“Hardly,” Nolan said.
“Racist motherfucker,” she said.
“Peace,” Nolan said, making the sign.
“Cool it, Phyllis honey,” Tillis said laughing, patting her backside, “He really is a friend. Sorta. He just got reason to play things a little close to the vest. He’s a little more cautious than some people I know.”
Phyllis said, “You mean I should have been more careful about just opening the door for him like I did?”
“We talked about that before, honey. I ain’t no goddamn plumber, you know.”
“I’m sorry, Tillie.”
“It’s okay. You gonna put the gun down, Nolan?”
“Down,” Nolan said, lowering it. “Not away.”
Tillis grinned, his white smile flashing in the darkened room; he looked like a sinister Louis Armstrong. He turned to Phyllis, said, “Be a good girl and get me some pants.”
“Just pants,” Nolan told her as she crossed in front of him, going to a dresser.
“What makes you so goddamn paranoid, man?” Tillis wanted to know.
“Old age,” Nolan said, watching Tillis climb into his trousers.
“I thought you’d be in one of those homes by now,” Tillis said, “boppin’ round the grounds in a wheelchair with a shawl around your shoulders.”
“Last time you told me that, I just finished knocking you on your black ass.”
“And this time you caught me cold, with my black ass really hangin’ out. Yeah, you’re old all right, but you’re good.”
Nolan grinned back at him, said, “This time I thought we’d skip the preliminaries. My ribs hurt for a week last time we tangled.”
“Must be that arthritis gettin’ to you.”
“Must be. Let’s go talk in the other room. How about your friend getting us some coffee?”
“Good idea. Phyllis, honey, do what the man says.”
“Is there a phone in the kitchen?” Nolan asked.
“No,” Tillis said, pointing to the nightstand phone. “Only one in the apartment’s here.”
“Okay,” Nolan told the girl, “go make the coffee.”
“Get fucked,” she told him.
“Fine with me,” he said. “First take off your robe.”
She started to spit back a reply, but saw that Tillis was laughing at what Nolan said, and she shrugged helplessly and went off to the kitchen.
Nolan and Tillis took seats in the library-living room. Tillis sat on the couch, Nolan on an easy chair across. He glanced at the books in the case behind him and recognized only one author; he hadn’t heard of James Baldwin, Leroi Jones, Germaine Greer or Joyce Carol Oates, but he knew Harold Robbins.
Tillis said, “You’re early, man.”
“I made good time on the tollway.”
“I wouldn’t’ve called Harry in on you, you know.”
“Thought crossed your mind, though, didn’t it?”
Tillis grinned, then got serious fast. “What’s this about, anyway?”
“You asked me that on the phone.”
“Want you to tell me, man. Want to hear you say it.”
“It’s Charlie, Tillis.”
“Charlie’s dead.”
“Yeah. And you helped crucify him. Only on the seventh day he rose.”
“What makes you think he’s alive?”
“Nothing much. Just that yesterday he murdered a friend of mine, stole around a million dollars from me, and kidnapped a kid I know. That’s all.”
“Shit. You jivin’ me? You’re a shifty motherfuck, I know that much. You shitin’ me?”
“No shit at all. He’s alive and I know it. If I wasn’t sitting on this, the boys from Chicago would be coming around and checking out all Charlie’s friends.”
Tillis leaned over, hands folded, and thought for several long moments. When he looked up, his dark eyes were big and solemn and brimming with honesty. “All right, man. I’m gonna tell it. Gonna tell it all to you. You got to help me save my ass is all I ask. Whew. Jesus. The shit hit the fan this time, right? Shit, man.”
“Tillis, you’re going to be in trouble. I’m your only hope.”
“The Great White Hope, that’s my old buddy Nolan. Jesus Christ. Let me catch my breath. My whole fuckin’ world’s crashing down in my head. This is bad news for the big shitter, Nolan. Christ all fuckin’ mighty.”
“You started to tell me.”
“Okay. Now you know about Charlie and me. I didn’t love the sucker, but he helped me out, stayed by me. I didn’t go to college first to play ball like most of the dudes, and I didn’t play ball long enough to have a name that was gonna make me a goddamn announcer with Howard Cosell on the tube or nothin’. My football career, shit, when that fuckin’ knee went, I mean maybe I coulda got a job selling tires or something... right here, folks, here’s our boy Tillis, he’ll show you the tires, he played ball with the pros, shook hands with Joe Namath, this boy did.”
“Tillis.”
“Yeah. Anyway, Charlie. He did right by me. Paid me good, treated me with respect, unless he got real mad or something. I didn’t love him, but who do you think I was gonna love in the goddamn Family? Wasn’t exactly a truck-load of soul brothers around me. I had to develop a goddamn taste for pasta, let me tell you. Charlie did me right, and then you come along and fucked him in the ear with those marked bills you passed him, and then this political thing started happening, only it was going on all the time, I guess, but this trouble you brought Charlie brought it to a head. The younger bunch was buckin’ the old regime, Charlie bein’ the main one, you know. It was a political deal, power play, like General Motors or the court of some fuckin’ king or the goddamn Democratic Party. So those of us lined up with Charlie were maybe gonna get chopped when he did. Wasn’t no if — just when. There was a bunch of us. Anyway, me and some other guys took a hand in helping the people against Charlie in the Family get rid of him. Only, as you guessed, I guess, we faked it. It was a couple of bums off skid row who got roasted in that fire when Charlie’s car accident’ly on purpose cracked up. We just used some stuff to make it look like Charlie. See, Charlie knew he didn’t have a chance, so him and his kid were going to like pretend to die in this crash and take off somewhere, South America, I don’t know where really. Charlie had plenty of money put in other people’s accounts, people he trusted, so money was no hassle.”
“Hold it. Why’d he include his kid in the crash?”
“The kid was workin’ in the Family. Just an overblowed accountant, but Charlie was afraid the kid would get wasted along with him. Guess the kid always wanted to work with his father, wanted to be a part of the Family, saw it as... I don’t know, adventure, I guess. Or a family tradition or some goddamn thing. Charlie never went for it, really, that business about working your kids into the Family ain’t so true anymore. But this kid of his insisted, and when the boy got out of college Charlie gave him this token desk thing, away from the guns and that side of it. Charlie was like a lot of guys, wanted his kids to get an education, be respectable. I think his daughter was in the fuckin’ Peace Corps, can you get into that?”
“Why didn’t Charlie leave, like he was supposed to?”
“Nolan, I swear to God I thought that sucker was in Argentina or someplace, with his buddy the Boss of the Bosses. Swear to shit, I thought that’s where he was. But Nolan, I’m no fuckin’ wheel, remember. I’m a cog, man, and Charlie was pretty foxy about who he had help him, well, die... and just as foxy about how much each of us knew exactly. Like, I know some of the people involved, but not all.”
Nolan got out of the chair, walked over and sat on the couch next to Tillis. He handed Tillis the list Felix had made up. “How many of those people were in this with Charlie?”