Mr. Paradise A Novel (7 page)

She said, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

He didn’t answer.

She thought about washing her face, getting rid of the eye makeup, but didn’t want to move. She said, “You’re listening for something,” and sat still, quiet, finished the cigarette, stubbed it out, lit another one . . .

And saw his shoulders jump at the hard, blunt sound of gunfire from downstairs—not like movie gunshots, but that’s what the sound had to be, and heard it again, the sudden hard
pops,
and dropped her cigarette as she came off the bed and had to find the fucking Virginia Slim on the carpet and stub it out in the ashtray, and when she looked at the door again Montez was gone.

Kelly put on her coat. She picked up Chloe’s from the bed and went out to the hall.

He was at the staircase railing where it came up and
curved into the open area of the hall, looking down at the lighted foyer. Kelly brushed the wall as she moved toward him, Montez waiting . . . That’s what it looked like, waiting for someone to appear. He called out, “Hey!” and it stopped her. He waited again.

Now he was running down the carpeted stairway.

Kelly moved along the wall to the stair rail, dropped to her hands and knees and looked down at the foyer, empty, through the marble balusters. She was directly over the short hallway to the living room. She could hear voices now but not what they were saying. Montez’ voice and another one and another one, three different sounds in what could be an argument, two against one. She stood up to listen, draping Chloe’s coat over the railing, and dropped down again pulling the coat with her.

Through the balusters now she watched two men in black raincoats and baseball caps cross the foyer to the front door. Now they turned to look back and stood there: both white, both about fifty—they looked short—nothing out of the ordinary about them, just guys, like workingmen. One held a gun, an automatic, the other a bottle of vodka by the neck, the one the old man had been drinking. The guy with the gun pointed it at the hallway and said, “Day after tomorrow, Smoke.”

This one opened the door and Montez’ voice came from somewhere below Kelly crouched behind the railing:

“Bust it!”

The two stepped outside, closed the door, and a shower of pink glass exploded into the foyer.

H
ER IMPULSE WAS TO
run straight down the stairs and out the front door, gone, never here, right now,
do it
. But she hesitated. She’d forgotten her handbag, goddamn it, not thinking, in the bathroom and knew she couldn’t leave it, her name on credit cards, her driver’s license . . . She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t want to come in the first place. She was here but didn’t want to see what was in the living room. If she didn’t know what happened—what Montez
knew,
standing at the bedroom door, was about to happen . . .

He came out of the hallway to the foyer, turned and looked up, sensing her or seeing her through the balusters and it was too late to run. She got to her feet and waited as he came up the stairway.

Montez saying, “That nigga was an ugly motherfucker, huh? At first I thought he had on a ski mask. You saw him, didn’t you?”

Kelly hesitated.

And Montez said, “Be careful what you say, girl. What happened, I was standing right where you are. Came out here when I heard the shots. Saw him down there, yelled at him I had a gun and he took off out the door. You didn’t see the nigga, you still in the room. Understand? But that’s what happened.” He held out his hand to her saying, “Come on, I want to show you something,” took Chloe’s coat from her and draped it over the stair rail.

They went down to the living room, Montez talking,
telling her, “I want you look at your friend, help you understand the kind of situation you’re in. See what can happen you don’t do what I tell you. You get sick, you clean it up, hear?” Crossing the living room he stopped halfway to the chair and turned her to face him.

“You know what you gonna see, Mr. Paradise and your friend Kelly sitting there dead.”

She said, “I’m Kelly,” reacting, not thinking.

And Montez said, “Uh-unh, you’re Chloe.”

H
E BROUGHT HER UPSTAIRS
again to the bedroom, the lamp still on. Kelly went in the bathroom to get her cigarettes and lighter, needing something to hold on to, Montez saying, “Come out here. Before I make the call, me and you gonna have an understanding.”

“You knew,” Kelly said, “standing by the door.”

“I knew the old man’s time had come—Jesus, finally. Your friend, y’all had come yesterday like you suppose to she’d still be alive. That nigga, the home invader, he sees her with the man, she’s a witness. It’s too bad but it’s how it is. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Chloe,” Kelly said. “Why can’t you say her name?”

