Loser's Town (33 page)

‘Don’t you love it when everything works out nicely?’ said Locatelli expansively. ‘See how well things go when everybody gets into the spirit of cooperation?’

Spandau felt his stomach churn, and he couldn’t tell if it was rage or hurt. Mainly he felt stupid and weak and he wanted to destroy the evidence. He couldn’t look at Bobby. He wanted to shame the little son of a bitch, but it was beyond that. If Bobby couldn’t tell shame now he never would, and Spandau watched his friend, his reluctant friend, drift into the darkness and out of reach. They had him now and they would keep him, and he hated Bobby more than he hated Locatelli or Jurado or Richie or any of the other million bastards who corrupted everything they touched. He hated Bobby for his weakness, for his willingness to be corrupted. You had to be willing, that was the key. They couldn’t take your soul unless you offered it first. If he had had a gun, Spandau could have shot everyone at the table. But he knew he’d have to finish off the rest of the room as well, then down the street, block by block, all the way to the sea and probably back again. It was endless, you’d have to kill them all. And then others would come. It would always be this way. Maybe it always had been.

Spandau turned and walked away. Locatelli caught up with him on the patio. He took Spandau’s upper arm in a firm but gentle grip and walked him toward the street.

‘Let me tell you what my point is, Texas,’ he said patiently, like a father delivering a moral lesson to his son. ‘Unlike Richie, I don’t have to strong-arm anybody. I’ve
already arrived. Movies? Hell, I’ve made ten films. You ever heard of Collateral Pictures? That’s me. That’s my point. You need to know that. Collateral cleared fifty million off its last picture. We finance movies all over the world. I’ve got business associates in every country on the planet, the greatest source of funds to be tapped since the fucking Vatican. And everybody wants to be in the movies, Texas. That’s where the real money is. Movies make cocaine and heroin look like child’s play. The point is, I don’t have to break into the system. I
am
the system. You’re walking this time. Next time you might not be so lucky. You think about that next time you wander into my woods.’

Locatelli gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder then turned and went back into the restaurant. Spandau had forgotten where the taxi stand was in this part of the world. While he was walking around looking for one, he had ample time to think. It was over now. Richie Stella was brought down and Bobby Dye was free. Mission accomplished. Except three people were dead now, four if you counted that poor stupid girl who started it all. Four people dead but you couldn’t exactly call any of them innocent. Innocence is an over-rated quality, Spandau decided. Innocence got people into trouble. Innocence got them killed. Look at me.

Twenty-Three

On a cool night in February, David Spandau sat in his house and got drunk. He’d wrapped up a case for Walter a few days before and made a point about not taking another one for a week or so. He’d planned on getting very drunk on this particular day because he knew he would need it, that getting moderately shitfaced was the only way he was going to face it and that it would be a couple of days after before he managed to shake it off. Spandau started drinking in the afternoon and kept it going until the evening. Toward the end he sat drinking in the living room in the dark in front of a blank TV. Every now and then he would take a drink and then look at his watch and then take another drink. Finally he looked at his watch and then drained his drink and poured himself another one and turned on the television. It was Oscar night.

Spandau watched with the sound off. There was no fucking point in watching any of this really, but it was
some sort of conclusion and he badly needed a conclusion. Closure, Dee had called it. Spandau hated that fucking word.

He watched the pretty, happy, elegant people move around quietly on the screen. There was a knock on the door and he got up to answer it and it was Dee. He hadn’t seen her for months. He’d been avoiding her. Didn’t return calls. Was afraid of what she was going to tell him. Was afraid of closure. That goddamn word. Some things you never wanted closed.

‘I wasn’t sure you were home. The lights were off.’

‘Come on in.’

He let her in and then went into the living room and Spandau dropped back down heavily onto the couch. Dee stood above him, looking down at him.

‘This a bad time? I can come back . . .’

‘No,’ said Spandau, suddenly frightened at the thought of her leaving, even more frightened of how he’d react when she wanted to go. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

Dee sat down in the chair across from him. ‘We haven’t seen you in a while.’

