Body Blows (28 page)

“Your Spanish sucks,” he says.

“Really? Raquel always said I had a good accent.”

“She didn't want to hurt your feelings.”

I nod. “Yes, she was a kind person.”

“Expecting somebody from Immigration to show up,” he says. “Thought it was you.”

“This will be a short visit,” I say. “Raquel was what? Your sister?”

He waves the question aside. “How bad did I get you?” he asks.

“Just a nick,” I say. “Almost healed.”

“You hit pretty hard.”

“Call it even?”

“Except I'm in here.”

Can't argue with him there. He wouldn't be sitting on the wrong side of the Plexiglas except for my interference. “I apologize for getting in your face the other night,” I say. “Raquel didn't deserve what happened to her. I've been trying to find out who did it and I thought you might —”

“Might've killed her?”

“— might have seen something that would help me find him.”

“When you do, I'd like my knife back, and five minutes in a dark room with the motherfucker.”

“Can't blame you for feeling that way,” I tell him. “She was a lovely woman. I liked her a lot.”

“Yeah,” he says. “She had a good heart. My big sister. Always looked out for me. Family, right or wrong. When I told her I wasn't going back, she said ‘Come up here.' No questions asked.”

“Going back to the army?”

“Going back to fucking
Eye-raq
. If I wasn't in here, I'd be shipping out today.” He looks around. “Fuck, this is an improvement. Three tours is plenty.”

I can't even imagine what three tours in Iraq would be like and I can't bring myself to feign empathy. What he's been through makes my week look like summer camp. “Did you see the man who fell?”

“Too dark. Heard him screaming all the way down though. Didn't see him till he landed.”

“Nasty way to go,” I say.

“I've seen worse,” he says.

“He was one of the men who was in the penthouse,” I say. “We caught his partner yesterday.”

His eyes go cold and hard. “He in here?”

“I don't know where they're keeping him.”

“You wouldn't tell me anyway.”

“Did you see Raquel when you got to town?”

“Called her. She told me to stay close. She was going to get some cash to me so I could disappear. She never showed up.”

“How long were you there?”

“Just a day. Found some dude's little lean-to. I was going to call her in the morning.”

“You've met Raquel's husband, I suppose?”

“Ex-husband. He divorced her for desertion two years ago. He's remarried already. Has a kid.”

“I thought she couldn't get a divorce.”

“Maybe she wasn't divorced according to the Pope, but according to the State of California, she was a single woman.”

“I think she was wrestling with that,” I say.

“She would. Hell, she wanted to be a nun for a while.” He looks like he's endured as much of an interview as he's going to. He looks at the wall clock.

“I'm supposed to talk to some Immigration dude in a minute,” he says.

I stand up. “My boss has some high-priced legal talent at his disposal,” I say, “maybe they can help.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He loved your sister very much. He wanted very much to marry her. She was going to have his child. I think he'd probably like a chance to help.”

“They'll send me back sooner or later.”

“Be surprised how long a good lawyer can drag things out. War might be over by then.”

“That war won't ever be over, dude. They'll just keep moving it around.”

“At least you could get bail to be at your sister's funeral.”

“Won't be cheap.”

“I don't think the money will be a concern.”

“Hell, right now all I've got is Legal Aid,” he says. “A good lawyer wouldn't hurt.”

“I'll get on it,” I say. “Thanks for your time.” I get up to leave.

He smiles. “
Hasta luego
,” he says.

“
Si
,” I say. “
Hasta pronto
.”

“She was being kind.”

“She was like that,” I say. I stop and look back at him. “My girlfriend's just been sent to Afghanistan.”

“Army?”

“She's a reporter.”

“Tell her to stay out of the south,” he says. “All bets are off down there.”

“Welcome home, Mr. Alexander.”

“Thank you, Andrew. I hear they tried to stick you with a new door.”

“Yes, sir. Electrified,” he says with a shudder.

“Turned them down, I hear.”

“It wasn't worthy of your house, sir.”

