"No, I want to see his reaction," Ryan said, "but I'm afraid I'd blow it. He sees I'm nervous, he's liable to think I'm pulling something."
"Which you are. Shit, come on, you serve paper every day with your nice boyish bullshit. What're you talking about?" Jay Walt thumbed his gold lighter several times to relight his cigar. "Hand it to him and play dumb."
"But he knows me," Ryan said. "That's the thing. It's my idea, he knows that, and I'm handing him the papers. You see what I mean? He'd try and finesse me, I'm standing right there."
Jay Walt began to nod and then grinned. "You haven't told me everything, have you, Jackie? You're working for the guy-what, now you're working for the broad? Hey, shit, I'd watch you too. What's this guy doing?"
"I don't work for him anymore," Ryan said. "You know how he is, he doesn't see he needs you, that's it."
"No fucking heart," Jay Walt said. "And you can't take him to court for fraud, because at one time you were part of it, right? Pissed off and you want revenge."
"She's the complainant," Ryan said, "I'm not. I can go to California for six months. Shit, I can walk away from the whole thing."
Jay Walt said, "Hey, Jackie? Bullshit. You got a good thing, broad with money coming, and you're not gonna let it out of your sight, man. What's the value of the stock?"
"Jesus," Ryan said, "that's what she wants to find out. Hand him a mandatory injunction and hope he'll want to sit down and talk instead of going to court."
"Keep the fucking lawyers out of it," Jay Walt said. "I don't blame you. But you got a problem. You want to jack the guy up without going near him. The only thing you can do in that case is mail it to him, as I said before."
"I was thinking, if you knew somebody I could rely on,"
Ryan said, "a bright young guy you think could do a quick study on Perez, give me his reactions, what he says-"
"Here? The assholes I got? You got to point them to the can they want to take a leak."
"-Mrs. Leary'd be willing to pay a hundred and a half. Maybe go two bills if she likes the report. Just between you and me."
Jay Walt turned his head against the backrest of his chair to look over at Ryan, waiting there patiently with his offer. Boy with a good reputation, honest, sincere, a little nai've maybe. Maybe not.
"In advance?"
"Say a hundred down."
"Who drew up the complaint, some law student?"
"I guarantee it's in order."
"Only the procedure's a little funny, huh?"
"You said yourself, it's done all the time."
The diamond on Jay Walt's little finger reflected a flash of purple as he extended his arm.
"Lemme have a look, Jackie. See if I like it."
They didn't ask Jay Walt to take his coat off, but as Mr. Perez walked over to the desk with the envelope he said, "Raymond, fix Mr. Walt a drink."
"Scotch and 'a splash'd be fine," Jay Walt said.
"Scotch and a splash," Mr. Perez said. "It still cold outside?"
"Not too bad," Jay Walt said. "Maybe forty-five, around there."
"That's cold," Mr. Perez said. He had his reading glasses on now and had taken the papers out of the envelope. Without looking up he said, "Raymond, hold that scotch and a splash."
Raymond Gidre, over by the bookcase bar, turned with the J&B in his hand.
Jay Walt, in his coat with the buckles and metal rings and epaulets, waited. He had only said to Mr. Perez, handing him the manila envelope, "This seems to be for you; some sort of legal matter." Trying to play dumb and keep his ass out of it as much as possible.
" 'Complaint for Mandatory Injunction,' " Mr. Perez said, looking over at Jay Walt. "Some sort of legal matter, huh? 'To compel the disclosure of information ... a summons to appear in Circuit Court, County of Oakland.' Yeah, I guess that's some sort of legal matter all right. Raymond, what would you say to taking this fat boy and throwing him out the window?"
"You open it," Raymond said, moving toward Jay Walt, "and I'll throw him. How far you want him to go?"
"I guess all the way down," Mr. Perez said. "Might as well." He walked over to the room's smaller, regular-size window, snapped the shade up spinning on the roller, and raised the lower window flush with the top pane. "How's that?"
"That's good," Raymond said.
Jay Walt didn't believe it, looking from Mr. Perez to Raymond Gidre, who was close to him now, with his wet-down hair and sportshirt and mother tattoo. He could smell Raymond's hair tonic. He said, "Hey, guys, come on."
