Freaky Deaky (12 page)

He said, “Oh my. Oh my oh my. Yeah, I remember. You’re the guy that put me in jail, aren’t you? I remember you now, sure.”

Woody seemed to be thinking as he spoke, hardly moving his mouth. It wasn’t that he slurred the words, he sounded like a guy who’d been hit in the head and was in a daze. He moved like it, too, off balance as he pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.

“Oh my oh me,” Woody said. “Life’s too short, you know it? I’m not gonna be mad at you. Fuck it.”

“Well, I’m mad at you,” Chris said.

“For what?”

“I don’t have a job. I got suspended.”

“What’re you mad at me for? I didn’t do it.”

“Who did, your lawyer? It’s the same thing.”

“Noooo, I didn’t do it. Ask Donnell, he’ll tell you.” Woody looked up at the ceiling and called out, “Donnell! . . . Where are you, boy?”

“He fell in the pool.”

Woody’s gaze lowered to Chris, squinting now, thinking it over, then looked at the pool. “He’s in the water? I don’t think he knows how to swim.”

“He’s changing his clothes,” Chris said. “He was telling me you don’t want to go to court on the sexual assault complaint.”

“The what?” Woody had a mouthful of peanuts now, chewing, working his tongue around in there.

“The rape charge you’re gonna be tried for.”

“I didn’t rape anybody. I thought that was taken care of. Wait a minute. . . . Donnell!”

“Is he handling it for you?”

“Lemme think,” Woody said. He picked up his glass and swallowed about an ounce of scotch. “I get confused sometimes, everything that’s been happening. My brother passed away. . . .” Woody paused, squinting at Chris or past him. “Jesus, you know something? I think it was today. . . . Yeah, it was, my younger brother.” He stopped again and seemed to be listening now and said, “
My Fair Lady
. You know who that is?”

“Mr. Ricks,” Chris said, “you made an offer to a young lady, or you plan to, so she won’t sign a complaint against you. On the rape charge we’re talking about.”

Woody was nodding now. “Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

“I’m a friend of hers.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. You’re talking about Ginger. No, I didn’t rape her. She was in my bedroom, didn’t have a stitch of clothes on. She’s standing there—what would you do? I mean if she wasn’t a friend of yours. Wait a minute. No, I thought Mark sent her up, that was it.” Woody shoved peanuts into his mouth. The hand came away and paused. “Listen. You know who that is? The only guy in show business can get away with talking a song. You know what I mean? Instead of singing it. Rex Harrison as Doctor . . . you know, what’s his name.”

“Professor Higgins,” Chris said. “You walk in the bedroom, Miss Wyatt’s there . . .”

“Who is?”

“Ginger. You throw her on the bed . . .”

“I didn’t know she was a friend of yours. I thought, the way she was acting, you know, she was putting it on. Some of them go for a little rough stuff, they love that. But I didn’t hurt her or anything, it was a mis—you know—understanding.” Woody was nodding, convinced. “That’s why I don’t know why she got mad. Let’s forget it. I think twenty-five thousand is fair, don’t you? Yeah, I thought my brother sent her upstairs.”

“Twenty-five thousand,” Chris said.

“Doesn’t that sound about right? It’s based on what my time is worth. I think that’s how we did it.” Woody was nodding again. “Yeah, that was it. So I don’t have to spend time in court, time being the . . . you know, what it’s based on. If it’s worth it to me, it ought to be worth it to her. Don’t you think?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” Chris said.

“Donnell said she would probably like cash instead of a check.”

“You mention this to your lawyer?”

“My lawyer? No. We don’t need him for this kind of thing. He’s with a law firm, they’ve been around forever, they deal with city attorneys, with big development groups, up on that level. Donnell says they can talk to
big
people, they’re the same. But if they tried to talk legal to this little girl they’d take six months and charge me an arm and a leg for it.”

“So Donnell’s handling it?”

Woody paused, reaching for the peanuts, and gave Chris what might be his shrewd look, a squint with a grin in it.

“Donnell only went to the tenth grade, but he knows how to talk to people. He’s smart. He’ll surprise you.”

Chris said, “Kind of fella you can rely on.”

Woody nodded, eating peanuts. “You betcha.”

Chris said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Does having a lot of money—does it worry you?”

“Why would it worry me?”

“I just wondered.” Chris got up from the table. He said to Woody, “Rex Harrison isn’t the only guy who talked a song. What about Richard Burton in
Camelot?
Richard Harris, in the movie.”

