Done Deal (15 page)

Deal pocketed his change and stepped out into the humid evening. He stopped short when he saw Driscoll there, leaning back against his city-issue sedan. He’d pulled into the curb behind the VW.

“Hey, Deal,” Driscoll said. He unfolded his arms, pushed himself away from his car.

“Lieutenant,” Deal nodded, wary. “What brings you down this way?”

Driscoll shrugged. “Nothing much. Just passing by my old haunts.” He glanced around. “I was a beat cop in this neighborhood, back when. You should have seen it in the 1960s, when it was boom town, all the Cubans rolling in. This was the promised land.”

“It’s still okay,” Deal said. His shoulders ached. He wanted to get back to the fourplex, drink his beer, loll in his stew of sadness, outrage, self-pity.

“You must think so,” Driscoll said, glancing down the block toward the fourplex.

“Is that it? You want to invest in my project?”

Driscoll laughed, a short bark that sounded like gears grinding up glass. He put his big arm around Deal’s shoulder. “Naw, son, I just came by to see how you were doing, that’s all. I told you, your dad and I had some history…”

“You didn’t say what it was,” Deal cut in.

“Naw, you’re right, I didn’t.”

Deal stared at him.

“Whyn’t we drink one of those beers,” Driscoll said, pointing at the sack.

Deal put the sack down on the hood of Driscoll’s car, fished out a beer. Driscoll flipped the cap off with his thumb, caught it with his other hand.

Driscoll took a long swallow, then turned back. “Hell, son, he run him a dice game, you ought to know that. Him, the Carneses, buncha guys owned some restaurants. Floated around town for years. You can’t keep a thing like that a secret.”

“So they paid you not to bust them?” Deal asked.

Driscoll laughed again. It turned into a cough that made him pull out his handkerchief before he was finished. “This was different times, you understand. I’d say it was more like a public service, me keepin’ the real crooks away from a friendly game, know what I mean?”

“You should have busted him,” Deal said. “Before he pissed everything away.”

Driscoll gave him a sympathetic look. “Maybe so, son.” He drained the beer, held it up to the light to check the label.

“Anyways, you want to keep your cool, that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

Deal tried to read the man’s expression. “Did somebody send you down here?”

Driscoll tossed the empty bottle into a carton of trash at the curb. He thought for a moment, then fixed Deal with a stare. “Why would somebody send me down here? I keep my ear to the ground, that’s all. Somebody creates a ruckus in the banking center, I’m likely to hear about it. I know you been having a tough time. That’s all it is.”

Deal returned his gaze, trying to find something there, some trace of guile, some hidden message. It was like staring into the eyes of a Buddha wearing clothes from Sears.

“Is there something you want to tell me about?” Driscoll asked.

Deal thought about it for a moment. “I’ve been having a little trouble with the inspector on this building,” he said, finally.

Driscoll glanced down the street. “That so?” he said, sounding surprised. He turned back to Deal. “You want me to look into it?”

“I thought maybe that’s why you were here.”

“Hey, I told you…” Driscoll began, bristling.

Deal held up his hands in surrender. “It’s okay,” Deal said. “I appreciate it, Driscoll. I’m doing fine.”

Driscoll watched him for a moment. “Good,” he said, at last. “You keep yourself out of trouble.” He gave Deal a last pat on the shoulder and started away. “That’s good beer,” he added. Then he got in his car and drove off.

Deal tried to open one of the Red Stripes on the brief drive back to the fourplex, mimicking Driscoll’s easy motion with the bottle cap, but it felt like he was going to rip all the flesh off his thumb. He had to wait until he’d parked, then lever the top off using the door latch.

He sat for a moment, wondering about Driscoll. If he had been carrying a message, he’d failed. Deal didn’t have a clue what it was or who it might be from. Maybe it was just honest concern, like he said. In any case, Deal was too tired to think about it any longer.

He finished the beer and turned to the back seat to fish out a sleeping bag and nylon duffel he’d packed at the condo on his way back from Penfield’s. He lugged the stuff up to the front door, dug out his key, and walked inside, into the smell of paint and new carpet. Moving in, he thought, and then shook his head. More like
digging in
.