"I can run him right through there," Raymond said. "Got handles on his coat." Raymond grabbed the belt and one of the epaulets, almost jerked Jay Walt off his feet, and ran him across the room toward the window.
Jay Walt screamed. "Jesus Christ-come on! For Christ's sake, wait!"
Jay Walt's head banged hard against the window frame. "Shit," Raymond said. He backed him up, straining, clench-jawed, and pushed him half through the open window, Jay Walt squeezing against the sill with his knees to hold on, looking straight down seventeen floors to the Jefferson Avenue service drive, seeing the tops of cars moving, inching along, feeling the wind cutting his face.
"Son of a bitch is stuck."
"Hold him there," Mr. Perez said. "I believe he was saying his prayers."
"I don't know, he mentioned Jesus," Raymond said. "Ain't he a Jew boy?"
"I believe so. Ask him."
Raymond leaned close to Jay Walt's back. "Hey, are you a Jew boy?" Raymond looked up at Mr. Perez. "He nodded yes."
"Ask him was this his idea."
Raymond asked him. "He shook his head no," Raymond said.
"Ask him again."
"Nooo!" wailed Jay Walt, out in the wind.
"Ask him whose idea was it."
"Ryan!" Jay Walt screamed. "I don't know anything about it-honest to ChristI"
"Bring him in and shut the window," Mr. Perez said. He walked over to the bar and made himself a drink. When he came back, Jay Walt had edged away from the window and seemed to be holding on to his stomach, protecting himself.
"Slap him a good one," Mr. Perez said. "Get his attention."
Jay Walt didn't see it coming. Raymond gave him an open hand across the face that almost knocked him down. Jay Walt screamed as he got it.
"Some more."
He looked round and fatter in the coat, trying to cover up. "Please, please don't hurt me. I swear to God-"
He tried to turn, but Raymond caught him by the front of his coat and cracked him hard across the face. "Look at me, Jew boy," Raymond said. "Hey, look at me." Raymond grabbed him by the hair then, raising his face, Jay Walt moaning, trying to squeeze his eyes closed, and began slapping him with his yellow-callused palm, back-handing him on the return swing, raking the man's nose and cheekbones with his knuckles.
Mr. Perez sipped his drink and lowered it. "That's fine, Raymond." As Raymond stepped away, blowing on his hand, Mr. Perez said to Jay Walt, "Did you learn anything of value today?"
Jay Walt, his mouth open and swollen-looking, nodded and mumbled something.
"I can't hear you," Mr. Perez said.
"Yes, sir, I did, I didn't mean to-"
"Let me hear you say, I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again."
Jay Walt began to repeat the words.
"Speak up," Mr. Perez said. "I still can't hear you."
"I will never ..."
"I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again, ever."
"I will never fuck with Mr. Perez again," Jay Walt said.
"Ever."
"Ever," Jay Walt said.
"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Perez said. "Now wipe your nose and go home."
Ryan liked a dark business suit and white shirt with a suntan. It made the person look successful: sitting at a table in the Salamander Bar, quietly waiting to hear the outcome of a business deal. The subdued lighting was also good for suntans. He had a Seven-Up, then switched to a ginger ale and fooled with it, making it last, sucking at the ice in the bottom of
the glass when Jay Walt came in.
"Wow," Ryan said, with reverence. "You look like you been stung by bees." He made a gesture of rising as Jay Walt wedged himself into the table and collapsed.
"We got to get out of here. No, I want a drink, Christ." He was gasping, barely moving his swollen mouth. "They open the window, Christ, try and push me out. This big son of a bitch starts hitting me as hard as he can."
"While you're out the window?"
"Seventeenth floor, I look down, Christ, I said, Hey, guys, come on, this isn't funny."
"What'd Perez say?"
"What'd he say? He tried to push me out the fucking window. Where's a waitress in this place?"
Ryan sat back in his chair. "So he didn't think much of the mandatory injunction, uh?"
Buying Jay Walt a couple of doubles and sitting with him gave Ryan time to plan his next immediate move. He gave Jay Walt another hundred dollars, saying he was awfully sorry it turned out the way it did-with Jay Walt getting some of his nerve back with the scotch and threatening to sue the son of a bitch-walked him over to the escalator, thanked him again, then crossed the lobby to the house phones.
