Cinderella (25 page)

    He signaled to the waiter. The place was quieting down now. He kept trying to remember. Or was it something that had happened so
many
times that it had taken on the aspect of singularity?

    The waiter took their order for another round.

    Susan was silent for a moment.

    Then she said, "We have to stop meeting this way," and they both burst out laughing. "Truly, Matthew, this is absurd."

    "I know," he said.

    "I feel like I'm cheating on your
wife!
That's carrying Electra a bit far, don't you think? You should have heard all the questions she had about why I was all dressed up and-"

    "You look beautiful," he said.

    "Thank you, and where I was going, and who with, and-"

    "What'd you tell her?"

    "I said it was none of her business."

    "Wrong thing to say."

    "Oh,
boy,
was it! Off she went in a huff. How'd you know?"

    "I said the same thing to her and got the same reaction."

    "Well, what
should
I have said? I mean, I think we've made the right decision about keeping this from her for a while…"

    "Yes."

    "But at the same time I don't want to lie…"

    "No."

    "I guess I
could
have said I was meeting Peter downtown..

    "But he normally picks you up at the house, doesn't he?"

    "Well, yes."

    "And suppose he'd called while you were out?"

    "Listen to the expert," Susan said.

    "I'm sorry," he said, and the table went silent.

    The silence lengthened.

    She looked into her drink, eyes lowered.

    "You hurt me very much, you know," she said.

    This was the first time she'd ever said anything about it. After that night of discovery there'd been no talk except through lawyers. And after the divorce all the conversation was about arrangements for Joanna, more often than not ending in one screaming contest or another. Now, meeting in secret so that Joanna would not know they were seeing each other- God, this was peculiar!-they seemed about to discuss it at last.

    "Because I loved you very much," she said.

    Loved. Past tense.

    "I loved you, too," he said.

    "But not very much, did you?" she said, and looked up and smiled wanly. "Otherwise there wouldn't have been another woman."

    "I don't know how that happened," he said honesty.

    "Was she the first one?"

    Her eyes lowered again. Hand idly turning the stirrer in her drink.

    "Yes."

    His eyes studying her face.

    "I knew the marriage was in trouble," Susan said, "but-"

    "Even so, I shouldn't have-"

    "So many arguments-"

    "Yes, but-"

    "All the fun gone. We used to have such fun together, Matthew. Then, all at once…"

    She looked up suddenly.

    "What came first, Matthew? Did the fun stop
before
you met her? Or did the fun stop
because
you met her?"

    "I remember only the pain," he said.

    She raised her eyebrows, surprised.

    He did not know how he could explain that he could no longer remember the pleasure. Only mindless passion and pointless pain leading inexorably to more passion and more pain.

    "I was dumb," he said flatly.

    Her eyes were steady on his face. She did not nod even minutely, there was nothing in her expression to indicate she'd been seeking this confession, this admission in public in a crowded dining room smelling faintly of wet garments while the rain lashed the windows and the white tablecloths turned sodden and gray, she had not led him to this point, this was not vindication time. She merely kept watching him.

    "So what do we do now?" he asked.

    "I guess we'll have to see," Susan said.

    

    

    What Ernesto and Domingo figured was that they would have to see.

    They were thinking there couldn't be too many young girls in this city-she'd sounded young on the phone-who were in possession of four keys of cocaine, could there? That would have to be a remarkable coincidence, more than one girl with four keys of coke in her pocket? In a Mickey Mouse town like Calusa?

    The trouble was, the girl didn't want to meet them until it was buy time.

    So how could they know for sure this was the girl El Armadillo wanted to hang from the ceiling until they showed up this Saturday with the money she wanted?

    As they saw it, there were a lot of problems.

    The first problem was that suppose this
wasn't
the girl they were looking for?

    They had agreed to pay her sixty-five a key for four keys, which came to $260,000. That was not a terrific bargain. It came nowhere near the excellence of the deal they had made with Jimmy Legs and Charlie Nubbs, whom they had agreed to pay only
sixty
a key for ten keys. That came to $600,000. But for
ten
keys, remember. Whereas for almost
half
that amount, they would be getting only four keys from the girl if she didn't happen to be the girl they were looking for.

    In which case-

    If they took a look at her and she wasn't the girl with the long blonde hair and the blue eyes-

    Well, then, who needed her or her expensive coke? It would have to be Goodbye,
hermana,
it was nice knowing you but you can shove your coke up your ass.

    In which case, there might be nastiness.

    Because suppose the girl was just a telephone talker for some very heavy people who if you didn't buy the coke you
said
you were going to buy would feed you to the sharks?

    This was a possibility.

    It was Domingo who mentioned this possibility, alert as he always was to the ways and means of staying alive in this profession.

    The second problem was that they had agreed to pay the Englishman his seven-and-a-half-percent finder's fee
before
the buy went down. He wanted his money in advance, didn't want to be anywhere near where the transaction took place because that was
his
way of staying alive in this business.

    Which was unheard of.

    Giving the man his money in advance, before they even knew whether they were buying real coke or just sugar or chalk or whatever the fuck.

    They would have to talk to the Englishman about that, work out some way to keep his nineteen-five in escrow till they had a chance to test the shit they were buying.

    But that was the third problem.

    Because if the girl on the phone really turned out to be Cenicienta then what they would do was grab her and grab the coke, too, without giving her a fucking nickel because this wasn't
her
coke, it belonged to Amaros. And if that turned out to be the case, they certainly didn't want to pay no fucking Englishman $19,500 for what was their own coke.

