Cinderella (20 page)

    Charlie Nubbs was telling them that this Friday night they were expecting a shipment of very good stuff. Charlie Nubbs didn't know how many keys would be on the boat when they met it. They never knew until it arrived, it was different each shipment. What they had to do, he said, taking Ernesto into his confidence, was be prepared to pay cash on delivery for however many keys were on the boat. The price depended on how pure the coke was. It had been running a very high pure-content lately, he was expecting the new shipment would be at least ninety-percent pure, which was about as good as you could get.

    "I understand you're looking for very rich stuff," he said to Ernesto.

    "That's all we will accept, yes," Ernesto said.

    "And in what quantity?"

    "Two, three keys."

    "That's all, huh? 'Cause I was hoping you might want to take more than that. We sometimes get ten, twelve keys in a shipment, that's a lot of cash to come up with. We could lay some of it off, you know, it'd be easier for us."

    Voices lowered. The men facing the water, looking out over the water. Women eating salads at a nearby table. Sailboats out there on the water. All tranquil and lovely, white sails against the pale blue sky and deeper blue water. Sea gulls hovering. Tuesday in Paradise.

    The men continued talking dope.

    "What we're talking here," the man with Charlie Nubbs said, "is seventy-five a key, something like that, if it's as rich as it's been running lately."

    The man with Charlie Nubbs was called Jimmy Largura. Ernesto thought he was Latino at first, he looked Latino. Turned out he was Italian, though. Jimmy Largura. Though Charlie Nubbs referred to him every now and then as Jimmy Legs. Jimmy Legs this, Jimmy Legs that. Jimmy Legs was now telling them how a speedboat, one of those cigarettes like the black one out there, would run out to meet the bigger boat this Friday night, take the shipment. It would be nice if Ernesto here could guarantee say the purchase of at least half a dozen keys, come up with say four-fifty for six keys, that would take a big load off their minds, knowing six keys were already committed.

    "We could perhaps go to six keys," Ernesto said. "But not at the price you're talking."

    "That's a fair price," Charlie Nubbs said. "For ninety-pure? That's a very fair price. Ain't that a fair price, Jimmy?"

    "For ninety-pure?" Jimmy said. "You gotta be kidding. It's a steal. For ninety-pure, it's a steal."

    "If it's
really
ninety," Ernesto said.

    "Even if it's only eighty-
five
," Charlie Nubbs said.

    "Or even eighty," Jimmy said. "It's a bargain even at eighty."

    "I can get ninety-percent pure for forty K," Ernesto said, lying.

    But he was thinking if he could come up with a good deal for Amaros… then if they couldn't find the girl, which he was thinking might turn out to be the case, Amaros wouldn't be so angry. If Ernesto could get him, say, six keys of ninety- pure at forty a key, that was very low.

    If these men were that stupid.

    "If that's how much you're talking," Jimmy said, "there's no sense talking. Forty K? You're kidding. Tell me you're kid- ding, please."

    "Forty sounds right," Ernesto said.

    "Say you paid seventy-five for it…" Jimmy said.

    "That's too high," Ernesto said.

    "I'm only sayin'
suppose
you paid seventy-five…"

    Ernesto was shaking his head.

    
"Suppose,
okay?" Jimmy said. "It won't kill you to suppose for a minute. You want another drink? Or you want to order some lunch?"

    "Let's have another round," Charlie Nubbs said, and signaled to the waiter for drinks all around the table.

    "I'm saying
suppose
you went in for seventy-five a key," Jimmy said. "You give it a full hit, you already double your price. With ninety-pure it can stand a full hit, you know that. You could even step on it more, if you felt like it."

    "Well, I wouldn't advise that," Charlie Nubbs said. "You step on it too hard…"

    "You're right, you're right," Jimmy said. "So say just a full hit, okay? You pay seventy-five…"

    The waiter was approaching the table. Jimmy immediately changed the subject.

    "The one out there with the blue sails," he said, "that's got to run you at least seventy-five thousand, don't you think?"

    "Maybe even more," Charlie Nubbs said.

