“Was the guy, when he came back, did he look wet?”
“Wet? Why would he be wet?”
“He didn’t say anything at all?”
“Nothing, not a word, he just stood there. Bertie yelled at him and then the other guy got into it.”
“Crispin?”
“Crispeen. Those little arrogant guys love to yell. I did look up at the top floor when they were yelling. I knew you were okay, but where were you? The colonel, he started touching me then, running his hand up my arm, telling me what a wonderful time we’re gonna have. Jack, I had to get out of there. I said, ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, but I can’t go out with you.’ He said, ‘But why?’ I said, ’Cause you’re too fucking short,’ and left.”
Turning out of the lot toward Canal Street Jack said, “Did the guy’s hair look wet?”
They had a drink at Mandina’s while he told her about the Indian, Franklin de Dios, coming into the room. Then he had to tell her about the colonel raising funds, that much. He’d tell her the rest in a quiet place. They left the car at Mandina’s and walked. She asked him where they were going; he said, wait.
When they came to Mullen & Sons Helene said, “Oh, no, uh-unh. I’m not going in there at night. Are you kidding?” She looked up at the gray turreted shape in the streetlight and said, “It used to be someone’s home, didn’t it?”
She stood in the lighted front hall, not moving, while Jack looked in the visitation rooms. He came back to her shaking his head, took her arm as they moved toward the stairway and she said it again, “Oh, no, uh-unh.”
“If I’m not here and there’s a body, Leo gets somebody in. You know what I’m talking about? He calls a security service and they send a guy over.”
“Jack, I don’t want to see a dead person.”
They were in the upstairs hall. “There aren’t any here. I’ll show you.” He reached into a doorway and turned on the light. “This’s the embalming room. If there was a body it’d be laying on that table.”
“Oh, my God,” Helene said. She didn’t move. “What’s that thing?”
“That’s the embalming machine.”
“Porti-Boy? Oh, my God… How does it work?”
“Come on.” He turned the light off and took her down the hall to his apartment.
“What’s this?”
“Where I’ve been living the past three years.”
“Gee, it’s nice, Jack. Who’s your decorator?”
He said, “Helene, I was in a bathroom with a guy that thought I was gonna kill him. Try to imagine something like that. He didn’t cry, he didn’t say please don’t… It was the same guy yesterday at the restaurant. You were there.”
“I must’ve left just before.”
“Well, it was the same guy. He’s standing there in the bathroom, he thinks I’m gonna shoot him, and he asks me if I want his shoes. Can you tell me what kind of a guy would say that?”
Helene didn’t answer. She watched him get a bottle of vodka from the refrigerator that stood in the barely furnished room; she sat with him in the old sofa that used to be downstairs and didn’t say anything, not a word, until he had told her everything that had happened from the trip to Carville on Sunday until this Tuesday evening at the St. Louis Hotel.
She said, “I think you’ve left out a few things.”
“I might’ve, I don’t know.”
Helene sat curled in the sofa, facing him. “You stayed at her house last night?”
“All three of us did.”
“Yeah…”
“I told you, the guy saw us in the restaurant and he knows where she lives. We thought he might come around.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. Then I run into him again, tonight. He knows who I am. This’s the third or fourth time he’s seen me, we’re getting to know each other. But he didn’t tell the colonel or Crispin, Crispeen. He could’ve told them later, but-no, he catches me in the room? Shit, he’d have told them right away. But he didn’t… Why?”
“Where did you sleep?”
“What?”
“Last night, at her house. Where did you sleep?”
“In a bed, where do you think? That house, there nine, ten bedrooms upstairs.”
“Who with?”
“Roy and Cullen had a room and I had a room… What, you think I sneaked in her room during the night?”
“She could’ve come to yours.”
Jack took his time. “As a matter of fact, she did. She wanted to talk.”
“She get in bed with you?”
“She sat on the edge. You know, on the side.”
“Hey, Jack? Bullshit.”
“It isn’t like what you think. She’s a dedicated person.”
“You mean dedicated people don’t get it on?”
“I mean I really don’t know, since this’s my first experience with people who give a shit about anything outside of themselves.”
“She probably calls it going all the way.”
“Helene, she’s not like a nun that teaches third grade, she spent nine years taking care of lepers. Now she’s got a gun. I asked her if she’d be willing to use it. She said it isn’t something you plan. But if she’d had a gun when the colonel murdered the lepers there’s no doubt in her mind she would’ve tried to kill him. Even knowing his men would shoot her on the spot.”
“Maybe,” Helene said, “she wants to be a martyr. I mean a real one, go straight to heaven.”
“You think you’re kidding, she might go for that.”
“I wasn’t kidding.”
“But she isn’t a fanatic. She might sound a little strange sometimes, but she knows what’s going on, she’s very aware of things. She says you have to take sides, make a commitment, and then, I don’t know, whatever happens happens. Like the guy in the bathroom, the Indian. He’s on the other side. He’s willing to kill, but he’s also willing to die for whatever it is he believes in. He sees it coming and accepts it, Jesus, didn’t kick or scream or anything.”
Helene handed him her empty glass. “Why are you telling me all this, Jack? Why haven’t you called Lucy or one of your buddies?”
“I’ll see ’em tomorrow.”
“I think you want to hear yourself,” Helene said. “Hear what it sounds like out loud.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re not telling it to impress me. Like the first time, when we met and you were dying to tell somebody about your secret life. This is a lot different.”
“You bet it is. These guys are awake.”
“But you’re in it for more than the money, or the excitement.”
“I don’t know…” Jack got up, went to the refrigerator with their glasses, poured a couple more ice-cold vodkas, and then stood there, holding them. “On the news this evening, I look up, there was Tom Brokaw asking Richard Nixon, for Christ sake, what he thought about our giving the contras a hundred million dollars. Asking Nixon, who used to have this gang of burglars working for him and didn’t do one fucking day of time. Nixon says, sure, they need our help. Brokaw says, but couldn’t that lead to our military involvement down there? Nixon says, no, it will prevent having to send our young men later. And Brokaw says, ‘Thank you, Mr. President.’ He doesn’t say, ‘Are you out of your fucking mind? Why would we send our young men? You want to go, go ahead. And take all those asshole advisers in the White House with you.’ No, Brokaw says, ‘Thank you, Mr. President.’ ”
“What else’s he gonna say?”
“I know, but I got mad. Asking that fucking crook his opinion. He didn’t even do trash time in a country-club joint.”
Helene said, “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’ve taken sides.”
Jack opened his eyes to a sight that, fantasized, could carry a convict through the day and into the night: Helene coming out of the bathroom in just her tiny little panties. He told her she better get back in bed, quick, before she caught cold.
“You’re suppose to pick somebody up at ten?”
“Cullen. We’re going to Gulfport.”
“I thought you went yesterday.”
“We did, but the guy wasn’t there. Here.” He raised the sheet.
“It’s twenty to.” She began doing a twisting exercise, feet apart, hands on her hips, her breasts a half beat behind her shoulders. “You realize we didn’t make love? We fell asleep? I don’t believe it. I think you’re getting old, Jack.”