Get Shorty Part 23

The key wasn't on the table now.

Harry said to Chili, "You know what he is, you told me. So what? I need a hundred and a half, at least, and he's loaning it to me, no strings, I write any kind of agreement I want. All I have to do is pick up the dough. Okay? If you have a problem with him that's your problem. I don't."

It seemed that simple till Chili asked, "Is he giving you a check or cash?" and it got interesting. Harry said cash. He said it happened to be waiting right this moment in a locker at the airport. He said something about a business deal that didn't go through and Chili said, "Jesus Christ, the guy's setting you up. Don't you see that? You pulled out of theirFreaks deal so he's teaching you a lesson. He's not giving you anything, Harry, he's paying you back." Harry said he didn't know what he was talking about and Chili said, "Harry, I could write a f.u.c.kin book on paybacks. You reach in that locker, you're gonna come out wearing handcuffs, I'm telling you." deal so he's teaching you a lesson. He's not giving you anything, Harry, he's paying you back." Harry said he didn't know what he was talking about and Chili said, "Harry, I could write a f.u.c.kin book on paybacks. You reach in that locker, you're gonna come out wearing handcuffs, I'm telling you."

Karen wished she could write some of it down.

Harry said, "Oh, is that right? I'm being set up? Then how come Catlett said I should send you out to get it, since you haven't done a f.u.c.king thing for me since you got into this?"

Karen watched Chili start to smile and for a moment it surprised her. Smiled and shook his head and said, "Harry, I was wrong, I'm sorry. You're not the one he wants to set up."

Harry was not the Harry she had known for fifteen years; he was too quiet. But pouty, acting offended, Harry realizing he was into something he couldn't handle-that was it-and afraid of looking dumb.

Chili said, "Give me the key. If it's there and I don't see a problem, I'll get it for you."

Karen watched Harry turn his head to look at Chili as though he had a choice and was appraising him, thinking it over.

She watched Chili shrug. He said, "It's up to you, Harry. But don't do it yourself, I'm telling you."

She watched Harry put his hand in his coat pocket and bring out the key. He didn't hand it to Chili, he laid it on the table between them. He said, "A hundred and seventy grand. I wonder if I'm ever gonna see you again."

Harry left after that, which was fine with Chili. He and Karen went downstairs to sit at the bar for one, not sure if they'd eat here or go someplace else. She was full of questions, asking about the limo guys and how they made their money. Then asking if he was going out to the airport later this evening. He told her he was thinking of waiting till tomorrow around noon, when there'd be a lot of people there.

Right after that was when Karen said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. A friend of yours from Miami called the house."

"Tommy Carlo?"

"No that wasn't it. I wrote it down," Karen said. "Ray something. Ray Bar-bone? ..."

22.

The way the lockers in the Delta terminal worked, you put in three quarters for twenty-four hours. If you expected to use the locker any longer than that, you left two bucks inside for each additional twenty-four hours and a locker attendant would come by and check the time and collect the money. Chili had to read the instructions, printed on each locker, twice before he figured it out. He did this before walking past the bank of lockers where C-018 was located, noticing the lockers on both sides of it had keys sticking out. He liked that as much as he liked all the travelers here today. This LAX, ten-thirty in the morning, was a busy airport.

Next thing he did was check the Arrivals monitor to see what flight he was waiting for if anybody should ask. The one that caught his eye was 83 from Newark, due in at twelve-forty. He imagined Debbie coming out of the gate carrying a makeup kit full of pills and with that p.i.s.sed-off look she had. Hi, honey, how was the flight? It was awful. The food was awful, the stewardess was a snip and I have a headache. He seemed to be thinking of Debbie and his situation more, still married to her, since meeting Karen, even though he wasn't thinking of Karen in any serious way beyond-he wasn't sure what. The thing he liked about Karen, his past life and a.s.sociations didn't seem to turn her on or off. She was natural with him, didn't put on airs. Also she was a knockout, she was smart, she was a movie star, or had been, and was starting to give him a certain look and call him Chil. All last night after the business with the stuntman, she had looked at him in a different way, he felt, than she did before. Like she wanted to know things about him. And she was quieter, even while asking a lot of questions, though she didn't ask if he was married or anything too personal. Dropping her off he thought she was going to ask him in. He believed she came close before changing her mind for some reason. Still looking at the Arrivals monitor he noticed Flight 89 from Atlanta up there, the one Bones had connected with from Miami and arrived on yesterday. Karen called him Ray Bar-bone, but didn't ask about him, so he didn't tell her what kind of pain in the a.s.s this f.u.c.kin Bones was turning out to be: the way he kept showing up, Christ, for twelve years now, here he comes again, Bones the mob guy and playing it for all it was worth, but basically second-rate muscle, Bones could be handled. As long as he didn't have that big colored guy with him. Chili thinking he didn't need that one too, he already had a colored guy on his back, the dude. What was this? The first time in his life having trouble with colored guys.

