Glitz. Part 22

The detective told him he didn't have to talk to them if he didn't want to. Teddy said, well, if they would tell him what it was about . . . The detective said he could agree to come with them or they could go to Munic.i.p.al Court and get a warrant, if Teddy wanted to give them a hard time. What hard time? They became deadpan, immobile, giving him a brick wall to b.u.t.t his head against. There was no way to win if they felt like being mean. It made him mad though.

"You want to stick me in a line-up, don't you?"

One of the detectives said, "Why would we want to do that?"

"I know you guys."

"Is that right, Teddy? How do you know us?"

Teddy said, "I been here all night."

His mom said, "He's been right here with me."

The detectives said, "You coming, Teddy?"

s.h.i.t. He got dressed and went with them, the two cops in front speaking once in a while in low tones, a woman's voice coming over the radio now and then but not making any sense; otherwise it was dark and quiet out on that lonely Margate-Northfield road across the islands, no other cars. The one driving flicked his lighter and held it to his cigarette.

Marie would flick her Bic down underneath the Boardwalk, stooped over in the trash and weeds. She'd say, "I don't see it nowhere." Looking for his lucky quarter. "I don't see it . . . Listen, I got to go." He hit her with an old beer bottle he'd picked up, brought it down on the back of her head. She dropped the lighter making a funny sound like a yelp, surprised. He struck again, in the dark now, and realized she had her hands up on her head. She yelled louder and he felt her right up against him, facing him, saying, "Oh, help me, oh," not realizing he was the one had hit her. He hit her again but couldn't see what he was doing. He grabbed the front of her suit as she tried to take hold of him for protection it seemed like, putting her arms around him and was so close he'd chop at her but wasn't able to get anything behind his swing, to put her away. She was moaning, oh or no or oh no, as he hit her. Then headlights came on up Kentucky Avenue about a half block up the street and it gave him enough light to see her, catch glimpses of her cut face, her gla.s.ses gone. He was able to push her away, see what he was doing now, and give her a good one over the head with the bottle. It wouldn't break, darn it. He hit it against a support timber, it still wouldn't break. He shoved Marie against the timber, banged her head against it good a few times and that seemed to do the job. He had learned trying to shoot somebody in a hotel room didn't work spur of the moment; and he had learned a beer bottle was no good for knocking a person out quick. The trouble was, he didn't like the sound of it hitting the person's head. What might've happened, he held back just a little each time instead of swinging through, not wanting to hear that mooshy sound of the bottle doing its job. So it took longer, finally beating her senseless against the timber. Once that was done it was quiet under here and even a little cozy in that faint headlight beam up the street. He cleared trash away and got down with Marie in the damp sandy dirt. G.o.d. All alone with this woman he could do anything he wanted to. Get some of her clothes off, feel her body all over. Ouuuu, it was mooshy. He wanted to look at parts of her too. He got her clothes undone, pulled off her pants and her big panties, big as his mom's hanging in the bathroom. Then got out hotel matches, lit and held each one as long as he could, getting a good close look at her. He had not planned on making love to Marie, but was getting the urge staring at her puss, wondering how long it had been for her. Tickle, tickle, tickle. It looked worn or moth-eaten, strange. Oh well . . .

In that ride to Northfield, across the channels and marshy islands, Teddy was thinking next time what he might do, try to keep the woman awake or semi-out till he started making love to her. Be doing it to her and then, right at the right moment, hit her over the head. But not with a beer bottle. He'd never use one again. He ought to have checked with certain people while he was at Raiford. Sit around in a circle on folding chairs and have a group session. He'd tell them when it was his turn: Rule number one, Put the money away first, before you start having fun. Else you could get carried away and forget it. He almost did.

Cedric, the head La Tuna, was waiting in the cement hallway back of the casino. He unlocked the storage room and there was Ricky on the floor between rows of slot machines, sitting with his head down, holding his arms to his body. He looked up slowly, his dead-eyed expression in place-until he saw Vincent.

DeLeon said, "Try to open his mouth, mmmm, it hurts him. Be cool, Ricky, we gonna take you to the hospital."

Ricky kept staring at Vincent, trying to say something, find out what the h.e.l.l was going on, and still look mean.

Vincent feeling just a little sorry for him, thinking, They work so hard at it. He said, "I bet Frank was surprised, huh? The cops ask why you did it, tell them it was a mistake."

