He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and a dark green tie and white trousers. Under his arms were sweat stains and the loops of his shoulder holster, which X’d across the back of the white shirt. On the bed beside him was a light green sportcoat, cut especially to accommodate a shoulder-bolstered gun. He had never gotten used to this year-round, constant wearing of suits and sportcoats, though he’d been doing so since starting with Felix two summers ago. He was glad the motel room was air-conditioned, and even the blue stucco walls were cool, cooling to the sight, as was the light blue shag carpet.
The door opened and Angelo came in, carrying the room key in one hand and two ice-cold Pabsts by their necks in the other. He was six feet tall, a thin man with a round lumpy face; it was a fat man’s face, because up until recent months Angelo had been fat, and while he was trim everywhere else, he still had his double chin, puffy cheeks, and a bumpy, thick nose that all the dieting in the world wouldn’t do anything about. Angelo kicked the door shut. He was wearing a pink sportcoat and white shirt and red tie and white trousers.
“Just two beers, Ange?”
“Hey, baby, we’re on call, right? Just wet the whistles, that’s all. Never mind the good time.”
“Toss one here. Where’s the opener?”
“Don’t need one. Twist-off caps.”
“Ain’t science grand.”
Angelo sat on the twin bed opposite Greer’s. Angelo looked strange, fat head on skinny body, as if one person’s face was being superimposed somehow over the body of another. Greer twisted off the cap and swigged. So did Angelo.
Angelo said, “Hey, Greer.”
“Hey, what?”
“What d’you think of these clothes we’re wearing?”
“What d’you think?”
“I think I feel like a fairy.”
“You look like one.”
“Shit, cut it out. What d’you suppose people think when they see a couple guys dressed like us going into a motel room together?”
“I don’t know what they think. They think to each his own, I suppose.”
“Well, I feel like a fairy. Why does Felix dress us up like this, I want to know.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Funny man. I’ll tell you why, it’s because he thinks we look less conspicuous dressed like this. Because we got to wear coats to cover up our guns and since it’s summer he doesn’t want us to look like pallbearers in black or something, so we walk around instead like a couple of fairies.”
“Golf pros dress like this,” Greer said. “Golf pros are athletes, aren’t they? You know any fairy athletes?”
“Golf pros aren’t athletes.
“Drink your beer, fairy.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just next time you go into the bar after it, okay? Greer.”
“Huh?”
“Greer, what you doing with your gun in your lap?”
“Nothing.”
“Beating it off, or what?” Angelo laughed and swallowed at the same time and it sounded like something going down a drain.
“You’re funny as a crutch, Ange.”
“Hey, you uptight today? Something on your mind today, Greer? Your forehead’s all wrinkled up. You been thinking again?”
“Look,” Greer said, “quit being cute long enough to tell me something. How long you been doing this bodyguard thing for Felix, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Maybe three years. Yeah, three years, a year longer than you.”
“What were you doing before that?”
Angelo smiled. “People borrow money they sometimes forget to pay back and somebody’s got to remind them of their obligation. You know.” Angelo laughed and swallowed again.
“Backing up the shylocks,” Greer said. “Pretty tough work. You have to kill guys sometimes doing work like that.”
Angelo nodded. “Not often, though. It’s bad business. How you going to get money out of a dead guy?”
“I used to hit guys,” Greer said.
“Yeah, you told me before. You were a real scary guy.”
“I used to do hits for Tony Action.”
“Sure, Tony Action. Mr. Machismo. They say he tied his wife to a chair in the kitchen and poured gas on her and gave her a light. That’s one way to duck divorce. Now me, my wife ties
“Tony Action was really something,” Greer said. “You can laugh, but man, I mean to tell you. Really something.”
“Well, Tony is dead now, and I for one am never sorry to see one of those flashy tough asses get their ass shot off, they attract attention and give the rest of us a bad name, and you ought to be glad you had a reputation for being good help. Most of Tony’s guys got stepped down. You’re the only one who got fucking promoted.”
“I was lucky,” Greer said. “Don’t get me wrong. Working for Felix is good. It’s a good job. It’s just...”
“It’s just what?”
“I feel I’m getting soft in this job,” Greer said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s like you say... we wear pink coats and follow a lawyer around, that’s what I mean.”
“You rather lay your balls on the chopping block every day? You’re a fucking nut.”
