Pulp (5 page)

After I ate I parked a quarter of a block from Cindy’s. There was her red Mercedes parked in the drive. She was probably waiting for Celine and Brewster to return. Too bad. I turned on the radio for some news.

“You fool,” a voice came from the radio, “you aren’t making any progress!”

“Who, me?” I asked.

“You’re the only one sitting here, aren’t you?”

I looked around. “Yes,” I said, “I’m the only one.”

“Then get your ass hopping!”

It was the voice of Lady Death coming through the radio.

“Listen, baby, I’m working on the case now. I’m on a stake-out.”

“Who are you staking out?”

“A connection of Celine’s. It all ties together.”

“So do your shoes. Where’s Celine?”

“In a crapper with a 400 pound eunuch.”

“What’s he doing there?”

“I’m letting him cool off.”

“I don’t want him hurt. He’s mine.”

“I won’t hurt him, baby, honest injun!”

“Sometimes, Belane, I think you’re some kind of subnormal.”

“OVER AND OUT!” I screamed and snapped the radio off.

Then I just sat there looking at the red Mercedes and thinking of Cindy. I had my backup mini-camcorder with me. I began to feel hot for the action. The thought occurred to me that I might slip into the premises and pick up on something. Maybe I could catch one of her conversations on the telephone. Maybe I would stumble onto some clue. Sure, it was dangerous. Broad daylight. But I thrived on danger. It made my ears tingle and my butthole pucker. You only live once, right? Well, except for Lazarus. Poor sucker, he had to die twice. But I was Nick Belane. You only rode the merry-go-round once. Life was for the daring.

I slipped out of my car with my mini-camcorder. And I also carried my briefcase as a ploy. I tipped my derby low over my left eye and moved toward the house. My inner sensor was on fully. Something was going on in that house. I felt it strongly. I even bit my tongue in the excitement. I spit out some blood and moved toward the door.

Again, it was no problem. 47 seconds and I was inside.

I moved down the hall with my ears pricked. I began to think I was hearing voices. I was. A man’s and a woman’s. I paused at the bottom of the stairway. Yes, the voices came from upstairs. I moved slowly up the stairway. I heard the voices much better. One I recognized as Cindy’s. I kept moving forward, then stopped outside the door. It was evidently a bedroom door. I pressed closer.

I heard Cindy laughing. “What do you think you’re going to do with that thing?”

“One guess, baby! I’ve been waiting a long time!”

“Well, you came to the right place, big boy!”

“I’m going to ride you all the way to hell and back, baby!”

“Oh yeah?”

“You bitch!”

I heard Cindy laughing again. Then it got quiet. It stayed quiet for a little while. Then it began to get noisy. I heard hard breathing and a slight thumping sound, plus the working of bed springs.

“Oh!” I heard Cindy. “Oh, my god!”

I put the briefcase down, turned on the camcorder, kicked the door open.

“I’VE NAILED YOUR ASS!”

“WHAT?” the guy looked around from his position. Cindy’s legs came down and she SCREAMED.

The guy leaped to the floor and faced me. Horrible looking fat son-of-a-bitch.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” he yelled.

It was Jack Bass. For Christ’s sake, it was Jack Bass!

I spun around and ran down the stairway.

“HOLY SHIT!” I yelled.

I was moving toward the door. As I yanked it open, out of the side of my eye, I saw Jack Bass standing there, balls naked. He had an object in his hand. A gun. He fired. The bullet spun the derby around on my head. He fired again. I felt death rush by my right ear. Then I was sprinting down the sidewalk. I dashed into the street toward my car. Too late, I saw something in the way: an old man on a bicycle pedalling along and eating an apple. I smashed right through him leaving him twisted within the spinning wheels of his bike, upon the asphalt.

I was into the Bug in a flash. I went screeching from the curb. The old man was slowly getting up. I swerved to miss him, jumped the curbing and was onto the sidewalk. Then I was blazing past Jack Bass’s place. He was standing in the doorway, still balls naked and he got off 3 more shots. One went right through the monkey hanging from my rear view mirror. The second passed between me and nowhere. The third came through the back of the front seat, passen-ger’s side, hit the glove compartment, and made a hole.

