The Boy Who Never Grew Up (38 page)

“Did Abel know about this?”

“Abel knew about everything.” She stood up abruptly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have guests.”

“I’m not through.”

“What else is there to talk about?”

“Shambazza. Tell me about him. You knew him.”

“Everybody in the film industry knew him,” she said, parking a lean flank on the desk. “Drug use was totally out in the open until a couple of years ago. Studio executives snorted coke around the conference table. Offered it around like coffee or a cold drink. He supplied them with a lot of it. Also with a lot of the girls they needed. To round out their parties, to cozy up to foreign investors. That was how he made his money. But his real interest was film. He was a serious artist. He wanted to direct. Only none of the studio people would let him. They’d buy his dope, but they wouldn’t give him a job. He begged Norbert for a chance. A lousy TV episode, anything. But Norbert wouldn’t hire him. That made him bitter.” She lowered her eyes. “I loved the man. He was kind and funny and brilliant. We were close once. And then we weren’t. He became so bitter and nasty. He slept around on me. Beat me up. So I got out. I had to.”

“You’ve done all right for yourself, too,” I suggested.

She picked up her drink and finished it. She said no to a refill. Then she said, “Norbert and I understand each other. We’re both survivors. We’re very happy. I know I am.”

“Somebody murdered Shambazza shortly after you left him.”

“Yes. I was sorry when I heard about it.”

“Even though you hated him?”

“I didn’t hate him. I just got out, that’s all. I didn’t want him dead.”

“Who did?”

“He moved huge quantities of dope. That brought him in contact with some very dangerous people. I assumed it was one of them.”

“So did the police.”

She frowned at me. “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I replied.

“What kind of coincidences, dear?” She was putting on the poise and polish again.

“The kind where you dump your bad-ass boyfriend, latch onto a big-league Hollywood power guy, and your bad-ass boyfriend suddenly gets erased. That kind.”

“My background has never been a secret to anyone who knows us,” she said, looking me right in the eye.

“Still, it would have been a teeny bit awkward, wouldn’t it? Having this black drug dealer, this pimp, hanging around. Showing up at inopportune moments. Like tonight, say, with Ronnie and Nancy here. I mean, it would be in such bad taste, wouldn’t it, dear?”

She threw her glass at me. Missed. It hit the wall and shattered.

“I thought you said you didn’t want a refill,” I countered.

She grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray and hurled that at me. Missed again.

“Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

She charged around the desk at me, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just come out and say it, huh?”

“Okay,” I said easily. “I think you killed the guy. Buried him and your past with him.”

She slapped my face. A hard, ringing slap that sounded a lot worse than it felt. It brought Norb—on the run. He stopped in the doorway, barrel chest heaving, heavy fists clenched. He looked at the broken glass. He looked at me. He looked at his wife. “Tell me what he said, honey,” he growled menacingly. Smoke wasn’t coming out of his ears, but it may as well have been.

She brushed past him without answering. Left him there in the doorway glowering at me, his thick neck bulging with blood above the collar of his white shirt. He looked like a man who wanted to murder me with his bare hands. And could.

He closed the door behind him. I guess he didn’t care if people thought we were snorting or fucking in there. That’s clout. He tried to pour himself a brandy, only his hands were shaking so much he couldn’t get it in the glass.

“Want me to do that for you, Norb?”

“What’d you say to my wife, punk? I wanna know.”

I poured his brandy for him and held it out for him. He wouldn’t take it. I put it down, topped off my calvados. “We were just discussing her late friend Shambazza.”

Schlom made a face, as if he’d just smelled something bad. Couldn’t have been me. I was wearing Floris. “What about him?”

“Actually, I should be very cross with you, Norb,” I said, sipping my drink.

He let out a short, harsh laugh. “You’ve got a pair of ’em, kid. I’ll give you that. You sure as hell do. Okay, I’ll bite. How come?”

“You lied to me yesterday. You told me you never heard of Shambazza. Toy says different. She says he begged you to let him direct.”

He stared at me with his malevolent eyes.

“So how come you lied to me, Norb?”

He went over to the writing table, tore off a sheet of crisp, white notepaper, and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. “Because,” he said, popping it into his mouth, “you’re not worth bothering to be honest to.”

