Pulp - Charles Bukowski [50]
“To a ripe old age,” said the other.
“Like I said, Sanderson, what you got in the cage?”
“Oh, this ain’t your cage, this cage is empty.”
“You gonna give me an empty cage?”
“This is the decoy, Belane.”
“What do you need a decoy for?”
“We just like to play. We’re playful.”
“Great. Now, where’s the real cage?”
“In the front seat of your car.”
“My car? How did you…”
“Oh, we’re good at that, Belane.”
“But why did you say I was going to like it?”
“Like what?”
“That cage you’re holding there. You said I was going to like it and your two doormats agreed.”
“Just playing. We like to play. It was small talk.”
“Small talk? When you going to stop playing? When is the talk going to get large?”
“The front seat of your car, Belane. Check it out. We’re going now. See you around town. In 30 days.”
They walked off. And I was left with the hogs’ heads.
Well. I got out of there and walked toward parking. As I walked along I saw a wino leaning against a wall, his head down. The flies were having at him. I stopped and stuck a dollar in his pocket.
Then I was into parking. I walked toward the car, got in. There was another bird cage there, covered. I made sure all the windows were shut. Then I took a deep breath and pulled the cloth away. There was a bird in there. A red one. I looked close. It wasn’t a sparrow. It was a canary dyed red. Umm umm. Ow. Oh.
They could have gotten a sparrow and dyed it red. No, they had to get a fucking canary. And I couldn’t turn it loose. It would starve out there. I had to keep it. I was stuck.
And taken.
I started the car and drove out of there. I hustled the signals and finally got on the freeway. As I drove along I heard a little sound. The cage door had popped open and the bird had gotten out. It began to fly wildly about the car. The red canary. A guy in the other lane saw the action and began laughing at me. I gave him the finger. A huge dark scowl crossed his face. I saw him reach. He rolled down his window and pointed the gun at me, fired. He was a lousy shot. He missed. But I felt the wind from the bullet passing by my nose. The bird flew wildly and I gunned the car. There was a bullet hole in each of my windows, one made going in, the other out. I didn’t look back. I had it to the floor. I kept it there until I got to my exit. Then I looked back. My friend was nowhere in sight. I felt the bird then. He was standing on the top of my head. I could feel him there. Then he let go. I could feel the bird droppings as they dropped.
Not a very good day.
Not a hell of a very good day for me.
49
I was in the office. I think it was a Wednesday. There were no new cases. I was still on the Red Sparrow caper, mulling it over, sorting out my moves. The only move I could think of was moving out of town before 25 days were up.
No way. They weren’t going to run my ass out of Hollywood. I was Hollywood, what was left of it.
There was a very polite knock on the door.
“Yeah,” I said, “drag it in.”
The door opened and here was this little fellow, dressed all in black, black shoes, black suit, even a black shirt. Only his necktie was green. Lime green. His gorilla loomed up behind him. Only a gorilla had more brains.
“I’m Johnny Temple,” he said, “and this is my assistant, Luke.”
“Luke, eh? Tell me, what does he do?”
“Whatever I tell him.”
“Why don’t you tell him to leave?”
“What’s the matter, Belane, don’t you like Luke?”
“Do I have to?
Luke took a step forward. His face began to contort, he looked as if he were going to cry.
“You not like me, Belane?” Luke asked.
“Luke, you stay out of this,” said Temple.
“Yeah, stay out of this,” I said.
“You like me, Johnny?” Luke asked.
“Of course, of course! Now, Luke, you go stand in front of the door and don’t let anybody in or out.”
“You too?”
“What do you mean, Luke?”
“I not let you in or out either?”
“No, Luke, you let me in and out. But nobody else. Not until I tell you to.”
“O.k.”
Luke walked over and stood in front of the door.
Temple pulled up a chair, sat down.
“I’m here from Acme Executioners.