Mr. Paradise A Novel (6 page)

“That’ll work,” Alex said. “I’ve seen all kinds, even heart-shaped ones.”

Jackie said, “I’m gonna leave this one alone.”

Delsa turned to her. “Why don’t you check on Chloe? Find out if she’s a prostitute. Hey, first call the M.E.’s office, ask if they want to send a pathologist, we know the time and manner. They’ll send their death investigator and he can call the removal service. Okay?” He said to Harris, “Talk to the houseman, Lloyd Williams, and send Montez over.”

Delsa looked at the girl again, Kelly, at her spiked blond hair, concentrating then to see her face beneath the blood and the makeup masking her eyes, trying to see her alive. He heard, “Detective,” and turned to see Montez Taylor
coming in his gray pinstripes, a man who wanted you to notice him.

“I been waiting for somebody to cover her up,” Montez said, “once they checked out her bush. Be the decent thing to do. Never mind how the girl made her living.”

“You knew her pretty well?”

“I think she only been here a few times.”

“What about Chloe?”

“Either one, they come by this evening to entertain Mr. Paradise, do their cheerleading routines. The man’s favorite thing, cute girls doing cheers?”

“They’re cheerleaders?”

“Only for the man. They do ones they make up like, ‘We the chicks from Mich-i-gan, nobody can fuck you like we can.’ I don’t know if that means doing it, or what they charge for doing it. Know what I’m saying? They high class, Mr. Paradise don’t invite skanky bitches to his home.”

Montez stood with his hands hanging folded in front of him, a pose of respect.

“You were upstairs with Chloe,” Delsa said.

“That’s right, while the man watched a football game with Kelly. A video, some Michigan game. The man has all the ones they won. Or it could’ve been Chloe. As I say, either one. They like his girlfriends.”

“Interchangeable,” Delsa said. “And he lets them fuck the help?”

It got Montez to stare at him straight on, deadpan, before managing kind of a smile.

“Would I be up there ‘less it was his idea?”

“You ever mix it up, you and the boss and a girl or two?”

“I ain’t even gonna answer that.”

“What were you doing tonight, trading off?”

Eye to eye Montez said, “The girls did their cheerleading number and Mr. Paradise sent me upstairs with Chloe. Said have a party on him.”

“You ever take Kelly upstairs?”

“I oblige the man whatever he wants.”

“You ever had Kelly?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Are you in his will?”

“That’s all, no more questions.”

“Are you?”

“That’s the man’s private business.”

“It sounds to me,” Delsa said, “if he lets you fuck his girlfriends, you have a pretty good deal here. How much is he leaving you?”

“I don’t know he’s leaving me anything.”

“He ever talk about dying?”

“His health? He’d kid about his old ticker with these young girls.”

“He’s with Kelly and you’re with Chloe.”

Montez hesitated. “That’s right.”

“They’re watching TV together in the chair.”

“How I last saw them.”

“You’re upstairs with Chloe. Then what?”

“Was what happened, this nigga busts in and shoots ’em.”

“This home invader.”

“What else could he be?”

“You heard the shots.”

“Was four. Pow, pow, then quiet, then pow pow.”

“What did you do?”

“Ran out to the hall. I look over the rail to downstairs, he’s in the foyer. I yelled at him and he ran.”

“What’d you yell?”

“I said I had a gun and he went out the front.”

“Did you?”

“What, have a gun? No.”

“Couldn’t he see you weren’t armed?”

“He hardly looked. Glanced up at me and split.”

“You have a gun?”

“No.”

“Is there one in the house?”

“In the man’s room.”

“Why didn’t you get it?”

“I run out to the hall—I don’t know what’s going on. Did the shots come from outside? See, I’m thinking of Mr. Paradise downstairs with the girl, with Kelly. Is he all right? It couldn’t be her shooting, could it? She brought a gun?”

“In her little cheerleader skirt,” Delsa said.

“In her coat, her bag—I’m not thinking where she kept it, I want to know is Mr. Paradise all right.”

“You went from the bedroom to the top of the stairs,” Delsa said. “Then what?”

“I yelled at him I had a gun.”

“And you say he split. How’d he get in?”

“You come in the front, you musta seen the door.”

“You hear the glass break?”

“I was upstairs.”

“There’s no alarm system?”

