The Ice Harvest (5 page)

9

H
e pulled into the parking lot of the Sweet Cage for the third time that evening and swung into an empty space next to a battered black Trans Am. There were eight cars in the lot now, topped with varying levels of snowmass.

He glanced into the Trans Am as he moved past it. Thick clouds of gray smoke chugged from the percolating exhaust pipe, the windows were fogged over on the interior, and the whole thing was bobbing up and down and side to side. Christ, he thought, first Trina and Pete, now this. How could anyone screw in a car when it’s this cold?

Inside, Amy Sue was onstage and down to her skimpy blue panties. Fifteen or so spectators, several of them dressed as predicted for church, stared up at her wriggling, skinny torso. Sidney was behind the bar with his overcoat on, speaking to Renata in tones too low for Charlie to pick up. It didn’t look like it was going well for Sidney.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Renata?” Charlie said.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I’m dealing with a problem.” She turned her attention back to Sidney, whose voice in desperation had risen half an octave above its normal timbre.

“Renata, if it was anything but my kids I’d say fuck it, but I gotta go get ’em. My ex’ll have my ass back in court if she hears about any of this.”

“I just don’t understand why you don’t tell the old bitch to go take a flying fuck at the moon.”

“I did,” Sidney said. “She’s still dead-set on the Garden of the Gods.”

“Lousy fucking grandma, if you ask me.”

“Yeah.”

“All right, go. But this counts as your next three nights off.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Renata.” Sidney moved around the bar. “See you, Charlie.”

“Goddamn, I don’t want to tend bar tonight, Charlie. Why do people have kids, anyway? Fucks up everybody’s schedule, not just your own. You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Two.”

“But you don’t let them run your life, do you?”

“Not really. Did Sidney tell you I had something for you?”

“No, he was too busy sniveling about his kids and how he needed to get off early. What is it? A Christmas present?”

“Can we go back into the office?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.” She yelled back into the office. “Anita! Come here and watch the bar for a minute.”

A tall, pretty young black woman in a bright green bikini came out, frowning suspiciously at Renata. She smiled when she saw Charlie. “Hi, Counselor, long time no see.” Anita’s voice was so deep that until the first time he saw her nude onstage he’d suspected that she might have once been a man. “It’s my break,” she said. “Is this gonna take long?”

“Maybe. Quit bitching, all you have to do is pull beers. Come on, Charlie, let’s see what’s keeping you out all night on Christmas Eve. You want a beer?”

“You’re limping, Charlie,” Renata said.

“Army-Navy game in sixty-two. Tore up my knee.”

“Sure you did. Sit.”

The office was tiny, but Renata made a point of moving her chair around and beside the desk instead of behind it. She motioned for Charlie to sit and did so herself, making an elaborate, casual show of crossing her long and muscular legs slowly at the knee, then rhythmically circling her dangling right foot. Beneath her hose she wore a very fine gold anklet, just below the swelling of her delicate right ankle and above the lip of her black pump, and Charlie became intensely conscious of his need to swallow, certain she could hear each dry gulp. “I heard a funny story about you tonight, Charlie.”

“What was that?” He fought the urge to stare at her legs.

“Heard you were waiving stage rentals. Comping dancers’ drinks. Not like you at all.”

He swallowed again. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. What’ve you got for me?”

He reached into his overcoat and withdrew the envelope. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it to her.

She tore open the envelope, took in a sharp breath, and stared back at Charlie. Her jaw had gone slack, her lips just slightly parted. I finally got a rise out of you, he thought, and then she caught herself, clenching her teeth and narrowing her eyes. She held the negative by one sprocketed edge up to a floor lamp. “Christ, there he is. You don’t have a print of this, do you?”

“No, but I’ve seen one and it’s clear as hell. See his left hand, where he’s gripping her wrist? You can see his wedding band, plain as day. You can just about read the fine print on the jar of Vaseline.”

“God, right up Cupcake’s ass.” She squinted. “What’d this cost Bill?”

“Photographer got two-fifty. Cupcake was supposed to get that, but she raised holy hell when she found out he wanted to go in the back way and Bill ended up having to give her four even.”

Renata snorted. “Come on. Like she’s never taken a load up the ass before.”

“Said she’d never done it except for love.”

