The Last Bender, Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

          Two thumbtacks of light were pressed into my eyes. I sipped scalding, bitter coffee from a bowl. To my left, on a quilted pot holder arranged diagonally on a tile trivet, sat the percolator. Across the room, eyes distant, fully dressed, amused and slightly contemplative, sat Wanda Watts, with a loaded brandy snifter in her right hand.

          I tried to remember that beneath the robe I was naked. I tried to keep my feet crossed in front. I tried to drink the coffee down quickly enough to avoid first-degree burns of the uvula, tongue and palate.

          “Cigarette?”   she asked. I grunted. She tossed me the pack. “You’ll look like a game show host in that iridescent tux. But surely a man of your years and experience has suffered worse humiliations and come through flying.”

          I cleared my throat to speak and out came a voice like rusty water from a busted tap. I cleared it again and got the pitch somewhat under control, but my normally dulcet legato had definitely sprung a leak. “Mrs. Watts. Wanda. It’s probably very late.”

          ” Mr. Bartell. Jack. It’s way late.”

          “Later than I think.”

          “Without doubt you have misunderestimated the hour badly.”

          “Then you’ll forgive my haste. I take it we’re done chowing, the pooch pouch is packed, the waiter schtupped and the captain fed–“

          “Astute detection, I admire your mind–“

          “Then we can cut to the matter at hand.”

          We had a little eyeball to eyeball then. She took a tough swig of her balloon of hooch and blew smoke into the coffee steam. “I don’t see why not,” she said, as if conceding the whole game. “It’s not every day you play for six million puppies.”

          “No,” I said, “it is not. Now what sort of a guarantee do I have that you’ll produce him?”

          “David has a plan all worked out. You’re to meet him tomorrow morning on Ellesworth Drive in Grassmear with the money. If you’re followed, he’ll blow you up in your car. You can bring one person. She stays with me and the money while he takes you to St. Claude. The payment is for information, not for possession. If you can’t get him out, we still get the cash. Is that clear?”

          “I gotta take something to Laraby. He won’t buy without evidence you know where he is.”

          “David said you would say that. I have here a document. Your boss won’t understand what’s in it, but he’ll know what it is. It’s an abstract, a description of an engineered nerve cell they’ve developed. A Hydra Independent Nerve Cell, or HINC. It’s part of a patent application. You show it to that toad Laraby and he’ll give you twelve million, since that’s what it’s worth.”

          “How far is St. Claude from Grassmear?”

          “The suit’s in the closet. I’m sorry to cut our meeting short, darling, but despite our little tryst my crawdad is ornery and unless you feel like cracking shells again, I’ve got eggs to lay.”

          “My car.”   I felt like I was going to throw up again.

          “You can call a cab, or a friend.”

          The word friend exploded in my head. Friend. Linda was my friend. I felt like there was something I had to remember. All that booze had destroyed something so important it left a space behind. I searched the blank for signs of its former occupant. It was Braque. There was rain. The lights of the cars shined in my eyes. Sirens then, and a yellow car, the flashing muzzle. Three times it flashed and flipped him onto the hood of the car. I watched the blood flow. Then all the suits, covered first in blood, then vomit. Linda was my friend. The yellow car came towards her, walking home from Duran’s. The muzzle flashed three times. Linda crawled through the rainy gutter. She shivered and fell still. The blood ebbed into my hands. I shook my head and struggled to think. I had to get to Linda.

          I gulped down the rest of the coffee and called her. Mac answered the phone. He was out of breath. “Mac,” I said. “Jack. Linda there?”

          He muffled a sob. “This some kind of a joke with you two?”

          “Relax, man. It’s me. Jack. I’ve got to talk to her. Bad.”

          “And I’m tellin’ you I ain’t seen her in days. Try her girlfriend Helen. Maybe she’s trimmin’ her hedge for a change.”   He slammed the phone down.

          I tried Helen but there was no answer.

          I called Duran’s. Wanda Watts glared at me and toyed with her belt buckle. When that didn’t speed things up she rearranged her pocket book and did eye rolls. The bartender said Linda had just left for a place called Harper’s Faerie.

          “Can you give me a ride?”

          “It’s an impertinence. Where to?”

          I shed the robe and got dressed. “Some place called Harper’s Faerie. Know it?”

