Shark Infested Custard Part 19

I shrugged. "It's all setup, man. I gave her instructions before we left."

The difference between my apartment and Hank's was apparent the moment you stepped inside my door. Hank had had all of his odd-sized mismatched furniture s.h.i.+pped up from Florida, and he hadn't added anything new to it. Mrs. Sinkiewicz cleaned his bedroom and half of his living room, but the other half of his living room was still stacked with unpacked cardboard boxes. His sailfish, with just the sword sticking out, was still wrapped up in a foam-rubber blanket. Hank's apartment was depressing, but mine was light and cheerful. The way my white leather furniture was placed, my living room looked almost twice as large as Hank's. Eddie, of course, had rented his apartment furnished, and he didn't give a d.a.m.n whether he furnished it with new stuff or not. But there were twin beds in Eddie's bedroom, which was at least convenient, with Don living with him. My apartment was the logical place to have the party, and I had insisted on it.

Merita looked so d.a.m.ned good, when we came into my apartment that even I was astonished. I had never seen her short natural hair in anything but braided corn-rows, which made her look almost bald, or close to it; but she surprised us--me most of all--with a giant Afro wig when she opened the door. It was a huge wig, and I supposed she had bought it at the Beauty College--or borrowed it for the night--and it had changed her entire appearance. The long kinky hair stood out for a full foot all of the way around her head, and she looked as feminine as a mother cat. She wore a white satin pants suit, with lace at the cuffs and collar, and the same matching lace bordered the bottom of her bell trousers. She was nervous, of course, and her long fingers fluttered, but everything in the apartment was perfect. She had fixed the buffet on the white parson's table just outside the kitchen door. The liquor gla.s.ses, ice bucket and mixes were neatly arranged on the coffee table, we could all fix fresh drinks from a seated position without getting up.

Merita took our outer coats into the bedroom to hang them up. Hank looked at all of the finger food displayed on the buffet, grinned and shook his head. "You really overdid it, Fuzz-O. It's beautiful, but who can eat anything else after that dinner we had?"

"You'll probably be hungry later. Fix your own drinks," I announced. I crossed to the stereo to take off the James Brown, which I replaced with my favorite Van Morrison alb.u.m-- "Hard Nose the Highway."

Eddie and Hank mixed themselves Chivas and sodas. Don stared glumly at the table, twisting each bottle one quarter turn. "I don't see any wine," he said.

"Hank and I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Don," I said. "You've got to get off that Ripple kick. I've got plenty of champagne in the fridge for you--or for anybody else who wants it, but you'd probably be better off drinking Chivas."

"I just don't like the taste of scotch, is all," Don said.

"I'll get the champagne."

Hank laughed. "It was pretty funny, though. I didn't think Korean's were capable of showing any emotion on their faces until Don asked that guy for a gla.s.s of Pagan Pink Ripple."

"I just said that to be funny," Don said, flus.h.i.+ng slightly.

Eddie laughed. "It was funny all right, but I thought that Korean waiter was going to p.i.s.s his pants."

I brought in the champagne and four gla.s.ses. I handed the bottle to Don to open, and lined up the gla.s.ses on the coffee table. "Let's all have one gla.s.sful for a birthday toast to Don before we start drinking seriously," I said.

"I'll drink to that," Hank said solemnly, and he drank half of his Chivas and soda.

Merita was standing over by the buffet. Don poured the champagne, and then he said, looking at me, "Where's Merita's gla.s.s?"

"I'll get another one," I said, snapping my fingers. As I went into the kitchen, I told Merita to sit down on the couch directly behind Don's chair.

After Don handed the filled gla.s.ses around, Eddie said, "I want to be the first to wish Don a happy first birthday, but if anybody here wants to sing the happy birthday song, he's going to beat the s.h.i.+t out of me first!"

"And me," Hank said.

"Happy birthday, baby," I said to Don. We all drained our gla.s.ses, and Don blinked his eyes.

"Thanks," Don said, bobbing his head, as he poured another gla.s.s of wine, "this is a great party. It really is, and I appreciate it."

I winked at Merita, and jerked my head. She put down her gla.s.s, which she had only sipped, and went into the kitchen. A moment later she brought in the apple snack cake. There was a single lighted candle in the middle. The cake sagged slightly at one end, but she had done a smooth, even job with the white icing, and it looked nice. Merita carried the cake over carefully, and held it low for Don to blow out the candle. We all applauded, and Merita took the cake over to the buffet.

I fixed a Chivas and soda for myself, checked to see that everyone else was all right, and then went to the bathroom, gesturing for Merita to follow me. I took the wrapped presents-- Eddie and Hank's presents to Don--out of the closet, where we had hidden them earlier, and placed them on my bed.