“Huh. Well, maybe it’s true. Takes all kinds.” She took the shade off the lamp and continued to appraise the negative, squinting against the naked bulb. “I guess my next question is what do you want in return?”

“Nothing. It’s a Christmas present. Gerard isn’t operating in the city limits; he doesn’t need any leverage with the city commission.”

“Come on, Charlie. Gerard’s not running a fucking charity. And I don’t see him or Vic here handing this to me. What’s your angle?”

“No angle.”

“Horseshit.” She sat back, uncrossed her legs, leaned forward with both feet planted on the floor in front of her and her hands on her knees. She studied Charlie for a moment, then leaned back again and recrossed her legs. The sound of nylon brushing across nylon gave him occasion to gulp again. Her legs were a quarter of a shade darker than her bare skin, and he pictured reaching out his hand and touching her knee, resting his hand on it, feeling the cool, sheer nylon and the warm knee beneath. She tilted her head to one side and looked him in the eye as though she’d just noticed him sitting there. “Either you’ve lost your mind or you’re about to skip town.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Had your hand in the till for a while, haven’t you?”

“I gotta get going.” He started to stand.

“Hold on.” She rose faster than he could have and pushed him back down into his chair with one long, slender hand. “I’m going to have to use this right away, and I mean Christmas Day, but afterward I’m going to have to be able to prove to Bill Gerard that I did this in good faith. Write me a letter turning the negative over to me and saying it was Gerard told you to do it.”

Charlie was appalled. “Put it in writing?”

“Gerard’s the only one who’ll ever see it. I’ll be in the clear with him and you’ll be long gone.” She put her hand to the side of his head. “This is very sweet of you, Charlie.” His face burned. She opened her desk and took out a sheet of paper and a pen.

Dear Renata,

Bill Gerard wants you to have this to use at your discretion.

Charlie Arglist

He was seated behind her desk with her standing close behind him, her left breast pressing into his right shoulder blade and her arm around his other shoulder. “That’s good. Short and simple,” she said quietly into his ear. Under the desk he had a half-erection, encumbered only by the fit of his trousers and a monumental exertion of will. She took the first three drafts of the letter and held a disposable lighter to them over the wastebasket as he folded the letter and put it in the envelope with the negative.

“Seems like everybody’s disappearing over at the Tease-O-Rama. I wonder why that is.”

Charlie’s throat constricted a little.

“You about done, Renata?” Anita opened the door and leaned in.

“Just about. Hold your horses.”

“It’s time for me to go on. Amy Sue needs to change, and somebody’s gonna have to tend bar.”

“Where the fuck is Rusti, anyway?”

“Sidney said she took off with some guy when it got slow.”

“Of course she did. All right, I’ll be there in a second. Shit.”

Anita shrugged and backed out.

“What else you got planned for Christmas Eve, Charlie?”

“Nothing.”

“Already seen the kids?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like I owe you something.” She smiled and moved closer.

He squirmed. “I didn’t do this because I wanted something from you,” he began.

“You seem a little nervous, Charlie. Come on, this dirty picture of yours is going to keep my dancers naked and my beer flowing for a long time to come.” She touched his cheek again, lightly scratching his ear with her long nails. “I think that deserves a little something.” She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. “Why don’t you pass back by at two and follow me home.”

“I have to meet somebody at two.” He felt his chest getting tight. He had never heard of anyone going to Renata’s place.

“Too bad. Come on out front and I’ll get you another beer before you go.” He followed her out the office door, the motion of her hips like the ringing of a church bell.

One superfluous beer later he pushed the front door open and stepped from the dry heat of the Sweet Cage into the blowing snow outside. In the middle of the parking lot stood a circle of about half a dozen men, several of them cheer-ing. A couple of them looked back nervously at Charlie. Rusti and Ronny leaned against the Trans Am. Its motor was still rumbling, but the rocking had ceased. Rusti still wore Ronny’s sheepskin coat, and Ronny had a fresh gash on his forehead to complement her shiner, his shirttail hanging out and his belt undone. Charlie moved up to the edge of the crowd.

Sidney had a skinny kid with long blond hair in a down vest and bare arms pinned facedown in the dirty snow of the parking lot, his left arm yanked painfully behind his back. Sidney’s face was so flushed and he was breathing so hard Charlie thought he might be on the verge of passing out. Saliva was dripping from the corner of his mouth and freezing on his face.

