Off Season (26 page)

Joey paused and pretended to be opening the door of a car. He was very good at blending into a background. He wasn't really doing anything, but he looked like he belonged there. No one would have looked at him twice or remembered him if they had.

After a few minutes, a woman—Shrink's receptionist, I guessed—came out the front door of the office, looked back and called, “Merry Christmas, Doctor!”, and walked away down the street.

Joey waited five minutes, then crossed the street to the house. I got out of the Land Cruiser and walked across, too. I watched him press the bell at the front door of Shrink's house, and got to him just as Shrink opened the door.

Joey looked at me. His hands were in his pockets.

“Hi, Joey,” I said.

“What is it?” asked Shrink, looking at us. “Hello. Jackson, isn't it? I got your message. In fact, I just phoned you. I'm afraid my office hours are over, gentlemen . . .”

Joey Percell looked at me. “This is none of your business. Get lost or I'll lose you.”

“We outnumber you, Joey, so don't get snotty.”

“What's going on here?” asked Shrink, uneasily.

Joey kept his eyes on me. “This clown with the glasses don't count. There's just you and me, bucko, and there's more of me than you. So fuck off.” He took his hands from his pockets. He was wearing more of his favorite leaded gloves.

“You can give Shrink your message, Joey. We won't try to stop you. But keep your hands to yourself or we will.”

Joey flicked his hard eyes up the street. He wanted to look behind him, but he didn't dare turn his back to me.

“All right, what's going on here?” asked Shrink in a semi-firm voice. “What do you men want?”

“We? We who? We where?” Joey's voice was like a rusty knife.

“We,” I said. “Me and Smith and Wesson. Right here.” I wiggled the pistol in my jacket pocket. “it's three to one, Joey. Not good odds. Why don't you give Dr. Williams your message and then we'll go down to the boat and you can go back to your wife and kiddies so you can all be together when you open your presents Christmas morning.” I glanced at Shrink. “This is the guy I wanted to tell you about when I called. His name is Joey Percell, and he works for some big-time hoods over in Providence. He's a messenger. Give him the message, Joey, but put your hands in your pockets first.”

Joey stared at me, then put his hands in his pockets. His eyes were thin and flat. He looked at Shrink.

“Break off from Phyllis Manwaring. You gotta have some ass, get it somewhere else. You don't break it off, we cut off your balls and shove them down your fucking throat. And you keep your mouth shut about her and you. You don't, and we take out your fucking tongue.”

“What . . .? What . . .?” Shrink was stunned.

“He means it, Shrink,” I said. “I don't know if it's good advice, but it comes from his boss's heart.”

“Now, see here . . .” said Shrink.

“Think about it,” I said. “No tongue, your balls down your throat. Not a good way to live. All right, Joey, I think that's all you have to say. Let's walk downtown. Goodnight, Doctor.”

“Now, wait just a moment . . .” said Shrink.

The sun had gone down. Joey Percell was exhaling little puffs of steam in the cold, midwinter air. He looked like some sort of demon. “I'll get you for this,” he said to me. “This is twice you've fucked with me. Nobody fucks with me twice.”

“If you don't start walking,” I said, “I'm going to put six into you right here.”

“I'll kill you for this,” he said.

“Walk.”

He turned and walked down the street. I walked behind him. At the foot of the street we took a right and walked past the library. We walked until we got downtown, then turned left and walked down to the ferry dock. The five o'clock ferry was loading.

“Stop, Joey,” I said. He stopped and turned to face me. His eyes were hooded and cold.

“You got your ticket, Joey?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“You have a hard time doing things right on this island, Joey. I don't think it's your kind of place. I think you'll be better off if you never come back.”

“You're going to wish you'd never been born.”

“You're going to miss your boat.”

He turned and walked up the gangway. I waited till the boat pulled out, then walked back to the Land Cruiser and drove home.

I have two showers at my house, one indoors and one outdoors. The outdoor one is the shower of
choice, but not at this time of year. I showered and shaved, taking my time and wondering if maybe this year I should grow some hair on my face. A handlebar moustache, maybe, or maybe a Vandyke. I put my comb under my nose. The Charlie Chaplin look. Nah.

