Terms and Conditions

by Paul Newman

It was raining again. Lazarus didn't mind anymore. It was always raining in this damned city. Either raining or about to rain or just let up raining for a few minutes. And that was summer.

His door slammed open and bounced off the wall behind it with the crash and rattle of loose parts. Sam winced at the noise as he flinched up straight in his chair. His right hand found the center desk drawer and pulled it open, scrambling around blind until it found something cold. He palmed the pistol but left it in the drawer, his hand hidden by the desktop.

A meathead walked in. Tall and blocky in a government- looking black suit. He wasn't a fed though, too seedy. Hair was too long, too dirty. You could almost see the needle tracks up his arms through the shiny black wool. Just a goon in a suit, dripping on the thin grey carpet.

“Looks like it's yer lucky day, sunshine. Look sharp!”

He gave Lazarus a quick glance before dismissing him and looking around the sparse office. By the time his eyes worked their way back, the meathead's face had settled into a sneer. He finally noticed Sam's hand in his lap.

Like an idiot, the meathead took it personally. The sneer erupted into a growl and a curse as he fumbled in his jacket pocket.

The pistol was out and on the desk, pointing at the goon but Sam didn't cock the hammer, his thumb just sat there, waiting. The man's hand froze. Smart move. Lazarus wondered what the hell to do next when he heard laughter. A weak laugh but a sincere one, rolling out from deep in somebody's gut. Someone thought this was funny and it wasn't the idiot in the wet suit. Lazarus wasn't laughing yet either.

“Mr. Lazarus?” A raspy voice, old and worn out. Dry from too much canned oxygen and air conditioning but amused as hell.

The meathead was still there; his face flushed red, hand too close to his pocket. Furious eyes drilled through Lazarus, pinning him to the cinderblock wall beyond. Another man, an old man, stood behind him framed in the doorway. He was the one laughing.

62 looked the same as 92 to Lazarus. All he could tell was that the guy was old. A few grey wisps of hair ringed a bald dome of wrinkles on top of his head. He wore a blue track suit and gym shoes like he was on his way to walk laps at the shopping mall.

“Mr. Lazarus, I apologize.” He chuckled. “You'll have to forgive Francis here. He's a bit overprotective. That will be all, Francis; you can wait in the car”

Francis didn't like it.

“Boss, I was just checking the place out first like you said. He was reaching for his gun!”

“Of course he was! You practically broke his door down. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed he didn't shoot you. I'll have to keep that in mind later when we discuss his fee. You can go wait in the car, Francis.”

He liked it even less the second time but didn't argue. With a last look at Lazarus, the man turned and stalked out the open door. Angry footsteps pounded out echoes down the hallway.

Sam tossed the pistol in the drawer and pushed it shut as he sat back down. “So. Who the hell are you?”

The old man chuckled as he shuffled across the floor to a pair folding metal chairs. He maneuvered over in front of one then let himself collapse backwards into it with a loud sigh. “Old bones feel good to sit down.” He said with a smile. “My name's Conrad Pratt, Mr. Lazarus. I'm interested in hiring you for a little job.”

Pratt? The name rang a bell but that was it.

“There aren't any little jobs, Mr. Pratt. Just little people with little check books. I don't waste a lot of time with ‘em.”

“You really don't know who I am, do you?” The old man snorted then continued. “Maybe I'm going to like you Mr. Lazarus. Have you ever heard of Pratt Pharmaceuticals?” The old man leaned back carefully in the chair. The smile was tighter now as he watched, waited. Daring Sam to keep up or get left behind.

The bell in his head rang louder this time. Pratt Pharmaceuticals. Whatever you got, they make a pill for it. An expensive pill. Deep pockets.

“Yeah, I may have heard the name. I might have even bought a bottle of aspirin once or twice but what do you want from me? I'm not gonna be curing cancer anytime soon.”

“Nothing like that, Mr. Lazarus. We'd rather treat cancer than cure it anyway. Higher profit.” He said with a straight face. “What I need from you is a little more personal.”

Aw hell, Sam thought to himself with a sigh. It always is. “Personal is expensive.” he said. Gotta get the ground rules down early.

Pratt answered with a sigh of his own, “It always is.”

Lazarus barked out a laugh and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. “Alright. Why don't you go ahead and fill me in on what's so private.”

The old man's eyes narrowed. Sam heard a deep sharp breath whistle through his nose. “This isn't easy for me. I'm a proud man but it's my wife, Lily. I'd like you to keep an eye on her. Discretely. Who she's with, where they go; that kind of thing. I want to know everything.”

