Done Deal (18 page)
The phone was talking to him now: “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial the number. If you’d like to make a call…” Deal came out of his trance. He broke the connection, dialed the operator.
“Southern Bell, Miss Apple speaking.”
“I just got a call, long distance, I think. Is there any way I can find out where it came from?”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, sir, did you say you had
placed
a call?”
“Jesus Christ,
no
…” Deal stopped, forced himself to lower his voice. Patience, patience. “I said I
got
a call. Long distance. I thought maybe there’d be some way to check where it came from.”
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no way I can help you. If you had
placed
the call, then…” Deal slammed the receiver down.
He heard someone at the door then, the knob rattling, somebody putting a shoulder to the wood. Deal raised the phone, instinctively. So this was it. He saw his likeness in the bar mirror, a wild-eyed man with a phone for a club, waiting for Leon Straight and the Cuban Bushwhacker Twins.
The door flew open, then, and Cal Saltz followed it in, off balance, still clinging to the knob, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand, a drugstore package tucked under his arm. “Fix the goddamn door, Cal,” the old man was muttering to himself.
He broke off when he saw Deal. “Hey, Johnny,” he grinned. “I just stopped in at Flanagan’s…” He fought to bring his glittering eyes into focus.
“Sonofabitch wouldn’t sell me a bottle at the drugstore.” He shook his head sadly.
Deal realized he was still holding the telephone aloft. He turned and replaced the receiver in the cradle, suddenly very, very tired.
“Hey, what’s with you?” Cal was saying. Deal gripped the counter, watched in the mirror as the old man cocked his shaggy head. Deal felt the high-pitched whine starting up inside him again. It made it hard to hear. He couldn’t be sure what Saltz said next. He thought it was pretty funny, though. He thought Cal said: “You look like you seen a goddamn ghost.”
“You about to fuck up everything, sweet cheeks,” Leon said. The woman was sprawled across the bed where he’d tossed her, glowering at him. He’d turned his newly injured leg, hurrying after her, and he had to wait a moment for the pain to subside.
“Big mouth like you have, I should have held you under a couple minutes longer.” And would have, if he hadn’t figured out how to use her.
He turned to inspect the strange handset he’d ripped out of the phone set on the floor. It was a big, boxy looking contraption, looked like something out of an old John Wayne war movie. “This a ship to shore outfit?” he asked. “Maybe it’s an antique. Ought to get it fixed up, make it worth something.”
She still hadn’t spoken. Her cheeks were red, like maybe he’d slapped her, but he knew it was just her being pissed off at him. In any case, she
was
a fox.
“You call the police?” he asked.
She hesitated. “They’re on their way.”
“Hmmm-hmmm,” Leon said. “On the way to where?” He’d been listening outside the door for a moment, puzzled when he heard her voice, thinking maybe someone was in the room with her, better figure it out before he went barging in.
“I don’t
know
where I am,” Leon said, mocking her. “We on the
ocean
someplace. Maybe
Puerto Rico
.” He shook his head. “Shee-it!”
“What do you want from me?” color high in her cheeks, all right. Making her look excited.
“When the time is right, sweet cheeks,” Leon said. “When the time is right.” Though he would
like
to explain it to somebody, proud as he was of his plan. Going to show
Seen-your
Alcazar a move or two that had nothing to do with football or how tough you were. No, Leon was operating on brain power, here. Wait for the right moment, and
wham
… take the man’s head off with a brain power forearm, that’s right.
He bent to pick up the phone set then, hefted it, then glanced at her as he let it drop to the floor. There was a crashing of glass from deep inside the thing and Leon laughed.
“Bunch of funky old tubes and shit in there,” he said, sadly. He tapped a pouch that was strapped to his belt, where the stubby antenna of a cellular phone protruded. “We get ready to call your old man, we’ll do it the right way.” He gave her a last smile and then walked out.
Raoul Alcazar took the drink that Leon had brought him, then leaned back in the big leather recliner, tensing his muscles against the undulations beneath him. He had a sip of his drink, forcing himself to give in to the powerful rollers meant to soothe. “The Stress Eater,” was what the sales clerk at Men’s Toys on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach had called it. The chair had cost something over five thousand dollars. If you could afford such a chair, how much stress could you have, Alcazar had wondered aloud. The clerk found that ever so amusing.
Alcazar touched the tender spot on his forehead as he watched Leon hobble back toward the bar in a far corner of the room. It had been a very long time since Alcazar had found himself in physical danger, and he had not enjoyed the sensation. But there was something positive in the evening’s experience: He had come to think of himself as invulnerable, he realized. And clearly that was a very grave mistake. His family had fled to this country with nothing. His father died of tuberculosis in a public hospital, his mother had been a hotel maid. He had grown up on the streets and he had never once felt secure. But acquire a bit of money and see what happens. You surround yourself with bodyguards, security devices, attorneys, and before you know it…
Well, Alcazar thought, he owed that much to Deal. Although Leon owed Deal even more.
The big man still hadn’t made it back to his stool at the bar. He was wearing some atrocious-looking athletic shorts, his good knee swathed in yards and yards of elastic bandaging. The other knee sported a maze of scar tissue from myriad operations, the old incisions glazed and glistening like slug tracks. Leon’s normally surly expression had turned murderous.
“Go on to bed,” