CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

As soon as I got home I called Sal’s answering service and left a message that the mission had been accomplished. Within a few minutes he called me back. He could hardly believe I’d pulled it off. If I hadn’t been feeling so good, I might have been annoyed at this reaction. I mean, it wasn’t that surprising I’d succeeded, was it?

Who was I kidding? Of course it was.

I asked him if he wanted me to deliver the money, but he said he’d pick it up. I told him to hurry. I didn’t feel real comfortable sitting on that much dough. Sal told me not to worry; he’d hurry, all right.

He must’ve, because a cab pulled up in front of my place in about twenty-five minutes. I figured that even though he said he trusted his driver, he wasn’t taking any chances at this point. With a random taxi, he wouldn’t have to worry about a leak.

Sal came in. He was wearing either the same black suit or one just like it. Considering the strain he must’ve been under the last week, he looked pretty good. If anything, more relaxed, less cadaverous than before.

He looked at me, shaking his head, with the same kind of shit-eating grin I’d been seeing since I got home, whenever I looked in a mirror. He saw the attaché case on the couch and hurried over to it. He opened it and gazed at the contents. He put his hand on the money, closed his eyes, slowly exhaled. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone more relieved, like the doctor had just told him that the tumor was benign and he’d had his life handed back to him. In a way, maybe that’s what I’d done.

“Jesus, Jake, I still don’t believe it.”

“Well, at least you’re back to where you were.”

“What?”

“We were pretty damn lucky to have brought this off, but it doesn’t really accomplish anything, only makes you even again. You still have a long way to go.”

“I do.” He nodded. There was an odd smile on his face. “But I think this time it’s going to work out.”

“Let’s hope. You heard anything yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, when you do, I’ll lend a hand if you want.”

“Thanks, Jake. And thanks for this.” He motioned to the case. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I don’t think either of us knew that. Like I said, I was lucky.”

“It doesn’t matter how. All that matters is that you did it. And I want to give you something for it.” He took one of the packets of bills from the case. The paper wrapper was marked $10,000.

“Forget it. I’ve already been paid.”

“Come on, Jake.”

“No. Besides, you’re going to need all that for Tommy.”

“I’ll deal with that. I want you to have this. A finder’s fee.”

“No.”

“Jesus, you’ll never change. A man of principle.”

“Not really. It’s just that I have so few, I figure I better stick to the ones I’ve got.”

“You mean, like being a jerk?”

I shrugged.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “If you haven’t learned by now, Jake, I guess you’re never going to. But I do want to give you something.”

It seemed really important to him so I said he could give me a hundred bucks and I’d treat myself to a good dinner. Sal looked at me, shook his head, then pulled a bill out of the packet.

“Thanks,” I said.

Sal shrugged, put the money back into the case, and shut it.

“Well, I’d better be off. The cab’s waiting.”

“Right. Take care of that money. I don’t want to have to get it back again.”

Sal smiled, the same odd grin as before. “I’ll do my best.” He paused, seemed about to say something more, then changed his mind. Instead, he nodded to me and left. He waved as the cab pulled away. I had the feeling he was trying not to laugh,

I could understand that. The only thing funnier than my trying to do this thing was my actually having done it.

I did laugh. God, I felt good. I knew Sal’s problem still remained, but I couldn’t help it. The adrenalin continued to surge. I had done it. I had fucking well done it. I had showed them—whoever they were—that Jake Spanner could still cut the mustard. That he was good for something more than sitting in a park, absorbing sunlight. Dammit! he had planned an investigation, and run if, and brought it off. The old dick was still around. Just ask Tony New.

I felt better than I could remember feeling for twenty years. Not since I’d gotten the goods on that bent congressman who’d done his best to put me out of business once I started to get too close, and damn near succeeded, permanently.

I called up O’Bee and gave him the news. He said, “You’re kidding,” burst into laughter, and then said he never doubted that I’d do it. Another vote of confidence. I asked if he wanted to go out and celebrate, but he said he wasn’t feeling very good. Maybe just as well. Dinner with someone who thought an omelet was exotic was not my idea of a fun evening. I said I’d see him soon.

I tried to read but couldn’t sit still. I was too full of energy. I kept jumping up and pacing through the house with long strides, my cheeks getting sore from smiling continually.

Finally I decided I had to do something. I had a shower and got dressed in some of my best clothes. They dated from a previous decade, but the classic elegance of tropical linen never went out of style. Well, perhaps it did, but I didn’t mind. All I needed was a panama hat and I’d look like I stepped out from some colonial epic on the two a.m. movie. Jake Spanner, rubber planter. Pretty snappy.

