Tears of rage started coming out of her eyes. I felt my strength leaving me, as if someone had blowgunned me with a curare dart.
“WELL GOD DAMN IT ALL! YOU’D THINK THAT NOTHING IN THIS WORLD EVER GETS TO YOU!!”
“You’re wrong,” I said.
“WELL, THEN, WHAT DOES? TELL ME WHAT GETS TO YOU!”
I looked away.
“Are we going to spend the night here?” I asked.
12
Two days later the cops took her away. I wasn’t there when they came. I was with Eddie. It was a Sunday afternoon and we were crisscrossing the town looking for olives-almost all the stores were closed. We had noticed only the night before that we were out-it seemed that Mario had committed a slight act of omission when he sent in his order for the kitchen. He’s got his gig down, Eddie explained, but you can’t ask him for the moon. It was windy that day-not more than thirty-four or thirty-five degrees. The temperature had gone down all at once.
We were taking our time. Eddie drove slowly. It was a nice little joyride under an icy sun. I felt very relaxed for no reason in particular. Maybe going back and forth all over town in pursuit of a handful of olives made for a great time-if only for the peace that came over my soul, like a light blanket of snow over a field of dead men.
We finally found what we were looking for in Chinatown-no joke-and to make it even better they gave us each a glass of sake, to insure a nonfrozen return to the car. On the way back we talked a bit louder. Eddie was wound up. His ears were red.
“You see, buddy boy, a pizza without olives is like a peanut with nobody inside!”
“Watch the road, will you?” I said.
We parked in front of the house. I had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when I saw Lisa running toward us. We literally froze in our tracks. All she had on was a light sweater. She grabbed me.
“My God, I don’t know what this is all… they took her…” she sobbed.
“What’s going on? What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Two cops… they came and took her away…”
I bit my lip. Eddie was looking at us over the roof of the car. He wasn’t laughing. Lisa was turned inside out; her teeth were chattering. The sun faded.
“All right, let’s talk about this inside. You’ll die of cold if you stay out here like this.”
An hour later, after a brief discussion and a few phone calls, I had all the data. I drank a grog and put my jacket back on.
“I’ll go with you,” Eddie said.
“Thanks, no,” I said.
“Okay, well at least take the car.”
“No, it’ll do me good to walk. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”
I left. It wasn’t very late, but night had already fallen. I walked fast-hands in pockets, head tucked between my shoulders. The streets had turned into a string of ugly lights. I knew the way. I had fixed a toilet tank in the building next door. I remember I hadn’t liked having to walk past the police station with my tool box slung over my shoulder-I’d had the feeling they were watching me.
I hadn’t even made it halfway when I got hit with a terrible pain in my side. It made my eyes blink and my mouth drop open-I felt like I was going to keel over. I stopped to breathe for a second. Great, I thought, as if the shit isn’t already deep enough. What had me most worried, though, was this business of pressing charges. The cop on the phone had told me that we were in for “some trouble.” I went the rest of the way doubled over, my brain burning. I wondered what “some trouble” meant to a cop. Passersby were puffing out little clouds of steam and so was I-at least one small sign that we all were still alive.
Just before I got there, I was lucky enough to find a store open. I went in. It seemed a little silly to buy oranges, but I didn’t know, what else to get a girl behind bars. I was having trouble concentrating. On the other hand, oranges are full of vitamins. I finally decided on two cartons of juice. There was a girl dancing half naked on the label-a beach and blue water-without a care in the world.
They showed me to an office where a dude was waiting for me. He was playing with a ruler. I was nervous. He pointed to a chair with the ruler and told me to sit down. He was a broad-shouldered guy with a half-smile on his lips, about forty years old. I was very nervous.
“So here we are…” I said.
“Save your breath,” he interrupted. “I know the story from A to Z. I’m the one who took the complaint, and I’ve talked a little bit with your friend…”
“Oh…” I said.
“Right,” he went on. “Just between us: beautiful girl, but a little jumpy…”
“That depends. She’s not always like that. You know, I don’t know how to explain… It happens once a month. It’s hard for us to understand what it’s like for them. It must be tough…”
“Yeah, okay, let’s not exaggerate…”
“No… no… you’re right…”
He looked at me attentively, then smiled. I was still wary, but I started to feel a little more comfortable. He seemed like a decent guy. Maybe for once I’d pulled the lucky number.
“So… you write novels?” he said.
“Yes. Yeah… I mean, I’m trying to get published.”
He nodded his head for a few seconds. He put the ruler down on his desk. He got up and went to make sure no one was standing behind the door. Then he took a chair and pulled it up right in front of me. He straddled it and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Listen,” he said. “I know what I’m talking about. Publishers… they’re all SOBs.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t move. I’m going to show you something.”
He took a stack of papers out of his drawer and dropped it on his desk. I’d say three pounds, just eyeballing it, wrapped with a rubber band.
“What do you think this is?… Give up?”
“A manuscript, right?”
I thought he was going to kiss me, but he contained himself. He just slapped my thigh, smiling like a goof.
“You got it! You know, I’m starting to like you…”
“Happy to be of service.”
He stroked his stack of papers and looked me right in the eye.
“Brace yourself,” he said. “They turned this book down twenty-seven times.”
“Twenty-seven?”
“Yeah. And I suppose it’s not over yet. Word must have gotten around. They’re all SOBs.”
“Shit. Twenty-seven times. God almighty!”
“I still think it’d sell like hotcakes-it’s the kind of thing people like. Man, when I think about it-ten years of my life in there, ten years of research-and I kept only the best episodes, the great ones. It’s a real keg of dynamite. So maybe it isn’t Al Capone, but believe me, it’s powerful stuff, you can take my word for it.”
“Okay.”
“Now, you’ll ask me why they haven’t published my book-ask me what the hell they use for brains. I know cops who’ve sold their memoirs for millions, so what’s the deal all of a sudden? Cop stories out of date?”
“You’re right. It’s not even worth it to try to understand.”
He nodded slowly, then glanced at my orange juice.
“May I…? You want a drink?” he asked.
I was in no position to refuse. I gave him one of the cartons, squashing a smile. He pulled a ten-inch knife out of his pocket and cut a hole in the spout. The knife was razor-sharp, but I didn’t bristle. Then he put two plastic cups on the desk and took out a bottle of vodka, already well used. While he filled the glasses, I started asking myself where I was.
“To our success!” he said. “We’re not going to let ‘em get us down.”
“Right on!”
“You know, your friend… I can’t really say that she was in the right… but I won’t say she was in the wrong either. Those guys just sit there, calmly cutting to shreds somebody’s life’s-work in five minutes. You can’t tell me that cop stories are old hat. No way…”