, TEMPLE, STOP HIM! STOP HIM! STOP HIM!” I yelled.

“Luke,” said Temple, “I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want you to eat that bird alive.”

“Should I roast him first, Johnny?”

“No, no, just leave him alone. Go back and stand by the door.”

“Yes, Johnny.”

Temple looked at me.

“You see, Belane, we always have to collect one way or the other.

And if one method doesn’t work we move to another. We have to stay in business. We are known all over town. Our reputation is ac-knowledged everywhere. We can allow nothing or no one to be-smirch that reputation. I want you to understand this thoroughly.”

“I think I get it, Temple.”

“Fine. Your first due date comes up in 25 days. You have been briefed.”

Temple stood up, smiled.

“Good day,” he said.

He turned.

“All right, Luke, open the door, we are leaving.”

Luke did that. Temple turned and gave me a last look. He was no longer smiling. Then they were gone.

I walked over to the cage and looked at my red canary. Some of the dye was wearing off, some of the natural yellow was beginning to show through. It was a nice bird. It looked at me and I looked back. Then it made a little bird sound: “cheep!” and somehow that made me feel good. I was easy to please. It was the rest of the world that was the problem.

I decided to go to my apartment and have a few drinks. I had to think it through. I was at a dead end with the Red Sparrow and with my life. I drove on over, parked it, got out. I had to get out of that apartment. I’d been there 5 years. It was like I was building a nest, only nothing was hatching. Too many people knew where I lived.

I walked up to my door, unlocked it. I pushed it open, there was something in the way. A body. A babe stretched there. No, hell, it was one of those inflatable dolls, one of those inflatable things some guys made love to. Not me, though, buddy.

The babe was fully inflated. I picked her up and carried her to the couch. Then I noticed a sign around her throat: “Belane, lay off the Red Sparrow or you’ll be less than this dead rubber fuck.”

Nice note. So, I’d had a visitor. Somebody who didn’t want me on the case. But it gave me hope. The Red Sparrow must truly exist or people wouldn’t be acting like this. All I had to do was pick up the trail. There had to be one. There were too many scratchings going on. I could be on something big. Maybe international. Maybe something from another world? The Red Sparrow. Son of a bitch, matters were getting interesting. I made myself a nice drink, had a hit. Then the phone rang. I picked it up.

“Yeah?”

“Pooper, what are you doing?”

A chill ran up my back. It was one of my x-wives, Penny. Last I knew, 5 years or so ago, after our divorce, she had vanished off into somewhere with a guy who worked the tables at Vegas, a Sammy.

“Sorry, you have the wrong number, madam.”

“I know your voice, Pooper. How ya doin’?”

She had this nickname for me. Totally groundless.

“Doin’ lousy,” I said.

“You need company.”

“Uh-uh.”

“You never knew what you needed, Pooper.”

“Maybe not but I know what I don’t need.”

“I’m comin’ up.”

“Uh-uh.”

“I’m downstairs, I’m phoning from the hall phone.”

“Where’s Sammy?”

“Who?”

“Sammy.”

“Oh, that…Listen, I’m comin’ up.”

Penny hung up. I felt awful, as if somebody had smeared shit all over me. I drained my drink and made another. Then there was the knock. I opened the door. There was Penny, 5 years older and 30 pounds heavier. She smiled an awful smile.

“Glad to see me?” she asked.

“Come on in,” I said. She followed me into the other room.

“Fix me a drink, Pooper!”

“Yeah…”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“That rubber thing. That rubber woman.”

“That’s an inflatable doll.”

“You use it?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“I don’t know. Here’s your drink.”

Penny pushed the doll to the floor and sat down with her drink.

She took a hit.

“I’ve missed you, Pooper.”

“Missed what?”

“Oh, little things.”

“Like what?”

“Can’t think of them now.”

She gulped her drink, looked over at me, smiled.

“I need some money, Pooper. Sammy skipped out with everything I had.”