Unknown Man No 89 (1977) (18 page)

"What if after a while, what?" Ryan said. "Do you want to know everything that's going to happen to you, or you want to take it a day at a time and be surprised?"

She said, "Couldn't I know just a little of what's going to happen?"

"Maybe," Ryan said, "it depends. What's worrying you?"

She said after a moment, "I was married before."

"I know you were."

"I wondered if ... you ever pictured me with him. The kind of person he was."

"I don't think of him as a person," Ryan said. "I think of him as a number."

"You do?" Puzzled. "What number?"

"Eighty-nine. That was the number he had in the morgue. Before he was identified."

"Oh. You saw him?"

"I saw him, but the only thing I remember about him's the number. The man who had it's gone."

They went out in the sun for five days and turned brown and felt better, both agreed, than they'd ever felt in their lives. Though sometimes when he was silent she would ask him if everything was all right. He'd say, Everything's fine. She believed him and it would be enough for several hours or until she felt the need to ask him again. She knew about living one day at a time and not worrying about things that might never happen. She felt comfortable and happy being with him, and when they made love she was sure of him beyond any doubt. But she would feel him leave her in his mind and wonder where he was, if he was sorry and had misgivings and was escaping, if he was only being nice to her because she needed someone. She would say to him, standing in the kitchen, "Hold me." Then it was good again. She could feel he loved her. He told her, often, he loved her. She would say, "But-" And he would say, "Why don't you just believe me and not think about it?" He would tell her every day to feel and try not to think so much. She said, "But what if I feel and I get scared of the feeling?" He said, "What's wrong with being scared?" He said, "You have to leave yourself open and take chances and that can be scary, you bet. But if you don't take chances, what do you win?"

You make molded salads and watch Name That Tune.

She could cross that one off, one less option to think about. And living alone was dumb. So why not bet on Ryan? If she felt good with him, natural, herself, and was happier than she'd ever been, what was the problem? As long as he would reassure her from time to time.

The fifth day the feeling of anxiety would not go away. They didn't talk or smile at each other as much or as naturally. He's had enough, Denise thought. He's bored. She asked him if he wanted to do something, go somewhere. He said, No, he didn't think so. She didn't ask him where he was or if everything was all right.

She said, "Your back's not going to get very tan."

She was lying on a towel on her stomach, her face turned to Ryan, sitting in a canvas chair with his straw hat tilted low on his eyes, staring at the ocean.

"My back gets whatever it can," Ryan said. "I don't like to lie down like that unless I'm gonna take a nap."

His tone was all right, but he was quiet, inside himself, deeper in there than he had been during the previous days. She had to think up things to say to him. Maybe put him on a little. She raised her face from the towel, looking at the sky.

"We've been lucky with the weather."

He didn't say anything.

"It's going to be eighty today, light showers expected tomorrow."

Ryan looked at her now. "Is that right?"

"One winter in Bad Axe the snow was so deep," Denise said, and stopped. "You want to know how deep the snow was?"

"How deep was it?" Ryan said.

"It was so deep outside you had to shit in a shotgun and shoot it up the chimney."

"That's pretty deep," Ryan said.

Denise lowered her face to the beach towel. "So are you."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally Ryan said, "Okay."

Denise didn't say anything right away. She watched him lean over and fish inside the straw bag for something. He brought out his wallet. Denise raised her head a little.

"Okay, what?"

Ryan took out a five-dollar bill, reached over, and let it fall on the end of the towel, by her face.

"Mr. Perez. Let's go get him."

"How?"

"I've got a couple of ideas."

"Is that what you've been thinking about?"

"Part of the time," Ryan said. "You want to go after your money? It's up to you."

She liked the line of the straw hat brim, low over his eyes as he looked at her. She liked the quiet sound of his voice and his brown arms and the way he sat in the canvas chair, waiting.

She said, "Why don't we get it and come back?"

Ryan smiled. "Why don't we?"

