Paradise Man (19 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“I heard something. About you and Paul.”

“Sidney, don’t duel with me, please. What did you hear?”

“That you kissed him at a banquet, at a government ball. That he kept a room for you at the Algonquin. That you married Rex and made love to his dad.”

“It’s not as—”

“Did you kiss him behind the curtain, or not?”

“Is that all you care about? The yes or no of a kiss?”

“Well, it’d be a start. I’d have a piece of information.”

“Yes. I kissed him behind the curtain.”

“At a thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner? In front of all the pols?”

“I can’t say who was watching, and I don’t care. We kissed.”

“And that’s why Paul grabbed me off the street. It wasn’t politics and it wasn’t ballet. He wanted you.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants. I’m here. With you.”

“But I’m not your black knight. And I never played chess. I know Paul. He’ll try to get me bumped.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“Dare? He’s the district attorney. He can dare day and night. How did it start? ... you and him?”

“I told you. We went to the ballet. He’d lost his wife. He was lonely. Rex wasn’t around. Paul was gentle with me. We didn’t kiss for months and months. He barely held my hand. We’d talk for hours ... and then he kissed me one night. He was trembling. It was like his body had started to scream. I’d never sensed that in a man. And I didn’t care if he was my father-in-law or not.”

“How long did it go on?”

“Years,” she said.

It was like Carmen’s hammer all over again, a knock in the head. “Years?” And Holden had a thought. “Did Red Mike ever see you and Paul together?”

“Once. At a restaurant in Brooklyn. Gage & Tollner. Paul liked it because it was near the federal courthouse. And Michael came in. He stopped at the table and looked at me ... that’s all.”

“And that look cost him his life,” Holden said.

“I couldn’t stop him from looking, Sidney.”

“It’s like a big ballet. And Paul is the director of it, moving bodies everywhere. Some of the bodies are alive and some are dead.”

“But I didn’t ask Michael to pull me into his car and ride me out of Manhattan under a rug. I was going to my dentist, for God’s sake.”

“But tell me, dear. Did you look back at Michael in the restaurant?”

“A little. He brought me a flower from another table. He smiled. That was it.”

“Jesus. I can’t say who was the trigger and who was the gun. Paul has to get rid of Mike, because Mike is a threat to the Cuban machine. He can arrest the simple son of a bitch, but Mike would go to his lawyers and dance right out of court. So he picks at Mike’s family, gets him mad, and what else can Mike do? He’s probably half in love with you by now ... what kind of flower was it at the restaurant? A white rose?”

“It could have been. I can’t remember.”

“You remember,” Holden said.

“Yes. It was a white rose.”

“I grew up with Mike. I know his habits. He wouldn’t go courting without a white rose.”

Holden turned silent and the telephone rang. The bell startled him, because this telephone wasn’t meant to ring. He’d installed it under the name of Lucky Jack Lohrke, another ballplayer his father had loved. Fay went to the phone.

“Don’t touch it,” he said. “Let it ring.”

“Suppose it’s important. Life and death.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let it ring.”

They sat there while the bell sounded ten or eleven times. “Fay, did you give the number to anybody? I mean, the butcher, or somebody like that.”

She wouldn’t answer him. The phone stopped ringing and started again. Holden felt trapped by the bell. It could have been the noise of his own existence. He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

He heard that familiar static of France.

“Holden, are you there? ... don’t play possum. This is costing me money.”

“I wouldn’t irritate your pocketbook, Swiss. How are you?”

“That’s not the question. You’ve been doing damage, Holden. I don’t think we can afford you much longer.”

“It’s funny, Swiss. I was thinking the same about you.”

“I’m quite sure of that. But you’re a little leaguer, Holden. You have no sense of structure without us. Aladdin made you.”

“I made Aladdin too. How did you get my number, Swiss?”

“Who else would have a listing under Lucky Jack Lohrke? Your father worked for me, Holden. I haven’t forgotten any of his passions. Baseball. Women. Wine. You’ve disturbed our Cuban friends. That wasn’t nice.”

“Swiss, I’ll be flying to Paris one day soon. Watch for me.”

“I will. But before you get to Paris, I’d like you to sit down with Don Edmundo.”

“Why? So he can turn me into cat food.”

“Don’t be morbid, Holden. Meet with him. At the office. Bring a dozen bodyguards. ’Mundo doesn’t mind. Tomorrow, Holden. Tomorrow at ten.”

