“With the white beard.”
“Works in a mall every Christmas.”
“I saw him,” Capra said. “I didn’t think he saw me.”
“Yeah. He did.”
“Say hi to him next time.”
“No,” Luntz said, “no next time for me.”
Capra kept quiet.
Jimmy placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Who’s that dude in there, Capra? In the café. That’s Sally Fuck.”
“Just possibly. If so, his name would be Sol Fuchs. He’s against being called Fuck. But the thing is — last names, man.” Capra plucked one of the strings and turned a key on the instrument’s neck and tightened it to a whine. “This is a pretty fucked-up situation. We’re incognito here, you know?”
“All of us. All of us.”
Anita held out her hand and said, “Anita Desilvera. And this is my friend Jimmy Luntz.”
Capra took her hand gently and said, “Okay. Now all our dicks are hanging out.”
“Pleased and charmed.”
Capra laughed. He stopped laughing. “Fucking Santa Claus. Who else knows?”
“Whoever he told. Nobody believed him.”
“You did.”
“Not really. But I’m in a wild mood, so I’m taking any long shot, anything looks like action.”
“What do you need, Jimmy?”
“Remember that time I let you stay with me and Shelly?”
“I owe you, Jimmy. That’s a fact.”
“We need to hunker down a minute. Get some options figured out.”
Capra tangled his fingers in his beard and yanked at it. “How many days? I hope it’s days, man, and not weeks.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t matter none. I owe you. But it’s Sol’s place, not mine. All I can do is talk to Sol.”
Anita said, “Till next Wednesday.”
“What’s today?”
“I don’t know.”
“Saturday,” Jimmy said.
“Wednesday’s probably acceptable.” Capra stood and set his guitar down on the seat of his chair and started up the hill. By now it was dark.
At the bottom of the staircase up the building’s side Jimmy waited while she brushed the soles of her feet and put her shoes on, and then they climbed behind Capra up to the small landing. Capra worked a key and let them in and flipped a wall switch. A bed, a stove, a fridge. Wooden floor with the finish scratched off. For a curtain, a bedsheet. “You can eat in the restaurant for the usual price, or you can make a list and I’ll bring you shit from the store in a box. It’s up to you. I’ll get Sol to go along as far as Wednesday.”
From beneath them, Anita felt the gigantic quiet of the empty establishment downstairs. “Is the restaurant closed?”
“Open for business. But most of the folks who come here are down in Bolinas for the biker convention.” Capra looked her up and down and seemed to examine her face carefully. “So what happens Wednesday?”
“Wednesday I go to court.”
“Yeah. I know you.”
“Nobody knows me.”
“You’re slightly infamous.”
“All lies,” Anita said.
“So!” Jimmy said. “John Capra didn’t die.”
“Nope. My old lady wanted alimony. That’s unacceptable. I cut her some slack. I walked.”
“Like a real gentleman,” Anita said.
“Yeah, it was, lady. I know twenty dudes would’ve taken her out to the Mojave and buried her alive for that shit.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Anita said.
Capra put his hand on the doorknob and stared at her, but he was speaking to Jimmy. “This one got the beauty that goes down to the bone. High heels or barefoot, don’t matter.”
“She can sing too.”
“I can’t tell if she’s powered by a lot of soul or a lot of psycho electricity.”
Anita said, “Do you always talk about people like they’re invisible?”
“Usually just women.”
It was one of those hippie-student pads smelling like cat shit, incense, a little dirty laundry, dirty dishes. She said, “Does somebody, you know — clean?” just to be a bitch.
“I said I owe him. I didn’t say I was his slave.” Capra shut the door softly behind him, and the windowpanes rattled as he went down the stairs.
Jimmy lit a cigarette and said, “Honey? I’m home!”
Anita said, “Is this a smoking room?”
“Yeah. I smoke.”
“Well, fine. Smoke.”
He blew smoke and opened what looked like a closet door. “Even a bathroom. No tub.”
Anita sat on the bed. “Jeez, the mattress is like quicksand, help!”
“Don’t get lost. I’ll be back.” He went out the door, and she listened to the panes rattle while he descended, and then she settled back onto the bare feather pillow. It stank. A few minutes, and someone shook the panes again coming up the stairs.
It was Sally — Sol — with sheets and a blanket. “Funky, funky, funky,” he said, “but it’s bigger than mine. I have a studio downstairs off the kitchen.” He stood by the bed looking haggard, though he smiled. “Might as well live near the job — I have to be in the kitchen by six a.m. anyhow. Can you stand it, honey?”
“Sure.”
“The renter just moved out. The plan is we clean it up and move in next week. Me and Jay.”
“You mean — you and Jay? Move in?”
“Move in. Me and Jay. That’s the situation.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Might as well take a shot. At least he’s not going anywhere. He’s stuck.”
“So you guys all knew each other somewhere. Alhambra.”
“Alhambra, USA. Jimmy burned up the life down there, huh? Fact is, there’s a real coincidence going on here. I got a little crazy down there myself.”
“Well,” she said.
“Who’s after him? Is it the cops, or is it Gambol and Juarez and all those nice people?”
“Gambol,” Anita said. “Who’s that?”
Sally still held the towels. Picking at the fabric with one hand. “So it’s Gambol.”
“I don’t know. The name just sounded familiar.”
“Gambol,” Sally said, “just keeps coming.”
“I don’t think Jimmy would hang around for somebody like that.”
“Then who’s Jimmy hanging around for now?” He looked at Anita. “Oh. Yeah.”
When Sally was gone, Jimmy came back with his duffel and their JCPenney shopping bags and set them all down beside the bathroom door. “The earthly goods.”
Anita said nothing, making the bed.
Jimmy put on a phony smile and stuck his hands in his pockets and watched. “How’s old Sally Fuck doing?”
“He seems nice enough.”
“He’s not, not nearly.”
“Who’s Juarez?”
Jimmy lit a cigarette.
“Or did he mean Juarez like the place?”
“Sally mentioned Juarez?” Jimmy took one drag and tossed his smoke through the bathroom door into the toilet. “Juarez is not the place. He’s a guy who owns a couple dumpy clubs and porn joints. Sally disappeared two or three years ago with a whole lot of money, and there’s a
bounty out for his head. It wasn’t Juarez’s money, but Juarez is the kind of guy who collects things.”
“Like bounties.”
“Yeah. You’re quick. Listen. Whatever you do, don’t talk to Sally about the situation.”
“What situation?”
“Exactly. You got it. Don’t talk to him.”
Mary understood her patient was important to Juarez. Juarez had promised her twenty thousand to get this man walking again. Juarez hadn’t said what he’d give her if things went wrong.
To Mary the patient didn’t look like anybody important. Long-limbed, long-faced, with a heavy brow and deep-set, melancholy eyes that made him seem thoughtful. But he was beginning to impress her as stupid. After every hypo of morphine sulfate he hopped on a cloud and held court for about thirty minutes. Apparently he’d once eaten a man’s testicles.