“Honesty’s no bother. Honesty’s free.”

“Nothing’s free,” he grunted.

“Bedford Falls certainly isn’t,” I acknowledged. “You
were
honest with me about that. You told me Matthew would have to sell. You told me he’d get the message. I’d certainly call last night an impressive message.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The fire, Norb. What else?”

He rubbed the back of his hand over his fleshy nose. His rat’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a lucky guy, you know that?”

“Not as lucky as I used to be.”

“No, no. You’re lucky. Plenty lucky. Because I got important people here right now. If I didn’t I know just what I’d do with you. I’d take that pig out there off its spit and I’d put you on it and listen to you scream as you turned round and round over that nice, hot open fire. And then when you was good and crisp I’d cut you up into little pieces and feed you to the coyotes. But I can’t do any of that because I got people here.”

“And because you’re a gent.”

“You’re fucking right I am.” He picked up his untouched brandy and downed it in one gulp. Then he whirled and drove his heavy right fist directly into my left kidney. I’d never felt anything quite like it—it was like getting hit by a wrecking ball. My entire body went into spasm, breathing out of the question. As I began to fold up in agony he drove his knee upward into my other kidney. An animal groan came out of me this time. Then he kicked me savagely in the back of my left knee. I went down in a heap, gasping.

“I warned ya,” he snarled. “I told ya you’d piss blood. I warned ya.” For good measure he hocked and spat on me. His saliva landed on my neck and lay there in a slimy blob. I’m still not sure I’ve completely washed it out. He left me there.

I blacked out. I don’t know for how long. Lulu licking my face brought me around. Her breath is more bracing than any spirits of ammonia. I opened my eyes and groaned at her. She yapped, tail thumping. She’s always liked me best when I’m down on her level, slithering along the floor. It took me a good five minutes before I could get up onto my feet, knee pulsing, insides feeling like I’d just gone twelve rounds with a Jeep Cherokee. Then I hobbled out of there, and headed home to the fort.

Shadow wasn’t on the gate. The guard who was told me that Mr. Wax had returned a half hour ago. I found him comfortably sprawled on the Hayes’s living room sofa with his jacket off and his tie loosened, dunking Fig Newtons in a glass of milk and watching an old
Addams Family
, the flashback episode where Gomez and Morticia first meet and she introduces him to her collection of headless dolls.

“Christ, Meat, you look like total shit,” Matthew cried, when I came limping in out of the darkness.

“Don’t kid yourself. I feel like it, too.”

“You’re positively gray. You sick or something?”

I lowered myself slowly into the easy chair, trying not to wince from the pain. Failed, I’m afraid. “Or something.”

Lulu climbed into my lap and gently spread herself across me. Her impersonation of a heating pad. One of her best.

Matthew flicked off the TV. “What happened?”

“I poked a sharp stick around in Norb’s cage to see if I could get a rise out of him.”

“And?”

“And I did.”

Matthew frowned. “Not too smart, Meat.”

“I never claimed to be smart. Just gifted.”

“But what was the point?”

“When people get upset they tend to drop their guard. That’s when they reveal themselves.”

“What did Norbert reveal about himself?”

“A brutal right hand.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“I haven’t been all right for a long time. How’s Bunny?”

“Fine. She just went to bed. Why do you keep asking me about Ma?”

“No particular reason. And how did the reunion go?”

He munched on a Fig Newton thoughtfully. He seemed uncommonly relaxed, much more so than at any time since we’d met. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t stick around long. Mona and me both thought it was kind of boring, so we left.”

“Well, well. You rascal.”

He blushed. “It wasn’t like that, Meat. She wanted to go and I didn’t have any other way of getting home since
you
took the car.”

“Where did you end up? No, wait, let me guess—Malibu Grand Prix.”

His eyes widened. “You followed us?”

“I did not.”

“She drove pretty well once she got the hang of her car. A little tentative, but not bad for a novice.”

“And then?”

“We went to Dupars for pie.”

“How was that?”

“Not as good as it used to be. I don’t think they use real lemon in the meringue anymore.”

“I meant you and Mona.”