Woody said, “Wait a minute,” with his dazed look. “Jesus Christ, you’re right. Listen, sit down, have a drink.”

Chris shook his head. “I have to go.”

Woody said, “Well, come back sometime you’re in the neighborhood. Yeah, hey, and bring your friend. What’s her name? Ginger.”

Chris opened the front door and stepped outside. Donnell, in a suede jacket, hands in his pockets, stood against a stone lion.

“Been admiring your Cadillac.”

“You like it?”

“I think you have taste. I think me and you, we both from the street, dig? We see what
is
. I’m not telling you nothing you don’t know. You look at Mr. Woody, you don’t see a man you give a shit about or what happens to him. What you see looking back at you is pickin’s, is opportunity. Am I right?”

“You think I’m gonna shake him down?”

“I think it’s in your head.”

“How do you work it? He sends you out to buy a new limo, you keep the change?”

Donnell’s brows raised, fun in his eyes. “Shit, it won’t take you no time.”

Here they were
driving up Woodward Avenue, Robin still yelling at him about taking her mother’s Lincoln. She didn’t say “without permission,” but that’s what it sounded like. She told him she absolutely couldn’t believe it and would like to know what he was thinking. She told him when he got back to the house he was to put the car in the garage and
leave
it there. All this while they’re creeping along, getting stopped at just about every light. That was annoying too, the stopping and starting.

Skip said, “You know what I did at Milan three and a half years? I was a chaplain’s assistant.”

Robin asked him, now with a bored tone, what that had to do with his taking her mother’s car.

“I’ll tell you,” Skip said. “It taught me patience. If I wanted to stay in a nice clean job, out of trouble, it meant I had to listen to this mick priest and his pitch to win my soul morning, noon and night. There was nothing I could do about it, I was in a
federal lockup doing five to ten. Hey, Robin? But I’m not in one now, am I? I can listen to bullshit, or I can stop the fucking car right here and get out. And you can do whatever you want with it.”

Robin was silent.

“I did some stunt work, too. I tell you that? They pay you thirty-five hundred to roll a car over, smash it up,” Skip said. “Less withholding and social security it comes to about twenty-six hundred. I have that check and another one for twelve something. But I can’t cash either one. I can open a bank account, if I want to wait two weeks to write a check on my own money.”

Skip paused to give Robin a turn. She smoked a cigarette, staring at the cars up ahead, shiny metal and brake lights popping on and off.

“What I’m saying is, if I keep paying forty a day for a rental, I may as well give the checks to Hertz. So I took your mom’s car. But then what do I find out? I’m gonna have to spend my last eighteen bucks on gas.”

Robin said, “Gee, at least she could have left you a full tank.”

That was encouraging; even though she didn’t look at him, she was lightening up, dropping that pissy tone.

“Look at it this way,” Skip said. “If we get caught, what difference does it make whose car we’re
driving? We could even lay it on your mom, say the whole gig was her idea.”

That got a reaction. Robin said, “Far out,” squirming a little, flicking cigarette ash and missing the ashtray, not giving a shit. Good.

They drove along this wide avenue in the pinkish glow of streetlights, Skip trying to think of things to say that wouldn’t rile her. They had already talked on the phone about the little asshole blowing himself up. Robin called as soon as she saw it on the TV news. “
Now
what do we do? Goddamn it.” Spoke of time wasted and hinted around that it was Skip’s fault: if he’d only waited for Mark to get the key to the limo.
That’s
what she was upset about, the scheme was blown. Then had laid into him about taking her mom’s car so she could at least hit him with
some
thing. Skip believed women were often fucked up like that in their thinking. Get you to believe they’re irritated about one thing when it’s another matter entirely.

“Woodward Avenue,” Skip said. “This’s the only town I’ve been to where the whores parade around on the main drag. Look at that one.”

Robin said, “You don’t know she’s a whore.”

Skip glanced at Robin puffing on her cigarette, still showing him some muscle. He said, “You’re right. Ten o’clock at night this colored chick puts on a sunsuit to get a tan.”

“It’s a miniskirt and halter.”

“I’m wrong again,” Skip said. “How about, you hear the one about the guy that got bit by the rattlesnake right on the end of his pecker? The guy’s up north deer-hunting with his buddy—”

“I heard it,” Robin said, “years ago.”