"Do you remember what I told you do?" I said to Merita.

She bobbed her head vigorously, and her long hair trembled as though wind blew through it.

"Okay. Then -smile-, and keep smiling. I don't want you to act as if you're doing Don a favor, for Christ's sake."

I picked up a package, handed the other one to Merita, and she followed me out. Back in the living room, we put the packages on the table in front of Don. He was well-pleased with his presents. Hank had given him a beautiful all-leather traveling liquor case, with silver-plated bar accessories and two four-ounce silver drinking cups inside. Eddie had given him a Mark Cross pigskin briefcase. Don had always like leather, and we knew that he would like these gifts whether he ever used them or not. He was so pleased he kept saying "Wow!" and "Thanks!"

I gathered the paper wrappings, and folded them into small squares. Hank winked at me. Eddie, who wasn't in on the surprise, merely mixed himself a fresh drink without giving any outward indication that there was no present from me for Don to open.

I put the folded paper under my chair, freshened my drink, and said: "Oh, yes, I almost forgot, Don, I've got a present for you myself."

Don looked at me. Merita sat quickly on Don's lap, dangling her long legs over the arm of his chair, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the neck Her wild Afro hid his entire face from us.

Hank and I laughed, and Eddie grinned.

Don struggled slightly, and Menta sat up, still on his lap, smiling.

"I'm overwhelmed," Don said, laughing a little. "But you're kidding, of course?"

Merita got up, walked to the front door, swaying her high round a.s.s, turned, and took off her white jacket, slowly unb.u.t.toning it from the top as she smiled at Don. Her long-nippled conical b.r.e.a.s.t.s, defying gravity pointed upwards. She held her jacket in her right hand, and put her left hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"No joke, Don," I said seriously. "She's yours, man--but just for the night. Happy birthday, from me to you."

"You aren't just kidding, then?" Don said.

"He isn't kidding, for Christ's sake," Hank said. "Go ahead."

Don got up, grinning sheepishly. "In that case, if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll be back after awhile. Don't take off anything else," he said to Merita, "I like to unwrap my own presents."

"I'll get you a fresh bottle of champagne," I said. When I returned from the kitchen with an unopened bottle, Don had two wine gla.s.ses in his right hand, and was handing his apartment key to Merita with his left. I gave Don the bottle, and they left, without closing my door, to cross the hallway to Eddie's apartment.

I closed the door, and took off my arm sling and suit coat. Hank removed his bulky tweed jacket and gave it to me, but Eddie shook his head. I draped the two jackets over the back of Don's vacated chair. Then I slipped my arm sling on again.

"How come," Eddie said, "you guys didn't let me in on the surprise?"

"I didn't intend to let Hank in on it," I said, "but when you and Don walked ahead, when we got back, Hank was all set to return to the Playboy Towers or somewhere to pick up a girl for Don-- so I had to tell him."

"That's right, Eddie," Hank said. "Don was getting depressed again, I thought, so I figured that a woman might cheer him up. But it's better this way."

"Well, it sure as h.e.l.l surprised me," Eddie said. "I wouldn't mind some of that myself, if my luck ever needs changing. Try and remember my birthday, Larry-- November fourteenth!"

I laughed. "By November, Merita'll probably be back in Dothan, Alabama, where she belongs. This is just a one-shot deal. You and Hank can get your own poontang."

"What I wish," Hank said, "what I wish, is that I had a Polaroid color shot of Don's face when she sat on his lap. That's what I wish."

"I've got a Polaroid," I said, "but I never thought of it. We could've taken some shots of all of us when Don was opening his presents. On the other hand, the fewer the pictures of Don around the better, especially of Don since he came to Chicago. In fact, I was thinking this afternoon, one of us should be with Don all of the time, until he's really straightened out."

"I like Don," Eddie said, "but having him around all the time with me isn't the best solution. But now that he's got a job, and will be out there making money again, he'll be all right. He's really excited, I think, about selling encyclopedias. He told me yesterday that the only thing he didn't like about it was that you had to sell to families who could least afford them."

"That's nothing to worry about," Hank said. "Nowadays no one can hardly afford anything--except for guys like us, who aren't mired down with wives and children."

I heard the shot-- the sound of the.45 -- and I was on my feet, taking my left hand out of the sling, before Eddie said, "Was that a shot?"

"Yeah," I said, "and it came from your apartment. Give me your keys, Eddie." I had inadvertently clutched my fingers into fists the instant the shot was fired, and my hand, which hadn't hurt all evening, was tingling with pain.

