Anatomy of a Killer (11 page)

At first Jordan did not answer. He looked down and watched his hands fold the bills double and then he put the bills into his pocket. He rubbed his left eye with one finger.

“Who said that?”

“Meyer.”

“And you?”

“Me too.”

“And all that brings the other four gee?”

“Right. Like I said.”

Sandy locked the box back into the safe and the two men got up. “Clear now?” said Sandy.

Jordan brushed at his knees.

“You got all of this clear the way it’s going to be?”

“We’ll see,” said Jordan.

Sandy said nothing. He had heard Jordan give wrong answers, or no answers at all, but he had not seen Jordan be cagey before. The pressure gets all of them different. This one argues. Nasty talk. Bound to happen with an unfinished job. Best thing will be, he goes back to that Pender-place, gets it done, puts some vinegar in it. Did the job cold and not liking it, that was the trouble. Sandy sighed.

“Well, what are you going to do with all that dough, Sam?”

“I think I’ll spend it. Wouldn’t you?”

Now it’s glib. Whole afternoon shot and it’s talk on top of that. I’m a grease monkey and this bastard is engine trouble. Overheated engine trouble.

“Let’s go and have this beer,” said Sandy.

“That won’t cost much.”

“You want the beer or don’t you want the beer?”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Huh?”

“Worried. Who might see you with me, and in the daytime.”

“Jeesis Christ, Sam, will you lay off that idiot talk?”

Jordan laughed. Sandy did not like that either, not that sound, the way Jordan was doing it, but the case was a clear case of nerves and maybe the whole thing would solve itself if Jordan felt he should go home and to bed. But Jordan did not want that. He wanted the beer they had been talking about and to relax in the meantime, talking. That’s what it did for him, he said. It relaxed him to be talking.

They left the bowling alley and drove to a place called the Dawdler’s Bar. There were several places, like this bar, where Jordan could go, or Jordan and Sandy could go, and there would be no problems about it. They drank beer in a booth and Sandy put coins in the juke box. Jordan faced the other way, toward the street side, and where the sun slanted in he could see dust move in the light. Then he watched the juke box which had colored lights dancing and spiraling, and after he had watched for a while he discovered the system. The flickers and spirals repeated themselves every three-quarters of a minute.

Sandy thought about Jordan’s four thousand dollars and what he would do with it if he had just earned it. Sandy had no idea what he would do.

“Another round?” he said.

“No.”

“You say no?”

They had not talked, sitting there, and now the talking was not any easier than the mute part before.

“Let’s go to Monico’s,” Jordan said.

There were several places, such as Monico’s, where it was not all right for Jordan to go. Sandy might go there, or perhaps someone like Meyer, a different echelon when it came to the social. Jordan was not known there, which was as it should be, and he was not wanted there, which only made sense.

“They’re closed,” said Sandy. “It’s afternoon and the place is still closed.”

Sandy said other things, much more to the point, but Jordan did not even get nasty again. He got up and said, “Are you coming?”

“But it’s closed, damn it.”

“Are you coming?”

“Of course I’m coming.”

“Then we’ll get in, won’t we?”

They got in. A man in shirt sleeves came to the door; when he saw Sandy through the glass of the door he opened up and said, “Hi, Sandy.” He did not know Jordan and just nodded at him, a little bit puzzled.

“You see?” Sandy waved at the low room, dark with none of the lamps turned on. “Closed. Get it? Nothing.”

Bar, with the bottles shrouded under a long, white sheet, empty tables, empty chairs, empty bandstand in one corner. Frescoes with goats and minor gods capering, grape garlands, looking dumb and useless with nobody looking at them.

“You’re a little early,” said the man. “They’re still rehearsing.”

Sandy did not say anything but Jordan said, “Still rehearsing? Where?”

So they went to the back. They went through a smoking room where you could hear the toilets going off and from there to a room in back with the stage one length of the wall. There were couches, easy chairs, little tables. All the seating equipment faced the same way.

“You want a drink?” asked the man. “Frank isn’t here to mix up anything but if you want a bottle….”