“Quite right,” says Leo.

Andrew swings open his gleaming brass showpiece and tips his gold-braided cap a careful inch, a gesture he reserves for heads of state and visiting royalty and
never
grants to movie stars.

Margo Traynor, bless her, has organized an unobtrusive welcoming line of main floor luminaries, all of them prepared to step forward or quietly retreat depending on what they read on Leo's face. Leo makes it easy.

“Maurice, you're looking fit. New position agrees with you?”

“Settling in nicely, sir, thank you,” says Maurice.

“Roy Sullivan was concierge here for thirty-seven years, did you know that?”

“Yes, sir. Taught me everything I know.”

“He used to tell me a story about his first job,” Leo says, raising his voice and angling his head just enough to include the rest of the welcoming committee. “His new boss said to him, ‘I'll give you a hundred dollars a week. Will you
take
a hundred dollars a week? And Roy said ‘Sure' and the guy said ‘Okay, you got a nice
two
-hundred-dollar-a-week job; don't let me catch you takin' no more.”

Leo roars with laughter and slaps Maurice on the shoulder. Maurice manages a reasonable approximation of a guffaw. Hearty chuckles resound, as much for Maurice's discomfiture as Leo's story, and the ice is broken. Rolf Kalman is embraced and engaged in a private consultation regarding Leo's evening meal. Rolf suggests a wine or two, an agreement is reached; he shakes Leo's hand formally. Leo nods at me to shake Rolf's hand as well. Mine has a hundred-dollar bill folded in the palm. Cheery greetings for Gritch and Rachel, genial waves and nods for the gathering, and I begin ushering my boss toward the elevators.

Margo steps forward holding a thin leather binder, which she hands to me. “Messages and legal papers,” she says. “Nothing critical.”

Leo turns and comes to her, takes both her hands in his and leans close. “Miss Traynor,” he says quietly, “be assured that I am fully aware who actually runs this house.”

“Kind of you to say, sir.” She looks him square in the eye, doesn't curtsy, give her that.

“I take it Mr. Gruber is still under the weather?” Leo inquires.

“He's expected tomorrow.”

Leo looks around at the stately expanse of the main lobby. “Looks almost as good as when she opened.”

“You've done a fine job bringing her back, sir.”

“It's a new age for the old girl,” he says with pride. “She needs a fresh hand on the tiller.” He smiles. “We will chat again, very soon.”

“You owe me money,” I whisper as I walk by.

“We'll see,” she says. “Day's not over yet.”

Roland is holding elevator number one for us. Leo plants himself like a stockman appraising a prize bull. “How are the calves coming along, young man?” he asks.

“Eighteen inches this morning,” Roland says with some pride.

“Good, very good.” Leo judiciously pokes one enormous bicep. “Be no stopping you this year.” He enters the car, I insert the penthouse key, the doors begin to close, a manicured hand breaks the beam, and Roselyn Hiscox, perfect hair, impudent smile, steps inside and faces her father. If she's suffering a hangover, I see no evidence.

“Looks like you got away with another one, Daddy.” she says.

He takes a moment to focus, or gather himself.

“Rose?”

As I move forward, Leo puts out an arm to stop me. The doors close behind her, the elevator begins to rise.

“Did you get my birthday card?”

“My goodness,” he says with admiration in his voice, “you look positively —”

“Sane?” she asks, brightly.

“I was going to say beautiful, elegant, confident, that sort of thing.”

She's wearing a pale gold outfit, jacket and pants. No doubt a well-known designer's name is tacked on, somewhere. “But sane?” she asks again.

“I never thought you were crazy, Rose.”

“Really? I could have sworn when you packed me off to the funny farm —”

“That was for your protection. Surely you know that by now.”

“Oh,” she says. “I thought it was for yours.”

There is an awkward pause. Well, awkward for me. Roselyn appears to be enjoying the moment.

Leo retrieves his aplomb, turns to me. “You've met my daughter, haven't you, Joseph?”