And the Swisser rang off, leaving Holden as he always did, with a dead wire in his hand.

H
OLDEN BROUGHT THE LEOPARD
girl under his own blanket, and she slept with him and Fay. He could have gone with them to another mattress pad, but the telephone would ring, and he’d have to chat with Swiss in the middle of the night. He put a couch in front of the door, screwed down the window guards, and got into bed with his Beretta Minx.

He woke to the clutter of Santa Barbara in the kitchen with his darling. They were frying bacon together, singing songs like a couple of grandmas who’d been together fifty years. It’s women, Holden muttered. They get along without men. All he needed was Andrushka on the other side of the kitchen table, and he’d have a regular chorus.

The two women insisted that he eat in bed.

“Hey, hey, I’m on the go.”

But they wrestled him into the blankets and Holden started to laugh until he remembered Paul Abruzzi. His face went dark. He felt miserable. His darling was everybody’s catch, like some chicken of the sea. He chewed his breakfast, watched the two women, got into one of Goldie’s velvet jobs, and then decided to dress Santa Barbara and bring her to his office. She was safe around Holden. How could he trust that darling of his after what he’d learned about Paul? He stood near the door, kissed Fay and hugged her, his jaw twitching half the time.

“When will I see you, Holden?” she asked.

His name sounded broken to him, after she’d started calling him Sidney. But he didn’t answer. He walked down the stairs with Santa Barbara and traveled north to the fur market. Aladdin was filled with Edmundo’s men. They picked their teeth around the nailers and cutters, stared at Nick Tiel’s dummies, but they all turned to look at Holden and the
santita.
Some strange carpenters were with them, wearing blue hats and pants rolled up to their knees; not one carpenter had socks or shoes that matched. They were sanding the edges of an enormous wooden box. Holden had never seen a crate like that at Aladdin. It could have housed oranges, furs, or a dead man.

The carpenters were shy around the
santita.
They took off their hats. But she wouldn’t flirt with them. She held Holden’s hand. He went into his office and waited with the
santita.
Don Edmundo knocked on Holden’s door and wouldn’t come in until Holden said so. The Batista babies had unbelievable manners. They were grandees in a fur market that thrived on oils and fats and specific delicatessens. Edmundo didn’t have Holden’s tailor, but he liked to wear suits from Saville Row. He was bald, with a big round head. He’d earned his bones at the Bay of Pigs, the mysterious soldier who sat in Castro’s jails until he was ransomed with American medical supplies.

“Ah, you brought the
santita
,” Don Edmundo said. “That’s kind.”

“She’s not for you.”

“But I could steal her, Holden. What would ever stop me?”

“Swiss. He said I could bring as many bodyguards as I wanted.”

“So she’s your bodyguard. You’ve chosen well ... I have no need for her now.”

“Why’s that, ’Mundo? You went to an awful lot of bother killing someone I loved to get the little girl.”

The grandee blew on his fingers, opened the door, and pointed to the carpenters and the wooden box. “Have a look, Holden ... come on.” Holden walked out among the carpenters, who shoved back the lid of the box. Huevo was lying in a bed of straw. La Familia had built him his own manger. He had marks under his eyes. His lips were puffy. It seemed to Holden that someone had taken a bite out of his face.

“It’s finished,” Edmundo said. “Our game with Big Balls. He got careless. He abandoned all his nests and went looking for the
santita
in Riverdale. But he wasn’t as lucky as you. He got lost with a hook in his head.”

Holden felt a body flit around his arm. Santa Barbara had come out of his office. She had to stand on her toes to see inside the box. There was no alarm in her eyes, no loss. The man in the manger could have been a shipment of minks.

He returned to the office with the little girl. It was Holden who raged, who wanted to hurl Edmundo into the straw. “Beautiful. My stepmother gets killed, you grab the
santita
, and Huevo falls into your lap.”

“Stepmother?” the grandee said. “I never knew your dad had married Mrs. Howard.”

“They didn’t have to marry. She was around long enough to qualify.”

“But I didn’t ask Jeremías to hurt Mrs. Howard. Only to take the
santita.
”

“You’re a liar,” Holden said.

Edmundo scratched his chin. “I could have your tongue cut off. But I like you. I always did. That’s the reason you’re still alive. You remind me of a monk. You have your craft ... and no family, nothing.”