"Tell them somebody messed with your head," DeLeon said, and looked at Vincent. "He's gonna have a time even to give his name."

"Maybe he should write it down," Vincent said. "To whom it may concern. How I did the Ching."

Ricky groaned something, a word, trying not to move his mouth.

Vincent said, "What was that, Rick? Speak up. Sounded like he said, 'Bulls.h.i.t.'"

DeLeon said, "He can write it or I can fix it he has knee surgery while they wire his jaw."

Vincent left them, walking out past Cedric with his aura of reefer, his sheen of serenity, Cedric calling DeLeon "Mon," saying he was a joy, he was so fine . . .

Well, he wasn't bad. A good one to have along. Vincent got on the elevator and pressed his floor and then held the b.u.t.ton to make the door close and said, "Come on, let's go." It was almost 2:30 but seemed much earlier. He still hadn't heard from Dixie. He'd give him a call and if Dix didn't know where Teddy's mom lived he'd tell him. In Margate.

You believe it? Marvin Gardens, less than five miles away. The only Magyk in the book.

Linda stood in the doorway to the bedroom. She turned as he came in but didn't say a word. She seemed calm enough, patient, and he had nothing to hide. Nancy Donovan came into his mind, a glimpse of her, lips parted; but he got rid of it, no trouble, in and out.

"You're wondering what Miss Oklahoma's doing in our bed, aren't you?" He could fool around, play with it, free of guilt, glad to see her. "I'll tell you," Vincent said. "But first, how'd it go?"

Linda said, no, she'd like to hear about Miss Oklahoma first. So he told her about LaDonna's fear, her recent experience, what was going on, and Linda raised her eyebrows a few times as she listened, interested but not overdoing it. What a girl. Maybe she could have given it just a little more; but he was satisfied. Linda didn't act until she got on the stage. "So, how'd it go?"

"I was a smash."

"They liked you."

"Vincent, they loved it. We're doing two weeks to start. The guys are great, better than I ever expected. We start moving and it's so full. It's so . . . well, it's just so full full. Three of us, just-it was great. We're gonna play some music."

Vincent said, "You were good, uh?"

"Not bad. I'm gonna take a bath. What do you say? You feel dirty?"

"Filthy. Soon as I make a phone call."

He spoke to a male voice at Northfield who told him Captain Davies was in conference and would have to return his call when he was free. Vincent asked if they had located Teddy Magyk. The voice said he had no information about that. Vincent hung up and sat looking at the name he had printed on the hotel memo pad in block letters, MAGYK, the number written beneath it. He picked up the phone, pressed nine for an outside line . . .

Someone was at the door: the sound of three quick knocks and then silence. Too soon for DeLeon to be back ...Vincent crossed the room, opened the door.

It was Nancy Donovan.

Dressed casually now in a navy jacket and slacks. She said, "Are you going to invite me in?" Her voice softer than he had ever heard it, giving him a movie-star look with her eyes.

Vincent had to think about it a moment. He said, "Sure. Why not?"

Nancy hesitated now. "I'm not disturbing you?"

"No, come on in. Sit down, I'll fix you a drink."

"Could I have a small cognac?" She was in now, moving to the couch. Vincent told her she could have anything she wanted and poured a couple of good ones. This was getting to be some night. He handed her the snifter gla.s.s and she said, "I want to say I'm sorry . . ."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I'm not not." Letting him have it, but immediately drawing in again, pa.s.sive. "I was going to say, I'm sorry if there was a misunderstanding. Sorry you got the wrong idea. You had no reason, Vincent, to say what you did."

She was at the end of the sofa, tailored and trim. Vincent eased into DeLeon's chair to sit at a close angle to her, their knees almost touching.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

She waited a moment, her clear stare turning wistful. "Can we be friends?"

"I don't see why not."