After checking the phone book to make sure she was still there, I drove to the nice Westwood apartment building where Phyllis Bliss lived. Phyl and I went back to the days when she was turning tricks in a fancy Hollywood watering hole right after the war. At some point our respective businesses overlapped, and we got to know each other. At first all I knew about her was that she was a hell of a hooker. With a name like Bliss, she said, she didn’t have much choice. Then I found out she was also a pretty fine woman. We became friends, and soon something more than friends. It was never a big deal with us, certainly never a romance. Though we made love, we were never lovers. We did, however, like and enjoy each other, and our relationship was a kind of compensation for all the things we’d both chosen to do without. If it didn’t fill the emptiness, it softened it a little.

Phyl was a really intelligent woman and knew how to look after herself, but she’d picked a high-risk occupation. What with crooked vice cops, pimps, sleazy managers of hotels and bars, nut-case clients, and other assorted urban birds of prey, things sometimes got tight. Mostly, she handled it by herself but a few times she swallowed her pride and-came to me. I was always glad to help. In fact, I would’ve liked her to let me help more. I got her out of a few nasty situations, including a frame-up for murder involving an agent and an actor who turned out to be worth more dead than alive.

We both retired at about the same time. As I said, she was smart, and had put away a big chunk of her considerable tax-free income. She took a degree in business at UCLA and then opened something called a plant boutique, which soon expanded to a small chain. We kept in touch, but with decreasing frequency as her life got busier and mine got slower. I hadn’t seen her for a long time, but this seemed like the perfect occasion to change that.

I knocked on the door of the penthouse. It was opened by a young woman in jeans and a loose-fitting man’s workshirt. Her straight dark hair was parted in the middle and hung softly to just above her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t need it

“Is Phyllis here?” I said.

“No. She’s back East for a few weeks.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I started to go, then paused. “Are you Miranda?”

The girl nodded. She looked at me with large brown eyes that suddenly lit up. “You must be Jake.”

I agreed that I must be, and she took two quick steps and threw her arms around me. I discovered that she was not as slender as she looked under that too-large shirt. Quite a day. I pull a job, and I’m hugged by a beautiful woman.

“What was that for?” I asked when she let me go.

“Mother’s told me all about you. I know exactly how much we owe you.”

I made a face and waved that off. Miranda pulled me into the apartment. It was simply but well furnished, with several large good canvases on the walls.

“Uncle Jake. Mother’s told me so many stories about you. You were my hero when I was little.” She studied me, her intelligent eyes showing pleasure and amusement. “You look just the way I pictured you.”

“Then you’ve got a diseased imagination, young lady.”

“No, you’re great. Like you’ve got Sidney Greenstreet waiting in the car downstairs. I love it.”

She looked me straight in the eye and then winked. We both laughed. Miranda had her mother’s open honesty. I liked her right away.

Phyllis hadn’t thought her life was a very good one for raising a kid, and so had sent her daughter away to good schools, first here, then abroad. She’d visit Miranda frequently, though, and had always been proud of her. I could see why.

“Are you still up at Berkeley?” I said.

“Yeah. Just finishing my thesis. The only reason I’m here is that Mother asked me to look after the place while she was away.”

“How is Phyl?”

“Thriving. Probably working way too hard. But then” —she smiled—”I understand she always believed in doing a job right.”

I coughed. “Oh, yes. She was a real professional.”

Miranda grinned. “Don’t be embarrassed, Jake. I’ve known about Mother’s life since I was eight. It never bothered her and it never bothered me. If anything, it made me a celebrity at school, among all the daughters of dermatologists and plastics manufacturers. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

“I’m sorry I missed her. I wanted to take her out to dinner. Kind of a celebration.”

“Will I do? You want to celebrate with me?”

“You really want to? With someone who just left Sidney Greenstreet?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Where shall we go?”

“You like Thai?”

“Never had it.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go. If you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it.”

“That’s what I thought. Give me a minute to change.”

It didn’t take much more than that before she came out of the bedroom looking absolutely sensational in a clingy silk sundress.

“I tried to find something more in your period, but this is as close as I could get.”

“Oh, it’s just fine,” I said, trying to keep from drooling down her bare back. Was it ever.

The Krung Thep Garden was on Sunset, but far enough from the Strip to be pleasant. From the front it looked like the building might have once housed a pet store.