In the gift shop Chili bought an L.A. Lakers T-shirt, purple and gold, and a black canvas athletic bag, a small one. The T-shirt went in the athletic bag inside the paper gift-shop bag. He looked around at the souvenirs, all the different kinds of mementos of Los Angeles, at the wall of books and magazines. There was a scruffy kid about eighteen who looked promising, checking out the skin magazines. Chili went up to him and said, "You want to make five bucks, take you two minutes?" The kid looked at him but didn't answer. "You go over to those lockers across the aisle there and put this in C-017." The kid still didn't say anything. "It's a surprise for my wife," Chili said. "But you have to do it quick, okay? While she's in the can." That sounded as if it made sense, so the kid said yeah, okay. Chili gave him the paper bag his purchases were in, a five-dollar bill and three quarters. The kid left and came back with a key that had C-017 on the round flat part of it.

What Chili didn't do was look around the terminal to see if he could spot any suits-the way in movies you saw them standing around reading newspapers. That was bulls.h.i.t. Maybe you could spot them if you were out here all the time doing business. Maybe the limo guys could spot them and that's why the hundred and seventy grand was sitting untouched in the locker. Chili had no doubt it was there or this wouldn't be a setup. The suits grab you with something incriminating, with what they called "suspected drug money," or there could be more than cash in the locker, some dope, to make the bust stick. There was no sense in looking around, because if it was a setup Catlett would have called it in and the suits would be here dressed all kinds of ways watching locker No. C-018, here and there but not standing anywhere near the locker, so why bother looking?

What Chili did, he left the airport for a couple of hours: drove over Manchester Avenue where he found an Italian place and had a plate of seafood linguine marinara and a split of red. While he was here he wrote the Newark flight number and arrival time on a piece of Sunset Marquis notepaper. It seemed like a lot of trouble, the whole thing, but it was better to have a story just in case, not have to make one up on the spot.

By half past twelve he was back in the Delta terminal waiting at the gate where 83 was due to arrive at twelve-forty. It was on the ground at five past one. He watched all the pa.s.sengers come off the plane and out through the gate till he was standing there by himself. Okay, he turned and walked down the aisle now to the bank of thirty-three lockers, three high, where C-018 was about in the middle. He looked both ways, taking his time, waiting till a group of people was pa.s.sing behind him, giving him a screen, giving him just time enough to open C-017, grab the black athletic bag, leaving the gift-shop bag inside, and close the locker. He got about ten yards down the aisle, heading for daylight, when the black guy in the suit coming toward him stopped right in his path.

"Excuse me, sir. Would you come with me, please?"

Now there was a big guy in a plaid wool shirt next to him and another guy, down the aisle, talking on his hand radio. All of them out in the open now. The black guy had his I.D. folder open. They were Drug Enforcement. As Chili said, "What's wrong?" acting surprised. "What's this about?" The black guy turned and started off.

The one in the plaid shirt said, "Let's follow him and behave ourselves. What do you say?"

They took him to a door marked authorized personnel only the black guy opened with a key. It was bare and bright inside the office, fluorescent lights on. Nothing on the metal desk, not even an ashtray. There were three chairs, but they didn't ask him to sit down. The one in the plaid shirt told him to empty his pockets and place the contents on the desk, actually using the wordcontents. But that was as official-sounding as it got. Chili did as he was told acting bewildered, saying he thought they had the wrong person. The black guy opened his wallet and looked at the driver's license while the other one pulled the Lakers T-shirt out of the athletic bag and felt around inside. They glanced at each other without giving any kind of sign and the black guy said, "You live in Miami?" But that was as official-sounding as it got. Chili did as he was told acting bewildered, saying he thought they had the wrong person. The black guy opened his wallet and looked at the driver's license while the other one pulled the Lakers T-shirt out of the athletic bag and felt around inside. They glanced at each other without giving any kind of sign and the black guy said, "You live in Miami?"

"That's right," Chili said.

"What're you doing in Los Angeles?"

"I'm in the movie business," Chili said.

They glanced at each other again. The black guy said, "You're an investor, is that it?"

"I'm a producer," Chili said, "with ZigZag Productions."

"You have a card in here?"

"Not yet, I just started."

The one in the plaid shirt looked at the "contents" on the desk and said, "Is that everything?"