Then I was out of there. I zigzagged up and down a half a dozen side streets. Then I found a boulevard and drove along with the traffic. It was a typical Los Angeles day: smog, a half-sun and no rain for months.

I pulled into a McDonald’s, ordered a large fries, coffee and an order of chicken-on-a-bun.

I went back to the office. Brewster and Celine had broken out of the crapper. The crapper door was smashed open. I pushed my desk back. It took me 15 minutes.

I sat down and tried to piece everything together.

Now everybody was after my ass: Celine, Brewster, Cindy, Jack Bass and Lady Death. Maybe even Barton.

I was no longer sure who my clients were or if I even had any.

I could be arrested for any number of recent offenses. Or somebody could come to get me. The office was a dangerous place to be. I checked my holster for the.45. Still there. Nice baby. Well, they weren’t going to run me out of my office. A dick without an office wasn’t a dick.

And I didn’t know if Celine
was
Celine and I hadn’t found the Red Sparrow. Nothing was moving.

It had been a long day. I put my feet up on the desk and leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Soon I was asleep.

In my dream I was sitting in this cheap bar
. I was having a double whiskey and soda. I was the only one in the bar except the barkeep who seemed rather indistinct. He just stood at the other end of the bar reading
The National Enquirer
. Then a really crappy and dissolute sort walked in. He needed a shave, he needed a haircut, he needed a bath. He was dressed in a dirty yellow raincoat which came down to his shoetops. Under the raincoat you could see a white t-shirt and a faded orange tie. He moved toward me like a stinking wind. He took the stool next to mine. I had a hit of my drink. The bartender looked over. He caught my eye.

“I’m hungry,” the barkeep said. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“I wish you’d eat some of those I’ve bet on,” I told him.

No wonder he looked indistinct. There wasn’t much to him. He was as thin as a rail. His cheeks sagged, paper thin. I looked away.

The other guy was still on the stool next to me.

“Psst…” he went.

I ignored him. I looked back at the bartender.

“Listen,” I said to him, “I’ll finish my drink and you can lock up, go some place and get something to eat.”

“Thanks,” he said, “I got to keep this place open. I’ll be all right.

I’ll think of something.”

“Psst…” the guy next to me went again.

“Get off my ear, buddy,” I told him.

“I got some info…”

“Don’t need it. I read the papers.”

“It’s info that ain’t in the papers.”

“Like what?”

“The Red Sparrow.”

“Hey, barkeep!” I yelled, “a drink for this gentleman! Give him a rum and coke!”

The barkeep worked at it.

“You live in Redondo Beach?” the guy asked me.

“East Hollywood.”

“Know a guy, looks just like you, he lives in Redondo Beach.”

“That so?”

“Yep.”

The guy’s drink arrived. He drained it right off.

“I had a brother,” he said, “lived in Glendale. Killed himself.”

“He look like you?” I asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Then it figures.”

“I got a sister, lives in Burbank.”

“Cut the crap.”

“It ain’t crap.”

“I want to hear about the Red Sparrow.”

“Sure. I’ll put you right on it.”

“Well?”

“I’m thirsty…”

“Barkeep!” I yelled. “Another rum and coke for this gentleman!”

The guy waited for his drink. It arrived. He slammed it down.

Then he turned and looked at me with his beady, bleary, vacant eyes.

“I got the Sparrow right on me,” he said.

“What?”

“I mean, I got it in my pocket.”

“Great! Let’s see it!”

He fumbled around in a pocket. He kept fumbling.

“Hmmm…can’t seem to find it…”

“You prick! You took me! I’m going to bust your sack!”

“I know I had it somewhere…”

“I’m going to uncoil your springs, jerko!”

“Wait…wait…something here…yes. In my other pocket…I was looking in the wrong pocket…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, look…here…here it is…the Red Sparrow!”

He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it on the bar. I looked.

It was a dead pigeon.

“That’s a dead pigeon!” I said.

“No,” he said, “that’s the Red Sparrow.”

