Dagger Key and Other Stories

Pellerin was laughing as I pulled him away from the pool, and he was still laughing when I shoved him through the double glass doors of the hotel. I adopted a threatening pose, intending to lecture him, and he made an effort to stifle his laughter; but then I started laughing, too, and his mirth redoubled. We stood wheezing and giggling in the lobby, giddy as teenage girls, drawing hostile stares from the guests waiting in line at Reception, enduring the drudgery of check-in. At the time I assumed that we were laughing at two different things, or at different aspects of the same thing, but now I’m not so sure.

That picture of Pellerin laughing by the side of the pool, bills fluttering out above the water…it emerges from the smoke of memory like a painted dream, like one of those images that come just before a commercial break in a television drama, when the action freezes and the colors are altered by a laboratory process. Though it seems unreal, the rest—by comparison—seems in retrospect less than unreal, a dusting of atoms, whispers, and suggestions of hue that we must arrange into a story in order to lend body to this central moment. Yet the stories we create are invariably inaccurate and the central moments we choose to remember change us as much or more as we change them, and so, in truth, my memories are no more “real” than Josey Pellerin’s, although they have, as Jo would put it, more foundation…But I was saying, that picture of Pellerin beside the pool stayed with me because, I believe, it was the first time I had acknowledged him as a man and not a freak. And when I went to see him late the next morning, it was motivated more by curiosity over how he’d made out with Tammy and Thomasina than by caretaker concerns.

The door to the suite had been left ajar. I sneaked a look inside and, seeing no one around, eased into the foyer. The living room was empty, an air-conditioned vacancy of earth tones and overstuffed furniture, with potted palms and a photomural of the Everglades attempting a naturalistic touch. Everything was very neat. Magazines centered on the coffee table; no empty glasses or bottles. On the sideboard, a welcome basket of fruit, wine, and cheese was still clenched in shrinkwrap. I proceeded down the hall and came to an open door. Wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and sunglasses, Pellerin sat beside the rumpled bed, his feet propped on a table covered with a linen cloth and laden with dishes and metal dish covers, drinking champagne out of a bottle and eating a slice of pizza, looking out the window at the overcast. In the bed, partly covered by the sheets, a brown-skinned girl lay on her belly, black hair fanned across her face. Thomasina. There was nary a sign of Tammy, though the bed was king-sized and she might well have been buried beneath the covers. I knocked and he beckoned me to come on in. A big scorch mark on the wall behind his head, about the size of a serving tray, caught my notice. I asked what had happened and he told me that Tammy had shot an aerosol spray through a lit cigarette lighter, producing a flamethrower effect.

“You know those sons-of-bitches wouldn’t let me order in a pizza last night,” he said. “Is that bullshit or what? I had to bribe the bellboy.” He pointed to a Domino’s box on the floor—it held two slices fettered with strings of congealed cheese—and told me to help myself.

I declined, sat opposite him, and he asked what time it was.

“Around eleven.” I picked up a plastic pill bottle from the table. The label read:

R. Saloman

Viagra 50 mg.

1 tablet as needed.

“Who’s R. Saloman?” I asked.

“Beats me. Friend of the bellboy, maybe. The kid’s a walking pharmacy.” Pellerin scratched his chest. “Want some room service?”

“I’m okay.”

“How about some coffee? Sure, you want some coffee.”

He reached for the phone, ordered coffee and sweet rolls. Thomasina stirred but did not wake.

“Where’s Tammy?” I asked.

“In the head? Or she might have gone home. We were doing shots last night and she got sick.”

“You trying to kill yourself, man? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re not in the best of shape.”

Pellerin had a swig of champagne. “You my fairy godmother now?”

“I’m just being solicitous of your health.”

“Because that was Jocundra’s job, and I shit-canned her.”

“Look, don’t get the idea you’re in charge here. You’re not in charge.”

“Oh, I’m far from having that idea. We all know who’s in charge.”

Jocundra’s voice called from the living room. “Josey!”

“In here, darling!” He gave me a wink. “This ought to be good.”

Seconds later, Jocundra materialized in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a man’s pinstriped dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up. Her eyes stuck on Thomasina, then went to me and Pellerin. “I need to talk to you. I’ll come back.”

“Don’t be that way,” said Pellerin. “We’re all pals. Sit with us. We got coffee coming.”

She had another glance at Thomasina, then came to the table and took the chair between me and Pellerin.