"That's it," Chili said. He watched the black guy pick up the note with the Newark flight number and arrival time written on it. Chili said, "I'd appreciate your telling me what this is about." He could act nervous with these guys without trying too hard.

"I got a John Doe warrant here," the one in the plaid shirt said. "I can strip-search you if I want."

"Pat him down," the black guy said.

"Why don't I strip-search him?"

"Pat him down," the black guy said.

Chili was starting to like the black guy, his quiet way, but couldn't say as much for the other one. The big guy in the plaid shirt put him against the wall, told him to spread his legs and did a thorough job going over him as the black guy asked what he was doing at the airport. Chili said he was supposed to meet his wife, but she wasn't on the flight. The black guy asked why, if he lived in Miami, his wife was coming from Newark? Chili said because they'd had a fight and she left him, went back to Brooklyn. He said he asked her to come out here, maybe with a change of scenery they could get back together and she said okay, but evidently changed her mind. He didn't mention it was twelve years ago she'd left him.

The black guy said, "Your wife a Lakers fan?"

"I am," Chili said. "I'm a fan of everything that's L.A. I love it out here." And looked over his shoulder to give the guy a smile.

The black guy said he could go. Then, when Chili was at the desk, asked him, "What was the number of the locker you used?"

Chili paused. "It was C ... either sixteen or seventeen. He said, "Can I ask you-are you looking for a bomb? Something like that?"

"Something shouldn't be there," the black guy said.

"Why don't you get the attendant to open all the lockers and take a look? Maybe you'll find it."

"That's an idea," the black guy said. "I'll think about it."

"That's what I'd do," Chili said. "I'd make sure I got the right guy next time."

That was it. Time to collect his "contents" and his new bag and leave. He didn't like the way the black guy was looking at him.

23.

Chili didn't see the stuntman until he was up on the third level of the parking structure. There he was, the Hawaiian Bear, standing by the Toyota. So he must have been here all day. Walking up to him Chili said, "I don't know how I could've missed you with that shirt on. It's the same as the other one you had on only the hibiscus are a different color, right?"

The Bear didn't answer the question. He looked okay, no cuts or bruises showing from his fall down the stairs. He said, "So you didn't have the key with you."

Chili said, "You think I'd be standing here? You set somebody up and you want it to work, it has to be a surprise. Can you remember that?"

"You spotted them, huh?"

This guy was either dumb or he was making conversation.

"Who, the suits? If I know they're there, what's the difference which ones they are? Tell that colored guy you work for he blew it. Whose idea was it, yours or his?" The Bear didn't answer and Chili said, "Did you see it work in some movie you got beat up in? There's quite a difference between movies and real life, isn't there?"

Now Chili was making conversation. For some reason he felt sorry for this guy in his Hawaiian shirt.

"What movies were you in I might've seen?"

The Bear hesitated as if he might be thinking of t.i.tles. He wasn't though. He said, "I have to ask you for that key."

"What're you talking about?"

"The locker key."

"I know what one you mean," Chili said. "I can't believe what you're telling me. The setup didn't work so you want the key back?"

"Catlett says if you don't open the locker the deal's off."

"You serious?" Chili said. "This is how you guys do business? I can't believe you aren't dead."

The Bear kept staring but didn't say anything.

"Look," Chili said, "you know as well as I do there's no f.u.c.kin way I'm gonna give you the key, outside of you point a gun at my head. Then we might have something to talk about. Otherwise ... I'd like you to step away from the car."

"I don't need a gun," the Bear said. "Where is it? If it isn't on you, it's around here someplace."

Chili shook his head, tired of this, but still feeling a little sorry for the guy. The Bear didn't seem to have his heart in it; he was going through the motions, doing what he was told. Chili looked off in kind of a thoughtful way, turned to the Bear again and kicked him in the left knee, hard. The Bear stumbled, hunching over. Chili grabbed him by the hair with both hands, pulled his head down and brought his knee up into the guy's face. That straightened him and now Chili hit him high in the belly as hard as he could, right under the rib cage. The Bear gasped and sucked air with his mouth open trying to breathe, helpless now and in pain. Chili took him by the arm saying, "Lie down on your back. Come on, if you want to breathe." He got the Bear down on the concrete, straddled his midsection and reached down to lift him up by the waist of his pants, the same blue ones he had on yesterday, telling him, "Take deep breaths through your mouth and let it out slow ... That's it, like that."

