Gold Coast Part 7

Karen didn't say anything.

"Never mind," Maguire said. "It doesn't matter."

"I was thinking," Karen said. "If you really want to know, it's boring. I guess it doesn't have to be, but it is."

"I don't follow you."

"You asked me, I told you, it's boring," Karen said. "Next question. Let's get to the point, all right?"

The dog was sniffing around his foot again. Maguire crossed his leg.

Mrs. DiCilia was on the muscle, a little edgy, yes; because she was waiting for him to pull some kind of scam. Out here for the squeeze session: probably one of a long line of guys who'd come to make a pitch, take advantage of the poor widow. The slim, good-looking great-looking widow. Maguire resented her a.s.sumption, being put in that category, somebody out to con her. The lady sitting there waiting for the pitch.

The G.o.dd.a.m.n dog pawing his knee, scratching the material. Maguire reached down with one hand and moved the dog aside.

Karen watched him.

Sitting back he took the newspaper clipping out of his pocket, unfolded it carefully and handed it to her.

Karen said, "What is it?" In the soft glow of torchlight she could only read the headline. ARMED TRIO ROBS COUNTRY CLUB.

"That was myself and two a.s.sociates," Maguire said. "Your husband offered to pay us fifteen hundred each to go in and hit the place. Make them look dumb or give it some bad publicity, I don't know. We did the job, but we never got paid."

Karen said, "Deep Run Country Club, Bloom-field Hills."

"That's the one."

"It happened when, last August?"

"Right. The sixteenth."

"We visited Detroit in August-no, it was July," Karen said. "Frank played golf there a few times as a guest. He liked the club, so he applied for a membership."

"And they turned him down," Maguire said. Karen nodded. "I thought maybe you'd been insulted out there. You know, something personal."

"What do you think Frank DiCilia being turned down is, if it isn't an insult?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But how come if you were living here at the time?-"

"Why can't he have a membership in Detroit?

That's what it's like to be rich," Karen said. "So what is it you want, fifteen hundred dollars?"

"Each, for the three of us. The other two guys were convicted. They're in Jackson, but I'll see they get theirs."

"You got off?" She seemed interested.

"It's a long story, and if you're already bored-" Maguire said.

Karen said, "That's all you want?"

"That's all we got coming."

"You could've said . . . ten thousand."

"And you could've known about the deal," Maguire said, "depending on what you and your hubby talked about. It was a straight fifteen hundred apiece, no sick pay or retirement benefits."

Now, yes or no? Waiting for her to make up her mind. She didn't seem as edgy. She said let's have another drink and that surprised him. The maid appeared and left, and when she appeared again Karen was asking him if he lived in Florida or was he visiting.

He told her he worked at Seascape. "You know, the porpoise show? Practically around the corner from here."

"I've pa.s.sed it," Karen said. "You really work there?" Sounding interested and a little surprised. "Get the porpoise to jump through hoops, that kind of thing?"

"We get 'em to do everything but mate in midair," Maguire said.

"They won't do that for you?"

"I think they go to a motel. Five months, I've never seen one of 'em even, well, get aroused."

Now she was studying him and didn't say anything for a moment.

"Amazing."

"Well, I wouldn't like it either," Maguire said. "People watching."

"No, I mean that you work there," Karen said. "And you seem to know antiques-What else do you do?"

"Rob country clubs," Maguire said, "and have a hard time collecting. I'm enjoying the drink and the chat, but just for my peace of mind, are you gonna honor your husband's obligation or what?"

Karen said, "Honor his obligation-" and seemed amused now. "Is that what it is, honoring his obligation?" his obligation-" and seemed amused now. "Is that what it is, honoring his obligation?"

"You can call it whatever you want," Maguire said, "as long as we're both talking about the same deal."

"Do you do this sort of thing often?"

"What sort of thing?"

"Rob country clubs?"

"That was the first time."

"But you've robbed other places."

He didn't say anything.

"Do you carry a gun?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious, that's all."

