Split Images by Elmore Leonard

Author:Elmore Leonard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf

They were on their third drink. Wild Turkey over ice.

Angela said, “Having fun at the club?”

Bryan didn’t answer and they were both silent for at least a full minute, comfortable together if not with the waiting, neither good at small talk so not trying too hard.

“Would you rather belong here or Seminole?”

“If I had to play the same course every day, Seminole,” Bryan said. “I like the macaroni and cheese.”

“Did you try the gingersnaps?”

“I’ve never been in a locker room before where they serve cookies. Palmer Park doesn’t have a locker room. You finish a round in the evening you walk across Woodward and have a drink with the hookers. Seminole, you talk about real estate.”

“I told you.”

“I met one guy who doesn’t fit the mold. Chichi Fuentes. I figured he was either a golf pro, a gigolo or an orchestra leader.”

“I know him,” Angela said. “In fact, if I do the book Chichi said he’ll give me all kinds of trivia, for color. He knows everybody and everything that’s going on in Palm Beach.”

“He didn’t seem to know Smiley.”

Angela stared at him.

“Your mouth’s open again.”

“I just had a thought.” One that seemed to disturb her. “What did Robbie say about him?”

“Nothing.”

“He didn’t tell you anything? Who he is?”

“No, but Chichi told Smiley a few things about his wife. That’s why I know the bald-headed guy with long hair’s a count. A Polish count.”

“Chichi,” Angela said, hunching closer, “is an international playboy from the Dominican Republic. You see him in W all the time.”

“Wow,” Bryan said.

“Listen. I’m serious. You remember Trujillo?”

“He was a dictator. Kind of a fat guy.”

“God and Trujillo, that was his motto,” Angela said. “Supreme ruler of the Dominican Republic for about thirty years, until he was finally assassinated in, I think, ’61. Well, Chichi’s one of Trujillo’s illegitimate sons. He married a sugarcane heiress first, then a very rich American woman and then an Italian movie actress. Women adore him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s charming. He’s a lover.” She groped and came up with another one. “He knows what women like.”

“Did you read that or did he tell you himself?”

“Bryan—he’s rich. He plays polo. He used to drive sports cars. He’s held diplomatic posts all over the world. Chargé d’affaires in Paris, a lot of places. In fact, right now he’s inspector of embassies for the Dominican Republic . . . I’m serious. He’s single . . . probably the most eligible bachelor in Palm Beach.”

“Robbie doesn’t like him.”

“You know why? Robbie would like to be him.”

“Or George Hamilton. What else does he do?”

“Well, he’s broken up a few marriages, once was named corespondent of the year. Let’s see—over like a three-year period he collected seventy-seven parking tickets in Palm Beach County and was stopped something like twenty times for speeding. My friend at the Post did a story about it, how Chichi flaunts his diplomatic immunity and tears up tickets.” Angela paused, thoughtful. “There was something else,” she said and paused again and began to nod.

Bryan watched her, used to waiting for answers.

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