He called and reserved seats on an Eastern flight out of Miami. They had to hurry to make it. They packed and dressed inside a half hour. Denise remembered something as they were ready to go and they put the leftovers in the refrigerator for the maid: ketchup and mustard, pickles, oleo, bread, a ham shank and the two inches of Almaden red that were still in the bottle.

Chapter
2O

Ryan had to wait while Rita got the coffee, escaping, giving herself time to think, standing over there by the tan coffee urn that matched the beige tones and fabrics of the law office. She came back past the palm tree plants on the file cabinets with matching ceramic mugs and placed one on the desk next to Ryan.

"Thanks," he said. "Look, you can't get in any trouble. All you're doing, you're typing up a complaint and a summons. Nobody's going to ask who typed it."

Rita sat down at the desk and made room for her coffee mug. "You want to threaten him, is that it?"

"I want Mr. Perez to see he could get tied up in court," Ryan said, "if Mrs. Leary decides she wants to bring suit."

"Mrs. Leary, or you could call her the complainant," Rita said.

Ryan smiled. "That's what happens I get in a lawyer's office. Okay-Denise could bring suit."

"Well, why doesn't she go ahead and do it?" Rita said. "If Perez is being such a prick about it."

"Because I don't think we have to. Going to court, it ties him up, it ties everybody up."

He could see Rita was trying to get out of it. Maybe she was mad, holding it in. She said, "I don't know. God, I've got a shit-load of work to get out today."

Ryan leaned closer to the desk. "It's two sheets of paper. What'll it take you, ten minutes? An ace typist."

Rita gave him a tired look. "Ace typist. I'm surprised you didn't bring a box of candy."

"Or a Baggie," Ryan said. "Okay, I'm asking you as a favor. I guarantee you won't get involved."

"You two must be pretty close by now," Rita said. "A week in Florida."

"Five days," Ryan said.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." He felt good saying it. Rita could do whatever she wanted.

She didn't say anything right away, looking at him with a thoughtful expression, maybe remembering the two of them together, feeling her impression of him, maybe appreciating him more than she had before. She said, "You're a nice guy, Jack. I just hope you don't fuck up."

Then, from earth tones and green plants to Jay Walt's purple crushed velvet and glass-topped chrome. Purple, with light-blue carpeting and the light-blue leisure suit and the clean light-blue Cadillac Seville outside the suburban office building. With Ryan's dirty light-blue Catalina parked next to it.

Where Ryan was sitting he could see the two cars through the window. He was thinking, Dark blue next time, or dark brown.

Jay Walt, in his desk-chair recliner, had his shoes off, his light-blue-socked feet crossed on his eight-foot sheet of glass desk.

"So what's the problem?" Jay Walt said. "It's done all the time. All you want to do is goose him, right? So mail him the complaint. Cost you thirteen cents."

"No, I want to see his reaction," Ryan said, "but I'm afraid I'd blow it. He sees I'm nervous, he's liable to think I'm pulling something."

"Which you are. Shit, come on, you serve paper every day with your nice boyish bullshit. What're you talking about?" Jay Walt thumbed his gold lighter several times to relight his cigar. "Hand it to him and play dumb."

"But he knows me," Ryan said. "That's the thing. It's my idea, he knows that, and I'm handing him the papers. You see what I mean? He'd try and finesse me, I'm standing right there."

Jay Walt began to nod and then grinned. "You haven't told me everything, have you, Jackie? You're working for the guy-what, now you're working for the broad? Hey, shit, I'd watch you too. What's this guy doing?"

"I don't work for him anymore," Ryan said. "You know how he is, he doesn't see he needs you, that's it."

"No fucking heart," Jay Walt said. "And you can't take him to court for fraud, because at one time you were part of it, right? Pissed off and you want revenge."

"She's the complainant," Ryan said, "I'm not. I can go to California for six months. Shit, I can walk away from the whole thing."

Jay Walt said, "Hey, Jackie? Bullshit. You got a good thing, broad with money coming, and you're not gonna let it out of your sight, man. What's the value of the stock?"

"Jesus," Ryan said, "that's what she wants to find out. Hand him a mandatory injunction and hope he'll want to sit down and talk instead of going to court."

