Eight Million Ways to Die, Page 2

Page 2

 

  "I dont know. Maybe you can do it yourself. Havent you said anything to him? Hinted at it, talked about it, something like that?"

  "Im afraid. "

  "Of what?"

  "That hed kill me or mark me or something. Or that hed talk me out of it. " She leaned forward, put her port-tipped fingers on my wrist. The gesture was clearly calculated but nonetheless effective for it. I breathed in her spicy scent and felt her sexual impact. I wasnt aroused and didnt want her but I could not be unaware of her sexual strength. She said, "Cant you help me, Matt?" And, immediately, "Do you mind if I call you Matt?"

  I had to laugh. "No," I said. "I dont mind. "

  "I make money but I dont get to keep it. And I dont really make more money than I did on the street. But I have a little money. "

  "Oh?"

  "I have a thousand dollars. "

  I didnt say anything. She opened her purse, found a plain white envelope, got a finger under the flap and tore it open. She took a sheaf of bills from it and placed them on the table between us.

  "You could see him for me," she said.

  I picked up the money, held it in my hand. I was being offered the opportunity to serve as intermediary between a blonde whore and a black pimp. It was not a role Id ever hungered for.

  I wanted to hand the money back. But I was nine or ten days out of Roosevelt Hospital and I owed money there, and on the first of the month my rent would be due, and I hadnt sent anything to Anita and the boys in longer than I cared to remember. I had money in my wallet and more money in the bank but it didnt add up to much, and Kim Dakkinens money was as good as anybody elses and easier to come by, and what difference did it make what shed done to earn it?

  I counted the bills. They were used hundreds and there were ten of them. I left five on the table in front of me and handed the other five to her. Her eyes widened a little and I decided she had to be wearing contacts. Nobody had eyes that color.

  I said, "Five now and five later. If I get you off the hook. "

  "Deal," she said, and grinned suddenly. "You could have had the whole thousand in front. "

  "Maybe Ill work better with an incentive. You want some more coffee?"

  "If youre having some. And I think Id like something sweet. Do they have desserts here?"

  "The pecan pies good. Sos the cheesecake. "

  "I love pecan pie," she said. "I have a terrible sweet tooth but I never gain an ounce. Isnt that lucky?"

  Chapter 2

  There was a problem. In order for me to talk to Chance I had to find him, and she couldnt tell me how to do it.

  "I dont know where he lives," she said. "Nobody does. "

  "Nobody?"

  "None of his girls. Thats the big guessing game if a couple of us should happen to be together and hes not in the room. Trying to guess where Chance lives. One night I remember this girl Sunny and I were together and we were just goofing, coming up with one outrageous idea after another. Like he lives in this tenement in Harlem with his crippled mother, or he has this mansion in Sugar Hill, or he has a ranch house in the suburbs and commutes. Or he keeps a couple of suitcases in his car and lives out of them, just sleeping a couple hours a night at one of our apartments. " She thought a moment. "Except he never sleeps when hes with me. If we do go to bed hell just lie there afterward for a little while and then hes up and dressed and out. He said once he cant sleep if theres another person in the room. "

  "Suppose you have to get in touch with him?"

  "Theres a number to call. But its an answering service. You can call the number any time, twenty-four hours a day, and theres always an operator that answers. He always checks in with his service. If were out or something, hell check in with them every thirty minutes, every hour. "

  She gave me the number and I wrote it in my notebook. I asked her where he garaged his car. She didnt know. Did she remember the cars license number?

  She shook her head. "I never notice things like that. His car is a Cadillac. "

  "Theres a surprise. Where does he hang out?"

  "I dont know. If I want to reach him I leave a message. I dont go out looking for him. You mean is there a regular bar he drinks in? Theres a lot of places hell go sometimes, but nothing regular. "

  "What kind of things does he do?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Does he go to ball games? Does he gamble? What does he do with himself?"

  She considered the question. "He does different things," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Depending who hes with. I like to go to jazz clubs so if hes with me thats where well go. Im the one he calls if hes looking for that kind of an evening. Theres another girl, I dont even know her, but they go to concerts. You know, classical music. Carnegie Hall and stuff. Another girl, Sunny, digs sports, and hell take her to ball games. "

  "How many girls has he got?"

  "I dont know. Theres Sunny and Nan and the girl who likes classical music. Maybe theres one or two others. Maybe more. Chance is very private, you know? He keeps things to himself. "

  "The only name youve got for him is Chance?"

  "Thats right. "

  "Youve been with him, what, three years? And youve got half a name and no address and the number of his answering service. "

  She looked down at her hands.

  "How does he pick up the money?"

  "From me, you mean? Sometimes hell come by for it. "

  "Does he call first?"

  "Not necessarily. Sometimes. Or hell call and tell me to bring it to him. At a coffee shop or a bar or something, or to be on a certain corner and hell pick me up. "

  "You give him everything you make?"

