“Sure,” said Stranahan, wondering: Where do these guys learn to talk like this?
“Graveline’s a butcher,” Dr. Dicer said. “A hacker. Everybody in town’s mopped up after him, one time or another. Fortunately, he doesn’t do much surgery himself anymore. He got wise, hired a bunch of young sharpies, all board certified. It’s like a damn factory up there.”
“Whispering Palms?”
“You’ve seen it?” Dr. Dicer asked.
Stranahan said no, but it was his next stop. “If everybody in Miami knows that Graveline’s a butcher, how does he get any patients?”
Dr. Dicer laughed caustically. “Hell, man, the patients don’t know. You think some housewife wants her tits poofed goes downtown to the courthouse and looks up the lawsuits? No way. Rudy Graveline’s got a big rep because he’s socially connected. He did the mayor’s niece’s chin, this I know for a fact. And old Congressman Carberry? Graveline did his girlfriend’s eyelids. Or somebody at Whispering Palms did; Rudy always takes the credit.”
Tina, who hadn’t been saying much since the car, finally cut in. “Talk to models and actresses,” she said. “Whispering Palms is in. Like tofu.”
“Jesus,” said Stranahan.
Dr. Dicer said, “Can I ask why you’re interested?”
“Really, you don’t want to know,” Stranahan said.
“I guess not.”
“I want to know,” Tina said.
Stranahan pretended not to hear her. He said to Dr. Dicer: “One more question, then we’ll let you get back to work. This is hypothetical.”
Dr. Dicer nodded, folded his hands, got very studious looking.
Stranahan said: “Is it possible to kill somebody during a nose job?”
By way of an answer, Dr. Dicer took out a pink neoprene replica of a bisected human head, a bronze Crane mallet, and a small Cottle chisel. Then he demonstrated precisely how you could kill somebody during a nose job.
When Chemo got to the Gay Bidet, a punk band called the Chicken Chokers had just finished wringing their sweaty jock straps into a cocktail glass and guzzling it down on stage.
“You’re late,” said Chemo’s boss, a man named Freddie. “We already had three fights.”
“Car trouble,” said Chemo. “Radiator hose.” Not an apology, an explanation.
Freddie pointed at the small bandage and said, “What happened to your chin?”
“A zit,” Chemo said.
“A zit, that’s a good one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Freddie said. “Don’t mean nothing.” He had to watch the wisecracks around Chemo. The man made him nervous as a gerbil. Freaking seven-foot cadaver, other clubs would kill for a bouncer like that.
Freddie said, “Here, you got a message.”
Chemo said thank you, went outside to a pay phone on Collins and called Dr. Rudy Graveline’s beeper. At the tone, Chemo pushed in the number of the pay phone, hung up, and waited. All the way out here, he could hear the next band cranking up. The Crotch Rockets, it sounded like. Their big hit was Lube-Job Lover. Chemo found it somewhat derivative.
The telephone rang. Chemo waited for the third time before picking up.
“We have got a problem.” said Rudy Graveline, raspy, borderline terrified.
Chemo said, “Aren’t you going to ask about my chin?”
No!”
“Well, it stings like hell.”
Dr. Graveline said, “I told you it would.”
Chemo said, “How long’ve I gotta wear the Band-Aid?”
“Till it starts to heal, for Chrissakes. Look, I’ve got a major situation here and if you don’t fix it, the only person’s going to care about your complexion is the goddamn undertaker. One square inch of perfect chin, maybe you’re thinking how gorgeous you look. Well, think open casket. How’s that for gorgeous?”
Chemo absently touched his new bandage. “Why’re you so upset?”
“Mick Stranahan’s alive.”
Chemo thought: The bitch in the sailor suit, she got the wrong house.
“By the way,” Rudy Graveline said angrily, “I ‘d like to thank you for not telling me how you drowned the man’s wife in the middle of Biscayne Bay. From what was on TV, I’m just assuming it was you. Had your subtle touch.” When Chemo didn’t respond for several moments, the doctor said: “Well?”
Chemo asked, “Is that a siren at your end?”
“Yes,” Rudy said archly, “yes, that would be a siren. Now, aren’t you going to ask how I know that Stranahan’s still alive?”