          “Name me one I don’t know. Father owns it. His idea of a joke. My my, look at you. Isn’t that the cat’s meow. I can see your buns right through the fabric.”

          “You’re one to talk,” I said, fixing the suspenders. “I could sight fit you for a diaphragm in those pants.”  

          “It’s more accurate to feel around inside with your fingers.”

          I tied the bow tie and asked her how it was.

          “As good as a clown’s. Where’d you learn that?”

          “Army,” I said, putting on the jacket.

          “So you were an officer.”

          “Non commissioned.”

          “It’s a wonder we didn’t lose the war.”

          “Wouldn’t you say that’s a matter of opinion?”  

          She handed me the paper and shut off the light. “Don’t let’s speak of politics, it’s a desiccant. And mind the stairs. I hate the stairs.”

          “They’re not so bad, sober.”

          “How would I know?”  

           

          The line stretched around the block. Short, black limos pulled up and injected VIPs directly into the doors while the unconnected wandered resentfully to the end of the line. She popped open the electric locks. It was time to leave and I was scared. I scanned the street. No yellow car. I was being thrown up against it, no car, no gun, and just a little cash. I could walk and talk coherently enough but I was still drunk and the world swam in a thick liquid. Edges of light were frayed. My head felt heavy. It hung on my neck like a rain soaked peony.

          I said, “See ya later,” and stood at the curb watching the fat, designer hubcaps twinkle and spark off into the city.

          Despite the suit and my rough look, or perhaps because of them, I was admitted right away. It was like the nightclubs of my youth. The people were older and richer and the sex was rawer. On the stage a woman in wool pants and suspenders pulled at her nipples and sort of sang a duet with a man who mimed putting on make up while fluffing up his platinum hair. The air smelled like the human dander, trash. The bar was packed, there was nowhere to stand. Three children dressed as fairies with little gossamer wings and green make up walked up and down the glass bar top, checking drinks; buskined legs lit from below by throbs of colored light. I searched couples and groups, but no luck.

          In another room people giggled and drank, reclining on soft cushions thrown about the light sculpted space. Soft droning music swelled and ebbed. Hash smoke drifted through the monotone of chatter: where they got in, whom they knew, how much money they had and what drugs they took when they got there. I muscled my way through to the dance floor one and took a strand of a helical neon escalator. It was impossible to get a visual fix on anything. The light changed its embrace in time to the music. The crowd tossed me back and forth like a piece of crud floating on the water. It formed a single sweating skin articulated by joy. They chewed me till their smiles ached, spitting me mouth to mouth. No Linda. I ordered a drink at the bar and watched the door, where suddenly she popped in and out of view. My stroboscopic Linda in her jagged frame, her soft elbow frame. The buff biceps and bent nose. Her neck twisted like black licorice beneath the waxed tufts of her hair. I worked the crowd but lost her. People kept bumping into me. The drink spilled onto my fingers. I looked around. There was an argument at the door. Security guards dressed like Roman soldiers held out Tasers. There were shouts and a gunshot. People screamed and a more serious security detail arrived. It had to be the men in the yellow car. They were negotiating now. I ran deeper into the club, into a weird dark room lit by holographic projections of nude people wondering about like ghosts. There was a bar and a few languid couples having sex. There, sitting on the bar, with her legs spread, was Linda. Her head was thrown back and she had a big smile on her face. Her skirt was hiked up and a woman was giving her head. I hated to interrupt. But I didn’t think we had long. I shouted out her name till it broke the spell.  “Jack. What are you doing here?”   She dropped her legs and pulled her skirt down. The woman going down on her wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and lit a cigarette.

          “I’ll explain later,” I said. “Is there another exit?”

          “Back by the bathrooms,” the woman said. “There’s a fire exit. Leads to the alley.”

          I dragged Linda through the club and out into the alley. She struggled and cursed halfheartedly. “Linda, we’ve got to get out of here,” I begged, grabbing her shirt. “The men in the yellow car killed Braque and they’re gonna get you next.”

          “My date–“

          “Fuck her. Didn’t you hear?”   I shook my hands above my head.

          “You’re ranting, Jack.”

          “You don’t understand. I’m serious now. Drunk, yes. Very fucking drunk and very fucking serious.”

          “All right,” she said after watching me dance for a while. “But this better be good. I forgot to get her name.”