“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.”
8
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.
•
“Tails 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.
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.
•
Her 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.”
•
He 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.”
•
He 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 a
ccept 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.
•
He 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.