Big Trouble (10 page)

Eliot looked at it.

“This is for four hundred dollars,” he said.

“Lemme ask you something,” said the Client From Hell. “Whose idea was this?” He waved his fat arm at the beer ad.

“Well,” said Eliot, “we're talking about a certain investment of time that . . .”

“WHO THOUGHT UP THE IDEA OF TITS?” said the Client From Hell. In the hall outside, a door slammed; Eliot knew this was the certified public accountant exiting his office to search for the building manager.

“You did,” said Eliot.

“Do you see a fish in this picture?” asked the Client From Hell.

“No,” said Eliot.

“The way I see it,” said the Client From Hell, “I came up with the concept. This is MY concept.”

Eliot looked at the check, then at the grotesque beer ad, then at the check again. He looked at the check for several seconds. When he finally spoke, he did not look up.

“OK,” he said.

The Client From Hell smirked fatly and turned back to the ad.

“Tits like that,” he said, shaking his head. “On a
spic.
” Then, without saying good-bye or closing the door, he walked out.

Eliot was still looking at the check.

“I'm a whore,” he announced, to his office.

The phone rang, and Eliot considered not answering it, because it was probably the building manager calling to tell him that (a) he was disturbing other tenants, and (b) he was two months behind on his rent. But it also might be Matt. So he picked up the receiver.

“Eliot Arnold,” he said, warily.

“Hi,” said a woman's voice, and Eliot's heart jumped. “This is Anna Herk. The woman who beat up your son.”

“Hi!” said Eliot, thinking about her eyes.

“How is Matt?” asked Anna. “Is he OK?”

“Oh, he's fine,” said Eliot. “He's a teenager.”

“I'm sorry,” said Anna.

“That's OK,” said Eliot. “He'll grow out of it, if nobody shoots him.”

“No,” said Anna, laughing, “I mean, I'm sorry about jumping on him. And I'm really sorry about dumping on you last night. I had no business doing that.”

“You did the right thing,” said Eliot. “He had no business being there.”

“Well, anyway,” said Anna, “the reason I called, besides to say I'm sorry again, is, did you lose some reading glasses?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I did.”

“Horn-rims?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Made in Taiwan?”

“Four ninety-nine at Eckerd Drug.”

“Well,” Anna said, “I haven't seen them.” Eliot laughed.

“No, really,” she said, “I found them in the family room, and I wanted to return them to you.”

“You don't have to do that,” said Eliot. “I mean they're just cheap . . .”

“Really,” she said, “I want to.”

“OK,” Eliot said.

“You're in the Grove, right?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Well, I'm running some errands around there this afternoon, and I thought maybe I could stop by.”

Eliot looked around his small, grimy, unsuccessful-looking office, the most impressive aspect of which was the gazomba woman.

“Well,” he said, “how about, I mean, if you haven't eaten, we could, I mean, we could maybe get something?”

“Are you asking me to lunch?”

“I don't mean to, I mean, if you'd rather . . .”

“Lunch sounds great.”

“Do you know the Taurus?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Is one o'clock OK?”

“One o'clock's perfect.”

“Great! Well, see you then.”

“OK, bye.”

“Bye.”

Eliot hung up and looked at the phone, thinking:
A date! Kind of!

Then he thought:
She's a married woman, and she is simply returning your glasses, and you are a loser.

But that did not stop him from feeling absurdly happy as he locked his door and—taking the back stairs, so as to avoid the building manager—headed for the bank to cash the Client From Hell's check, so he could buy lunch.

HENRY and Leonard met with their Penultimate, Inc. contact at a pricey Brickell Avenue restaurant called Dunley's, which was decorated to look like an exclusive men's club, with lots of oak and fake old paintings. It was popular with business people who wished to impress clients by buying them steaks the size of Shetland ponies.

The Penultimate contact was a man named Luis Rojas, whose title was director of special operations. They sat in a corner, next to a table of four lawyers who were talking loud about golf clubs. Henry and Luis Rojas spoke quietly; Leonard, still woozy from running into the wall, mainly chewed.

“My employer is concerned,” Rojas said to Henry.

“Is that right?” said Henry, cutting off a piece of steak.

“Yes,” said Rojas. “He is very concerned, and he wants to know when you intend to finish this job.”

“I want to know some things, too,” said Henry. “For instance, who is this guy running around with a rifle, and who is this guy jumping on me out of a tree?”

“What guy in a tree?” asked Rojas.

“That's what I'm wondering,” said Henry. “You bring us down here, tell us this is a simple job, just like the other times. In and out, you tell us. No security, you tell us. Next thing I know, I got Geronimo running into the house, and I got Tarzan landing on my head.”

“Plus the woman,” said Leonard, between chews.

“The woman?” asked Rojas.

“Outside, by the wall with Tarzan,” said Leonard. “A woman.”

Rojas thought for a moment.