    The waiter put down the fresh drinks and asked if they'd care to see menus now. They told him to give them a few more minutes. The moment the waiter was gone, Jimmy lowered his voice again.

    "Say seventy-five a key," he said, "and you take six keys, you commit for six, okay. That comes to four hundred and fifty, you give the shit a full hit, you walk away with twice that. Nine hundred K. That ain't bad on my block."

    Ernesto was thinking that in today's market, seventy-five was in fact a fair price if the shit really
was
ninety-percent pure. But he wasn't looking for
fair,
he was looking for a bargain. If he went to Amaros with a bargain, maybe he wouldn't be too angry that they hadn't found the girl.

    "Forty is a fair price," he said.

    "Come on," Charlie Nubbs said.

    "You're kidding," Jimmy Legs said.

    "Forty, forty-five
tops,"
Ernesto said. He turned to Domingo.
"Cuarenta o cuaranta y cinco esta bien, no? Por no-venta por ciento de pureza?"

    Domingo nodded. "
Si, por supuesto,"
he said.

    "How does
seventy
sound to you?" Charlie Nubbs asked Jimmy.

    "No, no, we can't do it for that, that's out of the question. Look," he said, "let's finish our drinks and go, okay? No hard feelings."

    He smiled to let them know he really meant there'd be no hard feelings.

    What was going on here was the same kind of bargaining that went on in any business negotiation, except that the business here happened to be narcotics. Both Jimmy Legs and Charlie Nubbs knew exactly how many keys were coming in on that boat this Friday night, never mind the bullshit about the shipments varying. Twenty keys were coming in and they had agreed to pay a million flat for the twenty. That was fifty thousand a key. If they could get four hundred and fifty thousand for only
six
keys, that meant they'd be getting the remaining fourteen keys for only five-fifty, which came to something like thirty-nine, forty a key, which was dirt cheap.

    Jimmy was sure the spies knew the going price for cocaine that was ninety-percent pure, which this actually was. Either they knew or they were amateurs.
He
knew for sure that they were jerking him around when they offered forty. Seventy-five was a good price, it really was. Well, not a
good
price-nobody was giving anything away at seventy-five-but a fair price. He and Charlie were getting a very good deal on the twenty keys because the South Americans they were dealing; with were new people trying to establish a foothold in Florida. Fifty thousand a key was, in fact, a
damn
good deal. But in this business it was cash on the barrelhead, mister, and they were having a tough time coming up with the million. So they wouldn't have minded laying off some of it on the spies. Not at forty a key, though. That was ridiculous.

    Ernesto and Domingo both knew that forty was ridiculous. That was why Ernesto had immediately modified this to "forty, forty-five," which was also ridiculous. A fair price was seventy-five. But Ernesto figured the wops were telling the truth (always a bad failing) when they said they wouldn't mind laying some of the deal off on somebody else, which meant they weren't about to lay it off at
cost
but were trying to make a little bit
above
cost for putting the deal together and so on. The question was how much they had agreed to pay for the dope. If they were paying sixty a key, for example, which is what it sounded like if they were asking seventy-five, then there was no way Ernesto was going to get a bargain here. He'd either have to find the girl or risk Amaros's anger. Amaros might even hang
him
from the ceiling if he didn't find the girl. He was thinking
Ai, muchacho,
it would be nice to get this shit for fifty a key, make Amaros very happy.

    He didn't have a chance of getting it for fifty; fifty was what they were paying for it. But he didn't know that. Anyway, nobody was leaving just yet.

    The waiter brought menus.

    The men ordered.

    Domingo kept eyeing the two women at the nearby table, both of whom were all dressed up for their Tuesday lunch.

    "So what do you say?" Charlie Nubbs asked.

    "I told you," Ernesto said. "The highest I can go is forty-five. And even that, I'd have to check back with Miami."

    "Then we can't talk business," Jimmy said. "'Cause the lowest we can go is seventy."

    Ernesto noticed that a few minutes ago Jimmy had considered seventy out of the question. They were making progress.

    "This snapper is delicious," Charlie Nubbs said.

    "Yeah, they get it fresh every morning in this place," Jimmy said.