  A nod. "He found me my apartment, he pays the rent, the phone, all the bills. Well shop for my clothes and hell pay. He likes picking out my clothes. I give him what I make and he gives me back some, you know, for walking-around money. "

  "You dont hold anything out?"

  "Sure I do. How do you think I got the thousand dollars? But its funny, I dont hold out much. "

  The place was filling up with office workers by the time she left. By then shed had enough coffee and switched to white wine. She had one glass of the wine and left half of it. I stayed with black coffee. I had her address and phone in my notebook along with Chances answering service, but I didnt have a whole lot more than that.

  On the other hand, how much did I need? Sooner or later I would get hold of him, and when I did I would talk to him, and if it broke right Id throw a bigger scare into him than hed managed to throw into Kim. And if not, well, I still had five hundred dollars more than I had when I woke up that morning.

  After she left I finished my coffee and cracked one of her hundreds to pay my tab. Armstrongs is on Ninth Avenue between Fifty-seventh and Fifty-eighth, and my hotel is around the corner on Fifty-seventh Street. I went to it, checked the desk for mail and messages, then called Chances service from the pay phone in the lobby. A woman answered on the third ring, repeating the four final digits of the number and asking if she could help me.

  "I want to speak to Mr. Chance," I said.

  "I expect to speak with him soon," she said. She sounded middle-aged, with a chain smokers rasp to her voice. "May I take a message for him?"

  I gave her my name and my phone number at the hotel. She asked what my call was in reference to. I told her it was personal.

  When I hung up the phone I felt shaky, maybe from all the coffee Id been sipping all day. I wanted a drink. I thought about going across the street to Pollys Cage for a quick one, or hitting the liquor store two doors down from Pollys and picking up a pint of bourbon. I could envision the booze, Jim Beam or J. W. Dant, some no-nonsense brown whiskey in a flat pint bottle.

  I thought, Cmon, its raining out there, you dont want to go out in the rain. I left the phone booth and turned toward the elevator instead of the front door and went up to my room. I locked myself in and pulled the chair over to the win
dow and watched the rain. The urge to drink went away after a few minutes. Then it came back and then it went away again. It came and went for the next hour, winking on and off like a neon sign. I stayed where I was and watched the rain.

  Around seven I picked up the phone in my room and called Elaine Mardell. Her machine answered, and when the beep sounded I said, "This is Matt. I saw your friend and I wanted to thank you for the referral. Maybe one of these days I can return the favor. " I hung up and waited another half hour. Chance didnt return my call.

  I wasnt especially hungry but I made myself go downstairs for something to eat. It had quit raining. I went over to the Blue Jay and ordered a hamburger and fries. A guy two tables over was having a beer with his sandwich and I decided to order one when the waiter brought my burger, but by the time that happened Id changed my mind. I ate most of the hamburger and about half of the fries and drank two cups of coffee, then ordered cherry pie for dessert and ate most of it.

  It was almost eight-thirty when I left there. I stopped at my hotel- no messages- and then walked the rest of the way to Ninth Avenue. There used to be a Greek bar on the corner, Antares and Spiros, but its a fruit and vegetable market now. I turned uptown and walked past Armstrongs and across Fifty-eighth Street, and when the light changed I crossed the avenue and walked on up past the hospital to St. Paul s. I walked around the side and down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement. A cardboard sign hung from the doorknob, but youd have to be looking for it to see it.

  A. A. , it said.

  They were just getting started when I walked in. There were three tables set up in a U, with people seated on either sides of the tables and perhaps a dozen other chairs arranged at the back. Another table off to the side held refreshments. I got a Styrofoam cup and drew coffee from the urn, then took a chair at the rear. A couple of people nodded to me and I nodded back.

  The speaker was a fellow about my age. He was wearing a herringbone tweed jacket over a plaid flannel shirt. He told the story of his life from his first drink in his early teens until he came into the program and got sober four years ago. He was married and divorced a few times, cracked up several cars, lost jobs, hit a few hospitals. Then he stopped drinking and started going to meetings and things got better. "Things didnt get better," he said, correcting himself. "I got better. "

  They say that a lot. They say a lot of things a lot and you get to hear the same phrases over and over. The stories are pretty interesting, though. People sit up there in front of God and everybody and tell you the goddamnedest things.

  He spoke for half an hour. Then they took a ten-minute break and passed the basket for expenses. I put in a dollar, then helped myself to another cup of coffee and a couple of oatmeal cookies. A fellow in an old army jacket greeted me by name. I remembered his name was Jim and returned the greeting. He asked me how things were going and I told him they were going all right.

  "Youre here and youre sober," he said. "Thats the important thing. "

  "I suppose. "

  "Any day I dont take a drink is a good day. Youre staying sober a day at a time. The hardest thing in the world is for an alcoholic to not drink and youre doing it. "