“I’m here, I don’t put it on till I go to my rooms, my suite over the garage. I’m not here, Lloyd puts it on when he retires.”

“What’d the guy look like?”

“Big full-grown nigga.”

“You ever see him before?”

“No.”

“What’d you yell at him?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again, the exact words.”

“I said—I yelled at him, ‘I gotta gun, nigga!’ And he took off.”

“You see his gun?”

“Look like a nine.”

“Was he wearing gloves?”

Montez thought a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Did he take anything?”

“Bottle of vodka.”

“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”

“What? What you ask me that for?”

“I want to know.”

“Was something I got into a long time ago. Mr. Paradise represented me.”

“What was it?”

“Assault with intent—you gonna look me up anyway. It wasn’t any big deal.”

“What did you do for Mr. Paradise?”

“Look out for him.”

“Why would anybody want to do him?”

“It turns out,” Montez said, “if it wasn’t a dirty cop out to pay him back—know what I’m saying?—there ain’t any reason. It’s why I told the police that come answer the nine-eleven, it was somebody broke in to rob the place.”

“Why’d he shoot Mr. Paradise and Kelly?”

“Why’s some guy stick up a Seven-Eleven and whack the clerk? Answer that, it’s the same thing.”

“After he went out the front door,” Delsa said, “what’d you do?”

“I ran downstairs and see them in the chair, blood all over, man.”

“You turn off the TV?”

Montez had to pause to remember. “It wasn’t on.”

“Did you touch the bodies?”

“I’ll tell you something,” Montez said, “I almost did. Not the bodies, I almost pulled the little girl’s skirt down, but caught myself in time, or I’d be tampering, wouldn’t I?”

“You didn’t check to see if they’re alive?”

“Man, look at them. That’s how they been, like they’d bled out. I made the call.” He stopped. “No, I’m about to, I see Chloe’s come downstairs. She looks at these two and I see she’s about to freak on me. She start screaming—I told her go on back upstairs.”

“Why?”

“So I could think straight to make the call. I took her back upstairs first and then called.”

“She quiet down?”

“I gave her something.”

Delsa said, “Yeah . . . ?”

“One of my duties,” Montez said, “I change the water in Mr. Paradise’s bong, check to see there’s dank, just street stuff, no crypto or wacky shit, you know, that might hurt him. For when the man wants to relax. I get the bong and give it to the girl, Chloe. I tell her, ‘Put your mouth on this, it’ll ease you down.’ “

Delsa said, “I was talking to a guy today they call Three-J, lives out in the Ninth. Three-J witnessed a shooting, a fatal he didn’t want to tell me about. He sees I know he was there, so he goes, ‘Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you. I was smoking blunts all day and wasn’t paying attention to anything.’ You see what he’s doing? Pleads to a misdemeanor he knows I don’t give a shit about, to get out of telling me who the shooter was.”

“You think it’s why I mention the bong?”

“It’s like that. You’re telling me,” Delsa said, “you have nothing to hide, I can believe anything you say. You ever been to Yakity Yak’s’?”

“ ‘Yakety Yak, don’t talk back’—big hit by the Coasters. No, I never been there. He give up the shooter?”

“He felt better when he did,” Delsa said. “Tell me about Kelly. Where she’s from . . .”

“I don’t know.”

“If she has a family.”

“I don’t know as that kind of girl has a family. I mean one she keeps in touch with. You know what I’m saying? Like she calls up and talks to her mama, tells her she’s turning tricks?
Yeah, I suppose she could have a family. She does, they the ones’d make the funeral arrangements, huh?”

“Next of kin comes to the Medical Examiner’s office,” Delsa said, “to make a positive I.D.”

“You want them identified?” Montez said. “That’s Mr. Paradise and that’s little Kelly, and I’m positive.”

“And we’ll need the M.E.,” Delsa said, “to tell us the cause of death.”

Montez said, “You’re fuckin with me now, aren’t you? Both of ’em showing serious bullet holes?”

“You worked for a trial lawyer, you know what I’m talking about,” Delsa said, almost finished with him. “You said both girls are hookers?”

“Call girls, high class. They go nine bills an hour, man, each.”

“You and Chloe in bed when you heard the shots?”

“Getting to it.”

“These the clothes you had on?”

“All evening.”

“You were ‘getting to it,’ “ Delsa said. “What’s that mean, you unzipped your fly?”