Skip thought awhile and said, “The way they got these lights timed, I don’t understand it. They make you stop about every block and look at how depressing this town has become. Where
is
everybody? . . . I know. They’re across the river at Jason’s. They call it the Royal Canadian Ballet, these girls’ll dance bare-ass right at your table. For ten bucks you can have your picture taken with Miss Nude Vancouver and her two breasts. There you are, the four of you smiling at the camera. Be nice to have framed. You know, as a memento, your visit to Canada. There’s more going on over there than here. What I don’t understand is why the car companies don’t do something about it. They let the Japs eat the ass right out of their business. Just sat there and let it happen. Do you understand that?” No answer. She didn’t know or she didn’t care. “Well, I’m glad your mom buys American. I like a big roomy automobile. I don’t know what all
that shit is on the dashboard, but it looks good. You know?”

Robin said, “Why’re you talking so much?”

“I’m trying to impress you.”

“I don’t get it.”

Skip looked at her and said, “I don’t either. I haven’t gotten anything since I came here.”

“We’ve been busy.”

“No, we haven’t. You bring me on and then slip me the blotter. Get me off with acid. Hand it out one at a time.”

“I haven’t felt in the mood.”

“I know what it is,” Skip said, “you’re afraid I might give you something. Like the broad in that ad, huh? She says she likes to get laid, but she ain’t ready to die for it.”

“I don’t know where you’ve been,” Robin said.

“You mean who I’ve been
with
. I’ve never done it with guys. Jesus, you ought to know that.”

“You can get it the regular old-fashioned way too,” Robin said, watching the road as they approached Seven Mile. “You can’t turn left, you have to go through and come back around.”

Now she was telling him how to drive.

They would go by the house with the stone lions in front, circle around through Palmer Woods in this car that would seem to belong here, and return to make another pass.

“In there counting his money,” Robin said. “You like that picture?”

Skip liked the way she was warming up, getting
with it again. What they were up to now was something they’d discussed on the phone. He said, “I like the big yards too, all the trees you can hide in. I like not hearing any dogs. I hate dogs. Be working there in the dark and hear one? Jesus. You try and set high explosives worrying if some dog’s gonna jump on you and tear your ass off. You know what I mean?”

“It might be too soon,” Robin said.

“The sooner the better. While the first one’s still ringing in his ears. You’ve delivered the message. The guy goes, ‘Hey, shit, they’re serious.’ ”

Robin was silent.

Skip eased around a corner, watched the headlights sweep past a house with darkened windows and settle again on the narrow blacktop, an aisle through old trees. He glanced at her.

“What would you rather do instead? I can think of something, but you’re afraid I might be carrying the AIDS. What do you want me to do, get a blood test first? We’re riding around with my wham bag in the trunk. It’s got five sticks of dynamite, blasting caps and a loaded thirty-eight revolver in it and you’re worrying about getting a social disease.”

“I know why you’re talking so much,” Robin said, “you’re nervous. Aren’t you?”

“I’m up,” Skip said. “I don’t want to waste it, have to get back up again.”

“What’s the gun for?”

“Come on, what’s any of it for? What’re we doing?”

He saw her profile as she flicked her lighter, once, and held it to a cigarette, calm, showing him she had it together. She said, “I want to be sure I know what I’m going to say to him, that’s all. I want to have it down.”

“What you say, that’s the easy part. You’ll come up with the words. It’s
when
you say it’s gonna make the difference. The timing, that’s what has to be on the button. I can set it for whenever you want up to twelve hours from now.” Skip looked at the instrument panel. “It’s now . . . which one’s the clock? They got all that digital shit on there.”

“It’s ten forty,” Robin said.

“They ever quit making clocks with hands on ’em I’m out of business.”

“It’s ten forty-one,” Robin said.

He liked her tone. Drawing on her cigarette now and blowing it out slow.

“I can set it for ten tomorrow morning, any time around in there. Or how about this? I set it to go off like in eleven and a half hours from the time I place it down. See, then you figure to call ten or fifteen minutes before that.”

Robin seemed to be thinking about it as she smoked. “If he stays up boozing all night. . . . You know what I mean? He probably sleeps late.”

“I doubt he’s gonna answer the phone anyway.
That’s what he’s got the jig for, the Panther.” Skip looked past Robin out the side window. They were going by the house again. “Guy likes animals, he’s got the Panther, he’s got lions out in front. . . . Listen, we can go buy gas, spend my last eighteen bucks and come back later. We have to stop by a gas station anyway, so I can use the men’s room.”

“You
are
nervous.”

“My clock doesn’t have a bell and hammer alarm on it, I have to rig something up. You want me to wire it in the car? Or a place I can turn a light on, lock the door?”

“I want you to be happy,” Robin said. She stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, once, and closed it. “After, why don’t I spend the night at Mother’s?”