“I knew that.” He grinned at me. “Guess I been hanging around with you too much.”

“I have been known to have a negative environmental impact.”

“It was … weird,” he said, turning serious. “She seems like a perfectly nice person, only …”

“Only what, Matthew?”

“All she did was sit there like a lump waiting for me to say something. And when I did she’d agree with it—without ever really understanding what I meant. I really don’t think she
got
anything I said all evening. About myself, my work, anything. It was weird. Like talking to somebody from another planet. I mean, what is that, Meat?”

“They call it dating.”

“I didn’t like it,” he confessed. “I don’t know what I expected, but—”

“You expected the Mona of your imagination—a larger-than-life character named Debbie Dale. That’s not who she is. She’s a nurse with an eight-year-old girl and sore feet. Did you ask her about the time you got pantsed?”

“I sure did,” he replied. “She remembers it, all right. Only not the way I remember it. It’s funny, she thought
I
was pulling a prank on
her.
You know, that it was something I was in on with the other guys. She didn’t realize I was the victim. I guess … I guess everybody thinks they’re the victim.” He loosened his tie and took it off over his head and looked at it. “It really wasn’t any big deal, was it? No big deal at all. And it was so long ago. Seeing all those people tonight made me realize just how long.” He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Meat.”

“About what?”

“You
are
smart.”

“Of course I am. I was just being modest. Makes for a pleasant change of pace.”

“Thanks for pushing me into going.”

“Hey, that’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.”

“So that’s why.”

“Will you be seeing her again?”

“I honestly don’t think so,” he replied earnestly. “She’s a nice person, but we don’t have anything in common.”

“No spark?”

“None. Want to watch the rest of
The Addams Family
with me? It’s a good one.”

“No, thanks. I’m going to hit the hay.” I nudged Lulu. She got down. I was struggling up out of the chair when the phone on the coffee table rang.

Matthew picked it up. “Hello? … Wait, speak up, Johnny. I can’t hear you. … What’s wrong?”

There was another phone on the end table next to me. He pointed to it. I picked up.

Johnny was sobbing. “I’m scared, Matthew. I’m scared. …”

“Why, Johnny?” Matthew said patiently. “Why are you scared?”

“Somebody’s here,” he whispered urgently. “Out in the back yard. I
hear
them. They tried the
door
.”

“Is it locked?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah, but I’m
scared.
Matthew, help me.”

“This is Hoagy, Johnny,” I said. “Call the police. Call them right now. If you’ve got a prowler they’ll get there much raster than we will.”

“No!” gasped Johnny, panicking. “No cops!”

Matthew and I exchanged a plaintive look.

“All right, Johnny,” Matthew said. “Stay put—we’ll be right there.”

“Matthew?” whispered Johnny.

“Yes, Johnny?”

“What’s my attitude?”

“You’re strong,” he told him. “You’re strong because you know you’re going to be okay. Got it?”

“Hurry, Matthew.”

We streaked up La Cienega in the Batmobile, running every red light on the way. It was well past midnight, and Gotham City was tucked in for the night. No cops spotted us. If they had I’m sure they’d merely have saluted and said “Follow us, Batman.” The Caped Crusader was behind the wheel. I played Robin. Lulu was curled up in my lap.

La Cienega ended at Sunset, which took us to Laurel Canyon. Stanley Hills Drive was a few miles up in the hills, a winding road, dark and quiet. Scruffy cottages were tucked behind overgrown hedges. The Badger house was a miniature Spanish castle, with tower. Looked like it was made out of papier-mâché. The lights were on inside. So was the porch light. Johnny’s Harley was parked in the driveway. Matthew pulled in next to it with a screech and jumped out. He got to the front door first—he was moving a lot faster than I was—and rang the bell. Johnny didn’t answer. The door was locked. The front windows were open, the drapes shut. Music was playing inside. Loud.

Matthew pounded on the door. “JOHNNY?!” he called through the window. “IT’S MATTHEW! IT’S OKAY—OPEN UP!”

Nothing. Just the steady thudding of the music.

“What do we do now, Meat?” Matthew wondered anxiously.

There were decorative wrought iron bars on the windows for security. No going in that way.

“We go around back,” I replied.