“Not my left hand, not my left, fuck, not my left,” the kid begged, his face wet with blood and melted snow.

A man in an orange ski parka and stocking cap turned to Charlie and grinned. “He’s breaking that dude’s fingers.” A loud crack followed closely by a shriek brought the man’s attention back to the central struggle. The boy’s right hand lay limp and badly swollen at his side.

“Charlie!” Rusti ran splay-legged through the snow toward him. “He’s gonna kill him!”

Charlie looked back at Sidney. It seemed possible. “What do you want me to do?” The kid let out a high-pitched wail as Sidney broke another of his fingers.

“Stop him! He’ll stop if you tell him to!”

Charlie stepped forward, past the throng, and knelt down about five feet away from where Sidney was struggling to get a good solid grip on the third finger of the kid’s left hand. “Sidney, as your attorney I’m advising you to let the kid up.”

Sidney gave no indication that he’d heard, nor that he was even conscious of Charlie’s presence. The kid’s eyes met Charlie’s briefly, then looked away in despair.

“It’s assault and battery.” Getting no reaction from Sidney, he tried to come up with what else this was. “Grievous bodily harm. Mayhem. In front of witnesses. You could get in serious trouble for this.”

Sidney glanced up at him. “Seventy percent,” he said, his voice ragged. He winced as he pulled the finger back, failing to produce a crack but eliciting a pitiful howl from the kid. He yanked on it again, harder, and the crack came along with another pained yelp. “Eighty.”

“Are you going to stop after all ten fingers?”

Sidney met his eyes again. “I am unless you think he can learn to play the guitar with his toes.”

As Sidney struggled for a good solid grip on the next finger, Charlie stood and walked over to the Trans Am.

The boy yelled again, to the crowd’s approval. “Can’t you make him stop?” Rusti wailed.

“Just one more to go and then he’ll be done. What happened, anyway?”

“Well, first we went for a ride. Ronny and me? And then we talked and talked about when we were in school and stuff? And Ronny had the biggest crush on me, only I didn’t know it? And we only had like two classes together, chemistry and English, and I didn’t even know who he was? But as we were driving around tonight I, like, realized what a sweet guy he was?”

“Why don’t you skip that part and tell me why Sidney’s breaking that young man’s hands.”

“Oh. Well, we came back here so I could take my shift? Just in case it got busy again? And we were sitting here, talking some more, and one thing kind of led to another. . . .” She reddened, and Ronny pulled her close to him.

“We’re getting married,” he said. She beamed at him.

Charlie tried again. He pointed at Sidney, who was struggling to get hold of the last finger as the crowd began cheering him on. “Rusti, why is that happening over there?”

“Well, next thing we knew Stroke yanked the door open.”

“Stroke?”

“That’s his name. My boyfriend’s name? My ex-boyfriend now, I guess.” She shot a look over at Ronny, who smiled a little. “Anyway, he was trying to pull me out of the car, and screaming and cussing me and making threats, and he hit Ronny in the forehead, and that was when Sidney came out and he pulled him out of the car and dragged him over there and started breaking his fingers.”

“I would’ve kicked his ass myself, only I didn’t have time,” Ronny said. Rusti took his arm and studied him reverently. Her attention was barely diverted by the last agonizing pop and its accompanying cry, this one as much of relief as of pain.

Sidney rose to his feet, then walked unsteadily to the Trans Am. The onlookers began stepping around the prostrate, whimpering Stroke and heading for the Sweet Cage.

Sidney leaned against the car, exhausted. “I don’t ever want that guy around here again. Understand?”

“I understand,” Rusti said.

“Good,” Sidney said. He glared at Ronny and the boy looked away. “You ever try any of that shit on her and you know what’ll happen.” Ronny blanched and nodded, and Sidney gave him a friendly slap on the arm. “Good boy.”

“Sidney, maybe we should get you out of here before the cops show up.”

“Yeah,” Sidney said, his wind gradually returning. “I gotta get over and pick up the kids anyway. Shit, I’m getting out of shape.” He nodded in the direction of the front door. “Rusti, you’d better get in there and take your shift. It’s down to Anita and Amy Sue, and Renata’s pissed.”