I got into a green turtleneck, matching green thrift shop pants and my red thrift shop sport coat. Some guy my size had decided to live a less colorful life just as I had decided to live a more colorful one. Another example of God's mysterious master plan.

I drove to West Tisbury and picked up Zee, who, naturally, was looking splendid. She was wearing a pale wool dress which contrasted nicely with her long, black hair. She wore a red, green and silver pin over her left breast, and looked like one of Santa's favorite fantasies.

We kissed and went off to church. I don't go to church too often, so I was interested, as usual, in the architecture of the place. I thought that it might be nice to convert a church into a house. You'd have to use a little imagination, but it could really be neat. I suggested this to Zee.

“A church is supposed to be a spiritual place,” said Zee. “You're not the spiritual type most of the time.”

“I'm more spiritual than most people think,” I said. “Why, I bet that I'm at least as spiritual as . . . let's see . . .”

Just then, the singers and musicians entered and took their places. I recognized Mary Coffin and Hazel Fine. They were wearing long gowns and looked quite splendid, as, in fact, did their fellow singers and musicians.

The program was called
Christmas Through the Ages.
It began with Gregorian chants, continued with Christmas music from the early, baroque, and classical
periods, and concluded with traditional popular carols sung by both the singers and the audience. I have my complaints about Christianity, but I have to give it credit for having inspired some of the loveliest music I've ever heard.

When it was over, we walked out into the cold winter night, arm in arm. All around us people leaving the church seemed happy and gentle.

“I love Christmas,” said Zee, “and I love you too.”

“it's because Christmas is a spiritual season and I'm a spiritual person,” I said. “Why, I bet I'm at least as spiritual as . . .”

“Good evening,” said Mary Coffin. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

“I like the way you asked them that, dear,” said Hazel Fine. “Now, of course, they must say that they did, or else run the risk of offending us.”

“We loved it,” said Zee.

I introduced her to them and them to her.

“Have you time to join us for some Christmas punch?” asked Mary.

“Yes.”

So we went to their house and found ourselves mixing with the rest of the singers and musicians and other members of the audience.

Someone had taped the performance, and it was playing as background music. The punch was laced with at least two kinds of rum, and hit the spot.

Zee, being the most beautiful woman there, as usual, had attracted the attentions of several men, and was talking to two or three of them when Hazel floated up to me.

“Have you solved your crime, Mr. Jackson?”

“it's not exactly my crime.”

“But have you solved it?”

“Let's say I'm no longer trying to solve it.”

“You're an evasive fellow. Has justice been served?”

“I think so. I really did like your performance tonight.”

“And I think your fiancée is stunning.”

We smiled at each other. “I'm giving her two kittens for Christmas,” I said.

“Perfect,” said Hazel. She lifted her cup and touched it to mine. “Happy holidays.”

It was the day before Christmas, and Ignacio Cortez was a nervous wreck. His two kittens, on the other hand, were feeling good, as they tore after each other through my house.

“Do you think I should wear a jacket and tie? Or maybe even my suit? Or should I just look normal? I mean, you know, wear an ordinary shirt and pants like I usually wear? What time are you going over to Mimi's place? When do you think I should show up?”

It was midmorning, and I was fixing us some pre-Christmas cheer: rum in warm cider. It would warm me up and quiet him down. I gave him his cup.

“It won't hurt you to wear a tie. That way Mimi will know you come in peace. The important thing is for you to keep from making wisecracks.”

“What do you mean? What wisecracks?”

“I mean, no remarks about how come she's got reindeer decorations when you'd think that anybody who's an animal rights person must know that Santa is
ruthlessly exploiting his little deer by making them pull his sleigh. And no remarks about Rudolph's nose and him being another case of animal forced labor. That sort of thing.”

“Say,” said Nash, his eyes lighting up. “That's pretty good. I never thought about that.”