I parked a block away. As we walked back, Miranda took my arm in both her hands. Heads, mostly belonging to young dudes, turned to follow us.

“All those guys are wondering what it is I’ve got.”

“You’ve got me,” Miranda said. She winked.

Inside, the place was dark and displayed the over-ornate decoration a lot of Asians seem so fond of. Whatever parts of the walls were not covered with paintings or posters or scrolls, all elaborately framed, were filled with gold mosaic tiles, plastic fruit, and colored glass balls. Turquoise green light from two large fish tanks provided most of the illumination.

“Tasteful,” I said.

“You’re not here to eat the decorations.”

“That’s true.”

We ordered about a dozen dishes. That was way more than we could eat, but it all sounded so good that I wanted to try everything. After all, this was a celebration. Soon, the table was covered with little plates filled with different kinds of curries, stir-fried squid and shrimp, crisp rice noodles, sliced raw marinated beef, spicy pork and peanuts on slices of pineapple, sour salads, all smelling of cilantro and mint, garlic and ginger, chiles and lemon grass and lime. It was the best meal I’d had for years, so good I was a little pissed off that it had taken me so long to discover this kind of cooking.

Our dinner lasted for hours. We’d eat a little, then talk, then eat a little more. Miranda was like her mother in that she loved food, and it was a pleasure to see her enthusiasm for all the good stuff. I’ve always liked women who had good appetites. My wife, on the other hand, seemed to think there was something vaguely embarrassing, if not distasteful, about having to eat. She used to gobble up little bits of things when no one was looking, like a secret drinker who has bottles hidden all over the house.

Not only did I eat more than I could remember doing, I also talked more. Like O’Brien a few days before, when I finally had a listener, it all just poured out, anecdotes, reminiscences, stories, all kinds of shit I hadn’t thought of for years. And Miranda seemed to enjoy it, not out of politeness but with real interest. At least I hoped so. If not, I was being one hell of a boring old fart.

We finally staggered out of the restaurant when they were closing up, leaving surprisingly little food behind us. I lit up a huge, fat, delicious Cuban cigar that a friend’s kid had brought back from Canada. He’d given me a few, and I’d been saving them for a special occasion. This certainly seemed an appropriate time.

After we walked around a little, I took Miranda back to the apartment. She offered me a drink, which I refused. She asked if I wanted to smoke some grass and I nodded. I was feeling so good, I didn’t want it to end.

“You’re something else, Jake Spanner.”

“Yeah, but what?”

When all the edges had gone pleasantly blurry I leaned back on the couch and sighed. “This has been one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Miranda moved over next to me. “That’s good. Shall I make you feel even better?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to make love to you.”

“Come on. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not. I really mean it.”

“Well, forget it.”

“Why? Don’t you want to?”

“Miranda, that isn’t the point. Don’t you think the idea is kind of grotesque?”

She looked puzzled. “You mean, because you’re old? So what? It doesn’t bother me. I like you and we had a good time tonight. That’s what I see, what’s important. Besides, I know all that you did for my mother and me. Don’t be such a shit. Let someone do something nice for you for a change.”

I sighed. “Believe me, I’d like to oblige, but I’m way past it. It’s been five years.” Indeed, the last time had been with her mother. We tried a few times after but it hadn’t worked, and I’d given up. “Whatever you may think, I am too old.”

“You’re never too old.”

“What makes you the expert?”

“You forget who my mother is. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just out of practice. As they say, use it or lose it, Jake Spanner.”

I shook my head. “I’ve tried, but it died.”

“Bullshit.”

She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I could feel the nipple beneath the fabric. She moved her shoulders. The thin straps slipped down her arms and the front of her dress fell away. Her breasts were beautiful and the brown nipples were hard. My mouth felt dry. I brought my other hand up and felt the yielding firmness. Oh God, let me die now.

She unbuttoned my shirt. I felt her cool strong fingers moving lightly on my chest, stomach. I started to say something but she put a finger on my lips.

“Don’t talk. Just relax. You don’t have to do anything, prove anything. Just let me make you feel good.” She smiled. “Some mothers teach their daughters to cook. Phyllis couldn’t boil water, but she told me some other stuff. Let’s see.”

Well, why not?

She leaned over. Her lips caressed my chest. I felt her tongue. Oh God, now. Please.

Her hand was at my waist. Going lower. She moved from the couch and knelt on the floor in front of me.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the dope, feeling Miranda.

After a while I heard a little-girl voice say with amusement, “Why, Uncle Jake.” Uncle Jake, indeed. Move over, Al Tracker.