"Do you fool around?" Maguire said.

"What?"

"Do you pick up guys, take 'em to bed? Or you just ask a lot of questions about their personal life?"

"I believe you came to me," Karen said. "You're the one that wants something."

"And if I'm not polite and answer your questions I can go f.u.c.k myself, huh?"

Karen didn't say anything. She got up, walked from the patio to the house and in through the French doors.

Maguire waited. s.h.i.t. Thinking again of the old man sitting on top of the mountain in his loincloth.

In the light of eternity, is it better to take a bunch of s.h.i.t with the hope of getting paid, or- Karen came back to the patio carrying something in each hand, something wrapped in white tissue paper and, in the hand she extended to him, a packet of bills. He couldn't believe it. New one hundred dollar bills. They were sticking together, only about an inch of them, they were so new.

"Forty-five hundred dollars," Karen said.

Maguire thinking, the first thing in his mind: There's more. Right in the house.

"Can I ask you one more question?"

"Go ahead," Maguire said, putting the money in his inside coat pocket. He could feel it against his ribs.

She pulled her chair closer to his and sat down before extending the tissue-wrapped package.

"What is it?"

She watched him, but didn't say anything.

Taking it then, feeling the weight, he knew what it was. Maguire unwrapped enough of the tissue paper to see the gun, wrapped it together again and handed it back to her.

She said, "Do you know what it is, the make?"

"It's a Beretta nine-millimeter Parabellum, holds fifteen rounds in the magazine. How much you pay for it?"

"I didn't buy it. It was my husband's."

"You could get something like four hundred for it on the street."

"I don't want to sell it," Karen said, "I want to know how to use it."

"For what?"

"Protection."

"It isn't a good idea," Maguire said. "People who don't own guns don't get shot as much as people who do."

"Will you show me how it works?"

"If I don't, what? You want the money back?"

"The money's yours. You've already earned that." She waited.

"It's got a little crossbolt safety above the trigger. You push it to off, slide the top back and forward again and you're ready to go," Maguire said. "Which is what I'm gonna do if it's okay. Take my money and run."

"You're very direct," Karen said, and seemed to be studying him again. "You admit some things and then you stop."

"It's not that I have anything to hide," Maguire said, "it's the feeling I'm on the carpet, being questioned."

She said, "I'm sorry, I really am." There was a silence, but she continued to look at him.

Maguire said, "That's okay. I guess-as you say, I walk in here, give you a story, why should you believe me?"

"I do though," Karen said. She seemed to smile then. "Will you tell me something else?"

"Probably," Maguire said.

"What's the difference between a porpoise and a dolphin?"

Maguire found a note on his pillow that said, in a forward-slanting Magic Marker scrawl, "Knock if you are not mad!!!"

He reached across the bed to the wall-to a fading garden at Versailles, green-on-yellow wallpaper-and rapped on it three times.

Lesley came in wearing a short see-through nighty and several rollers in her hair, head somewhat lowered to gaze up at Maguire with a practiced, hurt-little-girl expression.

"I thought you were gonna take me out to dinner."

"I must've got mixed up, who was mad at who," Maguire said. "I had something over on the beach."

"I was was mad," Lesley said, "but I'm not anymore." mad," Lesley said, "but I'm not anymore."

"How come?"

"You didn't have to talk to me like that."

"Did you go out?"

"No"-pouting-"I sat there with Aunt Leona watching TV all night."

Poor little thing-he was supposed to comfort her, tell her he was sorry. He wasn't annoyed or upset. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything toward Lesley, one way or the other. He was catching glimpses of Karen DiCilia in the glow of the torch, part of her face in shadow, the light reflecting on her dark hair. Dark but not Italian-dark, the woman not anything like he'd imagined the wife of Frank DiCilia.

Lesley said, "Are you going to bed or you gonna read?"

It was strange, in that moment he did feel a little sorry for her, standing there in her see-through nighty and her curlers. He said, "It's late. Might as well go to bed."

"You want me to get in with you?"