‘How’s your mom?’

‘Same as ever. She misses you.’

Spandau nodded.

‘You’re watching the Oscars. I forgot they were on.’

‘You want a drink?’ asked Spandau. ‘Or I can fix some coffee.’

‘Look, I think maybe this was bad timing . . .’

‘Stay, will you? Please?’ His voice quivered and he was ashamed of it, clenched his teeth to keep it back, felt it well up in his throat.

‘It’s the wrong time for this,’ she said.

‘For what?’ But he knew. Oh, he knew.

‘You know what? Maybe I’ll have that drink.’

Spandau got a glass and poured her a whiskey and handed it to her. She took it and rolled it between her palms and said, ‘You don’t answer your phone.’

There was nothing to say. Spandau nodded, took a drink. Felt himself going crazy. Felt the mad spirits jumping in his skin to be let out, wreak havoc, scream, confess their sins.

‘I wanted to tell you. Before you heard it from someone else. Charlie and I . . .’ She can’t manage to say it. God love her, she can’t.

Spandau stared at the silent TV.

‘We were never going to make it work, David. It was killing both of us, just trying to hang on.’

Quiet. Let the jackals rage. Keep them on the leash, they’ll quiet eventually.

‘I wanted to tell you,’ she said. ‘I want your blessing, I guess.’

‘What?’ said Spandau, as if he weren’t listening. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it was that roaring in the ears. The sound life makes before it goes over Niagara Falls.

‘I need to hear from you that you understand. That you don’t hate me.’

‘Sure,’ said Spandau.

‘I’ll always be there for you.’

‘Sure,’ said Spandau.

‘I’ve talked to Charlie, and if you ever—’

Spandau reached forward and grabbed the remote and turned on the sound.

GUY PRESENTER
(on TV)

. . . And the Academy Award for Best Picture goes to . . .

(to
GAL PRESENTER
)

. . . Aren’t you excited?

 

GAL PRESENTER

(
giddy
)

Come on, come on, I’m going to have a heart attack . . .

 

GUY PRESENTER

And the winner for Best Picture is . . . 
Loser’s Town
! A Collateral Pictures Production, Frank Jurado producing . . .

Applause, applause
. We see Jurado stand up, kiss his wife, and make his way toward the stage.

ANNOUNCER
(
VO
)

Accepting the award is producer Frank Jurado . . .

Jurado takes the podium as they hand him the Oscar.

JURADO

You know, I’d like to thank all the little people who made this film possible.

(
laughs from the audience
)

But the fact is, there weren’t any little people, only big ones. Big people with giant hearts and a giant capacity for work and dedication. It was a struggle to get this film made, but we did it. A lot of people said it would never get done, that making a movie about a racketeer trying to force his way into Hollywood was verboten, that it was professional suicide, that nobody would ever finance it. Well, we did it!

(
applause
)

First of all, I’d like to thank the one guy without whom this film couldn’t have been made. And you know who he is . . . Bobby Dye!

Huge applause. The camera finds Bobby, sitting next to a new babe – who decidedly isn’t Irina. She kisses him proprietorily.

JURADO

Well, Bobby’s already copped his award tonight for Best Actor . . .

(
applause, whistles, whoops
)

. . . and I’m not going to give him any more publicity. I just want to say . . . thank you, Bobby! And thank you, Collateral Pictures, for the courage and the vision to
allow us to make this wonderful film . . . Thank you, thank you all . . .

Spandau turned off the TV. The room fell back into a near-darkness.

‘Will you stay for a little while?’ Spandau said to Dee. It sounded far too much like begging, which is what it was.

‘For a little while,’ she said.

Outside a car went by. Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked, over and over again, fruitlessly, pointlessly, into the night. Dee got up and sat next to Spandau and put her arms around him. She put her head on his chest, and in a moment she could feel it making small leaps beneath her cheek. She held him tightly and allowed the man she loved the small dignity of not looking up.