The Best of Lucius Shepard (105 page)

The
door to the suite had been left ajar. I sneaked a look inside and, seeing no
one around, eased into the foyer. The living room was empty, an air-conditioned
vacancy of earth tones and overstuffed furniture, with potted palms and a
photomural of the Everglades attempting a naturalistic touch. Everything was
very neat. Magazines centered on the coffee table; no empty glasses or bottles.
On the sideboard, a welcome basket of fruit, wine, and cheese was still
clenched in shrink-wrap. I proceeded down the hall and came to an open door.
Wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and sunglasses, Pellerin sat beside the rumpled
bed, his feet propped on a table covered with a linen cloth and laden with
dishes and metal dish covers, drinking champagne out of a bottle and eating a
slice of pizza, looking out the window at the overcast. In the bed, partly
covered by the sheets, a brown-skinned girl lay on her belly, black hair fanned
across her face. Tomasina. There was nary a sign of Tammy, though the bed was
king-sized and she might well have been buried beneath the covers. I knocked
and he beckoned me to come on in. A big scorch mark on the wall behind his
head, about the size of a serving tray, caught my notice. I asked what had
happened and he told me that Tammy had shot an aerosol spray through a lit
cigarette lighter, producing a flamethrower effect.

“You
know those sons-of-bitches wouldn’t let me order in a pizza last night,” he
said. “Is that bullshit or what? I had to bribe the bellboy.” He pointed to a
Domino’s box on the floor—it held two slices fettered with strings of congealed
cheese—and told me to help myself.

I
declined, sat opposite him, and he asked what time it was.

“Around
eleven.” I picked up a plastic pill bottle from the table. The label read:

[R.
Saloman: Viagra 50 mg. 1 tablet as needed.]

“Who’s
R. Saloman?” I asked.

“Beats
me. Friend of the bellboy, maybe. The kid’s a walking pharmacy.” Pellerin
scratched his chest. “Want some room service?”

“I’m
okay.”

“How
about some coffee? Sure, you want some coffee.”

He
reached for the phone, ordered coffee and sweet rolls. Tomasina stirred but did
not wake.

“Where’s
Tammy?” I asked.

“In
the head? Or she might have gone home. We were doing shots last night and she
got sick.”

“You
trying to kill yourself, man? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re not in the
best of shape.”

Pellerin
had a swig of champagne. “You my fairy godmother now?”

“I’m
just being solicitous of your health.”

“Because
that was Jocundra’s job, and I shit-canned her.”

“Look,
don’t get the idea you’re in charge here. You’re not in charge.”

“Oh,
I’m far from having that idea. We all know who’s in charge.”

Jocundra’s
voice called from the living room. “Josey!”

“In
here, darling!” He gave me a wink. “This ought to be good.”

Seconds
later, Jocundra materialized in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a man’s
pinstriped dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up. Her eyes stuck on
Tomasina, then went to me and Pellerin. “I need to talk to you. I’ll come
back.”

“Don’t
be that way,” said Pellerin. “We’re all pals. Sit with us. We got coffee
coming.”

She
had another glance at Tomasina, then came to the table and took the chair
between me and Pellerin.

“I
spoke to management,” she said. “They’re not going to kick us out, but you’re
banned from the pool area.”

“Damn!”
said Pellerin. “And here I was dying for a swim.”

Jocundra
started to speak, likely to reprimand him, but thought better of it. An edgy
quiet closed in around us.

“You
know they got a couple of live gators in that pond in the courtyard? That’s why
there’s a fence around it.” Pellerin shook his head in mock amazement. “They
don’t never show themselves. Can’t say as I blame them.”

Another
stretch of quiet.

“I’m
going over to Ruddle’s house later to see what I can see,” I said. “It’s right
on the water. That might be good for us. It’s a potential avenue of escape if
things go south.”

There
would probably have been another interval of silence, if not for Tammy who,
wearing a towel turbaned around her hair and nothing else, entered the room,
said, “Oops!” and tippy-toed to the bed, slipping in under the covers next to
Tomasina. She sat up, shook out her hair, and said to me, “Is this your friend?
She’s so pretty!”

“Hey,
babe!” Pellerin said. “I thought you went home.”

“I
was making myself sweet for you,” said Tammy in a little-girl voice.

“I’ll
be in my room,” said Jocundra.

“Why
you acting this way?” Pellerin caught her wrist. “Like you been wronged or
something. If anyone’s been wronged, it’s me. Sit down and be polite. There’s
no reason we can’t act like friends.”

Tammy,
baffled, gestured at me and said to Pellerin, “I thought she was
his
friend.”

Jocundra
twisted free and walked out. I caught up to her in the living room. “Hey, slow
down,” I said, blocking the door to the suite.

She
folded her arms and lowered her head, shielding her eyes with one hand, as if
close to tears. “Let me by!”

“All
right.” I moved aside, inviting her to leave. “You’re not helping him by
behaving like this. You’re not helping me, you’re not helping yourself. But go
ahead. Take a break. I’ll handle things. Just try and pull yourself together by
Saturday night.”

