Be Cool

  "Raji comes to see her. He tells Vita they're not gonna do anything about Linda walking out. They'll wait and see if she makes it with Odessa. She does, they move in and show they own her contract."

  "Take you to court."

  "I imagine that's what he means, or make a deal. Raji wants Vita to stay close to Linda. If Odessa goes on the road, see if she can join the band, play a keyboard, use her voice as backup. Raji wants Vita inside, so she can tell him how the band's doing, what kind of audience response they're getting, how many tickets they're selling. Raji wants to keep track of what they make, throw it into the final accounting and collect his twenty-five percent. Vita told him Odessa would never go for it, they're a three-piece band; and she wouldn't do it anyway."

  "If she's not gonna do it," Elaine said, "why did she tell you?"

  "So I'll know Raji's scheming, he hasn't given up. We talked for a while, I asked her what she's been doing. This is a woman has to be in her forties but doesn't look it. Wears her hair in dreadlocks, or they're extensions, I'm not sure. What I want to say is Vita's been around. She's the—what's the word?—she's the role model for the black chick backup singers you see in any act that has black chicks doing backup. If you know what I mean."

  "She's a pro."

  "Hall of Famer. So I said to her, 'With all your experience, you know what you could do? Go on the road with Odessa as their tour manager.' She thought I was nuts. 'What, you want me to be a spy for Raji?' I said, 'No, not for him, for me. You tell me what Raji's up to and you tell him the band's not making it.' Vita goes, 'Yeah!' She likes the idea. She'll do it if it's okay with Linda. I called her right after Vita left and Linda said great. She'd even like to work Vita into the band, but doesn't think Speedy would go for it."

  "What's Speedy, a racist?"

  "He's mostly disagreeable. He tries not to agree with you if he can help it."

  Elaine said, "Doesn't want you to think he's a wimp. God, I wish I had a smoke."

  "And he's kind of short," Chili said, "that wiry type of Latin guy." He said, "I wouldn't mind a cigar. Hey, but you should've been at the Viper Room last night. We're outside the club having a smoke—this was before Odessa went on—and the Russians arrived."

  THERE WERE PARK BENCHES against the club's black-painted front, put out there for the smokers; but they were all standing around talking or watching people or the traffic flashing by in the lights on Sunset: Chili, Linda, Speedy and a half dozen or so others who had come out. Above them, and above the canopy that extended from the door to the street, the white square of the marquee announced odessa. The one name, big.

  People would come up to the door and try to open it, and a smoker would tell them the entrance was around the corner, on Larrabee. Or one of the club bouncers would open the door, fill the opening with his size, and tell them. The bouncers wore headsets to keep in touch with each other. One of them would open the door for the smokers when they were ready to come back in.

  Linda went first. She seemed detached, into herself waiting for the band to go on. Finally she said, "I'll see you," and threw her cigarette away. That left Chili standing there with Speedy, the drummer, in his tanktop, his bandana headband and leather wristbands. Linda leaving was okay. There was something Chili wanted to ask Speedy.

  "Remember you were telling us about the girl on the bus, with the baby?"

  Speedy said, "Yeah? . . ." Cautious. "What about it?"

  "I think it's a good story," Chili said. "I was wondering what happened next."

  "What're you trying to say? You think I took her to a motel?"

  Jesus Christ, this guy.

  "I remember you telling how she got kicked out of the house."

  "Yeah, on account of the colored baby. She said it was a serviceman from Fort Bliss knocked her up. She said she told him and he said oh, that was too bad, 'cause he was getting shipped out."

  "When you met her she was going to El Paso?"

  "She'd been going, looking for the guy. See, she believed he lied to her and was still around."

  "You said she wanted to take voice lessons?"

  "Yeah, learn to sing. Also fix herself up, get a new set of tits and enter the Miss America contest. The guy that knocked her up would see her on TV, become ashamed he walked out on her and they'd get back together. Some dream, huh? Shit, they'd never let her near the Miss America show, not with that high, squeaky voice she had."