“You mean it?”

He looked over. She was stroking her braid now as she said, “On one condition. . . .”

Mr. Woody finished the pound can of peanuts during his cocktail hour, so he wasn’t hungry till near ten. He was in a pretty good mood, seemed almost alert and was talkative. Donnell fixed him up in the kitchen, dished out his warmed-up chicken lo mein, whole quart of it on a platter, opened two cans of Mexican beer and sat down with him at the opposite end of the long wooden table. Donnell didn’t
like to get too close to the man when he was eating; the man made noises out his nose, head down close to his food like he was trying to hide in there.

“Mr. Woody, there something bothering me.” It was a way to get his attention, the man thinking he was being asked his advice. “What the police will do is talk to the people were here. Try to find one will tell ’em Ginger went upstairs and then you went up there after her. I’m saying if Ginger doesn’t accept your generous offer.”

The man stopped eating to think about that, frowned with his mouth open, the overhead light shining on him, and Donnell had to look away.

“I doubt your friends notice you were gone, the condition they was in, flying high on the blow. But there was one lady there wasn’t of your regular group. The older one, had her hair in a braid?”

“Robin,” Woody said. “You remember her?”

See? He could do that. Pick somebody out from a long time ago. Like he had put certain things in his mind in a safe place the booze couldn’t touch. Especially things and people had to do with his brother. Donnell settled in, leaning over his arms on the edge of the table.

“Robin Abbott, huh? I thought to myself, Now who is that? I didn’t recognize her ’cause it had been so long. Was at the party your lovely mother had to raise bail money, huh?”

“Mom didn’t want to have it,” Woody said.
“Mark begged her, she said no. I had to talk her into it.”

“Had a way with your mama, didn’t you?”

“We got along. Mark took after Dad, so she didn’t trust him.”

“Your daddy went out on her, huh?”

“I guess so.”

They hadn’t talked about the dad much; the dad had moved away and passed on. No problem there to come up unexpected. Donnell let the man eat in peace a minute before starting in again.

“Yeah, was at that bail party I met Robin. I was introduced to her and all those people and then after while I ran into her in the bathroom. The little one out by the front hall? I walk in, she’s in there.”

The man was listening, because he said, “She was in the bathroom, uh?”

“Yeah, she was in there, you know, combing her hair, prettyin’ up, looking at herself in the mirror. She seem like a nice lady. Without knowing much about her.”

The man said, “Who, Robin?” Digging into his pile of food. “She was something else. You never knew. . . . Like when she was hiding out she’d come to the house. Never call first, she’d come at night and stay here a few days. Mom didn’t like her. She’d spy on her and Mark.”

“Catch ’em in the toidy?”

“When they were talking. Then Mom’d get Mark to tell her to leave.”

“Undesirable influence, huh?”

“After she was arrested, then we didn’t see her till, you know, the other night.”

“What’d the police get after her for, demonstrating? Marching without a license?”

The man raised his head from the dish. “Was the FBI. For the time she and her boyfriend blew up that office in the Federal Building. You don’t remember that?”

“I must’ve been gone then,” Donnell said, easing up in the kitchen chair, looking at the man grinning at him, lo mein gravy shining on his chin.

“When we were at school, you know what she’d do any time she wanted something, like if she needed money? She’d unbutton her shirt, hold it open and let me look at her goodies.”

Donnell said, “Let you look at ’em, huh?” He said, “Mr. Woody, you telling me this lady knows how to set bombs?”

The man was eating and then he wasn’t eating. He chewed and stopped chewing and stared at Donnell, swallowed and kept staring at him.

Donnell said, “Wipe your chin, Mr. Woody.”

Skip told Robin when she dropped him off to give him ten minutes. Robin came around in the
Lincoln, crept past the house looking for him, drove on and there he was up the street, the headlights finding him in the dark. It didn’t take as long as he’d thought. Robin said he looked like a burglar going home from work. Skip said, home being Bloomfield Hills. Let’s go.

Straight up Woodward out of Detroit without knowing it, except now there were four lanes of traffic both ways, people in a hurry, Skip looking at the miles of lit-up used car lots and motels and neon words announcing places to eat, Skip relieved, enjoying the ride, telling Robin he’d walked all the way around Woody’s house, looked in windows at empty rooms and came back to his original idea: set it in the bushes up close to one of the concrete lions. See, then she could say to Woody on the phone, “When you hear the lion roar you’ll know we mean business.” Robin didn’t comment on his idea. She was edging over with cars whizzing by to get into the inside lane.