He finished another of the beers sitting on the bar top of the kitchenette, watching it get dark outside, considering his options. Actually, there wasn’t much to consider. His attorney in bed with the very people he was after. And those “people” had turned out to be Raoul Alcazar, the biggest slimewad in the county. Deal shook his head. He could go back downtown to confront Penfield, but he didn’t see what good it would do. Who knows how much Penfield was pocketing from Alcazar. The attorney wasn’t about to jeopardize an account like that. But why hadn’t he just admitted it to Deal in the first place. Was he ashamed? Did he think Deal would eventually come to his senses, back off the suit?

In any case, he didn’t see what talking to Penfield would accomplish. Given his present state of mind, there was always the possibility he’d end up throwing the old bastard out one of his windows, which would only complicate things.

He could hire another lawyer, but it seemed useless. Who could he be sure of, going up against Alcazar, whose influence at City-County was storied. He could maybe get some kid fresh out of law school, eager to make a reputation by going down, guns blazing, but that seemed like a waste of money, of which there was a relatively short supply.

He could give up, of course. Go groveling to Penfield and to see if
he
could get city hall off Deal’s back so he could finish the fourplex and unload it before he went belly up. Whether or not Driscoll had any knowledge of it, Deal was certain that Faye was just doing what he’d been told.

Sure, groveling would be the logical approach. Forget the goddamn brakes and the fixers and movers and shakers you couldn’t beat and his wife and his child who never was, and move it the fuck on down the road.

“No,” Deal said, out loud, although he said it softly. “That’s not the logical thing. How could that be the logical thing?” His words echoed about the empty rooms.

A two-story house across the street was catching the last pink glow on its upper reaches, a color the sun pumped out of the Everglades most every night about this time. Deal, exhausted, found himself nodding off, thinking of the gators just waking up out there, stirring around in their mud holes, ready to paddle out and find a nice duck nodding off in the reeds or maybe somebody’s Pekingese run away from home and come down to the pond for a little lap of water. If you’re tough, you take what you want. If you’re weak, you get taken.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, stared groggily at the stubbed out plumbing where the stove and refrigerator would be installed, assuming that it would in fact be installed. Too bad the refrigerator wasn’t here right now, so he could store what was left of the beer in the freezer while he went in and took a shower.

There being no refrigerator, however, he did the next best thing and popped another beer, took that down the hall with him, leaving his options to percolate for a while.

He did his very best not to think at all while he stood under the steaming water, the beer singing in his veins now, although it did occur to him that whoever moved into the place was going to appreciate the good water pressure and the fact that the hot water seemed to last a long time. He also congratulated himself on springing the extra $82.50 per unit for the shower doors he’d installed. Be a shitload of water all over the floor without those doors, mmmm-hmmm, because he’d brought no shower curtain. He finally turned off the water and got out. Opened another beer.

He
had
remembered to pack a towel, a thick one, a Janice towel to be sure. Before they were married, he’d favored thin white towels on extended loan from motels he had visited. But Janice had been right about a thick towel, he had to admit. He rubbed himself down, luxuriating in the fading ache of his thighs and triceps. Then the glow went away when he realized who he’d been thinking about.

He had another slug of beer, then began to hum, a nice, heavy sound that filled up the inside of his head and left no room for thinking. He broke off momentarily to finish the beer. Then the hum became a kind of growl and finally segued into a rendition of “Louie, Louie,” a song which Flivey Penfield favored when they were college roommates. No ache thinking of Flivey. A good sign.

Deal moved into the bedroom that adjoined the steaming bath, adding a little body English to the music. Just as good as stereo. Better than stereo, in fact. Groping in his bag for his briefs, one leg,
hump
, other leg,
whump, where you gonna go now…pull up yo pants, whoa-o-oh, now…but what was that strange popping noise…?

And then he froze…
fuck shit piss, back against the wall
.…A huge man, across the room from him—Leon Straight, no doubt about that—he must have been leaning in the doorway of the bedroom all the time, idly cracking his knuckles, waiting for Deal to notice, waiting for him now to get his pants pulled up.

