The Little Death (45 page)
Reggie was lying on the old rattan lounge, wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe and surrounded by the four pug dogs. The table next to him held a stack of newspapers and magazines, some prescription bottles, and a large bottle of Pellegrino in a silver wine cooler. Reggie put down the
Shiny Sheet
and gave Louis a smile.
“Louis,” he said softly, “I’m so glad you came.”
Reggie had been out of jail only two days, but already he looked better than the last time Louis had seen him. Still, he had lost his tan and a good ten pounds. With his jail buzz cut and thinner face, he bore little resemblance to the man Louis had met that first day in Ta-boo.
“Can I get you anything, dear?” Margery said, sitting on the edge of the lounge and stroking Reggie’s head.
“Franklin is making me some tomato soup.”
Margery bent over and gently pulled Reggie’s head to her breast. His face disappeared in the billowing sleeves of her caftan.
“My poor old bunny,” she said. She released him and rose with a sigh. “Will you watch him for a moment, Louis? I have to go upstairs.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll be right back, dear,” she said to Reggie. And she was gone, three of the pugs in her Shalimar wake.
“How you feeling?” Louis asked as he sat down in the chair near the lounge.
Reggie gave a small shrug. “Margery said I could stay here until I get back on my feet.”
“Thanks for letting Mel and me stay in your house. Eppie came by and gave it a good go-over. Everything’s ready for when you move back in.”
“So, you’re leaving?”
Louis nodded. “Yeah, we’re splitting this afternoon. It’s time for me to get home.”
“Mel didn’t say anything about you leaving when he was here yesterday.”
“I just decided this morning,” Louis said. “It’s time for me to get back to reality.”
Reggie nodded numbly. His stomach let out a rumble, and he looked with hope toward the archway. “I think Franklin forgot my soup,” he said with a sigh.
“Want me to go see if I can find him?”
Reggie nodded. “And tell him not to forget the dough balls.”
“Dough balls?”
Reggie gave a small smile. “When I was a boy back in Buffalo, my mother would make me Campbell’s tomato soup whenever I got sick. She used to dig out the insides of Wonder Bread and roll it into balls and put it in my soup.”
Louis rose. “Be right back.”
It took Louis a while to find the old tile kitchen in the maze of hallways, but when he finally did, it was empty. But there was a simmering pot on the stove and a silver tray. The familiar red, yellow, and blue ballooned loaf of bread was on the counter.
Louis figured Franklin had disappeared again, so he ladled some soup into a beautiful blue and white bowl and set it on a silver tray along with a linen napkin and an ornate silver spoon. He wedged a few slices of the soft white bread under the bowl and took the tray back to the loggia.
“No Franklin. But I found the soup.”
Reggie looked down at the tray as Louis set it on his lap, then up at Louis.
“You gotta do your own balls, man,” Louis said.
Reggie picked up a slice of bread, dug out the middle, and rolled it into a ball. He placed it in the soup and poked at it with the spoon. He took slow, careful sips of the soup, the swelling of his lip making him wince with each attempt.
Finally, he set the spoon down with a sigh. “I can’t even eat soup,” he said softly.
“You’ll be all right, Reg,” Louis said.
Reggie went quiet, his hand tucked under his chin as he stared out at the blue sky beyond the archways. When he turned back to Louis, his eyes were moist.
“That’s the first time you called me by my first name,” he said.
“It is?”
Reggie nodded.
The lone pug that had stayed with Reggie laid its head on his leg. Reggie stroked its ear.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous,” Reggie said.
“I don’t—”
Reggie silenced him with a hand. “That’s okay. You get used to it, you know.”
Louis’s eyes wandered to the archway, hoping Margery would appear and save him. But from what? Truth was, he had thought Reggie Kent was ridiculous. And from the start, he had wanted to distance himself from this man, like shaking his hand or just saying his first name would somehow suck him into a world he didn’t understand and wanted no part of. But this week, a lot of little worlds had been turned upside down within his larger one.