When Mr. Perez came on, Ryan said, "Jay Walt just phoned me. Looks like you're gonna have two legal suits on your hands."
Mr. Perez said, "Don't you believe it."
"Not afraid to go to court, huh?"
"Why don't you come by and we'll talk about it," Mr. Perez said.
"If we can do it on the ground floor," Ryan said. "Maybe later on. There's something I got to do first."
"There is, huh? Son, you don't have anything pressing on you like I'm going to."
"You'd be surprised," Ryan said. "Why don't we have dinner together? I'll call you back." He hung up before Mr. Perez could say anything else.
That part was done, getting it set up.
Ryan went to a pay phone then to call Virgil Royal, with the odds heavy against Virgil answering or even finding him short of a few hours. Virgil said hello, with his lazy tone, and Ryan couldn't help but grin. Imagine being glad to hear Virgil Royal's voice. They talked for a minute and agreed on Sportree's in about an hour. Ryan said he'd find it.
"I don't see you doing much," Ryan said. "You want something, but I don't see you breaking your ass especially to get it."
"I'm being patient," Virgil said, "waiting till everybody make up their mind. You want a real drink this time?"
"No, this is fine." Ryan still had half a Coke. He watched Virgil nod to the waitress. She was over at the bar where several black guys were sitting with their hats on, glancing at themselves in the bar mirror as they talked and jived around. "What's this, the hat club?" Ryan said. "There's some pretty ones, but they can't touch yours."
Virgil was looking at him from beneath the slightly, nicely curved brim of his uptown Stetson. "I get my money, what's owed me, I'll give it to you," he said.
"I'll take it," Ryan said, "and everybody'll be happy. If we can get you to do a little work."
"What kind of work?"
"First, how much we talking about? What you say Bobby owes you?"
"Half."
"Half of what I heard he got is nothing."
"No, I'm telling you. Round it off, ten grand," Virgil said. "Now you tell me, how much we talking about? The whole deal."
"We don't know yet."
"But you got an idea. Explain it to me again, what the man does."
The hatbrim rose as the waitress put another orange drink in front of him. Virgil gave her a look that was warm but sleepy. She smiled taking his empty, like they had something going.
"All the guy does," Ryan said, "as I told you, he tries to make the beneficiary sign an agreement for his fee or give him power of attorney to make the stock transaction, you know, get certificates issued by the corporation, and according to what his percent is, stated in the agreement, he gets that much on the sale of the stock."
"How much is that?"
"Whatever he thinks he can get." Ryan paused. "Does it make any difference what the guy does? You want ten grand. Okay, I'm not going to argue with you, I respect your position in this."
"My position."
"I do. I'd like very much for you to go away.and never be heard from again. But you're here, and since you are, you might as well be doing us some good."
"Doing what?"
"Break in the guy's hotel room. Can you handle something like that?"
"Go on."
"Collect his papers. Every paper you see, you take. Whatever's in his briefcase, files, folders, a note on the back of an envelope, you take it. Something written on a matchbook cover, everything."
"All the man's papers."
"And it's got to be tonight. Around eight o'clock, in there. Room 1705."
"You gonna have the man out for a while?"
"I hope so. I don't, I'll call you," Ryan said.
"That would be nice."
"Maybe bring a suitcase. Walk across the lobby you look like you're checking in."
Virgil gave him his lazy smile. "You gonna tell me how to do it?"
"Not if you know the way," Ryan said. "It's your show."
"And it's my ass if I get caught," Virgil said. "Must be very important stuff."
"Think of it like a paper drive. You go out collecting paper and bring it in and get ten grand," Ryan said. "I'll call you later."
It was five-thirty by the time Ryan got home. He sat down on the couch with his coat still on and called Denise.
"I just walked in," she said. "God, I'm dead."
"How'd it go?"
"I'm supposed to be sick and I come back with a tan. If you were the manager-you can imagine."
"If I was the manager," Ryan said, "I'd have you on the potato sacks. Listen, I'll be out later. The injunction thing didn't work-I'll tell you about it, it's kind of funny. I got hold of Virgil, that's set, and I hope I'm gonna meet Mr. Perez for dinner, get him away from the hotel. He hasn't called you?"
"I wasn't here all day."