    There were several other problems.

    They had agreed to meet the girl and make the buy from her at twelve noon this Saturday.

    They had also agreed to make the buy from Jimmy Legs and Charlie Nubbs at one-thirty that same day.

    But if the girl turned out to be the girl they wanted then they had no real need to buy the Jimmy Legs/Charlie Nubbs bargain-price coke that was intended only as a consolation prize to calm down Amaros if they
couldn't
find the girl.

    In which case, there might
also
be nastiness.

    Because both Jimmy Legs and Charlie Nubbs did not look like people who would take kindly to other people backing out of a deal.

    Which was just what Ernesto and Domingo were planning to do if the girl turned out to be the one they were looking for.

    Grab her, throw both her and the stolen coke in the car, and drive straight to Miami, leaving the wops waiting with their dicks in their hands.

    Although maybe, even if she
was
the girl, they should buy the ten keys from the wops, anyway.

    Ten keys at sixty a key was truly a bargain.

    And what was the big hurry? Once the girl was in their hands, they could take their good sweet time getting back to Miami.

    It really was a bargain, sixty a key.

    Ernesto told Domingo he wished they didn't have so many problems.

    Also this was already Thursday night, and Amaros hadn't yet called to say when they could expect the money.

    In this business nothing moved without money.

    It was Domingo's opinion that tomorrow was another day.

    He suggested to Ernesto that they go out and try to get laid.

    

    

    Luis Amaros kept his money in a bank where the manager liked doing business with drug dealers. The manager thought they were unusually courteous people with courtly Old-World manners and soft Spanish accents. Like Luis Amaros. Who everyone in town said was the scion of an old Cuban family who'd fled from Castro and invested in Louisiana soybeans, but who Roger Ware suspected was a Colombian thief who was very heavily invested in controlled substances.

    This didn't matter to Ware.

    Drug dealers brought a lot of money to the bank. Millions of dollars. Always deposited in amounts of less than five thousand dollars so the bank did not have to report them to the IRS. Drug dealers never asked for loans. They let their money sit for long periods of time and, whereas they often withdrew huge sums, they normally gave notice far in advance that such withdrawals were about to occur.

    Except on rare occasions.

    Like today.

    Friday, the twentieth day of June, and raining to beat the band in Miami and Luis Amaros sitting across the desk from him at nine in the morning, smiling and saying he wished $600,000 transferred from his account to a bank in Calusa.

    Ware was taken by surprise.

    He did not like rainy days to begin with. He had not moved from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for rainy days in Florida. He had also had a fight with his wife this morning. It was never good to approach a banker with an unusual request if he'd had a fight with his wife just before coming to work. Unless you were a drug dealer with zillions of dollars on deposit.

    "I'm sure we can handle it, Mr. Amaros," Ware said, "although this is rather short notice."

    Chidingly but smilingly. The last thing on earth he wanted was for Amaros to take his money across the street.

    "Yes, I know," Amaros said, looking extremely doleful. "And I apologize." His pudgy little hands fluttered on the air. "A family emergency," he said.

    "Happens to all of us," Ware said understanding^. "Did you have any particular bank in mind? Would our own branch office in Calusa suit you?"

    "Where is it?" Amaros said.

    He still looked extremely sad, perhaps there really
had
been a family emergency. Everything he said sounded apologetic. Like just now. As though it were somehow
his
fault that he didn't know where their Calusa branch office was.

    "Downtown," Ware said. "A block north of Main Street. Very centrally located."

    "Is it near the Suncrest Motel?" Amaros asked.

    "Well, I… I really don't know. I can have my secretary check if you like. The Suncrest, did you say? I'm sure we can-"

    "No, that's all right," Amaros said. "The Main Street branch will be fine."

    "If you'd prefer some
other
bank, there'd be no problem at all."

    "No, no, that's fine. Centrally located, you said."

    "Oh, yes. Not on Main Street, but just a block north."

    "Fine. I'll need the address…"

    "Of course."

    "So I can tell my cousin where to pick up the cash," Amaros said.

    "Had you planned…?"

    "Before the close of business this afternoon."

    "No problem," Ware said. "So," he said, "as I understand this, you want six hundred thousand dollars transferred immediately for withdrawal later today. A simple wire transfer."

    "Yes, I wish you to wire six hundred thousand dollars for withdrawal in cash before the close of business today at your branch in Calusa, yes," Amaros said.

    "Can you let me have your cousin's name, please? We wouldn't want that kind of money falling into the wrong hands, would we?"

    "No, we wouldn't. His name is Ernesto Moreno."

    Ware began writing, talking out loud at the same time. "Ernesto Moreno," he said. He pronounced it Mor-
eeno
even though Amaros had just pronounced it correctly. "That's M-O-R-E-N-O," he said, writing, "I'll just say withdrawal on proper ID. I'm assuming he'll have proper identification."

    "Of course."

    "Would you want me to add any special instructions? This is a large amount of money, you know."

    "Special instructions? Like what?" Amaros asked.

    "Well, we could prearrange for the bank to ask your cousin a question that only he would know the answer to. His mother's name, for example…"

    "I don't know his mother's name."

    "Or his birthday…"

    "I don't know his birthday, either."

    "Well, something."

    Amaros gave this some thought.

    Then he said, "Ask him what we call the blonde girl in Spanish."

    "I beg your pardon," Ware said.

    "Write it down," Amaros said. "What do we call the blonde girl in Spanish."