"Keep the fucking lawyers out of it," Jay Walt said. "I don't blame you. But you got a problem. You want to jack the guy up without going near him. The only thing you can do in that case is mail it to him, as I said before."

"I was thinking, if you knew somebody I could rely on,"

Ryan said, "a bright young guy you think could do a quick study on Perez, give me his reactions, what he says-"

"Here? The assholes I got? You got to point them to the can they want to take a leak."

"-Mrs. Leary'd be willing to pay a hundred and a half. Maybe go two bills if she likes the report. Just between you and me."

Jay Walt turned his head against the backrest of his chair to look over at Ryan, waiting there patiently with his offer. Boy with a good reputation, honest, sincere, a little nai've maybe. Maybe not.

"In advance?"

"Say a hundred down."

"Who drew up the complaint, some law student?"

"I guarantee it's in order."

"Only the procedure's a little funny, huh?"

"You said yourself, it's done all the time."

The diamond on Jay Walt's little finger reflected a flash of purple as he extended his arm.

"Lemme have a look, Jackie. See if I like it."

They didn't ask Jay Walt to take his coat off, but as Mr. Perez walked over to the desk with the envelope he said, "Raymond, fix Mr. Walt a drink."

"Scotch and 'a splash'd be fine," Jay Walt said.

"Scotch and a splash," Mr. Perez said. "It still cold outside?"

"Not too bad," Jay Walt said. "Maybe forty-five, around there."

"That's cold," Mr. Perez said. He had his reading glasses on now and had taken the papers out of the envelope. Without looking up he said, "Raymond, hold that scotch and a splash."

Raymond Gidre, over by the bookcase bar, turned with the J&B in his hand.

Jay Walt, in his coat with the buckles and metal rings and epaulets, waited. He had only said to Mr. Perez, handing him the manila envelope, "This seems to be for you; some sort of legal matter." Trying to play dumb and keep his ass out of it as much as possible.

" 'Complaint for Mandatory Injunction,' " Mr. Perez said, looking over at Jay Walt. "Some sort of legal matter, huh? 'To compel the disclosure of information ... a summons to appear in Circuit Court, County of Oakland.' Yeah, I guess that's some sort of legal matter all right. Raymond, what would you say to taking this fat boy and throwing him out the window?"

"You open it," Raymond said, moving toward Jay Walt, "and I'll throw him. How far you want him to go?"

"I guess all the way down," Mr. Perez said. "Might as well." He walked over to the room's smaller, regular-size window, snapped the shade up spinning on the roller, and raised the lower window flush with the top pane. "How's that?"

"That's good," Raymond said.

Jay Walt didn't believe it, looking from Mr. Perez to Raymond Gidre, who was close to him now, with his wet-down hair and sportshirt and mother tattoo. He could smell Raymond's hair tonic. He said, "Hey, guys, come on."

"I can run him right through there," Raymond said. "Got handles on his coat." Raymond grabbed the belt and one of the epaulets, almost jerked Jay Walt off his feet, and ran him across the room toward the window.

Jay Walt screamed. "Jesus Christ-come on! For Christ's sake, wait!"

Jay Walt's head banged hard against the window frame. "Shit," Raymond said. He backed him up, straining, clench-jawed, and pushed him half through the open window, Jay Walt squeezing against the sill with his knees to hold on, looking straight down seventeen floors to the Jefferson Avenue service drive, seeing the tops of cars moving, inching along, feeling the wind cutting his face.

"Son of a bitch is stuck."

"Hold him there," Mr. Perez said. "I believe he was saying his prayers."

"I don't know, he mentioned Jesus," Raymond said. "Ain't he a Jew boy?"

"I believe so. Ask him."

Raymond leaned close to Jay Walt's back. "Hey, are you a Jew boy?" Raymond looked up at Mr. Perez. "He nodded yes."

"Ask him was this his idea."

Raymond asked him. "He shook his head no," Raymond said.

"Ask him again."

"Nooo!" wailed Jay Walt, out in the wind.

