Pulp (6 page)

Back at the office, the next day, I was confused. I didn’t know who my clients were or what the hell. I decided to do something about it. I had the business number of Jack Bass. I rang him.

“Hello,” he said.

“Bass, this is Belane.”

“You son-of-a-bitch.”

“Take it easy, Bass, I got a black belt.”

“You’ll need it next time you bust in on one of my love sessions.”

“Jack, all I saw was a bobbing ass. I didn’t know it was you until you turned your head.”

“Who else do you think it was? You think some guy is going to slam her in my own home?”

“It’s been done plenty of times.”

“What?”

“I don’t mean your place, Jack.”

“Where then?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“I mean, it doesn’t relate to your case. Let’s talk turkey.”

“What?”

“You want me on this case or not?”

“You’re not getting anywhere, just videoing my butt.”

“I’m right on your case, Jack.”

“Like what?”

“I got a tie-in.”

“What?”

“I got a link.”

“‘Tie-in?’ ‘Link?’ What are you talking about?”

“I can tie her in with this guy. I know him. A shady sort. They are up to no good.”

“You caught them together?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’m moving slow. I’m going to let them trap themselves.”

“Can’t you nail them now?”

“I got to wait until he rings the gong.”

“What?”

“Got to catch them in the act.”

“I don’t know if you know what you’re doing, Belane.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll nail him as soon as he rings the gong.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”

“The world is no kindergarten, Jack. I’m trying to get down on this case.”

“Get down?”

“I want to nail her ass. You want me to nail her ass, don’t you?”

“Just get me some proof.”

“The proof is in the pudding, Bass.”

“You getting close to something, Belane?”

“I can smell it, I can sniff it, I’m hot on the trail. I know this guy. He’s a Frenchman. And you know about Frenchmen, don’t you?”

“No, what about Frenchmen?”

“If you don’t know, Bass, I can’t tell you. I don’t have all day.

Now, do you want me to follow up on this goddamned case or not?”

“You say you’re closing in?”

“I’m right on top of both of them.”

“What?”

“You want me or not, Bass? I’m gonna count to five. One, two, three, four…”

“All right, all right, follow it up.”

“Fine, Jack. Now, a little matter….”

“What?”

“I’ll need a month in advance.”

“A month? I thought you were hot on it.”

“I gotta lay the trap. I gotta set it up. I gotta make sure. When he hits that gong…”

“All right, all right, the check is on the way!”

He slammed the phone down on me. Acted like a guy in love.

What a sucker….

Next I phoned Grovers. He had given me his business number. The phone rang 3 times, he picked it up.

“Hello,” he said, “This is the Silver Haven Mortuary.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“Grovers, you play with stiffs.”

“What?” he asked.

“Stiffs. Stiffs. This is Nick Belane.”

“What do you want, Mr. Belane?”

“I’m working on your space alien case, Mr. Grovers.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Tell me, Hal, why do you do what you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Playing with the dead. Why? Why?”

“It’s my occupation. A man has to make a living.”

“But playing with stiffs? That’s kind of weird. That’s sick. Do you drain the blood? What do you do with the blood after you drain it?”

“I have an employee who does that, Billy French.”

“Put him on, I want to talk to him.”

“He’s out to lunch.”

“You mean, he eats?”

“Yes.”

I paused. I inhaled, I exhaled. Then I spoke. “Look, Grovers, you want me to follow up this case?”

“You mean, Jeannie Nitro?”

“Of course. You got any other space babes working?”

“No.”

“Well, you want me to get her off your neck?”

“Of course. But do you think you can? Looks to me like you struck out the only time you met her.”

“Grovers, even Ted Williams struck out now and then. I’ll finally slam that whore so far you’ll never see her again!”

“I don’t think she’s a whore, Mr. Belane.”

“Just a manner of speaking. No offense meant against the bimbo.”

“Do you think you can do anything about her?

“Even as we are speaking, Grovers, I am working on a link, a tie-in.”

“Like what?”

“I can’t tell you too much. But the fact that you play with stiffs and that she is a space alien, that’s a tie-in, a link.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Belane?”