I put some bills on the bar for the drinks, then I stood up and gathered the guy up by the collar of his filthy raincoat. I hustled him toward the door, opened it and threw him out into the street. Then I turned back to close the door.

And I saw the bartender. He had the pigeon in his hands and was eating it, gnawing at it. His mouth was full of feathers and blood.

He winked at me.

Then my desk phone rang and I awakened
.

I picked up the phone.

“Belane Detective Agency….”

“My name is Grovers, Hal Grovers, I need your help. The police laugh at me.”

“What is it, Mr. Grovers?”

“A space alien is after me.”

“Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Grovers, come on now…”

“You see, everybody laughs at me!”

“Sorry Grovers. But before you talk to me any more I gotta tell you my fee.”

“What is it?”

“6 dollars an hour.”

“That doesn’t seem to be a problem.”

“No rubber checks or you’ll be carrying your walnuts in a sack, got it?”

“Money is not my problem,” he said, “it’s this woman.”

“What woman, Grovers?”

“Hell, the one we’re talking about, this space alien.”

“The space alien is a woman?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“How do you know this?”

“She told me.”

“You believe her?”

“Sure, I’ve seen her do things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, float up through the ceiling, things like that…”

“You a drinking man, Grovers?”

“Sure. How about you?”

“Wouldn’t do without it…Now, listen, Grovers, before we go any further you’ll have to get down here in person. It’s the third floor of the Ajax Building. Knock before you enter.”

“Any special knock?”

“Yeah, Shave-and-a-Haircut, Six-Bits, then I’ll know it’s you…”

“All right, Mr. Belane…”

I killed four flies while waiting. Damn, death was everywhere. Man, bird, beast, reptile, rodent, insect, fish didn’t have a chance. The fix was in. I didn’t know what to do about it. I got depressed. You know, I see a box boy at the supermarket, he’s packing my groceries, then I see him sticking himself into his own grave along with the toilet paper, the beer and the chicken breasts.

Then the secret knock came at the door and I said, “Please enter, Mr.

Grovers.”

He walked in. Not much to him. Four feet eight, 158 pounds, 38

years old, greengray eyes with a tic in the left eye, small ugly yellow mustache, same color as hair which was thinning on top of his too round head. He walked with his toes out, sat down.

We sat looking at each other. That’s all we did. Five minutes went by. Finally I got pissed.

“Grovers, why don’t you say something?”

“I was waiting for you to speak first.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

I leaned back in my chair, lit a cigar, put my feet on the table, inhaled, exhaled, and blew out a perfect smoke ring.

“Grovers, this woman, this…space alien…tell me a bit about her…”

“She calls herself Jeannie Nitro…”

“Tell me more, Mr. Grovers.”

“You won’t laugh at me like the police did?”

“Nobody laughs like the police, Mr. Grovers.”

“Well…she’s a hot number from outer space.”

“Why do you want to get rid of a hot number?”

“I’m afraid of her, she controls my mind.”

“Like how?”

“Like anything she says, I have to do.”

“Suppose she told you to eat your poo-poo, would you do that?”

“I think I would…”

“Grovers, you’re just pussy-whipped. Lot of men like that.”

“No, it’s the tricks she does, they’re frightening.”

“I’ve seen all the tricks, Grovers, and then some…”

“You haven’t seen her appear out of nowhere, you haven’t seen her vanish through the ceiling.”

“You’re boring me, Grovers, this is a bunch of crap.”

“No, it ain’t, Mr. Belane.”

“‘Ain’t’? Where the hell you come from Grovers? You talk like a backwoodsman.”

“And you don’t look like a detective, Mr. Belane.”

“Huh? What? Then what do I look like?”

“Well, let’s see, let me think…”

“Don’t take too fucking long. This is costing you 6 dollars an hour.”

“Well, you look like…a plumber.”

“A plumber? A plumber. O.k. What would you do without a plumber? Can you think of anybody more important than a plumber?”

“The president.”

“The president? There you go, wrong! Wrong again! Everytime you open your mouth you say something wrong!”

“I’m not wrong.”

“There you see! You did it again!”