She
stood a moment, then walked over to a sofa, stood another moment and sat down.

“Why’re
you getting so bent out of shape?” I dropped into a chair. “I thought you
didn’t have a strong connection with this guy.”

“I
don’t!”

“Then
why...”

“Because
I
couldn’t
make a connection with him. It’s my fault he’s alone.”

“He’s
not exactly alone,” I reminded her.

“You
know it’s not the same. He needs someone with him who understands what he’s
going through.”

With
two people breathing in it, the room seemed almost airless, like a room in a
Motel 6 with bolted-shut plastic windows. I thought about yanking back the
drapes and opening the glass door onto the balcony, but I couldn’t muster the
energy.

“He’s
not exercising,” Jocundra said. “He’s not taking his meds.”

“Maybe
you should have slept with him.”

“I
tried once, but ... I couldn’t. And that’s your fault.”

I
was about to ask her why it was my fault—I knew why, but I wanted to hear her
say it—when Pellerin limped into the room.

“I’ve
been taking my meds. And I’m not a fool.” He lowered himself into a chair,
smirking at us. “You crazy kids! Why don’t you run away and get hitched?”

Jo’s
startled expression waned; she folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head,
like Anne Boleyn awaiting the inevitable.

“It’s
no big thing,” said Pellerin. “Really. So how about we ditch the soap opera and
move on?”

“I’m
worried about you,” Jo said.

“Fine.
Worry about me,” said Pellerin. “But don’t get all fucked up behind it.”

The
doorbell bonged and a man’s voice called out, “Room service.”

“I’ll
get it,” I said.

I
prevented the room service guy from entering, but he peered over my shoulder as
I signed for the coffee and rolls. After I had poured coffee for me and Jo,
Pellerin asked if I’d see whether the girls wanted anything, so I walked back
to the bedroom to check and found Tammy and Tomasina engaged in activity that
would have made the White Goddess blush. I returned to the living room and, in
response to Pellerin’s inquiring look, said, “They’re good.”

“We
were thinking,” Jo said, “that we should have a Plan B.”

I
joined her on the sofa, tore open a package of Sweet’n Low and dumped the
contents into my coffee. “I didn’t realize we had a Plan A.”

“Confessing
to Ruddle,” said Pellerin.

“That’s
our plan? Okay.” I stirred the coffee. “Maybe we could create a disturbance.
Get away in the confusion. I don’t know.”

Pellerin
said, “You’re not exactly an expert criminal, are you?”

“I’m
not a criminal at all. I arrange things, I put people together. It’s a gray
area.”

“He’s
an entrepreneur.” Jo smiled at me as if to cut the sting of what she’d said.

A
shift in alignment seemed to have occurred—judging by that remark, she had
repositioned herself closer to Pellerin than to me. I wondered if she were
aware of this. A cruel comment came to mind, but I chose not to make it.

“We
could cause a major earthquake, and I doubt it would help,” I said. “Josey can
walk pretty good, but I expect running’s going to be called for and he’s not up
to that.”

Even
the coffee sucked at Seminole Paradise—I set my cup down. Pellerin fiddled with
the sash of his robe and Jo clinked a spoon against her cup, tapping out a
nervous rhythm.

“What
about the stuff I saw you doing on the island?” I asked Pellerin. “The night we
had that dust-up on the beach, you were doing things with the water. Pushing
waves around.”

A
hunted expression flashed across his face, and I had the thought that he might
be hiding something. “I can do a few parlor tricks,” he said.

“What’s
your best one?” I asked. “Give us a demonstration.”

“All
right.” He leaned over the table and put a napkin in an ashtray. “Sometimes I
can do it, but other times ... not so much.”

He
concentrated on the napkin, wiggled his fingers like a guitar player lightly
fingering the strings. After about twenty, thirty seconds, smoke began to
trickle up from the napkin, followed by a tiny flame. He snuffed it out with a
spoon. Jo made a speech-like noise, but didn’t follow up.

“That’s
my biggie,” he said, leaning back. “If we had another month, I might be able to
do something more impressive. But...” He shrugged, then said to Jo, “If we come
through this, I want you to tell me about Ogun Badagris. How that relates to
me.”

She
nodded.

“You
know, that might have possibilities,” I said. “If you could start an electrical
fire, we...”

“I
don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said. “After you get back from
Ruddle’s, we’ll talk then.”

“I’ll
tell you now if you want,” Jo said. “About Ogun. It won’t take too long.”

Pellerin
suddenly appeared tired, pale and hollow-cheeked, slumping in his chair, but he
said, “Yeah, why don’t you?”

I
was tired, too. Tired of talking, tired of the Seminole Paradise, tired of
whatever game Jo was playing, tired of listening to my own thoughts. I told
them I was off to Ruddle’s place and would return later that afternoon. On my
way out, I heard a hissing from down the hallway. Tammy, wearing bra and
panties, waved to me and retreated toward the bedroom, stopping near the door.

“Is
your friend going to stay?” she asked in a stage whisper.