Pulp - Charles Bukowski [20]
“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 specialist 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?
20
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