“I can’t tell you too much. But I have been consulting with a spe-cialist in these matters. He’s got a book on the space aliens but he requested more background on you.”

“All right, what do you want to know?”

“Hold it. Before I put any more time on this case, I’ll need another check. Two weeks in advance.”

“Do you think you can do something?”

“God damn it, I’ve just told you, I’m in full swing on this matter!”

“All right, Mr. Belane, I’ll get a check in the mail today. Two weeks.”

“You’re a wise man, Mr. Grovers.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Mr. Belane, Billy French just came back from lunch. You want to talk to him?”

“No, but ask him what he had for lunch.”

“Just a moment…”

I waited. Then he was back. “He said roast beef and mashed potatoes.”

“That’s sickening!”

“What?”

“I’ve got to go now, Mr. Grovers.”

“But I thought you wanted more background on me.”

“I’ll send you a questionnaire.”

I hung up, swung my feet up on the desk. I was putting the pieces back in line. I was there. Nick Belane, dick. Yet I still had to solve the Red Sparrow affair. And then there was Celine and Lady Death. There was always Lady Death.

Now there was a whore.

I mean, what else could you call her?

I had to think about it. I had to think about all of it. Somehow, it was all tying together: space, death, Sparrow, stiffs, Celine, Cindy, Bass.

But I couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. Not yet. My temples began to throb. I had to get out of there.

The office walls held no answers. I was going goofy, I began to think of myself in bed with Lady Death, Cindy and Jeannie Nitro, all of them, at once. All too much. I put on my derby and walked out the door.

I found myself at the racetrack. Hollywood Park. There were no live horses. They were at Oak Tree. The races were telecast and you bet as usual.

I took the escalator up. Guy behind me bumped against one of my hip pockets.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Pardon me.”

I always carried my wallet in my left front pocket. You learned, you learned. After a while.

Passed the Turf Club. Looked in. Just a bunch of old guys. With money. How did they do it? And how much did you need? And what did it all mean? We all died broke and most of us lived that way. It was a debilitating game. Just to get your shoes on in the morning was a victory.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the clubhouse area. And there was the mailman standing there sucking on a coffee. I walked up to him.

“Who the hell let you in here?” I asked him.

His face looked out of shape. Swollen.

“Belane,” he said, “I’m going to kill you.”

“You shouldn’t drink coffee,” I said, “it will keep you awake nights.”

“I’m going to take you out, Belane, your days are numbered.”

“Who do you like in the first?” I asked him.

“
Dog Ears
.”

“Here,” I handed him a couple of bucks, “get lucky.”

“Hey, thanks Belane!”

“Forget it,” I said, then walked off.

Something was always after a man. It never relented. No rest, ever.

I walked over to concessions and got a large coffee.

“Who do you like in the first, Belane?” the waitress asked.

“Can’t tell you or you’ll beat the odds down to nothing.”

“Thanks, jerk,” she said.

I slid her tip back across the counter and put it back in my pocket.

I found a seat near the screen and sat down and opened the
Form
.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

“That two bucks ain’t gettin’ you off, Belane. You’re finished.”

It was the mailman. I stood up and turned around.

“Give me the two fucking bucks back then!”

“No way, man!”

“I’ll bust your damned sack!” I told him.

He smiled and moved toward me. I felt the edge of the blade pressed against my gut. It was just the tip, he had the rest covered with his fingers.

“I got 6 inches here and I’d just love to sink it into your stupid, fat gut!”

“How come you’re not working today? Who the hell’s delivering the mail?”

“Shut up! I’m trying to decide whether to kill you or not.”

“Buddy, I got 10 bucks here for you to bet on
Dog Ears
.”

“How much?”

“$20.”

“How much?”

I felt the tip of the knife prick my skin.

“$50.”

“All right, reach into your wallet, slip out a $50 and stick it in my front shirt pocket.”

I felt the sweat rolling down behind my ears. I worked the wallet out of my left front pocket, slipped out a $50 and slipped it into his front pocket. I felt the tip of the knife withdraw.

“Now, sit down there and open up your
Form
and begin reading it.”