“Bring the bottle,” said Sandy. “Hell yes. I was going to say bring the bottle.”

“Bourbon, wasn’t it?”

“Hell, yes, bourbon.”

The room was dark except for what light came from the stage. The stage wasn’t lit for effect, just efficiency. The footlights were off and the two overhead lamps made a dull yellow light on the row of girls who stood on the stage listening to the thin man with the longish, elaborate hairdo. He had black hair, and wore a white shirt, black pants, white socks, black shoes. He explained the dance.

The girls wore almost anything, but very little of it. Jersey striped this way, jersey striped that way, blue shorts, red shorts, leotards, heels. They all wore heels. The piano went thumpety thump and some of the girls did something with one leg and the hip.

“
That’s
it,” said the man with the hairdo. “Work it
through
. On the thumpety
thump
you got to work it
through
.”

“Mary and Jack,” said one of them. “It’s less work lying down.”

“Pu-leeze!”

It was not very hard because it was not really dancing. It was mostly display. And they were all built alike and for the same thing.

And maybe this isn’t a bad turn at all, Sandy thought, because the place is dark and won’t open for hours and by then he’ll be out of here. He hasn’t slept much and isn’t used to much liquor. He didn’t like hearing about having muffed the job and less, maybe, having to finish it. This’ll tire him out….

“The second one from the left,” said Jordan. “That’s Lois, isn’t it?”

“Yeh, that’s Lois.”

From the distance she looked like all the other ones. Round rear, smooth thighs, and the standard-sized breasts.

“That why you came here?” Sandy asked.

Jordan had not even known that the girl worked in the Monico. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I came here.”

“Listen, Sam. You remember I told you she and Fido’s brother….”

“But she works here.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Nothing,” said Jordan. “And that’s why I’m looking.”

Jordan got up before Sandy could stop him and walked to the stage. He stood at one end of it and watched.

“Who’s he looking at?” said the girl next to Lois. “You?”

“Legs,” said Lois and when the piano went thumpety thump she was late with the thing she was supposed to do.

“Pu-leeze!”

They all started over.

“You know him?” asked the girl.

“Once.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t want him. He’s with Sandy.”

“Gee—”

“
Pu-leeze!
You are not coming
through!
” The man with the hairdo glared and then he yelled, “Like
this!
” and did the coming through thing better than the line-up had done it.

“I’m sure he’s looking at you.”

“He can go to hell.”

“Stop!”

The piano stopped and all the girls stopped. All the bosoms went up and down, because of the exertion and all the girls stood on their long standard legs, one straight and one cocked.

“
What
did you say about me?” asked the man with the hairdo.

“I said you did that
well
,” said Lois.

“Because
I practice
.”

“Dry-run Charley,” somebody said, and there might have been envy in it.

But the man with the hairdo did not take it that way and got venomous. He said how more vertical dancing and less horizontal dancing might get them much farther than they thought because a good dancer might even get married some day and last a lifetime.

Jordan stood to one side of the stage and looked at the cigarette in his hand. He felt no interest in the Monico any more and wished he were somewhere else.

“And now,
positions
.”

They all complained and did very badly on the thumpety
thump
, and in a while the man with the hairdo gave up and said rehearsal was over. All the girls walked off the stage and some of them looked down at Jordan and a few of them looked farther back into the room. Sandy must be up, thought Jordan, and walking this way.

“All over,” said Sandy behind him. “Let’s go.”

Jordan caught the relief in the voice, and he caught how Sandy looked at the stage and how Lois looked back. What a keen, idle memory, Jordan thought, remembering that pitiful time, that once in her apartment.

“There’s a back to this place, isn’t there?” he said. “For more business.”

“Sam, I’ve told you and you got eyes to see this place isn’t open for….”

“How’s Lois?”

“Lois.”

“Yes. How’s Lois. She like the work?”

Sandy looked away and held his breath for a moment. The problem was now that the matter was partly personal, a much harder matter than just dealing with Jordan, important property. But think of it that way: he was property, and because of a wrong job and no time yet for relaxing, in a funk. A matter of discipline. Nothing personal.

