Quarry's Deal (8 page)

16

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SHE SAID SHE
didn’t snore, and she didn’t, but she was sleeping deep just the same, that fine, full chest of hers rising slow and steady and, well, it was with not a little reluctance that I crawled out of bed and got in my clothes and left her.

My GT was in the parking lot below her window. I had a spare sportsjacket stowed under some stuff behind the driver’s seat and I took the jacket and shook it and got some of the wrinkles out and put it on. From the glove compartment I took a pair of glasses and my silenced nine-millimeter. I put the glasses on and stuck the gun in my belt and glanced up at her window. Dark. Curtains still drawn, as best I could tell. The change of jacket and the glasses were for her benefit, should she wake up and get back to doing her stakeout number, in which case she could conceivably see me going in or out of the Town Crest, and in that event the jacket and glasses and distance would hopefully keep her from recognizing me.

The jacket and a tie were all it took to get into the Town Crest, even at three in the morning. That and the twenty I handed the guard in the front lot, when I asked him to park the GT for me. I had him put it in the back lot, which was unlit and presented less of a chance of being spotted by somebody with binoculars across the way.

The modern exterior of the Town Crest was more than matched in its cold sterility by the interior, which looked to have been designed by a mortician who read science fiction. The walls were smooth and white, like eggshells pressed flat. Diffused light glowed down from the white tile ceiling, some of it swallowed up by the black carpet. The elevators were shiny metal that reflected like a compassionate mirror. I pushed the UP button and turned away from my soft-focus reflection while I waited.

Tree’s room was on the top floor, the twelfth, down a wide white hail to the right and at the end. I opened his door with a credit card and went in. No lights were on, but I was familiar with the place from my previous visit, in the afternoon, and walked quickly across the tufted shag carpet, though I nearly neglected to sidestep the glass-and-plastic coffee table by the half-circle couch on the edge of the spacious living room, just off of which was his bedroom, where I was headed.

His bed was making noise.

Glugg glugg glugg. Like a hundred midgets swallowing,

Then I remembered. It was a waterbed. Red satin sheets, brown leather padded frame. There’s nothing more pathetic than a middle-aged man who’s trying to be twenty.

He was alone in the thing. Or on it. I don’t think you can be “in” a waterbed. Personally I like to be in control of what I’m sleeping in. On.

He was sound asleep.

I put the nose of the silenced gun against his throat.

He woke up.

Sat up, and the bed rolled and rocked under him.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” I said.

“All right,” Tree said. Calmly. The sea beneath wasn’t calming yet, though.

“Did you sic some boys on me?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

“You know me. You don’t know my name, but you know me.”

“I don’t sic anybody on you, no.”

“Somebody did. I got jumped by a couple of guys tonight, and if they are yours, just tell me, and I’ll leave town right now. I don’t believe in hanging around where I’m unpopular.”

“Whoever jumped you, they weren’t mine.”

“I hope not. There’s something you better understand. I’m no danger to you. I’m no threat. I’m maybe your salvation.”

“You got a funny way of showing it.” He was referring to the nine-millimeter, the nose of which was still up against his Adam’s apple.

“I’m just being cautious,” I said, easing the gun off, but only a hair. “It’s what keeps me alive. You could profit by my example. See, somebody’s got you set up for the hit. Now. If you want my help, fine. I can try and get between you and the people trying to kill you. I may even be able to find out who hired the job done. But, on the other hand. If you think I’m insane, or a blackmailer, or some kind of con man, or if you simply prefer to handle the situation yourself, or God forbid go to the cops with it, well that’s fine, too. You’ll get blown away, but that’s no skin off my ass. So. Say the word and I’m on my way. It’s up to you.”

“What’s in it for you . . . helping me, I mean.”

“Money.”

“How much?”

“What’s your life worth to you? It’ll be cheap at half the price.”

The bed was finally settling down, making a lap lap sound, like waves rolling into shore.

“If someone wants me dead,” he said, quietly, “I can use all the help I can get.”

“That’s good sound thinking. Especially since I’m the
only
help you can get.”

“You’re right about the police, anyway. With my past, and the laws I’m bending right now, I can’t go inviting that kind of trouble. What about my lawyer?”

“Talk to nobody. Your lawyer could’ve hired it done.”

“He’s the best friend I have in the world!”

“Murders happen because of family and friends. Crime of passion and premeditated alike. Oh, a stranger’ll kill you for money, or out of being crazy, or both. But a stranger doesn’t hire you dead. Someone you know does.”

“Jesus. Where do we go from here?”

“We talk again. With the lights on. What’s your schedule the next couple days?”

“Tomorrow, I mean today, Sunday, we’re open noon to midnight. Monday we’re closed. I always drive to Iowa City on Mondays. To visit my son. He’s in the hospital there.”

“You go alone?”

“Yes.”

“What time Monday do you leave?”

“Around ten. I get there about noon.”

“There’s a Holiday Inn at the Interstate turn-off at the Amanas. Stop for lunch.”