“You shouldn’t get used to it,” Louis said.
Reggie had been looking out at the ocean again and turned back. “What?”
“You should never get used to people treating you like shit because you’re maybe a little—”
Reggie smiled. “Queer?”
“I was going to say different.”
They were quiet again. A phone was ringing somewhere deep in the house. Louis and Reggie both looked at the mute extension phone, but neither made a move to pick it up.
Louis saw a shadow pass over Reggie’s bruised face and wondered again what he had endured in jail. A part of him didn’t want to know, no matter how much he figured Reggie might need to talk about it.
“I was in jail once,” Louis said.
Reggie looked at him in surprise.
“Eight years ago, I had to go back to the town where I was born in Mississippi,” Louis said.
“You’re from Mississippi?”
Louis nodded. “Some shit happened there, and I ended up in jail. One of the guards put a noose around my neck and tried to hang me.”
“Good Lord,” Reggie whispered.
“Yeah, he was a real piece of work.”
They were quiet again.
“Do you think about it a lot?” Reggie asked.
Louis hesitated. “It left a scar around my neck, but it’s faded a lot. Now I only think about it every time I shave.”
Reggie gave a wry smile and stroked the pug.
“You’ll be okay, Reg,” Louis said.
He gave Louis a long look and heaved a big sigh. “That’s not my real name, you know.”
Louis nodded. “Andrew told me you changed it.”
“Ronald Barnabas Kaczmarek, that’s my real name. How can a person be taken seriously with a name like that?”
“Sounds like a perfectly good name to me.”
“Not in this town.”
The pug jumped off the lounge and trotted off. Reggie picked up the
Shiny Sheet
and held it out to Louis. “It’s all here, you know, every sordid detail. Tink Lyons’s funeral is today. The jackals are having a field day picking at the carcasses.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Louis said.
Reggie folded up the
Shiny Sheet
and set it on the table. “Where would I go? Back to Buffalo? Please.”
Louis was quiet.
“I know this is a horrible place in many ways,” Reggie said. “But it is also quite lovely, and it is my home. There’s no way you’ll ever understand, but I feel safe here. I don’t think I can survive anywhere else anymore.”
Louis understood perfectly. With Margery at his side, Reggie Kent would resume his place on the island. His phone would ring again. His ladies would embrace him again. He would return to the ballet, to caviar on his patio, and to his coveted table by the fireplace in Ta-boo.
The snorting of pugs made them both look to the archway. Margery came in, her Pucci caftan a floating rainbow cloud.
“I just got off the phone with Harvey,” she said. “You would not believe what that man is charging me for all this.”
Reggie looked away, embarrassed.
“He got the charges dropped against Reggie,” Louis said.
Margery grimaced. “Okay, he hit on all sixes, but he still cost me some heavy sugar. Lawyers… the world would spin so much better without them.”
“Can’t say I disagree with that,” Louis said. He rose. “Well, I have to get going.”
Margery stared at him. “Going? Going where?”
“It’s time for me to go home.”
“Is Marvin going with you?”
Louis nodded.
“But I thought he was canoodling with that lovely bartender at Ta-boo?”
Louis had ceased to wonder how word got around the island so fast. “Marvin’s leaving, too.”
Margery let out a big sigh and looked down at Reggie. “Well, say your goodbyes, dear. I’m going to walk him out.”
Reggie looked up at Louis. “How can I thank you?” he said softly.
“Just be happy, Reg.”
Reggie nodded.
“Let’s ankle, Louis,” Margery said.
Louis followed Margery out of the loggia and into the hallway. The pugs followed them outdoors. Louis watched them as they rolled and snorted in the grass. Louis spotted Franklin over by the coral fountain, ladling out leaves with a small aquarium net. A van pulled up to the mansion across the street and dislodged a crew of three women in uniforms who disappeared behind a servants’ entrance gate. Two brown-faced Hispanic men in long-sleeved shirts and wide-brimmed hats were perched on ladders, trimming the twelve-foot hedges.