Lazarus was a little disappointed. Just when he was starting to get interested…

“Let me guess, you want pictures too? I'd love to help ya out but I've got one rule; I don't do divorces. Plenty of those idiots in the yellow pages. One of them can probably handle it if you talk really slow and use small words.” Lazarus reached into his desk drawer for a cup and the plastic bottle. He poured out what was left of the vodka and took a drink.

Pratt sat up a little straighter. The skin around his lips and eyes got tighter as the polite smile evaporated. “You don't do divorces? Another thing you don't do is pay your rent! Rumor is you're about to get evicted! You can't afford to turn me down, Lazarus. You think I just picked you out of a phone book? I asked around about you. A pain in the ass but highly recommended. ‘Gets the job done', they said. You know damned well you need the work right now. Just think; you could even buy something to drink that doesn't come in a plastic jug!”

Sam tried hard but his face went red. He tried to hide it behind another gulp but the Styrofoam cup was already empty. He traced a little pattern on the soft foam with his thumb nail. The old man didn't seem to notice as he leaned in closer.

“Im 83 years old Lazarus and I'm no fool. I know what kind of girl she is. I know why she married a man like me. She's bought and paid for, from the diamonds in her ears to her 36 D's. I bought those too! She's mine and I protect what's mine, Lazarus. I've got one hell of an iron clad pre-nup, with teeth! I'll be damned if I'll pay for something she's giving away for free.”

Pratt reached in one pocket for a thick buff envelope. He tossed it on the table where it slid into the empty jug and knocked it bouncing onto the floor. “Now don't be an idiot, Lazarus. My phone number is in the envelope. Call me when you have something.” The old man finally leaned back in the rickety chair. He watched and waited.

Lazarus wanted to toss the smug old bastard out. Maybe even finish up with Francis while he was at it, then have another drink. Instead he reached for the envelope. It was simpler than thinking.

“Alright, I'll take a look. There better be a hell of a lot more than a phone number in there.” He snarled.

Pratt got to his feet surprisingly fast for an old bastard. “I'll be waiting for your call.”

“I bet. By the way, someone talks too damned much. How did you find out all that about my rent?”

Pratt paused at the doorway on his way out with another chuckle. “Who do you think owns this building?” he said and walked out. His laugh echoed back down the hallway louder than his footsteps.

Lazarus waited to hear the grind of the elevator going back down before returning to the envelope. First he counted the thick stack of 20's. Chinese take-out and enough booze for a good long while. Maybe he'd get some of that fancy vodka. That Russian stuff. This time the gallon jug.

Then came a slip of paper. No names, just a phone number. Easy enough.

Next was a list. Men's names and addresses. None of the names meant anything to Sam but one of the addresses stood out. Industrial stuff, out past the airport. Out of place but a place to start.

Last was a photo, black and white. A publicity head shot, maybe? Sam could see why the old man was jealous; she was a knock out. Black hair coiled at the nape of her pale neck and swept up into a loose bun on top of her head. Her face was exotic; pouty lips and sharp cheekbones and dark, almond shaped eyes. Sam set the photo aside on the desk and looked at his watch. Plenty of time. He leaned back in the chair, crossed his feet on the desk and closed his eyes. For a long time, the only sound was the rain on the window and Lazarus's slow deep snores.

2.

He drove slowly through a deserted block. This part of town was a maze of idled factories and shuttered warehouses stretching in chain linked grids in either direction. All the buildings looked alike in the dark as blotches of grey and black merged into pixilated shadows hiding broken out windows and boarded up doors. No one even bothered with barbed wire on the chain link anymore.

Sam slowed at a corner, double checked the street signs and turned. He didn't really need the signs, he could have followed the loud music through the thick air. At the far end of the block, one street light burned brighter than the others. Someone must have cleaned the lens and put a new bulb in the thing. The beautiful people love slumming, but they hated to do it in the dark. No one would be able to see what they were wearing.

Sam killed his headlights, found a darker spot out of the halo of the working lamp and pulled in. He made sure both doors were locked and scrunched back in the seat against the dirty upholstery until he found a spot without any springs poking up. Sam took the plastic lid off of his gas station coffee and took a bitter slurp. He grimaced and set it down in the cup holder and settled in to wait.

The trick to waiting was to let your brain find something to keep it busy; out of the way while your eyes, ears, and gut stayed on the job. He had plenty to think about. How did the old man get the names and addresses? Was there someone else tailing the wife? Pratt knew plenty already; so why was he throwing money at a drunk to take dirty pictures? Too much money. Something smelled bad and he knew it but Sam's first reaction when someone was throwing cash around was to catch it first and ask questions later. Right now there were too many questions and not enough answers. He took a good look at the nightclub.