“Listen,” he said. “Like I told you, my employer is very concerned that you should finish this job. But he is also concerned about who these other people are, why somebody else wants to . . . be involved. So we would like to know anything that you can find out, in addition to doing the job.”

At the next table, the four lawyers were drinking cognac and lighting cigars.

“OK,” said Henry, cutting another piece of steak. “We can do the job, and we can see what we find out about Geronimo and Tarzan. But you tell your employer that, number one, we are gonna need some time, looking around, checking in the trees, you understand? And number two, the price goes up.”

The lawyers were puffing vigorously; a dense cloud of smoke billowed outward from their table.

“How much?” asked Rojas.

“Excuse me,” said Henry, putting down his fork. He rose from his chair, walked over to the next table, and stood there, waiting, until all four lawyers had stopped talking and were looking at him.

“Gentlemen,” said Henry. “Would you mind putting your cigars out?”

The lawyer to Henry's immediate left, Lawyer A, cocked his head and assumed an exaggeratedly quizzical expression, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“I asked you,” said Henry, “if you would mind putting your cigars out.”

“As a matter of fact, I
would
mind,” said Lawyer A. This got smiles from Lawyers B, C, and D.

“The reason I ask,” said Henry, “is, maybe you never thought of this, but when you light those things, everybody else has to smell your smoke. I got a nice New York strip over there, cost me twenty-seven-fifty, and it tastes like I'm eating a cigar.”

“Listen, Ace,” said Lawyer B. “Number one, there's no rule against smoking in this restaurant. And number two, you are
way
outta line.”

“OK,” said Henry, “Number one, my name is not Ace. Number two, I'm not talking about rules, here. I'm talking about
manners.
There's no rule says I can't come over here and fart on your entrée, but I don't do it, because it's bad
manners
. It detracts from your dining experience, you know? I'm just saying, I don't stink up your lunch, you don't need to stink up everybody else's lunch. So, one more time, I'm asking nice, please put out the cigars, OK?”

“Are you serious?” said Lawyer C, across the table.

“Oh yes,” said Henry.

“Un-fucking-believable,” said Lawyer C, to his colleagues. “Do you
believe
this fucking guy?”

“Listen,
Ace,
” said Lawyer D, to Henry. “We're paying customers here, and we happen to like cigars, and if you don't like it, tough shit.”

“That's right,
Ace,
” said Lawyer A. He sucked on his cigar, then, holding the cigar between his thumb and forefinger, turned his mouth toward Henry and blew a long, thick stream of smoke into Henry's face. Henry did not move.

When he was done blowing, Lawyer A said, “So listen, Ace, why don't you
uhhh
. . .”

Lawyer A was unable to finish telling Henry what he should do, because Henry had put his hand on Lawyer A's shoulder and squeezed it. He did not appear to be exerting himself, but Lawyer A had gone rigid.

“Uhhh,”
he said, again.

With his other hand, Henry took Lawyer A's cigar and put it out in his cognac. The other lawyers shifted in their seats, as if preparing to get up and do something, but Henry met their eyes in alphabetical order—B, C, D—and they stayed where they were.

Releasing Lawyer A, who grabbed his shoulder and moaned, Henry walked partway around the table to Lawyer B, who flinched violently as Henry gently but firmly relieved him of his cigar and dropped it into his cognac. At that point, Lawyers C and D put out their cigars unassisted.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Henry.

Lawyer D, who was the farthest away, said, “You realize that you have committed assault.”

“I know,” said Henry, shaking his head. “Time was, you really had to hit somebody.”

Then he went back to his table, sat down, and resumed cutting his steak. “Tell your employer,” he said to Rojas, “it's going to be another ten. Apiece.”

Rojas pretended to think about this, although it was pretty much the figure he already had in mind.

“OK,” he said. “Just keep in mind that my employer wants this finished as soon as possible.”

“Believe me,” said Henry, “we don't wanna stay in this town any longer than we have to.”

“You got
that
right,” said Leonard, between chews.

PUGGY awoke to the sound of the angel's voice.

“Puggy,” the voice was calling, softly.
Pogey.

Puggy rolled onto his stomach and stuck his face over the edge of his platform. There she was, in a blue uniform, looking up. She smiled when she saw his face. She was beautiful. Even from the tree, Puggy could see she had all her teeth.

“I bring you some lunch,” she said.
I breen you son lonch.

Puggy started down the tree, then, as Nina giggled, he scooted back onto the platform and wriggled into his pants. He started down again.

“Hey,” he said, when he reached the ground. He wished he owned a toothbrush.

“For you,” she said, giving him a paper plate with a sandwich on it.

It was turkey on white bread with mayonnaise, lettuce, and sliced tomato. It was the most elaborate meal anybody had ever made for Puggy.

“Thank you for help me,” Nina said.

Puggy looked at the wonderful sandwich—it also had a
folded napkin
—then at Nina.

“Listen,” he said. “I love you.”