    "You get good fish over in Miami, too, don't you?" Charlie said.

    "Oh, sure," Ernesto said.

    "How about sixty-five?" Jimmy said. "And you take eight keys. That's we're talking five-twenty, that's a good deal."

    Ernesto suddenly knew they were paying fifty thousand a key.

    "Sixty-five is too high," he said. "I could never clear that with Miami."

    "Must be a real high roller there in Miami," Jimmy said, "he can't go to sixty-five."

    Ernesto said nothing. He looked at Domingo. Domingo shook his head. Jimmy suddenly wondered if the big guy with the slick little mustache wasn't the
real
boss here.

    "What
could
you go for?" Charlie Nubbs asked. "I mean, what do you think your man in Miami would okay?"

    "I told you," Ernesto said. "Forty-five." He hesitated and then said, "Maybe fifty absolute tops."

    "Tell you what we'll do," Jimmy said. "You take ten keys for sixty a key, you've got a deal. That's
cost,
amigo, believer me. That's exactly what we're paying for it."

    Ernesto knew he was lying.

    The question was whether they'd be willing to come down to fifty-five. He was afraid that if he offered fifty-five they might become offended and walk. Italians had pride. At the same time, he wondered how desperate they were for cash.

    "What we're talking is six hundred thou," Charlie Nubbs said.

    Jimmy was doing arithmetic in his head. Sell off ten for six hundred, that meant they were paying only forty a key for the remaining ten keys. That was very good.
If
the spies went for it. If not, he didn't know what he would do. They were probably looking to pay fifty-five a key, which was why they'd started at forty. Sell them ten keys for fifty-five, that meant the remaining ten keys were costing forty-five a key… no, that sucked. Sixty a key, he thought, take it or leave it.

    "Take it or leave it," he said aloud.

    Ernesto knew he meant it.

    So did Domingo.

    "I have to call Miami," Ernesto said.

    "There's a phone booth in the lobby," Charlie said.

    "I want to call from the motel," Ernesto said.

    Everybody understood the need for privacy. They would not be discussing soy beans or hog bellies on the phone.

    "Okay," Jimmy said, "get back to us tomorrow sometime. I don't hear from you by three o'clock, I figure you're out."

    "Good," Ernesto said.

    "Good," Jimmy said.

    

    

    The headline on Wednesday morning's newspaper read:

    MURDER CAR FOUND

    The article under it described a black Toronado that the police had found deep in the palmettos off Bay Point Road, near the old Adderby place. The car, the police said, was registered to a woman named Florence Goodel, who had reported it stolen on June 7, the day before Otto Samalson was murdered. The police said that Miss Goodel was definitely not a suspect. The article did not mention whether the police had found any latent fingerprints or spent cartridge cases in the automobile. Neither did it say how the police had
known
the black Toronado in the palmettos was the car driven by Otto's murderer.

    Matthew nodded sourly, threw the newspaper into his trash basket, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed Jamie Purchase's office.

    Jamie Purchase.

    Forty-six years old on the night of the Goldilocks murders, ten years older than Matthew. In the pale moonlight, he'd seemed much younger, or perhaps only more vulnerable. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, white trousers, and blue sneakers. Matthew had introduced himself to the patrolman at the scene as Dr. Purchase's attorney, which indeed he was.

    Two years ago Jamie Purchase was a client for whom Matthew had reviewed and revised a pension plan. He was also a man who came home one night after a poker game to find his wife and his two little daughters brutally murdered. He called the only attorney he knew: Matthew Hope. On the phone that night, Matthew first asked him if he'd committed the murders, and then asked if he wouldn't prefer a criminal lawyer to a man who'd never represented anyone involved in a crime. Jamie had said, "If I didn't kill them, why do I need a criminal lawyer?"-which plunged Matthew headlong into the case.

    Just like that.

    This past Friday, Susan had said, "Why don't you simply learn all there is to learn about criminal law and start practicing it?" The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. But now, as he sat in Jamie's waiting room, he wondered if in actuality he hadn't started practicing criminal law away back then, when the phone call from Jamie had shattered the stillness of the night.