  Speedy glanced toward the street as a car pulled up in front of the club—in the loading zone at the end of the canopy—but kept talking, saying of course he never told her that, want to hurt her feelings, even though she was a pretty dumb girl.

  Chili, listening to Speedy, was aware of the car—lights shining on dark metal less than a dozen feet away—but didn't look over. Not until he heard a man's voice, loud, saying, "What is Odessa?"

  It was the accent that got Chili to look at the car: a black four-door sedan, a Lexus, like the one Roman Bulkin got in at the mall, in front of his photo shop. A big blonde guy next to the driverhad his window open. It looked like only one guy in the back, but it was too dark to see if he was bald or wearing a rug. The blonde guy was getting out, built like a bull in a ratty suit that was tight on him, too small, and a brightly patterned sportshirt—the kind you saw in stores and wondered who would ever buy a shirt like that. The guy reminded Chili of Steve Martin doing one of his "wild and crazy guys" skits on Saturday Night Live. He was coming this way now as Speedy was telling Chili this girl had b.o. so bad he was sorry he ever sat next to her; he had to breathe with his mouth open. The Russian stopped in front of Chili, glancing up at the marquee.

  "Odessa. What is it?"

  Chili said, "I'll tell you what it isn't."

  Got that far and Speedy went after the guy, telling him, "Hey, I'm talking to this man here. You mind?"

  The Russian looked at him, surprised or confused. He said, "I like to know what is this Odessa," and stepped away, into the crowd, again asking about Odessa.

  Speedy said, "You believe that guy? Fuckin foreigner. I lak to know what is these Odessa."

  Chili looked over at the Lexus, the black car gleaming in Sunset Boulevard lights, the Strip, Speedy still talking.

  "You know what I should've told him?"

  He stopped as the blonde Russian passed them, returning to the car. Chili watched the rear window slide down. The blonde Russian stooped over to speak to the man in the back seat, then got in next to the driver again. The car window remained open. A man's head and shoulders appeared.

  "I should've said, It's a town in West Texas, partner, where we got our name. Confuse him some more."

  Now a hand came up to rest on the window ledge, thumb raised, index finger pointing at Chili.

  Chili walked over to the car, to Roman Bulkin looking up at him with his bruised eyes, Roman raising the hand he pretended was a gun, pointed it at Chili's face now and said, "Bang, you dead," with the soft growl in his voice. "But you don't know when, do you?"

  The car pulled away, Speedy saying, "You never heard of Odessa before? Shit, where you been?"

  "SO NOW I keep looking over my shoulder," Chili said, "till either Darryl picks up the Russian or I get the Ropa-Dopers off their ass."

  Elaine sipped her scotch. "I don't understand that part, what Russell's supposed to do."

  "Russell. He won't take a call till after one p.m. so I haven't talked to him yet. I think it'll happen either today or tomorrow."

  "What will?"

  "Sin collects his three-hundred grand."

  "Wait. The Russian actually has the money?"

  "Elaine, I explained it to you. All that bullshit about the bootleg records? No, he doesn't have the money. There isn't any. But as long as Sin thinks he does . . . You know who the Russian sounds like, his accent?"

  "Akim Tamiroff," Elaine said. "So what you're doing, you're playing one problem against the other and, what?"

  "Hope they both go away."

  "But aren't you inciting Russell and
his guys to commit a crime?"

  "It's what they do, Elaine. They're rappers with rap sheets, bad guys. Sooner or later they're going down, whether somebody helps 'em fuck up or they do it themselves. It's their nature as repeat offenders. I'm pretty sure the only reason Tommy paid 'em royalties, he was too scared not to. Now if I can get those guys off my back, and the fuckin Russians and Raji and Nicky, I'll be able to concentrate on Odessa. That's the movie, Elaine. Does Linda become a star or not?"

  "How'd she do last night?"

  "Terrific. She owned the audience, a full house, close to two hundred people. Playing the Viper Room the band was a little more rock and roll last night than country—Speedy wailing away, the guy's fast, beats the hell out of those two drums. You watch him, you get the idea he could be the original Speedy Gonzales. Sometime I'm gonna work up the nerve, ask him why he doesn't play with a full drum kit. After, we're at the bar having a beer, I asked him about the girl on the bus again, something I didn't understand. How she was gonna pay for the voice lessons."