“I told you, you’re Chloe. It’s your name till we finish some business. Go sit over there and don’t think about nothing while I’m talking to you.” His voice eased as he said, “You keep seeing her, huh? Knowing it could be you down there.” He said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

H
E HAD BROUGHT HER
across the living room to stand in front of the chair and the shock of what she saw turned her head. His hand clamped on the back of her neck, forcing her to look, and this time she gave herself up to the sight of Chloe’s body. She didn’t look at the old man. She stared at Chloe. With the blood, the eye makeup, it didn’t look like Chloe, but it was and Kelly had to take a breath and another one, inhale and breathe slowly, compose herself and accept the sight of Chloe dead. Just that right now, nothing else. She reached for the hem of Chloe’s skirt to pull it down. Montez said, “Uh-unh,” caught her hand and told her to leave it be.

H
E CAME BACK IN
the bedroom with a bong, stopped to light it and suck up the smoke, the pipe bubbling in its quiet way. He loaded it again with a pinch of weed from a baggie, lit the pipe, covered the hole with his thumb and extended the bong. Kelly put her mouth over the top and inhaled the smoke swirling in the glass tube. Montez said, “One more,” and lit it again. Kelly took another hit, not saying a word, and he placed the bong on the dresser.

He said, “You realize that coin flip saved your life? Man, I was thinking fast how to keep Chloe from being in the chair with him. He makes that remark, how he tries to treat me with respect but I’m never satisfied? Meaning I wasn’t kissing his old wrinkled white ass no more? That’s when I said to
myself, let it play out. Let some ugly brother bust in and shoot the motherfucker.”

She didn’t argue with him, she was careful saying, “You wanted Chloe knowing the old man was leaving her something.”

“That I’d help her get,” Montez said. “She told you about that, huh? Good, it saves me some explaining.”

“In a bank deposit box,” Kelly said.

“She tell you what bank?”

“No, or what’s in the box.”

“We’ll keep it that way till the time comes. Gonna have to work it out with you, give you a cut for being Chloe.”

“What’s it worth?”

“The man said a million six.”

“That’s all?”

“A long time ago a million six, the way I understand it. See, and the amount keeps going up.”

“Chloe said it was life insurance.”

“Chloe didn’t know shit. See, the box is in my name and the old man’s. He’s gone, now it’s just in mine. Day after tomorrow I get what’s in there and bring it to you.”

“It’s stock,” Kelly said.

“You want to believe that, go ahead.”

The confidence in his voice made her want to hit him with something heavy or kick him in the crotch, and it gave her energy, an attitude to hold on to, Kelly telling herself, You’re smarter than he is. Use your head and get out of here.

She said, “You’re crazy if you think I’ll help you.”

“Uh-unh, I’m desperate, so I know you will.”

“I’m not Chloe. Anyone can see that.”

“You close. We keep the police confused long enough, we home. You live with her, find her signature on something and learn to write it.”

“Get another girl.”

“It has to be you,” Montez said, almost singing it, “no other will do.”

Kelly walked to the chair by the window and saw her reflection against a dismal view of trees and shrubbery in different shades of darkness. Sitting down she said, “I won’t help you,” and saw Montez appear on the glass pane, his face, and felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Come on now, you know what bullet holes look like. You say okay you gonna do it, but then tell the police you aren’t who I say you are? I bet that ugly motherfucker be waiting for you some night you come home. Won’t say nothing to you, just shoots you in the head. You might not even see him and you’re gone. Understand what I’m saying? I ain’t asking do you want to do it, you already in, girl. Now sit down like I told you.”

She eased lower into the chair wrapping her coat around her bare legs, a cigarette between her lips. Montez came over with the ashtray and dropped it in her lap saying, “You don’t want to burn your nice coat, do you?” Saying, “I want you to get inside your head, tell yourself, yeah, I’m Chloe. Start playing the role, babe. You in there being her when the police ask what happened and who’s this girl Kelly you live with, and they realize the sight of it, your friend lying in her blood dead, musta left you fucked up, like you’re in shock. Understand?”

For a little while the room was quiet. She felt protected in her wool coat, Kelly sitting low between the chair’s round arms lighting another cigarette, Montez by the dresser now to fire up the bong and get into his role.