“Means I was about to disrobe but was interrupted. Pistol shots, man, can change your plans.”

“How’s Chloe? You think she’s okay now?”

“You want, I can check.”

“I’m going up anyway,” Delsa said, “I’ll save you a trip.”

EIGHT

FIRST SHE HEARD A WOMAN’S VOICE
coming from the hall.

“There’s a girl in here.”

The cop in uniform who came in moments later asked if she was all right. She didn’t answer. He stood leaning over her in the chair she’d turned to the window, his traffic-cop face close, tobacco on his breath, his reflection above hers on the glass. He asked if she had seen what happened. She understood what he meant but said no. He said he didn’t mean did she see it happen. She said yes, she saw them in the chair. She put her head down in the turned-up collar of her cinnamon coat. He asked if she had come with the other girl. She didn’t answer. He asked her name. She didn’t answer. He told her not to change her clothes or wash her face and hands. He told her to keep the light on and the door open. He left, but another uniformed cop, a black woman, remained in the hall.

She looked at her watch but couldn’t read the time, the lamp behind her, on the other side of the bed.

If they got to the house a little before ten, came up here to fool with their makeup—her eyes still raccooned, her hair spiked—spent time talking, smoking a cigarette, neither of them in a hurry, it must’ve been close to eleven by the time they did the cheers, Lloyd served them another drink, and the old man tossed Montez’ quarter in the air.

“T
AILS IT IS.” HE
said to Montez, “You get Kelly for as long as you want. On me.”

She told herself to take it easy, don’t act stupid. Be cool, show some poise. Go up to the bedroom and get your coat. And as soon as he has his clothes off set him straight, you’re not a hooker, and get out, leave the house. She finished her drink, started for the foyer and the old man’s voice stopped her.

“Look how anxious she is. Go on, Montez, carry her upstairs and throw her on the bed.” Kelly turned, a few strides from the hallway that led to the foyer, the old man laughing.

She saw Montez waiting to say something to him, the old man sipping his drink now. Montez said, “Sir, you mind if I have Chloe instead?”

Mr. Paradiso stared at him.

“I mean you’re giving me either one anyway, on the flip of a coin.” Montez shrugged like it was no big deal, “Could you make it Chloe, Mr. Paradise?”

Chloe said, “Hey, now wait a minute.”

Mr. Paradiso said, “Jesus Christ, I try to treat you with respect, offer you a nine-hundred-dollar piece of tail—no, she doesn’t suit you, you want the other one. I give Lloyd expensive clothes I don’t want, he couldn’t be more appreciative. ‘Thank you, Mr. Paradise, thank you, sir.’ But you’re never satisfied, are you? You prefer to insult me, throw my gesture back in my face.”

Montez said, “All right, if this is how you want it.”

He came to her, Kelly surprised to see his face bland, without expression, but then was rough taking her by the arm to the foyer and up the staircase to the second floor, Kelly hurrying with him in her sneakers to stay on her feet. They came to the bedroom where she and Chloe had left their coats and Montez shoved her inside, the light still on in the bathroom. She turned to him saying, “I’m not going to bed with you, so don’t even think about it.”

He stood in the doorway, his back to her, looking down the hall.

She said, “Listen, it’s nothing personal, okay?”

He didn’t turn or say anything. He didn’t move.

Kelly went in the bathroom, lit a cigarette, and finished the alexander she’d left. Chloe’s, barely touched, was on the counter. She picked it up and drank it down, all of it, and saw her face, the exaggerated eyes and weird hair, looking at her from the mirror. She stepped back into the bedroom, Montez still at the door, and sat down on the side of the king-size bed, smoked her cigarette and used the ashtray on the night table. She turned on the lamp. The ashtray was from the Pierre in New York.

Now she stared at Montez’ back in pinstripes wondering what he was up to, what he was thinking . . .

Why he hadn’t jumped her by now.

Why he wanted Chloe instead of her.

She wasn’t actually offended . . .

Chloe had bigger boobs and that could be all there was to it, Montez eyeing her for months . . . If he made the move she’d explain to him, look, I’m not what you think, I’m not a pro, all right? I have to be in love and we hardly know each other. Like that, keep talking. Tell him you had an African-American boyfriend once, a terrific guy, originally from the hood.

Montez hadn’t moved from the door.