Chapter 6

Race Makes a Proposition

For at least a hundred times Tony must have thought about what he was going to do and say if he ever met the fascinating nymph in the lagoon. And now that he faced her, he could only gawk like an idiot.

Her eyes were cold, almost contemptuous. She turned back to the sink without a greeting.

Tony took a hesitant step into the room. "You ... uh ... must be Frankie's roommate."

"Brilliant deduction," the girl said sarcastically, without looking up from her dishwashing. Her voice matched her icy dark eyes.

Tony knew she must have seen Frankie and himself entwined on the bed when she had walked from her bedroom to the kitchen. Was she upset because they hadn't closed the door?

He wanted to tell her he had found her towel, but couldn't think of a good way to do it. "Need some help with the dishes?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she said, voice frigid as a polar bear's breath. Tony watched the movement of her trim, lovely shoulders as she rinsed glasses in the sink.

Tony sipped his drink and shuffled awkwardly. Damn! He had never wanted to score so badly with a girl in all his life. But he had the futile feeling that he was trying to melt a glacier with a birthday cake candle. He turned reluctantly and walked out of the kitchen.

Tony glanced into the bedroom. Frankie had finished her cigarette and had slid under the covers. She looked as though she was sleeping.

He finished his drink and put the empty glass down on top of the refrigerator. He turned and left the apartment, fighting down an impulse to slam the door. Hell, why wouldn't the brunette talk to him? What was she so huffy about?

Tony walked back toward his motel. The night breeze off the ocean was downright cold now. He reached the deserted, moon washed beach and stepped up his gait to a jog. When he arrived at his apartment, his body was goose bumped from neck to ankles. He opened the door and went inside.

Dobber looked up from the chair where he was sitting. His face brightened when he saw Tony. He was in a bad way. He looked as if all the blood had been pumped out of his body; his face was ashen, flecked with perspiration. An empty whisky bottle lay at his feet on the floor. "Tony ... Damn, I'm glad you came in. You got any cabbage? I need a fix bad, man."

Tony shook his head. "I'm flat again."

A muscle twitched in Dobber's pale cheek. He looked as though he was about to bawl. "What am I going to do, Tony? I can't last the night without it. I'll crawl out of my hide." The twitching in his face spread, and his whole body trembled.

Tony sat down wearily in a chair. He shook his head. "I don't know, Dobber. I don't know."

The door to the adjoining apartment opened suddenly and Race strode in, wearing only his shorts. His face was hard in anger. "I thought I heard you come in, kid. Goddamn, where you been? I had a camera and some lights rented and Margo was all hot to trot, but we couldn't find you."

"I was out surfing with some kids." Tony frowned, puzzled. "What kind of deal did you have cooking, Race?"

"Hell, kid, I thought I told you. It's a sex movie. I found a contact who'll hand across half a G for a good film. That's a pretty fair price, although I used to get eight hundred or a thousand in the Bronx."

"Sex movie?"

"Hell, kid, you've seen them. The middle-class weeds show them at their stag parties."

Tony still didn't understand what Race was driving at. "What did you wartt me to do, Race?"

Race clapped a hand to his forehead. "Goddamn! Do I have to spell out everything for you, kid. I thought you knew your way around. You'll lay Margo, see. And I'll make a movie of it."

Tony paused in the act of brushing sand from his hair. He gulped. "You mean do do it with a camera going?"

"Sure, why not? I know you've been laying Margo: She's never been around a good-looking young hipster more than a couple of hours before she's got him in bed. And, because you're a good buddy of mine, I let you get it for free. Now, I'm just asking a little favor. All you've got to do is knock off a piece while I run the camera and we're in the dough again."

Tony shook his head bewilderedly. "I don't think so, Race. Hell, I've never done anything like that before."

"There's nothing to it, kid. It's just plain old laying like you've been doing. Margo's made them before. She'll show you what to do."

Tony shook his head again more firmly as he made his decision. "No, Race. People would be looking at the film, watching me do it. Hell, that would be like picking your nose in the middle of Times Square at high noon." He shook his head. "No. I don't want any part of it."

"Gooddamn!" Race snapped, his face livid with anger. Tony thought he was going to stride across the floor and slap him. "Man, I sure can pick some weirdies. I thought you guys had been around and knew the score. And I find I've got myself tied up with a crazy dopehead and a pantywaist." He turned and started back into his apartment, shaking his head.

"Race, can could you loan us a ... little cash?" Dobber asked, sounding like a meek kid asking his father for his allowance. "I'm out of H and I need a fix badly."

Tony winced, waiting for Race to explode.

Race flexed his fingers as if getting ready to wring the neck of a chicken. He glared at Dobber. "Why don't you go drown yourself in the ocean, junkie?" He turned and went into his apartment, slamming the door.

Dobber gulped, then his body broke into a spasm of shakes. Tony rose and walked over to the bureau. He pulled open a drawer and found a quarterfull bottle of whisky. He brought it to Dobber.

"Here, drink this and try to get some sleep. Maybe we can come up with some cabbage tomorrow."

"The movie-" Dobber said, teeth chattering, "he said he'd give us a cut."

Tony shook his head. "There's got to be a better way to get cabbage. Hell, I'd rather rob an old lady than know people would be watching me do it on a screen."

Dobber took the whisky bottle in shaking hands and brought it to his lips. He drained it and dropped it on the carpet. He lurched over to the couch and stretched out.

Tony flicked off the lights, dropped his swim trunks to the floor and crawled wearily into bed. Damn, he was bushed. Surfing alone was enough to tire a cat. But getting tangled up with a bundle like Frankie in-addition was like an extra five miles added onto a twenty-mile hike.

Tony fell into deep, exhausted slumber. But every hour or so Dobber's tortured cries brought him to the surface of wakefulness. Once, after many moans and curses, he heard Dobber pleading for death....