Not much to the place, a big metal hangar; no sign on the building. The only signs of life outside were the street lamp and the well dressed thug standing outside a door in the small circle of light. Big and muscular, the bouncer was smoking a cigarette. He wore black with his bleached hair pulled back in a pony tail. Probably a big hit with the bored society broads; he looked dangerous enough to be exciting but was still a good dog. Sit up, beg, open my car door, there's a good boy.

There wasn't a lot of traffic. No long line of cars waiting for the valet. Not that kind of place. From time to time something expensive would pull up nice and slow. Partiers came and went in groups and in pairs but none of the faces matched the photo yet. Every time the heavy door opened a deafening blare of sound escaped along with bright flashes and strobes.

The bouncer knew his job. Opening doors and steadying socialites who already couldn't stand straight. He knew when to smile and the tips looked good. Lazarus laughed to himself; Muscles wasn't a bouncer, he was a butler. A gigolo if he was lucky.

The door opened again, Lazarus shielded his eyes with his hand against the glare of the sudden light on the rain on his windshield. He didn't bother checking the photo, the first things he recognized were those cheekbones.

Lily wasn't leaving alone; she staggered up close against a young man. Obviously drunk, she could hardly stand in her stilettos. She wore a glittery silver piece of fabric covered in sequins draped in just the right spots. She didn't seem to notice the cold.

The boy was pretty if nothing else. He wrapped his arm around Lily's waist and the two staggered together on the sidewalk. He didn't offer her his jacket; he was too drunk to remember he was wearing one.

Lily steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder and balanced on each foot as she reached down and took off her spikes. Her long calf muscles rippled in the street light as they stretched. Finally, she waved the shoes in one hand like a party favor and laughed.

By now an Escalade had pulled up and Lily and her escort concentrated on staying upright as the bouncer opened the door. The boy didn't wait for the lady but piled in first, collapsing into the backseat. Lily didn't look half so unsteady now and gracefully eased in after him.

Lazarus got lucky, they drove right past him. He wrote down the plate number of the thing just in case, then pulled out to follow. He couldn't see what they were doing, but they weren't looking out the back window. Sam guessed the two in back were either too busy or too shit faced to think straight, much less notice a tail. Either way they didn't drive for long.

Lazarus chuckled when he saw the little motel. It was barely far enough off the freeway to even have an address. Plastic pillow cases and the ice machine costs a quarter and you hear the big rigs tearing by all night long. Classy.

He killed the lights and parked well back, waiting.

The driver's door opened and a man in a dark suit got out and walked toward the office. It only took a couple of minutes before the driver was walking back with a room key in hand. Lazarus whistled softly to himself as he recognized the driver; Francis! What was his deal in all this? Who was he really working for?

Meathead didn't waste any time getting back to the warm SUV. Soon, the couple climbed out of the backseat laughing and hanging on each other as they staggered their way to the room. Ground floor, third from the far end. Number 7.

Lazarus waited as the Escalade pulled away. He doubted it went far but out of sight was far enough. He eased into a parking spot almost directly across from the window in number 7 and its open curtains. He rummaged through a black duffel bag in the passenger's seat, pulled out a camera, and started fitting a zoom lens. The lovers were already half undressed and didn't seem to mind the wide open window in front of them.

Lazarus swore under his breath as Lily noticed the open curtains. She pulled them shut with one long motion but not before taking a good look out. Both directions and straight ahead with a sharp look on her face. Lazarus knew she couldn't see him across the lot in his dark car but it still made him slide down in his seat. There was no way she was as drunk as she let on.

He tossed the lens back in the duffel and jammed the camera down the front of his jacket. Lazarus opened the car door. No dome light. He had smashed it out long ago. His head swiveled as he eased out of the car. Clear.

He walked fast and hugged the dark edges of the parking lot, well back out of the light. He skirted the face of the building to the end, then ducked around the side. There was the alley he was hoping for; a service alley between two wings of the motel. At the end he knew he'd find a transformer or a big bunch of pipes and the gas meter.

Even better than the alley were the windows.

Cut into the cinderblock walls on each side were a series of small windows. A line of them dotted both sides all the way down the alley. One nearest to Lazarus was open but dark, he peered in carefully and could just make out a sink, toilet and mirror on the wall.

Lazarus counted windows as he crouched down low and tight against the cold cinderblocks and slid along slowly. He dug each foot down gently into the wet gravel to keep it from crunching as he walked. Most of the other windows were dark. He ducked extra low under the lit ones.