“I knocked,” the big man said, “but I guess you didn’t hear me, on account of the shower.” He nudged his massive shadow away from the door frame. It was too dark to see his lips move, but who else could have spoken? Deal felt the smooth wall behind him, getting himself steady, getting his balance. He thought of that huge ray lifting off the ocean floor when he was snorkeling. About the size of Leon’s shadow. The same threatening grace.

“That’s right. I didn’t hear you.” Deal felt his throat creaking. Had he left the door unlocked? He couldn’t remember.

“The boss asked me to come pick you up.”

“Alcazar?”

“That’s right.”

“What if I got something to do, I can’t come right now.”

Leon’s head swiveled about the barren room. “Like you were getting ready to throw a party or something?”

“Whatever,” Deal said. His irritation was growing, the adrenaline shock beginning to leach away.

“Okay by me,” Leon said. He turned, his shadowy mass headed for the door.

“Wait a second,” Deal said. Leon stopped. “What’s this about, Leon?” There was a pause. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t matter my name, Mr. Deal. I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe he wants to build something. That’s what you do, isn’t it,
build?
” He said it the way you’d humor an idiot.

Deal thought about things a moment. It was an option he hadn’t considered, except for the stray thought of waylaying Alcazar, tying him and Penfield back to back and dropping them both out the window of Penfield’s office.

But why not? Why not go to the source?

“You mind if I get dressed?” Deal said.

“Take your time,” Leon said, and ambled off, down the hallway.

Leon ushered Deal into the back of a soft gray limo parked at the curb outside, snapped on the television, showed him the bar, the tape player. “There’s fuck tapes, new movies, whatever you want.” He pointed out the stereo, the CD, the button for the sun roof, then got in front and pulled out.

A City-County cruiser was parked down the block. Neither cop so much as glanced at the limo as they passed. They might as well have been a ghost car, Deal thought. How could you ignore a stretch limo in
this
neighborhood? And then the answer occurred to him. They damn well knew to ignore it.

It took them about thirty minutes to reach their destination, a sprawling auto-sales complex laid out on some acreage newly skinned from a melaleuca forest at the north end of the county.

They spiraled down off the turnpike on a brand new ramp that would one day serve a gojillion commuters. Right now the only lights in the area came from a series of television transmission towers strung out in the distance, and closer in, the dealership, lit up like downtown Vegas.

The place was actually a series of glassed-in pavilions, each featuring a different make of car, set up around some artificial terraces and lagoons they’d dug from the coral plain. The ponds all had fountains and rock waterfalls and the same kind of landscaping you’d expect at Walt Disney World.

Broad swathes of lawn connected the various pavilions, sparkling in the sprinkler irrigation that was pulsing just now. Take out the buildings, you could play golf here, Deal thought. An enormous American flag fluttered at the entryway, a road that seemed as broad as the freeway interchange they’d just left.

Leon took them down the road toward the large central building, a conglomeration of fieldstone and smoked glass that hugged the ground and featured several different foreign makes discreetly lit behind the windows. Leon found a break in the curb that Deal hadn’t seen, and piloted the limo along a narrow strip of blacktop, straight for the huge glass windows.

The big slabs of glass slid back as they approached and Leon took them right up a hidden ramp into the showroom itself. Deal sat there while Leon said something into a car phone, then got out and came to open his door. The television inside the limo was still playing, an old black-and-white flick with Rod Steiger in some outrageous makeup and a marcelled hairdo ogling a pretty girl in a mortician’s workroom. The picture was wavering, now that they were inside. Deal hadn’t bothered to turn up the sound.

Leon jabbed his sizable thumb toward the rear of the building. “Mr. Alcazar’ll be with you in a minute. You can wait out here.”

Deal nodded and got out. The place was quiet, only the soft rush of air-conditioning in the background. There was the same smell of paint and new carpet as the fourplex, but he doubted there’d been any flak from the building codes office on this project.

Leon stood by the limo with his arms folded, watching Deal like some palace guard. He’d been watching too many tough-guy movies, Deal thought.