I did that. Then I felt the tip of the knife against the back of my neck.

“Feel lucky,” he said.

Then he walked off.

I sat there and finished my coffee. Then I got up and walked out. I took the escalator down, got to parking, got into my car and drove out of there. Some days just weren’t your days. I drove all the way to Hollywood, parked it somewhere and walked into a movie. I got some popcorn and a soft drink and sat down. The movie was on but I didn’t watch it. I just chewed at the popcorn and sucked at the drink. And wondered if
Dog Ears
had taken the first.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I drank beer, I drank wine, I drank vodka, all to no avail.

I hadn’t solved anything. All my cases were dormant. My father had told me that I would be a failure. He was a failure also. Bad seed.

I flipped on the tv. I had one in the bedroom. A young woman came on and told me that she would talk to me, make me feel good.

All I needed was a credit card. I decided against it. Then the woman’s face vanished from the screen and it was Jeannie Nitro’s face.

“Belane,” she said, “I don’t want you messing in my affairs.”

“What?” I said.

She repeated the sentence and I switched the tv off. I poured another vodka, straight. I switched out the lights and sat in bed in the dark. I took a hit of the vodka.

Then there was a large buzzing sound like a cloud of bees circling a disturbed hive. Then there was a flash of purple light and Jeannie Nitro stood there. It scared the hell out of me.

“Scare you, Belane?” she asked.

“Hell no,” I answered, “don’t you have any manners? Don’t you knock before you enter?”

Jeannie Nitro looked about the room.

“You need a maid,” she told me, “this place is filthy.”

I drained my vodka, tossed the glass to one side.

“Never mind that, I’m going to nail your ass.”

“As a detective, you lack three things.”

“Like?”

“Drive, direction and detection.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m on to your game, baby.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re sucking up to Grovers because he’s a mortician and because you want to use his dead bodies to house your alien friends in.”

She sat down in a chair, found one of my cigarettes, lit it and laughed.

“Do I look like I’m in a dead body?”

“Not exactly.”

“We can create our own bodies. Watch!”

Again there was the buzzing sound, a flash of purple light and over in the corner of the room appeared another Jeannie Nitro. She was standing by my potted plant.

“Hello, Belane,” she said.

“Hello, Belane,” said the Jeannie Nitro sitting in the chair.

“Hey,” I said, “can you be in two bodies at the same time?”

“No,” said the Jeannie Nitro sitting in the chair. “But,” said the Jeannie Nitro standing by the potted plant, “we can leap from one body to another.”

I climbed out of bed to pick up my glass and pour another vodka.

“You sleep in your shorts,” said one Jeannie Nitro.

“Disgusting,” said the other.

I got back into bed with my drink and propped myself up against a pillow.

There was another sound of buzzing, a flash of purple light and the Jeannie by the potted plant was gone. I looked at the one in the chair.

“Look,” I said, “Grovers hired me to get you off his ass and that’s just what I intend to do.”

“You talk big for a man whose talents hover near the zero mark.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve cracked tougher cases than yours!”

“Really? Tell me about one of them.”

“All my back files are confidential.”

“Confidential or non-existent?”

“Don’t get me pissed, Jeannie or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll…” I lifted the vodka toward my mouth. Suddenly my hand froze two inches from my lips. I couldn’t move.

“You’re 3rd rate, Belane. Don’t play with me. And I’m being kind now. Feel lucky.”

Feel lucky? That was the second time I had heard that within 12 hours.

There was the buzz, the flash of purple and Jeannie Nitro was gone.

I sat there in bed, unable to move, the glass still two inches from my lips. I sat and waited. I had time to muse over my career. There wasn’t much to muse about. Maybe I was in the wrong profession.

But it was too late to start anything else.

I just sat there and waited. In about ten minutes there was a tingling all over my body. I was able to move my hand just a little.

Then a little more. I put the vodka to my lips, managed to tilt my head and I drained the glass. I tossed it to the floor, stretched out in bed and waited once more for sleep. I heard the sound of gunfire outside and realized that everything was all right with the world.

In five minutes I was asleep along with everybody else.