“What it comes down to after all that, you didn’t get the money.”
Chili stood listening till he heard the front door close.
“There’s more to it, Harry.”
“But you still have the key?”
“There’s a lot more to it,” Chili said, pulling a chair out from the table.
Turning out of Karen’s drive, Catlett was busy handling all the stuff flashing in his head at once. He had to talk to the Bear, find out before he did anything else what happened at the airport, where the key was, how Chili Palmer knew he was informed on unless he was lying, telling Harry stories now, except the only good thing about it was Harry needed money more than he needed Chili Palmer, but Chili Palmer still had to be removed from the situation. There was something else flashing in his head, that suitcase . . . And Catlett had to crank the wheel, quick, waking up to the BMW turning in directly in front of him. The cars came side by side, the windows going down, the woman’s face in the BMW a bit higher than his. Catlett put his sunglasses up on his head. He smiled, seeing late sun reflected in her sunglasses, not smiling. He said, “Miss Flores, this is my pleasure. Harry Zimm might’ve mentioned my name to you, Bo Catlett?”
She kept looking, though her face didn’t change.
So he said, “Can I tell you I’ve always been one of your biggest fans?”
Her face still didn’t change as she said, “What’re you doing here?”
He said, “I was with Harry,” acting a little surprised on account of her tone. “We had a meeting.
Her face still didn’t change, this time saying to him, “If I ever see you here again I’ll call the police.”
The BMW was there and then it wasn’t and he was looking at shrubs. Man. Whatever the woman
GET SHORTY 257
had heard about him couldn’t have been too good. Like Chili Palmer had been talking to her. Already today, with everything going on he had taken the time. Came back from the airport, checked out of his hotel . . . And there was that other thing that had flashed in his head to think about, the black nylon suitcase sitting in her front hall by the door.
The suitcase hadn’t been there before Chili Palmer came.
Checked out of the hotel and was moving in with Karen Flores. Sure, the one he wanted in the movie as the girl. Checked out in case the DEA people wanted to look him up again and came here to hide. Which presented new possibilities, didn’t it? Catlett drove down the hill thinking of some, deciding which one he might use. The one he liked best was the simplest. Shoot the motherfucker and have it done.
For a few moments he wasn’t aware of her standing in the doorway.
Karen watched him sitting alone at the table. Saw the bottle of Scotch, the garden shears, saw him raise his glass of wine and take a sip. He had a cigarette going too. She watched him draw on the cigarette and raise his head to exhale a thin stream of smoke. Karen the camera again watching him, this guy who had told her in a matter-of-fact way federal agents might pick him up and he might have to post bond. . . . She wanted to know what happened while Catlett was here. Where was Harry and why the garden shears? She had questions to ask and something amazing to tell him—Chili Palmer in his pinstripe suit, tough guy from Miami. Not a movie tough guy, a real one. She kept watching him with her camera eye wondering if, real or not, he could be acting. If
he was, he was awfully good.
“Not a worry in the world,” Karen said.
He looked over. “Hey, how you doing?”
“You really aren’t worried, are you?”
He said, “About what?”
And she had to smile because that was an act, the bland expression. But he wasn’t serious about it, he was smiling now and that seemed natural.
“Where’s Harry?”
“I think he’s in the bathroom. He didn’t say where he was going, but that’d be my guess.”
She said, “Catlett was here? . . .”
“Yeah, did you see him?”
“I almost ran into him, on his way out.”
“I think basically he’s all the way out now,” Chili said. “I explained the whole thing to Harry, told him if he ever saw the guy again he oughta have his brain looked at. Harry kept nodding, yeah, he understood, till I got to the part, Bones walking out with the locker key? He hasn’t said a word to me since.”
“He does that,” Karen said, “he pouts.”
She wondered again about the shears, but was more anxious to tell him the latest amazing development.
“Meanwhile, back at the studio, Elaine spoke to Michael . . .”
Right away Chili said, “Hey, where’s Harry?” looking toward the door. “He’s got to hear this.”
“He wants to meet with you,” Karen said. “He didn’t mention Harry.”
She kept her eyes on Chili, who didn’t say anything now, staring at her as she sat down across the table from him.
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“You told Michael about the drycleaner and the shylock.”
“That’s what he wants to talk about?”
“And he told Elaine it was the best pitch he’s ever heard. Now Elaine wants to hear it.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a pitch. He was pretending he was a shylock, wondering what it’d be like. So I gave him a situation, that’s all.”
“He wants to have dinner with you this evening, at Jimmy’s. That is,” Karen said, watching him, “if you can make it.”
He said, “Is it a nice place?” with his bland look, eyebrows raised.
And she said, “You think it’s funny. You do. But you’re going to meet with him, aren’t you?”
“It depends,” Chili said. “Who pays?”
“You don’t have a script. You have the beginning of an idea that doesn’t go anywhere . . .”
“I’ve added to it. There’s a girl in it now.”
“Yeah—and what happens? What’s the story?”
“You mean what’s the theme? I’m still thinking about the visual fabric, as they say.”
“I can’t believe you’re serious.”
“The guy wants to talk—I know how to do that. But Harry has to be there too.”
“Or you won’t meet with him?”
“Why’s it have to be like that? Get his permission. Harry comes along, he’s there, right? What’s Michael gonna do, tell him to leave? We’ll talk about Lovejoy, bring it up, see what happens. If Michael says no, Harry’ll have a chance to argue with him. He won’t blame me if the guy doesn’t want to do it.”
“You’re serious,” Karen said.
“I don’t see what’s the big deal.”
“Right, it’s only a movie.” She had to smile at him. “Fifteen years in Hollywood . . . I’d give anything to be there.”
“You can come. Why not?”
She was shaking her head as Harry walked in and Chili said, “Michael called. He wants to meet.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Harry said.
Karen shook her head again, this time slowly, in amazement. Harry, pouring himself a Scotch, didn’t notice. But Chili did. He gave her his innocent look, with the eyebrows.
25 
When he asked Karen if it was a nice place he was kidding and she never said, or told him who was supposed to pay. As soon as they walked in through the dark cocktail lounge area, Chili knew dinner for three would run at least a hundred bucks with wine.
He and Harry were taken to a table in the middle of the front section, eight-thirty, the restaurant crowded. Michael had made the reservation, but did-n’t show up till after nine. Then it took him about ten minutes to get to the table, stopping off to say hello to people sticking their hands out at him, Michael pleasant about it, smiling at everybody. Like Momo coming into a joint on 86th Street, getting the treatment. Only Momo would have a suit on, as most of the guys did here; Michael was wearing his World War Two flight jacket with a dark T-shirt under it.