“Well, don't think about it now, either. And no comments about her food. It'll all be vegetarian stuff. No talk about turkey, or Tiny Tim and his Christmas goose, or about roast beef. You watch your tongue, you might get invited to stay awhile.”

“Okay, okay.” Nash drank his cider. “You really think this will work? I tell you, J.W., I'm nervous as a cat in a dog pound.”

“Relax. it's going to be fine,” I said, wondering if it was. “Let's go over it again. Are you sure you have room for the cat boxes in your pickup?”

“Sure. Plenty of room.”

“Make sure you warm up the cab before you put them in.”

“No problem.”

“And don't forget you have to bring their litter box and litter and dishes and kitten food. I'll have it all ready here for you to pick up.”

It was a gray day, but not cold. There was still a bit of snow on the ground and some hope of more tomorrow. I like to have some symbolic snow falling on Christmas morning. It makes me feel as I did when I was a little kid, when my father and my sister and I opened our few presents and were happy together.

“You show up at Mimi's at five-thirty,” I said. “I'll already be there.”

“Make sure you are,” said Nash. “Maybe I ought to bring some candy, too.”

“Candy can't hurt a bit.”

“Flowers, too?”

“it's a good idea, but this is Sunday, so I don't know where you'd find them. I think the kittens will do the job all by themselves.”

“Oh, yeah.” Nash nodded, then quickly pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch. “Say, I'd better go to Mass! I'm going to be late!” He tossed down his cider and headed out the door. “See you later!”

I put on a tape of the Harry Simeone Chorale singing carols, including the one about the little drummer boy, and let the music fill the house.

I took my Christmas dinner goose out of the freezer so it could thaw, put some scallops in a marinade made out of yogurt and tikka paste, then started four loaves of Betty Crocker's white bread and set them to rise. In the afternoon I made a steamed pudding in the old metal form my mother's mother had once owned, and made up a ball of Aunt Elsie's never fail piecrust to be used tomorrow when I made the apple and pecan pies. I put the ball of potential crust in the fridge, then I baked the bread and, except for the half a loaf I immediately ate, and the bit I fed to the kittens, set the loaves to cool. While all this was happening, I had a few more cups of spiked cider.

Fat city!

I captured the kittens and put them in their boxes, then stacked the litter, litter box, dishes and food beside them.

Time for Zee to arrive. Time, too, to go to Mimi's. I phoned ahead to see if it was okay. Angie answered the phone. There was a lot of noise in the background.

“Everybody's here,” said Angie. “Ted and me, and my sister and her husband and their kids are down from the mainland. Mom is happy as a cloud in a blue sky. Come on by.”

I hung up as Zee arrived. I told her I was going to
Mimi's and that I'd be back at six, about the marinading scallops I planned to have for supper and that Nash Cortez would be coming by in a little while to pick up the kittens and kitten gear.

“Is Angie over there?”

I'd hoped that she wouldn't ask. My voice sounded abrupt. “Yes. And Just Ted, too. And her sister and her family. And Mimi. And maybe somebody else I don't know about. Do you want to come with me?”

“No. Why should I?” She took off her coat.

“So you can keep an eye on us.” I was irked.

She tossed the coat onto the couch. “No. You go on.”

My jaws felt tight. I got the bottle of wine I was giving Mimi for Christmas and went out. I was glad to feel the chill air against my face. I wondered if Angie's name was always going to do this to Zee and me.

I drove through the darkness to Mimi's house. It was ablaze with light, and there were two extra cars in the yard. I recognized Just Ted's.

I knocked on the door and was welcomed with kisses from Angie and Mimi. Someone took my wine bottle and put it under the tree. I shook hands with Just Ted and the visitors from the mainland, and met Mimi's three grandchildren. The house had that filled, happy feeling that comes when a family that likes itself has gathered. There were cookies and a punch bowl on the table, and wine and liquor bottles on a chest that had become a bar. The punch bowl held a mixture of fruit juices and soda water, and was popular with both the children and their parents. Just Ted and Angie had opted for stronger stuff. I joined them, then followed Mimi into the kitchen. She was busy stirring this and that and peeking into the oven. The room smelled wonderful.