I put out my cigar and lit a cigarette. This guy was a pure piece of crap. But he was a client. I looked at him a long time. It was hard work looking at him. I stopped looking. I looked over his left ear.

“O.k. what do you want me to do? With this space alien? This Jeannie Nitro?”

“Get rid of her.”

“I’m no hit man, Grovers.”

“Just get her out of my life one way or the other.”

“You had sex yet?”

“You mean today?”

“I mean, with
her
.”

“No.”

“You got a place of residence on this bimbo? Phone number? Occupation? Tattoo? Hobby? Peculiar habits?”

“Only the last…”

“Like what?”

“Like she floats through the ceiling and all that.”

“Grovers, you’re crazy. You don’t need me, you need a shrink.”

“I’ve been to the shrinks.”

“And what do they say?”

“Nothing. Only they charge more than 6 dollars an hour.”

“What do they charge?”

“One-hundred-seventy-five dollars an hour.”

“That proves you’re crazy.”

“Why?”

“Anybody pays that has got to be crazy.”

Then we just sat there looking at each other. It seemed pretty dumb. I was trying to think. My temples hurt.

Then the door swung open. And in walked this woman. Now all that I can tell you is that there are billions of women on earth, right?

Some look all right. Most look pretty good. But every now and then nature pulls a wild trick, she puts together a special woman, an unbelievable woman. I mean, you look and you can’t believe.

Everything is perfect undulating motion, quicksilver, snake-like, you see an ankle, you see an elbow, you see a breast, you see a knee, it all melds into a giant, taunting totality, with such beautiful eyes smiling, the mouth turned down a bit, the lips held there as if they were about to burst into laughter over your helplessness. And they know how to dress and their long hair burns the air. Too goddamned much.

Grovers stood up.

“Jeannie!”

She glided into the room like a strip teaser on roller skates. She paused before us as the walls trembled. She looked at Grovers.

“Hal, what are you doing with this 2nd rate dick?”

“Hey, hold it, bitch!” I said.

“Well, Jeannie, I got a little problem and I thought I might seek some help.”

“Help? From who?”

“Can’t say. Cat’s got my tongue.”

“Hal, you’ve got no problem as long as you have me. I can do anything better than this 2nd rate dick.”

I stood up. I was standing up anyhow.

“Yeah, wench? Let’s see you get a 7 inch hard-on.”

“Sexist pig!”

“See, I gotcha,
gotcha
!”

Jeannie wallowed about the room a bit, driving us all mad. Then she swung around. Looked at Grovers.

“Come here, dog! Crawl across the floor toward me! Now!”

“
Don’t do it, Hal
!” I screamed.

“Huh?”

He was crawling across the floor toward Jeannie. He got closer and closer. He crawled up to her feet, then stopped.

“Now,” she said, “lick the toes of my shoes with your tongue!”

Grovers did it. He licked away. He kept going. Jeannie looked at me and smirked. A real smirking smirk. I couldn’t handle it.

I leaped up.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE!” I screamed.

I unbuckled my belt, slipped it from my pants, walked around the desk with the belt doubled up.

“You fucking whore,” I said, “I AM GOING TO NAIL YOUR ASS!”

I rushed toward her. What was left of my soul quivered in a joyous excitement. Her miraculous buns blazed in my mind. Heaven turned upside-down and quivered.

“Drop that belt, jerkoff,” she said, snapping her fingers.

The belt dropped out of my hand. I stood frozen.

She turned to Grovers.

“Come on, silly boy, get up off your knees. We are leaving this stupid place.”

“Yes, darling.”

Grovers got up and followed her to the door, it opened, closed and they were gone. I still couldn’t move. The bitch must have used a ray gun on me. And I was still frozen. Maybe I had chosen the wrong profession? After about twenty minutes I began to feel a tingling all through my body. Then I found that I could move my eyebrows. Next my mouth.

“God damn it,” I said.

Then the other parts began to gradually loosen up. Finally I took one step. Two steps. Then more steps, toward my desk. I got around behind it. Opened a drawer. Found the pint of vodka. Unscrewed it. Had a good straight hit. Decided to call it a day and begin all over again tomorrow.