“Your whole family stinks,” Holden said.

Edmundo scratched and scratched until his jaw turned red. “Yes, I had the woman killed. And your Brooklyn chauffeur. And Jeremías marked her face, so you’d think the Marielitas had done the job. But I told Jeremías it was futile. You’d smell Gottlieb behind it. And I took a risk. Because Gottlieb was a perfect spy. But now he’s not so perfect and he’ll have to suffer.”

“You didn’t want the Parrot, did you?”

“What? We were talking about your whore.”

“Someone must have tipped you that the Parrot was holding the little girl. And you had me grab her for you, like some kind of a dummy. You knew Huevo would come after me, and that was good for business, because he wouldn’t burn so many of your betting parlors. You were hoping I’d bump him in the end. But it didn’t happen.”

“Holden, I would never have trusted the
santita
with you. She was much too important. And a man like you has to see conspiracies everywhere he goes. It’s your craft, and your craft is killing you. But you took Jeremías, and I have to get even. Give me your whore, and everything will be all right between us, Holden. I have to have him. As payment for Jeremías. How can I let Jeremías go unavenged like a dog? He was with me twenty-five years.”

“You can’t have Gottlieb. He belongs to me.”

“But he’s worthless. He betrayed you, Holden.”

“It doesn’t matter. Gottlieb is mine.”

“I’ll catch him,” Edmundo said. “You don’t gain by not giving him up. And what should I tell my family? That the paradise man would rather die than be without his whore? They won’t consider it funny. Holden, I cried when I saw what you did to Jeremías’ neck. When Big Balls kidnapped him, I paid whatever was asked. I can’t desert him only because he’s dead. If you’re not a gentleman, it’s out of my hands.”

The grandee called in his men. Tridents dropped out of their sleeves, silver prongs, like the haberdashery of a pirate. All Holden could think about were the scratches on Mrs. Howard’s face. He felt a fist tighten in his hand. He’d forgotten about the
santita.
She whirled in front of him, faced Edmundo’s men, hissed in that Creole tongue of hers, shut her eyes, and the Bandidos grew forlorn.

Edmundo appealed to one of his lieutenants, called Arthur, a grandee like himself, who hadn’t come out of Mariel with a flotilla of convicts. “Arthur, she’s just a little girl ... what can she do to us? Take her from Holden.”

Arthur moved deeper into Holden’s office, and Holden had his chance. He grabbed one of the tridents and tickled Arthur’s throat with a silver prong. “ ’Mundo, I want you and your army out of my life.”

“Let Arthur go.”

“And I get a hook in the head, like Big Balls. No thanks. I’ll kill him first.”

“What will you accomplish? If you hurt him, Holden, my men will hurt you.”

“I’m not so sure of that. They’re in love with the
santita.
”

The little girl swayed with her eyes closed, and the Bandidos began to shiver. Holden had never seen a bunch of murderers behave like that. “
Santita
,” they said. She opened her leopard’s eyes and the Bandidos marched out of the office, staring at the grandees, who were alone with the bumper and the little girl.

“I could avenge Huevo,” Holden said. “I’m wearing the hook ... get out of my office.”

The two grandees left, and Holden had a problem. How could he question a saint? She seemed normal again. A girl in need of a doll. She took Holden’s hand. “
Santita
,” he said, because he didn’t know who she was or where she’d come from. Oyá must have possessed the little girl Holden had found at the Parrot’s feet.

La Familia was gone. The murderers and the grandees had fled from Aladdin, with the carpenters and their crate. Holden tossed the trident into a garbage barrel and shoved around Nick Tiel’s cutters and nailers with the little girl. The designing room wasn’t locked. Holden entered Nick Tiel’s little kingdom. Nick was scribbling numbers on a paper sleeve. He hardly noticed the paradise man.

“How are you, Nicky?”

Nick Tiel looked up. His eyes focused on the tiny fist in Holden’s hand. “I’m fine, Holden. Fine.”

The son of a bitch is still in a designer’s dream, Holden muttered to himself. He let go of the
santita
’s fist long enough to gather up Nick’s notes. Nick stood in the corner with a crayon in his hand. Holden swiped the paper sleeve. He rolled up Nick’s designs and carried them under his arm. “You’re out of business, Nick. Swiss has your prelims, but they don’t mean all that much. You’ll never be able to duplicate what you have in time for the Paris show. You’re too fucking meticulous.”