Once the Bear was breathing okay, checking his teeth now, feeling his nose, Chili said, "Hey. Look at me," and got him to raise his eyes. "Tell your boss I don't ever want to see him again. He made a deal with Harry and a deal's a deal. I'm talking about if we get the dough out of the locker. We don't, then okay, there's no deal. But either way I don't want to see him coming around anymore. You understand? Will you tell him that?"

The Bear seemed to nod, closing and opening his eyes.

"What're you hanging around with a guy like that for? You were in the movies, right? A stuntman? What's he ever done he can talk about? The guy pimps you and you let him do it. You feel okay?"

"Not too bad," the Bear said.

"How 'bout when you went down the stairs?"

He touched his left thigh. "I think I pulled my quadriceps."

"If I was you," Chili said, "I'd quit that guy so fast. No, first I'd kick him down some stairs, let him see what it's like. Then I'd quit."

The Bear didn't say anything, but had a look in his eyes that maybe he was thinking about it.

"How many movies you been in?"

"About sixty."

"No s.h.i.t," Chili said. "What're some of 'em?"

The locker key was down on the first level of the parking structure, stuck in a crack where the pavement joined one of the concrete support posts. Chili made sure n.o.body was in sight before he picked it up.

Now he drove to the Avis lot to return the Toyota, walked over to National and took out a Cadillac Sedan de Ville, a black one. There was more to this than switching cars just in case. He felt he deserved a Cadillac. If he had one at home, he should have one out here. At least a Cadillac. Driving up 405 he began thinking that if somehow he got the cash out of that locker he'd tell Harry he wanted a ten percent commission on it, then turn in the Cadillac and lease a Mercedes or that expensive BMW. Karen said top agents and studio execs were driving BMWs now. She said a Rolls was too pretentious; low-key was in. Other things to remember: you don't "take a meeting" anymore, you say you have "a two-thirty at Tower." If a studio pa.s.ses on a script, you don't say "they took a Pasadena." That was out before it was in. Like "so-and-so gives good phone." If they say it's "for a specialized audience" or it's "a cast-driven script," that's a pa.s.s. But what Elaine Levin gaveLovejoy was a "soft pa.s.s," which meant it was salvageable. There were a lot of terms you had to learn, as opposed to the shylock business where all you had to know how to say was "Give me the f.u.c.kin money." He'd call Karen later on, after he had a talk with Harry. was a "soft pa.s.s," which meant it was salvageable. There were a lot of terms you had to learn, as opposed to the shylock business where all you had to know how to say was "Give me the f.u.c.kin money." He'd call Karen later on, after he had a talk with Harry.

Pulling into the parking area beneath the Sunset Marquis he wondered if he should switch hotels. He liked this one, though, a lot. The people here were friendly, relaxed. They gave you free shampoo, suntan lotion, moisturizing cream. The food was good. You could cook in your room if you wanted. There were ashtrays everywhere you looked. A Sunset Marquis ashtray right there by the elevator, if you forgot to take one from your room when you checked out.

Chili unlocked the door to 325 and stepped inside, not too surprised to see the message light on the phone blinking. That would be Harry dying to know how he made out, Harry becoming a nervous wreck lately. He'd tell Harry it was still possible to get the money, but it wasn't going to be easy. Show Harry, first, he still needed him, then straighten him out about the limo guys-stay away from them. Chili took off his suitcoat, turned to drape it over one of the chairs at the counter and saw that someone had been in here.

Not the maid, someone else. The maid hadn't come in yet to clean up the room. You could tell, the newspapers on the sofa, the ashtray by the phone ...

What had caught his eye, the cupboard doors in the kitchenette were open. Not all the way, but not closed tight either, the way he'd left them. But the desk drawer, Chili noticed, was closed, and he had left that one open about an inch. He had set the drawers in the bedroom the same way, some open an inch or so, some closed-a little nervous about security after the Bear had come in and tossed the place and didn't leave one clue that he'd been here. This one who'd come in either didn't know how to cover his moves or didn't care. The Bear had left the ten grand in the suitcase in the bedroom closet, but this one was different, this guy ...

Chili was about to go in there and thought, Wait a minute. What if the guy's still here? As he fooled with that idea, looking toward the hall where you went into the bathroom or turned right and two steps took you into the bedroom, he knew who it was. Bones. There was no doubt in his mind now, that f.u.c.kin Bones had been here. Or was still here. In the bedroom.

There was one way to find out, but he didn't want to walk in there, maybe surprise him, even though Bones, if he was there, would have heard him come in. Except that you couldn't tell what Bones might do, the guy being either too dumb or crazy to act in a normal way.

What Chili did, he called out, "Hey, Bones? I'm home." Waited maybe ten seconds watching the hall and there he was.