“That why you came here? Lois?”

“You asked that before,” said Jordan. “You remember asking me?”

“All right, Sammy. All right.” He told Jordan to wait for a minute and went to the back part of the place, the part Jordan had talked about.

Behind the door next to the stage was a corridor with a long line of doors. There was faint, artificial light, and a faint, artificial odor. Powder, perfume. Behind the first door Sandy could hear the girls talking, a chatter without any words and as uniform as their looks when they worked on the stage.

Sandy knocked on the door and when somebody asked, who is it, he said his name and then the door opened. The room was full of tables with naked bulbs; the girls were sitting around putting on faces, taking off faces, and some were changing clothes.

“I’ll be right out,” called Lois.

Sandy waited in the door and when Lois came she smiled at him. She still had her jersey on, and the shorts, but was barefoot. “You got rid of him?” she asked.

“No.”

“No? You can’t stay?”

“Close the door.”

She came out into the corridor and closed the door.

“He wants you,” said Sandy.

“Crap,” she said. “Oh crap.” Then she noticed how angry Sandy was, how he had one eye squinted smaller than the other and how he kept pulling one cuff of his shirt.

“Is the bouncer here yet?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s Benny’s day, he comes early. He might be here now.”

“That would be nice,” said Sandy. “If it’s Benny, that would be just right.”

Then he told Lois he would look for the bouncer and she should go down to room three in a while and not worry about it, and how she should behave. Then he went to look for the bouncer.

Benny was in the linen closet where he hung up his clothes and changed into his tux. He also had a mirror there, to check how the cummerbund looked and how his hair was arranged.

“Don’t you knock?” he said. When he saw it was Sandy he wished he had said something stronger.

“I got a job for you,” said Sandy.

“I’m working for you? Since when am I….”

“You know Jordan? Guy works for me?”

Benny put his hands on his hips and then let them hang again. Then he put them back on his hips. “So?”

Then Sandy told him. Benny did not like Sandy any better now than at any time, but he said, “Sure, feller. Anything to keep the club clean and for decent folk.”

Then Sandy went back to the room with the stage, where Jordan was waiting. He stood by the footlights, on the wrong side of them, and the room was much darker now. More lights were turned off and nobody else was there.

He looks like somebody asking for a job, thought Sandy. The way he stands there and waits. The picture was neither quite true nor did it satisfy Sandy. For the first time that he could remember his picture of Jordan was mixed up. It used to be Jordan, shy and quiet, then less shy and much more quiet. Now this. Now this ill-fitting, sharp-sitting way of his, where nothing matched, where the meanness came from nowhere, and it showed that Jordan did not know what to do with it.

“Well? You want her?”

Jordan turned and sucked breath through his nose. “Yes,” he said. “Why not?” and they walked to the door in the back.

It had sounded like a real question. It would have surprised Jordan had he gotten an answer, but he would have been grateful for an answer. He felt so little at the moment, he wished somebody would say something to him.

The room was number three, with big drapes over a window and a big pillow pile in one corner. There was no bed, just the vast pillow pile with two low seats next to it and a small table. There was a radio and Jordan sat down by the table and played with the knobs. He got a sudden loud blare of music and turned it down too far so that it only murmured. What a lousy sound, he thought. There’s no sound as lousy as that mumble, and he clicked it off.

The girl said, “Hi, Sam,” behind him and closed the door. She still wore the same things as before, the little shorts and the jersey with stripes stretching around her. She went to the pile of pillows and sat down on it.

“You see that cabinet back there?” she said. “There’s liquor in there. And fixings.”

“Oh. You want some?”

He acts like a hick, she thought. She crossed her legs and looked at him without smiling. She did not remember him being so slow.

He got a bottle, two glasses, and poured.

“No,” she said. “Not for me. For you.”

Jordan sat down on his seat and watched the liquor make a commotion inside the glass. He swirled the glass and then took a small sip, as a gesture.