Eddie got up, took his keys out of his pocket, and said: "Let's all go over together."

"No," I said. "You and Hank wait here. I'll just check and come right back"

I crossed the hallway, opened the door, and went inside. There was a light on the floor in the bedroom. I entered the bedroom. The lamp, which had been on the bedside table between the two beds, had been knocked over, but the light was still burning. Merita, who had been sitting naked on Eddie's bed, stood up as I entered. Her eyes bulged whitely in her black face. Don, except for his heavy blue-and-yellow Argyle socks, was naked on his own bed. The drawer of the bedside table was open, and the pistol was on the floor by the lamp. I picked up the lamp, put it back on the table, and looked at Don. The bullet had entered his head from his chin, shattering it, and had ploughed upward through the back of the roof of his mouth. The pillow and the padded yellow headboard were a messy mixture of blood, scattered brains, and hair. I closed his staring eyes with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand.

"What happened, baby?" I said.

Merita started to cry, but I told her sharply to stop, and she managed to quit in a moment or so. I got her pants suit from the closet, where she had hung it up neatly, and told her to get dressed. She put on her pants and jacket, but her fingers were shaking so much she couldn't b.u.t.ton the front. I did it for her, and led her into the living room, closing the door to the bedroom. I turned on lights, and told her to sit down. She shook her head.

"He was trying to hurt me," she sid. She patted her high round a.s.s, unable to say it. "Back here. I--I wouldn't let him do it, and he got the gun and said he'd make me. I thought maybe he was funnen me, but he was mad, really mad. So when he kept on, I tried to get the gun and it went off. It was so quick, so quick, quick--"

"Who pulled the trigger? You or Don?"

"I don't know, but not me. I didn't do nothin'. I just tried to get the gun and it went off."

"That's all right," I said. "Let's go back to my apartment."

I locked the door, and we went back to my apartment. I didn't worry about the Sinkiewicze's hearing the shot. They went to bed at ten-thirty when he wasn't at the fire station, and nothing would wake them after midnight. They had lived in Chicago for forty some odd years; all their lives.

"Don's dead," I told Eddie and Hank. "He shot himself. It wasn't Merita's fault."

"Jesus!" Eddie said. "Are you sure he's dead?"

I touched my chin with my thumb. "It went in here, and came out back here." I patted the back of my head.

Hank reached for the scotch bottle. "You never know, do you? He seemed so d.a.m.ned happy when he left," Hank said.

"Pour a double for Merita, Hank," I said. He did, and I handed the gla.s.s to her. She shook her head.

"Drink it, girl," I said. She held the gla.s.s with both hands and drank it down, shuddering.

"What do we do now, Fuzz?" Eddie said.

"Let me think a minute." Cradling my left hand, I walked back and forth across the room a couple of times, thinking. Then I snapped the fingers of my right hand. "Okay!" I said. "Here's the first thing we've got to do-- !"

"Oh, s.h.i.+t!" Hank laughed. "Here we go again!" He kept on laughing, and Eddie joined him. I caught a glimpse of Merita's startled face. Her mouth was a large round carmine 0, and her humid eyes bulged from her head as she looked at Eddie, then at Don, and then at me. She performed her awkward, shuffling dance from one foot to the other, back and forth, and a big wet stain appeared on her white satin trousers as she wet them. I had to laugh myself. All three of us were laughing, and we couldn't stop.

Poor Merita.

She probably thought we were crazy.

About the Author.

Born January 2, 1919 in Little Rock, Arkansas, Charles Ray Willeford was orphaned at the age of eight. He lived with his grandmother in Los Angeles until he reached the age of twelve and realized she could not afford to support both of them during the depression. He hit the roads as a young hobo, a period detailed in the autobiographical volume -I Was Looking for a Street-. His life story continues in -Something About a Soldier- as Willeford, a high school dropout, lies about his age and joins the army at the age of sixteen. He went on to become a twenty-year Army-Air Force man, and was a highly decorated tank commander with the Third Army, fighting in the Battle of the Bulge, though his nagging ambition was to be a poet. His first book, the poetry collection -Proletarian Laughter-, appeared in 1948. The first of his -noir- paperback original novels, -High Priest of California-, saw print in 1953. In the 1980s, after forty years of writing, his series of novels about Hoke Moseley -- -Miami Blues-, -New Hope for the Dead-, -Sideswipe-, and -The Way We Die Now--- proved his breakthrough, and placed his name firmly in the ranks of the greatest writers of hard-boiled crime fiction. Willeford died on Palm Sunday, 1988, in his home in Miami.

The End.