When he got to the third window, Lazarus froze and listened; no radio static from a cop car in the parking lot, no crunching footsteps behind him. The only sounds were giggling and slurred laughter coming through the window above.

He stood slowly, coming at the window from an angle.

Shit!

The window was built in a shower stall looking across the tiny efficiency bathroom with its commode, vanity and mirror. Lazarus's only view was across the toilet into the closet directly beyond. The soundtrack had changed, no more giggling. They were getting serious. Lazarus knew he was short on time.

He slid to his left, farther to the edge of the window and caught a glimpse in the mirror. The angle wasn't perfect but he could at least see into the room. Small as it was, the whole room was basically a bedroom, barely large enough for the bed. The man must have been lying on his back, only his feet and legs were visible.

Lily's naked back was to Lazarus as she straddled the man's waist but he recognized her anyway. Lazarus didn't waste any time; the camera was already up and softly clicking. Sam noticed a tattoo on the small of Lily's back. Right above her tail bone and perfectly centered was intricate scrollwork with lettering he didn't recognize. A series of slashes and dots like cursive runes.

Her body seemed to glow. He thought it was the 40 watt hotel light bulb reflecting off of the light sheen of sweat he could see on her skin. No. The shadows were wrong, the light too fuzzy, too soft. She didn't reflect the glow, it radiated from her. Maybe it was the camera, or the mirror, but then he noticed the tattoo again. He couldn't help but notice; whatever that language was, it wasn't supposed to burn red like that.

The man underneath her kicked his legs, but not in a good way. Lazarus could see his body thrashing, trying to push her off, to get out from underneath, but no good. Lily continued her rocking motion almost oblivious to the struggling man beneath her as the tattoo glowed brighter and brighter like her blood had ignited to spell out some hidden meaning in forgotten script across the small of her back.

Lazarus felt bad for the poor bastard. He wasn't struggling anymore, he was glowing too. It was different from Lily, though. Muted. Sickly.

In a moment Sam realized why when he saw the man's legs start to change. Something was happening deep beneath the skin and working its way out. In a matter of seconds they were milky translucent like a shed snake skin or a locust husk. The tattoo flared one last burst of bright red then faded back to blue ink as the empty shell beneath Lily crumbled into dust. In the mirror, she stood up, brushed the crumbs from her thighs and leaned back; reaching her arms back over her head in a big leaning stretch. Lazarus didn't wait. He made it out of the alley and back to the Honda as fast as he could.

One stop at the Golden Coin and another at the All-Nite Bottle Shop got him dinner and a fresh bottle of sleep. This time he bought the gallon jug.

3.

Lazarus woke up face first on his desk. Whatever was left in the white cardboard cartons had already started to ferment. He looked at his watch then the calendar tacked to his wall and tried to clear his head. It was too full.

Did the old man know? Lazarus decided quickly that he did. Pratt was too savvy. He wondered about that supposed pre-nup. What about Francis? Was Francis ratting Lily out to Pratt? Was he playing straight with the old man? Hell, was Francis taking a turn with her? No, Sam knew better than that. Francis would be a pile of dust by now.

Lazarus's head hurt. He wanted a drink. This was why he hated divorces; shit always got weird. Screw it. He was getting paid for the pictures; that's all. Thinking costs extra. The rest of this could straighten itself out on someone else's time.

He found the slip of paper with Pratt's number and reached for the phone. 7 digits later, the line rang once then a canned voice said; “Please leave a message at the tone.” As Lazarus waited to let his brain catch up and think of a message, Lily opened the door and walked in like she had an appointment. She pulled the door shut behind herself and sat down. He hung up the phone without a word.

Today she was slumming, hiding behind jeans and a baggy grey sweat shirt. They didn't do much good; it didn't matter what she wore, you'd see her with your eyes closed. The little smirk on her face showed she knew it and didn't mind too much.

“You must be Lazarus?” He couldn't tell if it was a question or not so he just let it sit. “Francis told me all about you, there's no point in playing dumb. I know you followed us last night, too. I know all about you, Sam Lazarus. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

“From what I saw, you can take pretty good care of yourself. That pretty boy last night was the one who needed help.” Sam was surprised when she blushed.

“So you saw. Then I guess you took the pictures he wanted too? Sam, you can't give him those photo's, you can't! You have no idea what'll happen to me!”

“It can't be much worse than what you did to that kid last night.”

“You don't understand, Sam. It's a lot more complicated than that.” She slowly leaned in, across his desk until her face was almost touching his. A smell filled the room, like roses with a musky, animal undertone. In spite of himself, Lazarus found himself leaning toward her and wondering what her lips tasted like.