"Ask him whose idea was it."

"Ryan!" Jay Walt screamed. "I don't know anything about it-honest to ChristI"

"Bring him in and shut the window," Mr. Perez said. He walked over to the bar and made himself a drink. When he came back, Jay Walt had edged away from the window and seemed to be holding on to his stomach, protecting himself.

"Slap him a good one," Mr. Perez said. "Get his attention."

Jay Walt didn't see it coming. Raymond gave him an open hand across the face that almost knocked him down. Jay Walt screamed as he got it.

"Some more."

He looked round and fatter in the coat, trying to cover up. "Please, please don't hurt me. I swear to God-"

He tried to turn, but Raymond caught him by the front of his coat and cracked him hard across the face. "Look at me, Jew boy," Raymond said. "Hey, look at me." Raymond grabbed him by the hair then, raising his face, Jay Walt moaning, trying to squeeze his eyes closed, and began slapping him with his yellow-callused palm, back-handing him on the return swing, raking the man's nose and cheekbones with his knuckles.

Mr. Perez sipped his drink and lowered it. "That's fine, Raymond." As Raymond stepped away, blowing on his hand, Mr. Perez said to Jay Walt, "Did you learn anything of value today?"

Jay Walt, his mouth open and swollen-looking, nodded and mumbled something.

"I can't hear you," Mr. Perez said.

"Yes, sir, I did, I didn't mean to-"

"Let me hear you say, I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again."

Jay Walt began to repeat the words.

"Speak up," Mr. Perez said. "I still can't hear you."

"I will never ..."

"I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again, ever."

"I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again," Jay Walt said.

"Ever."

"Ever," Jay Walt said.

"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Perez said. "Now wipe your nose and go home."

Ryan liked a dark business suit and white shirt with a suntan. It made the person look successful: sitting at a table in the Salamander Bar, quietly waiting to hear the outcome of a business deal. The subdued lighting was also good for suntans. He had a Seven-Up, then switched to a ginger ale and fooled with it, making it last, sucking at the ice in the bottom of the glass when Jay Walt came in.

"Wow," Ryan said, with reverence. "You look like you been stung by bees." He made a gesture of rising as Jay Walt wedged himself into the table and collapsed.

"We got to get out of here. No, I want a drink, Christ." He was gasping, barely moving his swollen mouth. "They open the window, Christ, try and push me out. This big son of a bitch starts hitting me as hard as he can."

"While you're out the window?"

"Seventeenth floor, I look down, Christ, I said, Hey, guys, come on, this isn't funny."

"What'd Perez say?"

"What'd he say? He tried to push me out the fucking window. Where's a waitress in this place?"

Ryan sat back in his chair. "So he didn't think much of the mandatory injunction, uh?"

Buying Jay Walt a couple of doubles and sitting with him gave Ryan time to plan his next immediate move. He gave Jay Walt another hundred dollars, saying he was awfully sorry it turned out the way it did-with Jay Walt getting some of his nerve back with the scotch and threatening to sue the son of a bitch-walked him over to the escalator, thanked him again, then crossed the lobby to the house phones.

When Mr. Perez came on, Ryan said, "Jay Walt just phoned me. Looks like you're gonna have two legal suits on your hands."

Mr. Perez said, "Don't you believe it."

"Not afraid to go to court, huh?"

"Why don't you come by and we'll talk about it," Mr. Perez said.

"If we can do it on the ground floor," Ryan said. "Maybe later on. There's something I got to do first."

"There is, huh? Son, you don't have anything pressing on you like I'm going to."

"You'd be surprised," Ryan said. "Why don't we have dinner together? I'll call you back." He hung up before Mr. Perez could say anything else.

That part was done, getting it set up.

Ryan went to a pay phone then to call Virgil Royal, with the odds heavy against Virgil answering or even finding him short of a few hours. Virgil said hello, with his lazy tone, and Ryan couldn't help but grin. Imagine being glad to hear Virgil Royal's voice. They talked for a minute and agreed on Sportree's in about an hour. Ryan said he'd find it.