Glitz

Vincent and his girlfriend Linda were out of the white Chevette, walking away from it arm in arm. Wasn’t that sweet? They stopped like they were going to go into the liquor store. Nope, decided not to, kept going and went in the apartment entrance.

Teddy slid down some in his seat so he could look up at their balcony now, second floor, directly above the liquor store. He waited for lights to come on… There.

“Now make yourselves a couple of drinks,” Teddy said. He told them they were thirsty from all that sightseeing. He told them to get comfortable and bring their drinks out on the balcony, get some fresh air. Sitting down or standing up, it didn’t matter to him. Or whether he looked in the cop’s eyes or not. The hell with it. Teddy had made up his mind he was going to get it done. Soon as they appeared-walk out into the street like he was crossing, stop, aim his .38 up there and give ’em each three rounds, Vincent first and foremost, Vincent more than three if it was necessary. A woman you could go up there and kill all different ways. Have some fun.

It looked like only one light was on up there. What were they doing? Teddy said, “ ‘Ey, you can screw her anytime. Come on out on the balcony.” He waited. Shit.

A figure appeared, moving the curtain aside.

There was nothing attractive about the street in daylight, a turnoff to the Caribe Hilton at the end of the block. In darkness now the street showed moments of life, cars occasionally moving past, reflecting the liquor store’s lights on painted metal. The ocean, a long block away, lay hidden, with only a faint trace of its scent in the night air. Linda breathed it in and out: Linda on the balcony in the short light wrap LaDo

“It’s all yours.”

Vincent stood in the living room in his white briefs, buttoning his shirt.

“You have great legs.”

“So do you.”

“As good as LaDo

“Who’s LaDo

She held up the glass. “We could use some more of this.”

“It’s on the list. You think of anything else?”

“Bread?”

“We’ve got the rolls. Empanadillas for appetizers, a mixed salad, alcapurrias, what else? DeLeon’s friend’s bringing the piononos. Wine, coffee, I’ll get some booze…”

“Vincent? Am I going to have to learn to cook Puerto Rican?”

“You’ll love it.”

He was going back into the bedroom and she raised her voice. “That’s not an answer.”

She heard him say, “You need cigarettes?”

“Yes. Please.”

“What else?”

“That’s all. What time are they coming?”

“I have to give the Moose a call.” There was a silence. She finished the wine in her glass. Vincent appeared in the living room again, dressed now in his blue shirt and faded khakis. “I didn’t know what time we’d be back.”

“Don’t forget to call the hotel.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell them you’ve got the trots. Puerto Rican food will do it to you.”

“Vincent?”

“What?”

“This is our last night.”

“Our last one here.” He walked to the door and opened it. “We can do a lot better than this. Be right back.”

He was going out as she said, “Can we live on the ocean?” The door closed.

Teddy had six .38 rounds in the revolver, he had six more in his right-hand pants pocket and six in the left. If he couldn’t do the job with-what’d that make?-eighteen shots, he oughtn’t to be here. The gun was so shiny he’d have to keep it in his pants till he was out in the street, no cars coming. Linda had appeared up there, looking cute in her shorty outfit. But no Vincent. Shit. Teddy said, “Come on, Vincent, you son of a bitch,” lowered his gaze to the street and, Jesus Christ, there he was, coming along the side of the building past the cars, coming out of darkness to the liquor store. Look at him, right there across the street. Going in for a six-pack or something. In his shirtsleeves. No place to hide a gun, no way. Teddy wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. He picked up the .38 from the seat close to him.

Walk over there like he had his arms folded. Get behind one of those cars by the building. Wait. Get him coming out of the store.

Linda was pi

She looked up to see Teddy in the middle of the street.

Even before the car passed and he continued across and she recognized him she knew it was Teddy coming. Teddy concentrating on the liquor store, cautious, keeping beyond the edge of light on the pavement, walking in a peculiar way. People didn’t walk with their arms folded. She saw his arms unfold as it was in her mind and saw the glint of bright metal and wanted to call out-gripping the balcony rail as hard as she could. Yell for help, yell at Teddy, yell at Vincent the moment he came out-and it could be a moment too late. She saw the gun in Teddy’s hand, Teddy moving toward the cars parked in the courtyard. Linda let go of the rail, aware that she had to run but remain calm, hurry without losing her head and do something dumb.

Vincent’s gun was on the dresser.

It was heavy and her hand was wet. There were catches and strange little knobs, numbers and names etched in the metal. She saw someone in a movie, in a hundred movies, slide the top part of the barrel back and she did it and jumped as a cartridge ejected and the slide clicked back into place. Vincent would keep the safety on. The catch, she hoped to God, by her thumb as she gripped the gun. Push it up…

Vincent saw it coming and thought, Not again.

Carrying the groceries reminded him of that other time. Hearty Burgundy, prune juice and spaghetti sauce. This time chablis, J&B scotch, Puerto Rican rum and a family-size bottle of Coca-Cola, carrying the sack in front of him, both arms around it. That other time he thought he might have seen the guy before, in a holding cell. This time he knew the guy quite well and knew the guy was not going to tell him to drop the groceries and hand over his wallet. This guy’s only intention was to shoot him dead. What had he learned that other time that might help him now? Absolutely nothing. This time he had learned, so far, never go to the store without your gun. But even if he had it…

Teddy said, “Well well well,” coming out of the dark to smirk at him, holding the bright-metal piece low, elbow tight against his side.

Vincent looked him in the eye, trying for an expression that would show honest surprise. What’s going on? What is this? He didn’t want to look threatening. He didn’t want Teddy to take anything the wrong way and all of a sudden empty the gun. He wanted to reason with Teddy, at least try. The trouble was, Vincent had to concentrate so hard on appearing harmless, surprised-while hiding the fact he was scared to death-he couldn’t think of anything to say. Drop it, motherfucker, or I’ll blow your fucking head off kept coming to mind. It was a good line, but not one that would work here. Blow his head off with what?