The door banged open again, this time with a slam. “Well waddya know? See! I told ya boss. There she is! They're here together!”

It was Francis, and behind him was Pratt. Both pushed into the small office.

“You were right Francis; looks like you were right about Mr. Lazarus from the beginning.”

Lazarus looked at Francis, then at Pratt, and then burst out laughing as he fell back into his chair. “You've gotta be kidding me, Pratt! You don't know the half of it. Meathead here told you that I'm banging your wife and you believed it?” Lazarus laughed again. “Why don't you ask him where everyone was last night?”

Pratt answered. “I already know the answer to that Mr. Lazarus. While you were supposed to be watching Lily, Francis was watching you.”

“Right. And who was watching Francis?” Lazarus kept chuckling and gestured to the camera on his desk. “Don't worry Pratt, I've got your pictures right here. You're covered.”

Pratt's face lit up as he crossed the few steps to where Lily sat and gloated. “Caught you this time, you bitch! I guess that means all deals are off doesn't it?” He reached out and slapped her across the face. Her head rocked from the blow and a red handprint bloomed on her white cheek. Another loud slap and both cheeks matched. She whimpered and looked at the floor.

“Boss, I don't think you ought to be doin' that.” It was Francis. He had finally gotten his gun out of his pocket but now it pointed at Pratt. Francis's face was flushed, his eyes were big and wide. The pistol shook as he held it extended.

“What on earth are you doing, Francis?” Then it dawned on the old man. “How absurd!” he laughed, glancing first at the gunman then at Lily in her chair. ‘You…and she…? And you believed it?” He laughed again, louder this time. He turned to Lily and drew back his arm to hit her again.

Francis's trigger finger did his thinking for him. Both shots hit the old man in the chest. “No, damn it. Not yet. Not yet.” He gasped as he collapsed on the carpet. Francis was already turning the gun to Lazarus when Sam's shot caught him in the throat. His head jerked sickly to one side as his neck disappeared in a wet spray on the wall behind him. He fell limp to the floor.

Lazarus turned his pistol to Lily and waited. She hadn't moved during the exchange. Now she leaned back in her chair and smiled. Her long legs seemed to uncoil as she stretched out and got comfortable. “Well, wasn't that exciting? That's not how I thought it would go but good enough. Thank you for your help, Sam. You played your part perfectly!”

Lazarus didn't lower the pistol. “Bullshit! You owe me some answers. How the hell did Francis and the old man know you were coming here? Is someone else tailing you?”

“I let slip to Francis that I was coming here to… to get to know you a little better. Maybe have a bite to eat. You wouldn't be the first detective that disappeared that way.” She wore a coy smile as she continued. “Francis was the jealous type. From the look on his face I could tell he was ready to burst. I knew he'd run to Conrad the minute I left.”

“But why come here? What was the point of all this?”

“I knew if I got all you silly boys in the same room together it would be like shaking up a big bottle of champagne. Eventually someone's cork would pop. I didn't really care whose it was as long as the old welcher died.”

“So I was just another loose end?”

Lily smiled and shrugged.

“What did he mean ‘All Deals are off'? Was that the pre-nup he told me about?”

She let out a slow chuckle.

“Pre -nup? Is that what he called it? The legal term is an Infernal Pact. Pretty standard, we've been doing them for thousands of years. How do you think he got so filthy rich in the first place? It wasn't luck! It was the usual terms; wealth, power, and little old me to keep him warm at night but the tricky old bastard somehow snuck in some conditions of his own. Something he called a Fidelity Clause.”

“You mean you could only…”

“Umm hmm. Only him. Imagine my surprise when he pointed out that little paragraph! I still don't know how he snuck that one in! So embarrassing!”

“Why? I still don't get it.”

She sighed and went on. “The rules, Lazarus! I don't make the rules but I'm sure as hell supposed to follow them. The rules say I'm not allowed to harm my client, but you saw how I feed. What am I supposed to do? A girl's gotta eat! He put that loophole in there on purpose. He was watching me squirm so he could weasel out of our deal. All he needed was the proof. That's where you came in.”

Lazarus looked down at the two dead men on the floor. “So now what?” He was afraid he knew the answer.

She surprised him by standing to leave. “You might as well erase those photo's, they're no use now without the old man. At least you already got paid for them.”

She paused again on her way out the doorway; “And you may want to pay your rent on time for a while. I hear your new landlady is a real bitch.”

Sam waited until he heard the elevator door close at the end of the hall. He pulled the door shut, locked it and collapsed back in his chair. His hands didn't stop shaking until the third drink.