  Elaine said, "And the boob job."

  "Speedy said, 'Become a prostitute is what she told me.' And then he said, 'Hey, if that's what she wants to be.' "

  "What did you mean," Elaine said, "he could be the original Speedy Gonzales?"

  "It's an old joke," Chili said, "not very funny. But the thing about the crowd last night, there were a lot of music industry people Hy invited. Linda said, after, that a music publisher, a film producer—she forgot his name—and a couple of A&R guys gave her their cards and would like to talk to her. One performance, she's hot."

  Elaine said, "She told them she's with NTL?"

  "Well, she isn't actually signed yet. We've talked about it, agreed that I should take fifteen or twenty percent as manager, and since I'm paying for everything, half of the publishing rights to her songs. Hy's been too busy to get a label contract written. He's got a booking agent laying out a three-week tour."

  "You're not concerned about it?"

  Elaine sounding like she was.

  "Am I worried," Chili said, "she might sign with another label? No. But to tell you the truth, I haven't thought much about it, either."

  "She wouldn't, would she, with all you're doing for her?"

  "I don't think she'd do it for money," Chili said. "But this business—what do I know?"

  17

  * * *

  IT WAS SET for Wednesday evening.

  Chili said to Sin Russell, "I'll be at the shopping center no later than five-thirty. You and your guys'll be down the street from the social club, on Crescent Heights. As soon as I see 'em coming out of the photo shop I call and give you the signal. I say, The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming."

  This was earlier Wednesday, on the phone.

  If it sounded like Sin got it, Chili was going to say, And I don't mean Alan Arkin in a fuckin submarine.

  But all the man said was, "That's the signal, huh?"

  So Chili went on with the plan. "I follow the last one out of the photo shop over to the club. So when you see me drive past you know all the Russians are in there and you can hit the place."

  Sin asked him, "Where you gonna be?"

  "If I drive past I must be in my car."

  "Where you going?"

  "I don't know. Home."

  "I thought you was the Notorious K.M.A. You don't care you miss the action?"

  "It's your gig, man, not mine. What do I get out of it?"

  "What we gonna do," Sin said, "we all meet at the shopping center. They come out, we follow them to the club. I'm in your car with you, we lead the parade."

  Chili said, "How many cars?"

  "Be yours and two three more."

  Chili said, "That shopping center's always busy, it's hard to find a place to park. That many cars, we'd have a problem working it so we all leave there together."

  "I park where I want," Sin said, "use the ones for the handicapped. They always some of those places."

  "Yeah, but they're too close to the photo shop. They'd spot us; they know who I am."

  "Man, you sound like you don't want my company. See, I need you, Notorious. You the complaining witness, gonna point to the one stole all that money from your company. And we the police, gonna pick up the evidence."

  "They won't sit still for it," Chili said. "They have no respect for cops."

  Sin said, "Who does?"

  "I mean they hate 'em. These guys pack, Sin. You tell 'em you're a cop they'll go berserk."

  Sin said, "I've told you how we gonna do it."

  RAJI WAS WAITING in front of 100 Wilshire, a few minutes past six, dark out. He moved around, even did a tap step in his boots, but still didn't hear the spurs jingle jangle jingle like they were supposed to. Finally, fine-a-lee, there was the car coming to the light at the end of Wilshire, U-turning quick to come around to Raji waiting at the curb now.

  "You know how long I been standing here?"

  The fool wearing his new spurs, Elliot noticed. He could tell Raji about waiting, all the hours he spent bored to death waiting for this little dude. But all he said was, "I had to pick something up."

  "You had to pick me up is what you had to pick up.

  "I bought a suit was ready today."

  Raji was in the car now, the car moving.

  "Why you want a suit?"

  "For my screen test."

  "Uh-huh. This something Chili Palmer told you?"

  "A lady at Tower. She says they gonna call me."

