“He’s fun to watch,” Vincent said.
“Yeah, he’s fun to watch, but he tires you out you with him for a while. I would like to get out of here. You know what I’m saying? Man, I’m a free agent. Why not? Go some place nice, like Puerto Rico.”
“I could live there,” Vincent said.
“Set us up a kidnapping business.”
They sipped their drinks and had another one while Vincent told him about Teddy Magyk. DeLeon sat without moving or interrupting, finally nodding to say he liked it, the possibility. “Like he put your name in Iris’s panties to bring you up here,” DeLeon said.
And Vincent nodded. “I can see him doing it.” But what was in Teddy’s head, if he did?
“Making you his career,” DeLeon said.
“That’s what I mean. Why am I so important to him?” He wanted an opinion and said to DeLeon, “You did time on the drug bust, didn’t you?”
“Six months in Dade, then a halfway house. I wasn’t there long enough to get crazy. Or I was lucky, I knew I fucked up good. Let myself get taken in by the dudes, the sporty jock freaks with the boats, the cute blond-haired ladies, the private clubs. You know what I’m saying? Got myself into all that deep shit till the only way out was through the county. You understand? You asking me what’s in those people’s heads in there, doing time, or what’s in this Teddy’s head. Who knows? Ask them, they lie to you from jump street, don’t know how else to talk.”
“Lay the blame somewhere else.”
“Anywhere else. I couldn’t do it. My mother come to visit me-she not my mother but like my mother. This little woman come to visit, I’m in the stockade there, you know the place. She look me in the eye, I could no more lie to her I could to a polygraph. They repossessed her house, was in my name. She never mentioned a word about it. Only thing matter to her, this little boy had lied to himself. You understand me?” Thoughtful. “I got her another house now, in Miami. Send her money every month.”
“My mother lives in North Miami,” Vincent said. “She sells real estate, lost her second husband last year… I’m older than my dad. You ever hear of that?”
“I know what you mean,” DeLeon said. “Me too. I never even met my daddy.”
“I didn’t either. I’ve only seen pictures of him.”
“Now my mother,” DeLeon said, “the lady I call my mother, she like to grow things, she in the yard all day.”
“I’m wondering about Teddy’s mom,” Vincent said, “if she’s been supporting him.” He told DeLeon he was waiting to hear from the county police, find out if they’d got a lead on Teddy or where his mother lived.
DeLeon said, “You look in the phone book?”
THERE WAS HIS MOM’S FACE right on top of him. Teddy tried to push back away from her into the pillow. He thought, opening his eyes, she was going to kiss him on the mouth and it scared him. It was the middle of the night and the ceiling light was on in his bedroom. His mom’s stale breath came over his face as she whispered, “There some men here to see you.”
“What men?” Scowling at her. Wanting her to get away from him.
“They’re policemen, they showed me. Sonny?…”
“What?” Why didn’t she get away? All eyes and hair curlers.
“Why do they want to see you?”
“I don’t know.” Crabby. Feeling crabby. “Would you mind?” Jesus. She straightened finally, picked up his Japanese robe, and held it open.
“Here. So you don’t catch cold.”
Teddy walked into the living room, hands in his sleeves. The two detectives were looking at Buddy, one of them crooking a finger at Buddy’s beak and pulling it away. He looked up and Buddy bit his finger, good, as the other one said, “Mr. Magyk?” and introduced himself and the detective sucking his finger, both of them heavyset and serious, as all cops were. He asked Teddy if he’d mind riding just over to Northfield with them to MCS headquarters-cops loved initials-like Northfield was only a couple minutes away.
Teddy said, “Why, what’s the matter?” Wide eyed. Look at how innocent he was. Polite too.
The detective told him he didn’t have to talk to them if he didn’t want to. Teddy said, well, if they would tell him what it was about… The detective said he could agree to come with them or they could go to Municipal Court and get a warrant, if Teddy wanted to give them a hard time. What hard time? They became deadpan, immobile, giving him a brick wall to butt his head against. There was no way to win if they felt like being mean. It made him mad though.
“You want to stick me in a line-up, don’t you?”
One of the detectives said, “Why would we want to do that?”
“I know you guys.”
“Is that right, Teddy? How do you know us?”
Teddy said, “I been here all night.”
His mom said, “He’s been right here with me.”
The detectives said, “You coming, Teddy?”
Shit. He got dressed and went with them, the two cops in front speaking once in a while in low tones, a woman’s voice coming over the radio now and then but not making any sense; otherwise it was dark and quiet out on that lonely Margate-Northfield road across the islands, no other cars. The one driving flicked his lighter and held it to his cigarette.
Marie would flick her Bic down underneath the Boardwalk, stooped over in the trash and weeds. She’d say, “I don’t see it nowhere.” Looking for his lucky quarter. “I don’t see it… Listen, I got to go.” He hit her with an old beer bottle he’d picked up, brought it down on the back of her head. She dropped the lighter making a funny sound like a yelp, surprised. He struck again, in the dark now, and realized she had her hands up on her head. She yelled louder and he felt her right up against him, facing him, saying, “Oh, help me, oh,” not realizing he was the one had hit her. He hit her again but couldn’t see what he was doing. He grabbed the front of her suit as she tried to take hold of him for protection it seemed like, putting her arms around him and was so close he’d chop at her but wasn’t able to get anything behind his swing, to put her away. She was moaning, oh or no or oh no, as he hit her. Then headlights came on up Kentucky Avenue about a half block up the street and it gave him enough light to see her, catch glimpses of her cut face, her glasses gone. He was able to push her away, see what he was doing now, and give her a good one over the head with the bottle. It wouldn’t break, darn it. He hit it against a support timber, it still wouldn’t break. He shoved Marie against the timber, banged her head against it good a few times and that seemed to do the job. He had learned trying to shoot somebody in a hotel room didn’t work spur of the moment; and he had learned a beer bottle was no good for knocking a person out quick. The trouble was, he didn’t like the sound of it hitting the person’s head. What might’ve happened, he held back just a little each time instead of swinging through, not wanting to hear that mooshy sound of the bottle doing its job. So it took longer, finally beating her senseless against the timber. Once that was done it was quiet under here and even a little cozy in that faint headlight beam up the street. He cleared trash away and got down with Marie in the damp sandy dirt. God. All alone with this woman he could do anything he wanted to. Get some of her clothes off, feel her body all over. Ouuuu, it was mooshy. He wanted to look at parts of her too. He got her clothes undone, pulled off her pants and her big panties, big as his mom’s hanging in the bathroom. Then got out hotel matches, lit and held each one as long as he could, getting a good close look at her. He had not planned on making love to Marie, but was getting the urge staring at her puss, wondering how long it had been for her. Tickle, tickle, tickle. It looked worn or moth-eaten, strange. Oh well…