Harry said, “What was that all about?”
Karen sat at one end of the round booth so she’d have an angle on both of them at once and wouldn’t have to turn her head looking from one to the other. She moved the shrimp salad that hadn’t been touched away from her, and the half glass of white wine. Chili brushed bread crumbs away from his place. He would look over, wanting to include her at first, telling them Catlett and the bearded guy, the Bear, had broken into his hotel room and gone through his things. Telling it matter-of-factly, making the point: “These are the kind of people you’re dealing with, Harry. They want me out of the way so they can have a piece of you.” Nice irony. The ex-mob guy telling Harry to look out for the limo guys, they’re crooks.
Harry had been acting strange ever since she arrived and he introduced her to Catlett and Catlett introduced her to his friend the Bear and they let her stand there a few minutes, Harry’s broad, nothing more, while Catlett spoke to him and placed a key on the table next to Harry’s meatloaf. Most of it and the baked potato eaten; he hadn’t touched his green beans. When Catlett got up he smiled and touched her arm and said it was a pleasure. A good-looking guy, he reminded her of Duke Ellington, dressed by Armani or out of that place on Melrose, Maxfield’s, wearing about two thousand dollars’ worth of clothes.
The key wasn’t on the table now.
Harry said to Chili, “You know what he is, you told me. So what? I need a hundred and a half, at least, and he’s loaning it to me, no strings, I write any kind of agreement I want. All I have to do is pick up the dough. Okay? If you have a problem with him that’s your problem. I don’t.”
It seemed that simple till Chili asked, “Is he giving you a check or cash?” and it got interesting. Harry said cash. He said it happened to be waiting right this moment in a locker at the airport. He said
GET SHORTY 227
something about a business deal that didn’t go through and Chili said, “Jesus Christ, the guy’s setting you up. Don’t you see that? You pulled out of their Freaks deal so he’s teaching you a lesson. He’s not giving you anything, Harry, he’s paying you back.” Harry said he didn’t know what he was talking about and Chili said, “Harry, I could write a fuckin book on paybacks. You reach in that locker, you’re gonna come out wearing handcuffs, I’m telling you.”
Karen wished she could write some of it down.
Harry said, “Oh, is that right? I’m being set up? Then how come Catlett said I should send you out to get it, since you haven’t done a fucking thing for me since you got into this?”
Karen watched Chili start to smile and for a moment it surprised her. Smiled and shook his head and said, “Harry, I was wrong, I’m sorry. You’re not the one he wants to set up.”
Harry was not the Harry she had known for fifteen years; he was too quiet. But pouty, acting offended, Harry realizing he was into something he couldn’t handle—that was it—and afraid of looking dumb.
Chili said, “Give me the key. If it’s there and I don’t see a problem, I’ll get it for you.”
Karen watched Harry turn his head to look at Chili as though he had a choice and was appraising him, thinking it over.
She watched Chili shrug. He said, “It’s up to you, Harry. But don’t do it yourself, I’m telling you.”
She watched Harry put his hand in his coat pocket and bring out the key. He didn’t hand it to Chili, he laid it on the table between them. He said, “A hundred and seventy grand. I wonder if I’m ever gonna see you again.”
Harry left after that, which was fine with Chili. He and Karen went downstairs to sit at the bar for one, not sure if they’d eat here or go someplace else. She was full of questions, asking about the limo guys and how they made their money. Then asking if he was going out to the airport later this evening. He told her he was thinking of waiting till tomorrow around noon, when there’d be a lot of people there.
Right after that was when Karen said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. A friend of yours from Miami called the house.”
“Tommy Carlo?”
“No that wasn’t it. I wrote it down,” Karen said. “Ray something. Ray Bar-bone? . . .”
22 
The way the lockers in the Delta terminal worked, you put in three quarters for twenty-four hours. If you expected to use the locker any longer than that, you left two bucks inside for each additional twenty-four hours and a locker attendant would come by and check the time and collect the money. Chili had to read the instructions, printed on each locker, twice before he figured it out. He did this before walking past the bank of lockers where C-018 was located, noticing the lockers on both sides of it had keys sticking out. He liked that as much as he liked all the travelers here today. This LAX, ten-thirty in the morning, was a busy airport.
Next thing he did was check the Arrivals monitor to see what flight he was waiting for if anybody should ask. The one that caught his eye was 83 from Newark, due in at twelve-forty. He imagined Debbie coming out of the gate carrying a makeup kit full of pills and with that pissed-off look she had. Hi, honey, how was the flight? It was awful. The food was awful, the stewardess was a snip and I have a headache. He seemed to be thinking of Debbie and his situation more, still married to her, since meeting Karen, even though he wasn’t thinking of Karen in any serious way beyond—he was-n’t sure what. The thing he liked about Karen, his past life and associations didn’t seem to turn her on or off. She was natural with him, didn’t put on airs. Also she was a knockout, she was smart, she was a movie star, or had been, and was starting to give him a certain look and call him Chil. All last night after the business with the stuntman, she had looked at him in a different way, he felt, than she did before. Like she wanted to know things about him. And she was quieter, even while asking a lot of questions, though she didn’t ask if he was married or anything too personal. Dropping her off he thought she was going to ask him in. He believed she came close before changing her mind for some reason. Still looking at the Arrivals monitor he noticed Flight 89 from Atlanta up there, the one Bones had connected with from Miami and arrived on yesterday. Karen called him Ray Bar-bone, but didn’t ask about him, so he did-n’t tell her what kind of pain in the ass this fuckin Bones was turning out to be: the way he kept showing up, Christ, for twelve years now, here he comes again, Bones the mob guy and playing it for all it was worth, but basically second-rate muscle, Bones could be handled. As long as he didn’t have that big colored guy with him. Chili thinking he didn’t need that one too, he already had a colored guy on his back, the dude. What was this? The first time in his life having trouble with colored guys.