"Do you think he will cause a stink?"
"I don't think so. But that's the chance you take. It's a possibility."
"Jesus, I hope not," Kelly said. "Why do you think he talked?"
"I think he just figured why not? Nothing to lose for him, and after all, they did snuff out one of his people last night."
"What if what he told us was bullshit, and he makes a complaint to the U.S. attorney, says we coerced him?"
The waitress poured coffee.
"As the U.S. attorney would say, that's an 'unsubstantiated allegation,'" Carr said. "Not enough evidence for prosecution. I think we would beat the rap."
SEVENTEEN
It was dark. Red Diamond's insides fluttered as if a flock of birds was trying to fly out his ass.
He sat behind the wheel of the Cadillac and waited. The coffee-shop parking lot was half full. He watched the back door. It was shift-change time.
He had no particular strategy. It would be strictly "play it by ear."
Mona, looking tired, in a spotted waitress uniform, came out the back door carrying a purse. She headed for a battered Volkswagen.
Red got out of the Cadillac and rushed across the lot. He opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat.
Mona was starting the car engine. "What do you want?" Her jaw was set.
"I just wanted to talk for a few minutes."
"Get out of my car."
"I know what you probably think of me, but that's what I want to talk about. This last stretch has brought me to my senses. No lie. I've finally wised up." He wished she would at least look at him.
"Get out of my car." She folded her hands across her chest.
"Maybe you don't have any feeling for me now, but there was a time you did. You shouldn't forget that. You owe yourself a few minutes just to listen. For the sake of the way we used to be."
"You are a liar. You aren't capable of telling the truth. You're sick. Get out of my car."
"All I want to say is that I have some great things in the fire now, some really positive things. For once, I actually have cleaned up my act. I know this idea will sound far-out, but I would like to see us together again. I promise you'll be able to live well, even better than when I had the place in Long Beach. I don't like to see you slinging hash. It hurts me. You deserve better. We could move into a nice place in Burbank or somewhere right now. I've got some cash. I mean you wouldn't even have to sleep with me at this point. That would be up to you. Completely your choice."
Her face turned red. She faced him.
He stared at her panty-hosed legs, the tiny waist that his hands once fit perfectly around, the firm breasts that had been his to tease.
"Why should it make any difference if we sleep together?" she said with a strained smile.
"Well, I…"
"I mean, it shouldn't make any goddamn difference who I sleep with ever again, should it?"
"That was something…a one-in-a-million situation. It would never happen again, as God is my witness, and I wouldn't say that if I didn't really mean it…"
"You asshole!" Tears glistened in her eyes. "You've never meant anything you said! You are sick! You did the one thing to me I could never forgive, and here you are back again. Maybe you've forgotten. I was your wife and you made me turn tricks to pay off your debts. I became a whore to save your ass! Not that my life had been a bed of roses…but I had never been a goddamn whore. Sucking off ten stinking-fat businessmen a night until I got you off the hook. And what did you do? Pulled another of your capers, one of your 'operations,' and you went to prison anyway." The tears almost jumped from her eyes.
Red put his hand on her waist. He had to touch it. It felt the same as ever. The tears were, psychologically speaking, a good sign, he thought. The barrier was breaking down.
She sobbed loudly. Suddenly, she stuck a hand into her purse and pulled out something with a red wooden handle. "Get out!" she screamed, and stabbed toward his chest with an ice-pick. He used his hands to shield himself. The ice-pick pierced his palm. "You asshole! I hate you"' Mona shrieked.
Red sprang out of the car. The ice pick was stuck through his hand. He stared at the speared hand and gave a deep animal moan. "Bitch, bitch, dirty bitch!"
Mona started the rattly engine of the VW. He jumped out of the way. The car sped out of the parking lot.
It took a few minutes to get up the courage to pull the ice-pick out of the wound so he could drive himself to a hospital.
"How did it happen?" said a nurse in her thirties with a hair-do like Mona's. She pushed his hand into a mixture of hot water and disinfectant. It stung so much he almost passed out.
"Chopping ice in a freezer at a party," Red said. "Hated to leave. All my friends were there. Henry Winkler, Larry Hagman, the Gabors."
"Really?" She pulled his hand out of the water.
"Actually, they're my clients. I run an advertising agency. TV commercials, that sort of thing."
"Must be an interesting job." She smiled and filled a hypodermic syringe.
"I guess you could say that," he said.
The clerk was prematurely bald and attempted to hide the fact by wrapping his few remaining hairs in a circle on top of his head. He spoke, balancing a pipe between his teeth.
"Sorry, Charlie, I can't allow you to review any files unless you have a warrant or a subpoena. Federal Parole Office regulations in accordance with the privacy act. You know how it is." Having said this, he returned to his newspaper-covered desk and sat down.
Carr and Kelly walked past the clerk and found a file cabinet marked "D." Kelly pulled open the drawer. The clerk turned a page of the newspaper.
There were three files bearing the name Diamond. Only one was current.
Carr glanced quickly over reports in the file: "sociopathic personality," "reacts in a hostile manner," "blunted emotional effect" "lacks positive value judgment," "poor communicative skills."
He opened a large envelope stapled to the inside of the file. He removed a thick stack of typed pages titled "Counseling Session Transcript. Prisoner Rudolph Diamond (#40398654). True Name: Rudolph Spriggs." The first page was a statement signed by Diamond giving permission to record the session for "study purposes."
Carr read:
Counselor: Had this ever happened before?
Diamond: It happened a lot when I was a kid. I think it had something to do with the sound of a train whistle. This may sound weird, but my mother's house was near the railroad tracks and when a train whistle would blow I could feel it all the way through my body, sort of as if the sound entered through the hole in my pecker. I had this terrible feeling of fear at my mother's house. And the train whistle was part of it somehow. I had trouble urinating when I was afraid. That was my first memory of having problems taking a leak.
Counselor: And you believe this affected your working life?
Diamond: After I quit high school I went to work in a bottle factory in Oakland and when I went into the bathroom to piss…uh, urinate, I just couldn't. I couldn't relax enough to urinate when other people were around. So I quit.
Counselor: And this affected your subsequent employment?
Diamond: What would you do if you worked in a factory with one of those giant cement bathrooms? You know, lots of urinals, and every time you went in to take a leak there were other people there and you couldn't go. Like there was no way. Well, you'd do what I did. You'd quit. This happened to me over and over again. I couldn't hold a job and I started to get into trouble to get money. The first thing was the phony raffle tickets. I sold them and kept the money. I got caught. You can see that on my rap sheet there. I did twenty days. I was just a kid.