He wanted her to work it out in her head who she was. But the weed and the alexanders were giving her a buzz, enough to boost her confidence, getting it up to where she could tell herself she was okay. Be herself and not think of Chloe in the chair. She was never self-conscious, in panties, thongs, whatever they put on her. She knew how to pose, how to get attitudes in her eyes. She was Kelly Barr and saw no reason, really, to become someone else.

He wasn’t going to kill her.

He needed her.

She turned to look across the room.

“They’re gonna smell that.”

“Babe, homicide, they don’t bother with dope. Where your handbags?”

“In the bathroom.”

He got the bags, came back to the bedroom and held them up, both Vuittons. “Which is yours?”

“The black one.”

Montez set them both on the bed, opened the one Kelly said was hers, brought out the wallet, looked at the driver’s license inside and said, “This is Kelly’s. Don’t you know your bag from hers? You don’t get it straight who you are, girl, I’m gonna put you facedown on the floor and stomp on your head. Goodbye nose. Goodbye teeth.” He picked up Chloe’s bag, looked in it and tossed the bag to land in Kelly’s lap.
“There all your things, your credit cards, your keys. Look in there and find out who you are. Learn what you don’t know about yourself. Little Kelly’s bag goes downstairs.” Montez said then, “Was something I wanted to ask you . . . Yeah. You know if Kelly’s ever been fingerprinted?”

“Have I?”

“I said Kelly.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Never was ever picked up and printed?”

“You mean arrested? For what?”

“Hookin’, being a ho. You never was busted?”

“I’m not a whore, you moron, I’m a fashion model.”

“What they call theirselves, except the ones on the street. They selling ass and want you to know it. Listen, the police gonna ask who’s this Kelly with the man, hardly any clothes on, showing herself, they can
see
she’s a ho. I say yeah, but high class, you understand, or Mr. Paradise wouldn’t have nothing to do with her. You both ho’s, keep it simple in my mind.”

Kelly said, “You know it’ll be in the paper.”

“Yeah, I guess, and on the TV.”

“Pictures of the famous lawyer and the prostitute. They’ll find out soon enough it’s Chloe. But while they’re still thinking it’s me . . .”

“What?”

“They’ll call my dad.”

“He live here?”

“In Florida, he’s retired. He’ll have to come up to arrange the funeral. He was just here yesterday.”

Montez said, “Hmmmmm.”

“You didn’t think of that, did you?”

“All I been doing is thinking since he flipped the fuckin coin. If I’d known you two were coming tonight . . . See, but nobody told me.” He was behind the chair again looking at himself in the window before he said, “Okay,” like he was starting over. “The police gonna want to know all about little Kelly. Gonna ask you what she was like. She have a boyfriend was jealous? A pimp was angry at her for something? You don’t know much about her, nothing of her family, where they might be at.”

“Or her brother,” Kelly said, “who’d beat the shit out of you?”

Montez grabbed a handful of her spiked hair and pulled her straight up in the chair, Kelly’s hands on the chair arms, gasping until he let go.

“You don’t know nothing will help them,” Montez said, “and I don’t either. Kelly? Chloe? Shit, I get ’em mixed up all the time. Names sound the same—you look enough alike it give me the idea.”

“We’re not exactly twins,” Kelly said.

“You got the same hair, the same cute nose—you confuse me, you gonna confuse the police.” Montez patted her on the head. “Babe, all I need is time to visit the bank and take this fuckin lawyer suit off and act my age. The time I got brought up for assaulting police officers the man represented me free of charge, put me in a cheap suit of clothes, laid a Bible on the table I read while he argued my case and showed I’d been intimidated. Set up, the man looking for a lawsuit. He got me off and I went to work for him, not knowing I’d become his
monkey he dressed up and I’d perform as his cool number one and pimp for him. Understand, he’s already paid for what’s in the deposit box. What happens nobody claims it, the bank keeps it?”

“So it’s okay to take it,” Kelly said.

“I’m giving you a way to look at it,” Montez said. “The man’s not out anything he isn’t already out. Understand? See, but now I got to get hold of it quick.”