  "I see. Don't call them they gonna call you—whenever the day comes they start giving giant Samoan nigga faggots screen tests. You don't see what that motherfucker's doing? How he's trying to flip you, turn you against me? Worried I'm gonna set you on him? Say, go tear the motherfucker's head off and don't stop on the way? You understand what I'm saying? He's scared of what he knows I can do to him. Shit, all by myself I have to."

  "The lady says I could do a reading from a movie."

  "And you believe that shit? What lady?"

  "I didn't get her name."

  "What she's saying to you is what Chili Palmer tells her to say. Don't you see that? Man, the way he annoys me I don't know if I can wait. I had doubts from the beginning. You understand? Nicky goes yeah, let's wait, see if Linda makes it. I go along, yeah, okay, but with serious doubts. You know what I'm saying?"

  Elliot brushed his hair from his face turning to look at Raji. "I thought it was your idea to wait."

  "Hey, watch the fuckin road." Raji hunched over to pop on the radio. "I never told you that. Was Nicky made it sound good with his talk and I went along."

  They were in eastbound rush-hour traffic now, Elliot holding the Town Car in the middle lane since leaving the beach. Raji punched a button set for Power one-oh-six, the hip-hop station. Elliot reached over and turned the radio off.

  "The fuck you doing?"

  "I picked up my suit," Elliot said, "at the Big Man Shop? I park in the shopping center again across the street, like I always do. I go over there, I see Chili Palmer's car."

  Raji was listening. "Yeah? Gonna tell me he was meeting the cop again?"

  "I thought it might be him at first. No, it was Sin Russell got in the car with Chili Palmer."

  "Russell. You sure it was Sin?"

  "It was him. Had the hat on he wears."

  "They were talking, huh? Must be Sin telling Chili Palmer he wants some money. The man hard to find and Sin tracked him down. How long they talk?"

  "They drove off together."

  "They did, huh? What'd you do?"

  "I come here, pick you up."

  They moved along in the traffic watching brake lights popping on in the dark, Elliot patient, waiting for Raji. Raji was the talker. Whether he had anything to say or not, he talked. Every once in a while he'd have something he had to think about and it would take him time to do it. What he needed was a shove when he was taking too long to think. So Elliot said:

  "Putting up with Chili Palmer, waiting to see can
he make the girl a star, drives you crazy, huh? Still, you don't lose nothing by waiting. You told me that yourself. But putting up with Nicky, that's something else. Since you suppose to be partners."

  "We are," Raji said, "fifty-fifty."

  "Gives you an office, lets you manage the artists and takes half of what you make."

  "That's the deal."

  "Half of what you make off Linda she ever hits it big. But you don't get nothing from what Nicky makes talking to his headset, working that indie promotion shit."

  When they talked about him now he was "Nicky"—ever since Chili Palmer came to the office and called him that, asking about Joe Loop.

  Elliot had to brake as a car cut in front of him. Raji reached over and pressed down on the horn, holding it down and yelling at the car, "Asshole!"

  "He can't hear you," Elliot said. He let Raji settle back, the car quiet before he pushed him a little more, saying, "Who needs a boss, huh, when you got a partner like Nicky."

  Raji was looking at him now.

  "You got a problem? What you trying to say?"

  "You need a new partner."

  "Meaning you, huh? What you saying now, as I understand it, you want half of Linda."

  "Nicky's half," Elliot said, "after he's gone."

  For a few moments it was quiet again, Raji having to shift his thoughts back to Nicky.

  "I haven't decided the way to do it."

  "I know a way," Elliot said. "Throw him out a window and make it look like he committed suicide."

  Raji said, "Elliot"—like, are you stupid or something?—"the windows in the office don't open."

  Elliot said, "I don't mean in the office."

  Raji heard him, but Raji was the boss. Once he said Elliot was wrong or stupid Raji would keep going, have his say.

  "Man's gonna commit suicide. So what he does is run across the room and throw himself through the window? Breaks the glass? Cuts himself all up?"

  Elliot didn't mean that at all. What he had in mind, take the man to a hotel room like in the Roosevelt and pitch him out from the top floor. But Raji was still talking.