Margery was watching the blue swells rolling in from the Atlantic. She pulled in a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Things are changing,” she said softly.
Louis was quiet.
“When I got here, there were rules, and everyone knew how to act,” she said. “But now… the world is too much with us on our little island.”
She turned to Louis. “I was reading the papers today,” she said. “About Mark Durand and everything. But there was nothing about Emilio.” She paused. “Did you ever find out what happened to him?”
Louis didn’t feel like going into any of it now, but he knew Margery would find out everything eventually. “He was murdered,” he said.
Margery looked back toward the ocean. “He was a nice boy,” she said softly. “I had this little fantasy about him.”
She sensed Louis staring at her but kept her eyes on
the ocean. “Not like you might think. It’s just that, well, I couldn’t have any babies, you see, and my Lou did so want a son.”
She was quiet for a long time before she turned back to Louis. “Didn’t you tell me that Emilio had a family?”
Louis nodded. “He has a sister in Immokalee.”
“A sister. What is her name?”
“Rosa. Rosa Díaz.”
Margery hesitated, then dug into the pocket of her caftan. She came out with her pink leather checkbook. “Oh, futz, do you have a pen, dear?”
Louis padded his jacket and produced a Bic.
“Turn around, love.”
Louis did as instructed, and Margery used his back to write. She ripped out a check, and he turned back around.
“Give this to her, would you?” Margery said.
Louis looked at the check. It was for $50,000.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“Of course I don’t, ducky. But it makes me feel good.”
She dug into her caftan again and pulled out a second check. “This is for you.”
Louis unfolded the check. It was for $250,000.
“Margery, this is too much,” he said.
“Half is for Marvin, you foolish boy,” Margery said.
Louis folded the check and put it in his pocket. “Margery, you’re a right gee,” he said.
She grabbed him and planted a huge kiss on his lips.
When she pulled back, her red slash of a mouth was a smudged smile. “Now you’re on the trolley, Lou-EE.”
When Louis got back to Reggie’s house, he found Mel in the living room packing up the pigpen. Mel had scrounged up some file boxes and already had them labeled with the victims’ names and the contents.
Keys still in his hand, Louis stood in the middle of the room watching Mel as he stuffed reports into manila envelopes. Mel finally noticed him.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asked.
“Do me a favor,” Louis said. “Before we drop this stuff off with Major Cryer, make copies for us.”
“I already did.”
Louis just stared at him.
“I know you,” Mel said. “If Kavanagh croaks, I know you aren’t going to let that bitch go free.”
“Kavanagh’s going to live,” Louis said.
“Is he talking?”
Louis shook his head. “Carolyn Osborn bought him off.”
Mel rose to his feet. “When? How?”
“This morning.”
“He admitted it outright?”
Louis shook his head. “No, but there was an orchid in the room. I asked the cop on my way out why he let anyone in there, and he told me the only person who went in was a redheaded delivery guy.”
“Greg.”
“Right.”
Mel looked around at his boxes, then back at Louis. “Well, hell, maybe Kavanagh looked at it like this,” he
said. “He could put Carolyn Osborn in jail and go back to being a poor guy with an ugly scar, or he could keep quiet and be a rich guy with an ugly scar.”
“I get that,” Louis said. “But I’m not going to let this drop.” He looked at Mel. “Thanks for making the copies.”
Mel tossed the envelope into a box and gestured to the sliding glass doors that looked out over the beach. “Andrew stopped by to bid us farewell,” he said. “Better go tell him the news. He’s outside with Queenie.”
“Queenie?”
“His dog.”
Louis looked out the window. Against a blended blue backdrop of ocean and sky, Louis saw Swann. He was wearing baggy denim shorts, a lemon-yellow T-shirt, and, on his thigh, a thick white bandage that contrasted sharply with his tan. Queenie was an Irish setter, the same dog Louis had seen in a picture on Swann’s desk.