“Yes, sir, we've talked a few times.”

“She's turned out quite splendidly, wouldn't you say?”

“Very stylish.”

“We Alexanders always knew how to shop,” she says.

Leo says, “The last time I saw you —”

“Relax, Dad, I won't shoot you this time.”

A sudden sense memory — a branding iron scorching my chest, Havana tobacco turned to smoldering powder in my hand. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise and cold beads spring to my forehead. If she so much as caresses the catch on her designer bag I'm going to deck her. I thumb the knot on my clavicle reflexively. The elevator is taking its time.

“I've found more positive ways to channel my madness,” she says.

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,” says Leo. The adrenaline rush has brightened his eyes and restored his composure. The doors open and he leads the way into the penthouse.

Roselyn looks around with the air of an interior decorator itching to be turned loose. “My, my,” she says. “Positively Edwardian.”

“First time you've been up here, isn't it?” Leo asks.

“Nobody would give me the secret password.”

“It's a bit early, but I've had an abstemious weekend. Join me?”

“No, thanks,” she says.

“Joseph?”

“No, thank you, sir. I should really be attending to things.”

“Not yet,” says Leo.

“He thinks I might have a gun in my bag,” she says.

“Have you?”

“I've found the word processor to be mightier than the .32.”

“Mind if I check?” I ask as politely as I can.

“Help yourself,” she says.

The purse is soft gold leather and holds nothing lethal.

I hand it back. “I never saw your face that night,” I say.

“No one did,” she says. “Black is invisible at a bunfight like that. It was the perfect operation. Except I missed.”

“Not entirely,” I say.

“Joseph tells me you're writing a book,” Leo says conversationally. He pours himself a generous splash of brandy. I'm proud of him; his hand doesn't shake and he doesn't knock it back.

“Yes, I am. It should be a lulu.”

“I look forward to reading it.”

“Actually, I thought you might want to bid on it, before it gets between the covers, so to speak.”

He laughs with genuine amusement. “You think I'm afraid of what's in it?” He shakes his head. “I don't care if my life gets plastered over the front pages.” He finally takes a drink, half of it in one swallow, inhales deeply through his nose, his combative spirit restored. “My self-indulgence has cost me over the years — divorces, settlements, animosities, grudges — but I don't owe anyone. Every business deal I made was a fair fight and the people I was up against would have done the same to me.” He drinks again. “But certain things … you do certain things for family, to protect your family. You maintain a level of reserve.” He looks at her. “It's your life I've been trying to protect.”

“Me, too, Daddy. Catharsis. That's what it's all about. Lance a few boils, bellow a few primal screams, and collect a big payday.”

“You've never had to worry about money. There has always been a trust fund in your name.”

“Which name? Rose Alexander? Rosie Webster? Roselyn Hiscox?”

“What does it matter? You will always be my daughter.”

“Will I?”

“Of course.”

“If you don't need me any longer, sir …” I start.

“Stick around, Joseph. There are a few things you should probably hear.” Leo pours himself another measure of brandy and walks toward the windows. Outside, the sun is shining. “You came within an inch of killing Joseph that night, you know?”

“I didn't expect him to move that fast.”

“Yes. Surprising in a man his size.”

“If it's any consolation,” she says, “I wasn't aiming at you.”

“It isn't,” I say.

“If you'd killed him I wouldn't have been able to let it go,” he says. “Not this time.”

“Why not? You cover up your own.”

“I've never killed anyone.”

“And yet they die,” she says. “On second thought, I will have a drink.”

“Joseph?”

“I can pour my own,” she says. “Got any vodka?”

“In the freezer,” Leo says.

“Juice, tonic?” I ask.

“Tonic,” she says.

I open the refrigerator. A few items are still waiting for a party that will never take place — chocolate truffles and a baking tray of little cakes. I grab tonic, and a lime, just in case, ice cubes, and a frosty bottle from the freezer.

She's followed me into the kitchen. “I'll take it from here,” she says.