Pulp - Charles Bukowski [51]
“Salesman? You call that guy a salesman?”
“One of our best.”
“I guess he is,” I admitted, “look at that!”
I pointed to the bird cage hanging in the corner. Inside was the red canary.
“He sold me that,” I said.
“Harry could sell the skin off a dead body,” said Temple.
“He probably has,” I said.
“That’s neither here nor there. We are here to brief you.”
“Go ahead but make it brief.”
“You’re not funny, Belane. We loaned you 4 grand at 15% interest a month. That will be $600. We want to make sure you understand everything before we come to collect.”
“Suppose I don’t have it?”
“We always collect, Mr. Belane, in one way or the other.”
“You break legs, Temple?”
“Our methods vary.”
“Suppose those methods fail. Would you have a man killed for 4 grand and interest?”
Temple pulled out a pack of smokes, tapped one out, lit it with his lighter. Then he slowly inhaled, exhaled.
“You bore me, Belane.”
Then he said, “Luke…”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“See that red bird in the cage?”
“Yes, Johnny.”
“Luke, I want you to walk over there, take that bird out of that cage and I want you to eat it alive.”
“Yes, Johnny.”
Luke started to walk over to the cage.
“JESUS, TEMPLE, STOP HIM! STOP HIM! STOP HIM!” I yelled.
“Luke,” said Temple, “I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want you to eat that bird alive.”
“Should I roast him first, Johnny?”
“No, no, just leave him alone. Go back and stand by the door.”
“Yes, Johnny.”
Temple looked at me.
“You see, Belane, we always have to collect one way or the other. And if one method doesn’t work we move to another. We have to stay in business. We are known all over town. Our reputation is acknowledged everywhere. We can allow nothing or no one to besmirch that reputation. I want you to understand this thoroughly.”
“I think I get it, Temple.”
“Fine. Your first due date comes up in 25 days. You have been briefed.”
Temple stood up, smiled.
“Good day,” he said.
He turned.
“All right, Luke, open the door, we are leaving.”
Luke did that. Temple turned and gave me a last look. He was no longer smiling. Then they were gone.
I walked over to the cage and looked at my red canary. Some of the dye was wearing off, some of the natural yellow was beginning to show through. It was a nice bird. It looked at me and I looked back. Then it made a little bird sound: “cheep!” and somehow that made me feel good. I was easy to please. It was the rest of the world that was the problem.
50
I decided to go to my apartment and have a few drinks. I had to think it through. I was at a dead end with the Red Sparrow and with my life. I drove on over, parked it, got out. I had to get out of that apartment. I’d been there 5 years. It was like I was building a nest, only nothing was hatching. Too many people knew where I lived. I walked up to my door, unlocked it. I pushed it open, there was something in the way. A body. A babe stretched there. No, hell, it was one of those inflatable dolls, one of those inflatable things some guys made love to. Not me, though, buddy.
The babe was fully inflated. I picked her up and carried her to the couch. Then I noticed a sign around her throat: “Belane, lay off the Red Sparrow or you’ll be less than this dead rubber fuck.”
Nice note. So, I’d had a visitor. Somebody who didn’t want me on the case. But it gave me hope. The Red Sparrow must truly exist or people wouldn’t be acting like this. All I had to do was pick up the trail. There had to be one. There were too many scratchings going on. I could be on something big. Maybe international. Maybe something from another world? The Red Sparrow. Son of a bitch, matters were getting interesting. I made myself a nice drink, had a hit. Then the phone rang. I picked it up.
“Yeah?”
“Pooper, what are you doing?”
A chill ran up my back. It was one of my x-wives, Penny. Last I knew, 5 years or so ago, after our divorce, she had vanished off into somewhere with a guy who worked the tables at Vegas, a Sammy.
“Sorry, you have the wrong number, madam.”
“I know your voice, Pooper.