"Start over?" When he nodded and said you bet, she smiled. "Did I frighten you? Just a little, maybe?" He gave that one a nice shrug and she said, "I thought about it after. I can understand how you might've gotten the idea I was, well, sort of coming at you. But I meant well, honest." Nancy gave him the look over the rim of the gla.s.s, head lowered slightly, one he remembered from the Penthouse Lounge, upstairs. She sipped her cognac, swirled it lazily in the snifter bowl and looked at him again. "When we were alone earlier, spying on the casino, we seemed so"-she hunched her shoulders, becoming tiny-"at ease with one another, and yet so aware. It was as if in that moment, Vincent, I knew you and I knew I was right, what I'd felt from that first time." He said, That first time? . . . And Nancy said, "In San Juan, when you came to my house. I knew then-"

"G.o.d," LaDonna said, coming out of the bedroom, her white legs coming out of a shorty robe Vincent didn't recognize, "how long did I sleep?" The robe, or beach cover, would have to be Linda's. He glanced at Nancy, sitting up to look over the back of the sofa, turned away from him.

LaDonna said, "Oh, hi. Can somebody tell me what time it is?" The sleepy girl stretching now, reaching out, the cotton robe rising on her milky thighs.

"Two forty-five," Nancy said. "I think it's time for me to go." She said to Vincent, "Sorry."

He had to pull his eyes away from LaDonna to look at Nancy, not sounding anything like the voice from a moment ago. Amazing-no longer tiny in that navy-blue outfit but standing tall, shoving her hands in the pockets now to get back a casual effect, indifference.

It didn't last.

Not with Linda coming out of the bathroom now doing a funky drag step nude, with subtle hip moves, doing things with a towel as part of the vocal number, a rendition of "Automatic" in the Pointer Sisters' style, a low gutty voice telling them all of her systems were down down down . . .

Till she saw her audience.

Vincent was proud of her, the way she did a turn without missing a beat, wrapped the towel around her, even tucking the end in, said, "Well, what do you think?" and threw her arms out to strike a pose. "This, or the banana outfit?"

Vincent imagined telling his friend Buck Torres about this night. Or Lorendo Paz in San Juan. Yes? And then what happened.

Then Nancy Donovan left. Yes, of course. How was she going to compete? She was cool though, she took her time. Looked at everybody, said, "I think I'd better say goodnight," and walked out. Yes? Then Linda and LaDonna started talking. Both of them on the sofa in shorty robes, sitting on their legs having a private talk that I could hear. Linda saying, Look at you. You realize the advantages you have? LaDonna saying, I know. Linda saying, You're not only a beauty, you're congenial, you're thoughtful, you're a very nice person. LaDonna saying, I try to be. Linda telling her to quit moping and get off her a.s.s, do do something, quit the booze, and so on. That Linda, you could put all your money on her ...Then DeLeon came in, back from dropping Ricky at the hospital, said hands taped and a note pinned to his jacket; shoved him out of the car at the security cop on the door. Then the phone rang, finally, almost four o'clock in the morning. something, quit the booze, and so on. That Linda, you could put all your money on her ...Then DeLeon came in, back from dropping Ricky at the hospital, said hands taped and a note pinned to his jacket; shoved him out of the car at the security cop on the door. Then the phone rang, finally, almost four o'clock in the morning.

Dixie Davies said, "You know where we found your guy?" . . . He said, "We pulled in the net, got all the s.e.xual a.s.sault stars available, including your guy. We put every one of 'em in a lineup for this group from Harrisburg. Nothing. We brought Jimmy Dunne in, let him take a good look at Teddy. Maybe, maybe not. He can tell you all about playing trumpet with Victor Herbert, but not what happened last week. Teddy says he was home all night. His mom says he was home, the parrot says he was home. The f.u.c.king parrot bit one of my guys. I got no reason even to offer him a polygraph."

Vincent said, "What about the car?"

"You might have something there..."

"It was him," Vincent said. "Jesus Christ, it was him, wasn't it?"

"Yellow '77 Monte Carlo, in his mom's name."

"I don't care whose name. I don't care what else you say. It was him him."

"We checked Eastern..."

"And they came on the same flight."

"Looks like it."

"Get a warrant," Vincent said, "go through his house."

"What am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you find it. Come on, I don't have to tell you that."

"I lay the warrant in front of the judge, is that what I tell him? They don't do it like that here. I got to show cause the guy's a suspect and I'm looking for hard evidence. I don't even think he did the woman, and I got no reason to hold him for anything else."

Vincent hesitated. "You still have him?"

"He's sitting in the green room. Very polite young man. Says he wishes he could help us."

"Keep him another hour. Can you do that?"

"For what?"

"I want to talk to his mom."

23.

THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE in the front door Verna May Magyk saw a white man with a beard, hippy-looking, and the biggest colored man she had ever seen in her life. It made her shiver and feel goose-b.u.mps up the back of her neck. She said, "Oh, my Lord," and jumped as the chimes rang again. The porch light was on, she could see them good. As they stepped apart, looking at the house, she saw the black car parked in front. A real long one, shiny even in the dark. An undertaker's car, that's what it was. Teddy's mom was relieved, though not much. She said through the door, "You have the wrong house. There's n.o.body dead in here."

Then realized she'd made a mistake as the hippy one with the beard said, "Mrs. Magyk? We'd like to talk to you for a minute. Would you open the door, please? Sounding just like the detectives that had come for Teddy.

She said, "Where's my son?" and saw them look at one another.

"He's fine, he'll be home pretty soon. Could we come in and talk to you, please?"

She told them just a minute and took about that long to get the door unlocked and then unfasten the catch on the storm door. They were as polite as the others. They came in, the big colored man looking around, the man with the beard going over to Buddy's perch and saying he understood Buddy bit one of the detectives. It made Buddy nervous; he edged away.

Teddy's mom said he did no such thing. Buddy was a good li'l birdie boy. Arn'cha, huh? Arn'cha? She said, "Pretty bird, pretty bird," and Buddy said, "h.e.l.lo, May. Want a drink?" Wasn't he a li'l cutie? Teddy's mom let Buddy peck a sunflower seed from her mouth, prompting him with, "Kisser mom, kisser mom," and holding her kimono closed so the men couldn't look down it. "There. Did he bite me?"

"That's a beautiful bird," the colored man said.

Close to Buddy Teddy's mom said, "He has to have his li'l beak shaved so he don't hurt hisself, huh? Huh, Buddy? I'm taking him for his appointment at ten o'clock. Yes, I am."

"Did Buddy, I mean Teddy get Buddy for you in Puerto Rico?" It was the man with the beard. He said, "I was down there one time myself."

Teddy's mom told him no, Buddy had been in the family twelve years; but Teddy had sent her a beautiful handcarved parrot that was supposed to have been delivered but never was.

"That's interesting," the man with the beard said. "I wonder what happened to it."

Teddy's mom didn't think it was so interesting; she didn't believe Teddy had even sent it. He liked to fib. Then he'd get that guilty look. He'd be mean to Buddy and there would be the look. Police questioned him about different things and there was the look again. She believed it was his guilty look that had got him sent to jail those times. All it was, he was self-conscious. She said to the big colored man looking all around the living room, "What is it he was suppose to've done this time?"

The big colored man said, "Who's that, ma'am?"

"My son, Teddy."

"Oh, they just want to talk to him is all. See what he thinks." He said, looking around again, "My, but you got parrot things. Must be a valuable collection."

She was a judge of character and liked the looks of this colored man. He was polite, he wore a suit and tie-which the other one did not-and he appeared to be clean. She said to him, "Do you like parrots?"

"Love 'em." He was looking at the display of china parrots on the mantel. "I wouldn't mind you showed me all the different parrot things you got."

Teddy's mom said, "Well, let's see . . ."

Then the one with the beard asked if he could use the bathroom.

The overhead light was on in Teddy's room: a young boy's room with scarred bird's-eye maple furniture, a single bed, slept in, unmade. A watercolor print of a parrot in a jungle setting, on the wall above the bed. But no posters, no records, hi-fi or radio, books. Vincent changed his mind: not a young boy's room, a guest room. Teddy was here but had not moved in. Vincent went through the dresser, each drawer, feeling beneath the clothes; stepped into the closet to feel Teddy's trousers and jackets, sweaters. He found the Colt .38 automatic in the camera case, looked at the gun in the overhead light without touching it and put the case back on the closet shelf. A new leather-bound photograph alb.u.m was on the desk, its pages empty. In the drawer were envelopes of prints, several from a Fast Foto shop in San Juan. Vincent began to look at pictures of familiar places. He saw the beach at Escambron in a dozen or more shots of Iris and himself. There was his rattan cane hanging from the chair. Iris talking to him as he tried to read. Walking with her. Eating pineapple. Like pictures taken by a friend but not posed. He slipped one of the prints into his jacket and looked through another envelope quickly. Shots of San Juan landmarks, those familiar buildings, narrow streets, monuments, flower beds, trees, old ones, trees high in the clouds . . .