Willow thought about it. He said, “That is a bucket of unadulterated duck dung.”
“I wish you were right. Tut, I’m illegitimate.”
“All right, so you’re illegitimate—so was Jesus Christ, maybe. What about it?”
Gladys traced invisible little patterns on the plastic tablecloth with the handle of her coffee spoon. “Just before she married Tom Hornsby, my mother had a brief fling with a dashing young Romeo from Nebraska—a man named Casey Bucknell.”
“And I enjoyed one with a Korean girl—Sasha Chin. Sasha stole my wallet.”
“Tom Hornsby married my mother, believing that he’d done a number on her, but he hadn’t—it was Casey and Casey had dumped her. That was thirty years ago, back before Aunt Rosie entered the convent. Aunt Rosie had met Casey and when she saw his picture in the Chicago Globe, she remembered him.”
“You have this on the authority of Sister Rosetta?”
“She’s the final authority, Tut!”
Willow was shaking his head vehemently. “Glad, you can’t believe one word this old crocodile says! She’s around the bend and long gone! Our best bet is to talk to the police and then get out of town until they can get her fitted for a straightjacket!”
“She has the dates! She’s too damned right to be wrong—everything meshes! Now, are you ready for the whipped cream?”
“Easy on the whipped cream, if you will.”
“Aunt Rosie swears on the Bible, the Church, her order, and on my dead mother’s soul that she will kill Casey Bucknell!”
“What for? Bucknell doesn’t know the situation.”
“He has to know! Casey doesn’t party every night—we’ve talked, he’s seen pictures of my mother. How could he not know?”
“You were aware of this and you went ahead with last night’s shenanigans?”
“Tut, going through the ordeal gave me strength. Turning my back on five hundred thousand dollars isn’t easy, but when I saw my own father take pleasure in watching that fat Lebanese pour it to me, something snapped. I can do it, Tut—I can walk! I’ll be leaving this week.”
“You’ve told Bucknell?”
“Not yet, but he’ll be told in no uncertain terms, believest thou me!”
Willow stared through the window at the traffic on North Austin Boulevard, letting it all soak in. Then he said, “Well, I’m a cross-eyed fairydiddle!” He banged the table with his fist and the coffee cups danced jigs in their saucers. “You’re hooked up with the most depraved, warped, twisted, degenerate sonofabitch who ever came down the fucking pike!”
Gladys put her hand on his arm. “Tone it down, Tut! People are listening.”
“I don’t give a damn, let ’em listen! Bucknell sics ten rumdums onto his own daughter and gets his nuts off watching? Why, shit, they don’t even go that far in fucking Hollywood!”
The chunky waitress steamed toward their table at full throttle, waving her pudgy arms in urgent protest. She said, “Please, sir, watch your language! We have other customers!”
Willow was all wound up. He said, “Why, compared to this asshole, Caligula was a punk jacking off in the bathtub!”
A big red-faced kid, perhaps twenty-five, barged into view, coming on the double. He wore a stained white apron and a chef’s cap. A U.S. Marine emblem was tattooed on his brawny left forearm: Semper fidelis. He tapped Willow on the shoulder and said, “Cool it, Mac, or I’ll scuttle your ass!”
Willow glanced up. He said, “Watch your language, you got other customers.”
A swarthy man seated directly behind Willow turned to the red-faced kid. He said, “Hey, this gentleman right! I’m hear what he’s discuss about!”
The husky ex-marine leveled an authoritative forefinger at the swarthy man. He said, “Who jerked your chain, greaseball?”
The swarthy man had the eyes of an aroused king cobra. He said, “Hey, how many times you watch ten guys screw your daughter?”
The ex-marine flexed his muscles and his tattoo wiggled. He said, “Shut up or get out!”
The swarthy man yawned. He said, “Hey, punk, why you no go jack-off in bathtub like gentleman say?”
The ex-marine moved like a big cat. He reached into the booth and grabbed the swarthy man by the necktie, yanking him into the clear. He said, “Okay, blabbermouth, out you go!”
The swarthy man’s Colt .45 automatic pistol appeared to have been plucked from thin air. He jammed the muzzle of the weapon deep into the ex-marine’s solar plexus. There was the ominous click of the hammer coming back. He said, “Hey, punk, how you like couple extra navels?”
The white-faced ex-marine’s lips moved at high speed but no voice was forthcoming.
The swarthy man said, “Now you run along, fry eggs.”
“Yes, sir! Over easy, sir?”
The swarthy man shook his head. “Straight up. Four strip bacon, crisp. Three toast, lots butter. You gots good jelly?”
“The very best, sir!”
“Well, shove very best jelly up ass, maybe tighten up loose mouth.”
Willow threw money onto the table and took Gladys by the arm. On the sidewalk he said, “So now what?”
Gladys shrugged. “Back to North Austin Boulevard and modeling skivvies, what else? I may be looking for a roomie.”
“Keep me in mind.”
“I’ll do that.” She extended her hand. “Tutto, you’ve been wonderful, as always! There’s never been anyone like you—not in my young life!”
Willow shuffled around, kicking at leaves skittering in the cold October wind, saying nothing. Gladys said, “Oh, my God, he’s blushing!”
Willow said, “I did the best I could with what I had—not a helluva lot with damned little. What about Sister Rosetta?”
Gladys frowned. “I give up—what about her?”
“We just let her run?”
“How the hell do we stop her?” She slipped behind the wheel of her red Mercedes-Benz convertible and rolled her window down. She reached up, pulled him to her, and kissed him on the cheek. She said, “Thanks, Tut.”
Willow said, “Is this vehicle in your name?”
“Lock, stock, and barrel.”
He swatted the fender. “Then it wasn’t a total loss, was it?”
She puckered her lips at him and pulled away. He watched her wheel the expensive car into traffic to head south on North Austin Boulevard, a fast and efficient driver. He waited until the Mercedes was out of sight before crossing the street to his Buick. He started the engine, then sat musing for a few moments. Gladys Hornsby was a dandy to sleep with, but what would she be like to live with on a day-in, day-out basis? Willow grinned. It was the grin of a barracuda in a trout hatchery.