"That's right. I've been trying to think, I still wish there was some place you could go for a while."
"I'm not going to hide," Denise said, "it's not worth it."
It irritated her when he brought it up, that she might need protection. Screw Mr. Perez, Denise said. She was through sitting alone with the shades drawn. It was a good attitude, but it made Ryan nervous.
He said, "All right, but don't open the door unless it's me. Or answer the phone unless I tell you before exactly when I'm gonna call. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Listen, when I come later, I could bring my toothbrush and a few things."
"Why don't you bring everything?" Denise said.
"Pretty soon. It won't be long."
"Hey, Ryan?" Denise said. "The money's a side issue now, isn't it? Like a bonus maybe, not something we have to have."
"Yeah, except it's right there."
"What I mean," Denise said, "they could threaten to break my legs or something, and if they do I'll sign anything they want. They can have the money, the fuckers. What're we out? So don't worry."
"I won't," Ryan said. "I'll see you later."
He called Mr. Perez, got him on the line, and gave him the sales pitch: the Paradiso on Woodward just north of Six Mile, softshell crabs, very good fish, steaks, or you can go Italian all the way . . . and greens. They actually cooked things like collards and escarole. . . . Fine. Seven o'clock.
Ryan turned on an FM station and listened to jazz while he cleaned up and changed from his business suit to a dark turtleneck and sportcoat. He got a handkerchief out of his top drawer and closed it. Then opened the drawer again and felt in under the jockeys. His hand came out with the .38 Smith and Wesson Chief's Special he'd bought three years before and had fired only a few times on a practice range. It was wrapped in green tissue paper. He had never carried it during the three years, and even now the idea of the revolver, holding it, made him a little tense. Still, the hard weight of it felt good in his hand. If h
e was ever going to pack, now seemed like the time.
"How is it?" Ryan said.
He'd taken his time and didn't get there until almost eight. They were in the bar section of the Paradiso, in the back by a mirrored wall, already eating.
Mr. Perez looked up at him. "This is the spot, huh?"
"Always a crowd," Ryan said. "White tablecloths and good food."
Raymond Gidre was eating frog legs and digging into his double order of escarole cooked with bacon. He said, "About on a par with some nigger places we got back home."
Mr. Perez was still on his snails with a bottle of German white in front of him, wiping his French bread in the juice on the hot metal plate. It made Ryan hungry watching him. As Ryan sat down Mr. Perez said, "You look like you're been on a vacation."
"I took the lady to Florida for a few days," Ryan said. "Get her straightened out."
"Also looks like we're going to bullshit awhile," Mr. Perez said. "I thought we might get down to facts."
"Okay," Ryan said, "how about this? You tell us what the stock is, Mrs. Leary cashes it in and gives you ten grand for your trouble."
"That's what I was afraid of," Mr. Perez said, pushing the metal plate away from him.
"Or," Ryan said, "we take you to court on the injunction. The first way saves time and legal fees. The second way, you don't get anything."
. "That first way also saves you from being prosecuted as part of the act, get your nose rubbed in it." Mr. Perez looked at his wristwatch. "Raymond, you going to make the hockey game, you better get moving."
Raymond looked at his own watch. "Yeah, I guess I better. You can get a cab all right?"
"I don't see why not." Mr. Perez said to Ryan, "Raymond's never seen a hockey game before."
"I been looking forward to it," Raymond said. He was finishing off his escarole, mopping up the juice with bread. When he got up, wiping his mouth with his napkin, he was still chewing. "I'll see you later on."
Ryan and Mr. Perez watched him hurry along the bar to the front of the restaurant and out toward the entrance. Why? Ryan was thinking. Leaves his boss here and goes to a hockey game.
Mr. Perez said to Ryan, "Now then. I think you're in over your head. I think you're being naive or somebody's giving you the wrong advice. I let you take me to court, you'll find out quick there's no grounds for an intent to defraud or anything that violates a statute. I'm making a business proposal to Miz Leary. She can accept it or reject it, there's no coercion. There's not a hint, a smell, of criminal intent. If you're going to tell me a lawyer drew up that complaint, then I say you're bluffing. In fact, what you're doing, you're fucking up. I offered you thirty grand, but you see more. The thing is you're not big enough to see more, because there isn't any way you can get it."