“All right. Anything I should do between now and then?”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“No, but I have one. A .38.”

“You can use it?”

“Yes.”

“Carry it. And put a nightlatch on your door.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“You might try sleeping on the floor. Somebody shoots at you in bed, even if they missed, you could drown. Good night.”

17

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“DID YOU GET up
in the middle of the night and go out?” she asked, at breakfast. “Or was I dreaming?”

Even in the morning she looked good. She’d got up before me and washed her hair, and was wearing a towel around her head like a turban. Her face was clean and unblemished and free of make-up, though still dark with Florida tan, and she looked young, or anyway as young as those eyes of          would allow.

She was wearing a housewifely patchwork robe that made her look less than glamorous, but there was no way known to make her look bad. She looked good.

I was in my underwear. My hair was greasy, my teeth unbrushed, my face unshaven. I was barely awake. I looked down at the plate of scrambled eggs. I looked back up and managed to say, “You weren’t dreaming. I did get up. I went out and drove around a couple hours.”

“What possessed you to do that?”

“It’s something I do sometimes. Just go out and drive. Helps me think.”

“About what?”

“In this case, about getting mugged by those guys last night. Wondering if there’s anything I can do about it. Any way to find them and get my money back and pay them back a little, too. I suppose I could go to the cops about it . . .”

“Why bother? That six hundred bucks of yours is long gone by now, don’t you think?”

“I suppose you’re right. I guess my ego was just a little bruised, that’s all.”

“Are you serious about asking Frank Tree for work?”

“I am if you’re serious about putting in a good word for me.”

“Sure.”

And so I asked her. I couldn’t see any reason why not. And I didn’t know anybody better to ask. So I did. I asked her, “What do you know about this guy Tree, anyway?”

She gave me a confused little smile for a moment, while she searched my face wondering what I was up to, no doubt.

“I don’t know a hell of a lot,” she said.

“Whatever it is, it’s more than me.”

“Well, the Barn is a relatively new thing, I know that much. It hasn’t been too long since the law passed in Iowa that makes it even possible for a place like the Barn to openly exist.”

“Must be a pretty liberal law. Or is Tree just greasing the right wheels?”

“Little of both, I’d say. The law makes gambling legal in situations where there’s a ‘social relationship.’ Such as a private club, or any place where the gathering is social, whether it’s bingo in the church parlor or poker in the back room of a bar. Certain things are still illegal . . . blackjack, craps, roulette, and there’s a fifty-dollar win or loss limit, in a twenty-four hour period. But all of that can be gotten around. Obviously.”

“Sounds like your employer knows how.”

“He should. I hear he used to have a place in Illinois, on the Mississippi, in some little town that was really wide open. Across from Burlington, Iowa. Anyway, he had a place there, like the Barn, only rougher. No restaurant number, just a casino set-up, and booze, of course. Booze wasn’t legal in Iowa on Sundays, so Sunday was a big night for a place like that, people coming across the river to sin in Illinois.”

“I wonder why he left.”

“The laws got changed. Booze on Sundays is legal in Iowa now, and you know about the gambling law. So he moved back to Des Moines and opened the Barn.”

“Back to Des Moines?”

“Yeah, I understand he was involved in some things here in the late ’40s and early ’50s, but I don’t know what. That’s all I know about the man. It’s just stuff I picked up off my girl friend Ruthy, and the bitches at work. They’re all hot for his bod, you know.”

“Really. Does he hump the help?”

“Not
this
help, he doesn’t. Anyway, he’s too good a businessman to do that, I think.”

“What’s your personal opinion of the guy? What kind of boss is he?”

“Best way to describe him is he’s a man’s man. He can drink without getting drunk, tell you who won the 1952 World Series, play poker for six hours and get up and pee and sit down and play six more.”

“That doesn’t say what kind of boss he is.”

“Well, he’s a pleasant enough boss. Friendly, even. But businesslike, like I said. Fuck up and you’re fired.”

“I see. Good poker player?”

“Very. Oh, and he hates to see anybody lose, if you buy his act. Truth is, he’d take your last dime. Likes to win all the way, at whatever cost . . . to his opponents, I mean.”

“You sound like a pretty good judge of character.”

“I’m a bartender, aren’t I? Besides, how do you know I’m right? Maybe this is just a bunch of bullshit.”

“Because I’m not a bad judge of character myself. Got any more of that Sanka?”

“Sure.”

She filled my cup and I said, “What time do you have to be at work?”

“Not till six.”

“What time is it now, eleven? Want to take in a movie this afternoon or something?”

“I got a better idea,” she said, sitting down, sipping her own cup. “There’s a good dinner theater here that has Sunday matinees and a great buffet lunch. Want to give it a try?”

“Wouldn’t happen to be that place over on University, would it?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

That was the place where Frank Tree had met with that busty little blond girl friend of his, the other night.

“Why not?” I said. “I can appreciate good acting.”