Then Jerzy grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and made a fist, as though he were going to move his facial bones around. Now the big Polack was scaring Tristan as much as he was the man on the floor.
“Don’t go turbo, dawg!” Tristan said. “Step off! We don’t wanna kill the man. We wanna work with him. Jist chill, okay?”
“Okay,” Jerzy said. “But I got a feelin’ this actor’s gonna sing better if I tune him up.”
“Help me get him in the chair,” Tristan said, taking hold of Dewey’s right arm.
Dewey’s gasps turned to groans mixed with a few sobs when they each took an arm and, lifting him to his feet, put him in the overstuffed chair that Jerzy knew from experience was full of fleas. Then Jerzy grabbed a kitchen chair, placed it facing the door, and straddled it, arms crossed on the backrest.
“I’m sorry about the violence,” Tristan said to Dewey. “I don’t work that way, but you got my partner upset when you tried to bounce.”
Jerzy pulled the buck knife from his boot, held it up beside his face as though to shave with it, and said, “In case you try again, Mr. Kessler.”
“What name do you want us to call you?” Tristan said to Dewey, who was in pain with every breath he took.
“I don’t… don’t give a shit what you call me,” Dewey said, unaccented. “Just take my money and get out.”
“The man thinks we’re thieves,” Jerzy said. “Common fuckin’ thieves. I’m insulted. How ’bout you, Creole?”
Tristan had not expected anything like this and was trying to readjust his approach, now that the dumb Polack had freaked out.
He said to Dewey Gleason, “What name do you want us to call you?”
“My name’s Bernie Graham,” Dewey said. “Whadda you want from me?”
“Like I said…, Bernie,” Tristan said, “we’re gonna be partners.”
“I think you’re both crazy,” Dewey said and then winced again as he tried to move to a more comfortable position in the chair.
“We were very patient, buyin’ into your Nazi act,” Jerzy said. “Lettin’ you take advantage of our hard work with the minimum wages you paid us. It’s different now.”
“Is this a kidnap?” Dewey said. “If it is, I don’t have any money at home. There’s about six hundred and change in my wallet. Take it and go.”
“Who do you got at home?” Tristan asked.
“Nobody. I live alone.”
“Where do you live?” Tristan asked.
“What difference does it make?”
“Don’t make me get up,” Jerzy said.
“I live in Sherman Oaks,” Dewey lied. “In an apartment.”
“Alone, huh?” Tristan said.
“I live with my dog.” Another lie, and he winced again.
“Yeah, I seen her,” Tristan said. “You got that part right.”
Dewey said, “What?”
“You oughtta take her to a groomer once in a while,” Tristan said. “Get her shampooed and fluffed up. She smells like an ashtray.”
That got Dewey’s attention. His eyes widened, and he said, “What’s going on here?”
“And while you’re at it, get yourself flea-dipped, Bernie,” Jerzy said, “after sittin’ in that chair.”
“We know where you live,” Tristan said. “On Franklin. And we know your geek, Miss Nicotine Fingers. How many computers is she runnin’?”
After a long silence, Tristan said, “And of course we know where your storage locker is. And we know about the job you did on the owner of that house in Los Feliz. Wait’ll he gets his American Express statement.”
“You were in on that,” Dewey said. “You made money from that.”
“Chump change,” Jerzy said. “Chicken feed for pigeons.”
“I got a friend at Hollywood Station,” Tristan lied. “A detective who busted me a while back. If I was to call him now and tell him all I know about you, he’d see to it that I get a suspended sentence and probation for dimin’ you.”
“How about your partner?” Dewey said, his mind racing, trying to digest all of this. “Is he willing to go down with me?”
“Me?” Jerzy said. “I’d flip too and get the same deal Creole gets. The DA would probably buy us French dips downtown at Philippe’s when we get through testifyin’.”
“You won’t call the cops,” Dewey said, so scared that his teeth clicked together when he talked. “You don’t wanna get arrested. There’s nothing in it for you.”
“Sure there is, dude,” Jerzy said. “We get to take you way down and see you go to the joint, where some of Creole’s dark-skinned cousins will turn you into a screamin’ bitch. I would like that because I don’t like you…, Bernie.”
“You wouldn’t let yourselves get busted just to bring me down,” Dewey said painfully. “You’re bluffing. This is all bullshit.”
Tristan laughed out loud at that and said, “Sure we are, bro! You’re too smart to think we’d go to jail even for a day jist to nail your puny ass. No, you and your geek can get outta Dodge tonight if that’s what you wanna do. This crazy Polack and me, we’re gonna sit up on your crib and watch the door. If you two go, all you can take is the clothes on your back and an extra set of underwear. Your computers, all your checks and credit-card equipment, all the files you prob’ly have inside there-all that precious information stays. Not to mention your storage room full of very valuable goods. The second we see you drive off, I’m gonna call the cops, like the good CI that I am. And then they make their big recovery of stolen goods and all the rest of the stuff you got at your crib. By the way, Bernie, CI stands for ‘confidential informant’ in cop talk. In case you didn’t know.”
“I’d like to take a piece of him to leave behind before he says good-bye to Hollywood,” Jerzy said, pointing the buck knife at Dewey.
Ignoring Jerzy, who was wrecking the conversation flow by terrorizing the man, Tristan said, “I’ll get in real good with that detective for providin’ him with information that breaks up a criminal enterprise. It’s always good to have a get-outta-jail-free card from a cop. How much is everything worth that you’ll leave in the apartment and in the storage room? That’s what you’re gonna lose, along with the whole business you worked so hard to start up. Are you ready to give up your entire livelihood to keep from payin’ your junior partners a reasonable percentage of what we can all earn together from now on? Are you that dumb, Bernie?”
Dewey was quietly watching Tristan. Then he looked at Jerzy and back at Tristan, and he said, “Were you the guy from Water and Power?”
“You ain’t-aren’t the only actor in Hollywood, Bernie,” Tristan said with another hearty laugh.
“Get me one of those beers from the fridge,” Dewey said. “Help me sit up and we’ll talk.”
Tristan said, “Get the man a beer, wood.” And he helped Dewey sit up straight in the chair.
Jerzy said, “He oughtta get his own fuckin’ beer. What am I, his personal negro?” But he did as he was told, grumbling as usual.
“Open that bag,” Dewey said to Tristan, “and give me the hand towel and the loafers.”
“Sure,” Tristan said, putting the overnight bag on the kitchen table, opening it, and finding casual clothes neatly folded, a pair of Bernie Graham glasses, and the Bernie Graham mustache.
“Is this your props and makeup department, Bernie?” Tristan said. “Who are you when you change into this?”
“A guy named Bernie Graham,” Dewey said. “That’s what you can call me.”
“Wanna put them on?” Tristan asked, fascinated now. “Would it make you feel better if we let you, like, get into character? Is that what it’s called?”
“Just give me the towel.”
Tristan threw the hand towel to Dewey. Then he and Jerzy pulled up kitchen chairs and sat watching.
“The spray bottle,” Dewey said.
Tristan handed him the plastic bottle and he sprayed it directly onto his face and wiped the shadows from under his eyes and around his mouth, and then sprayed more onto the towel and wiped his sideburns free of the gray.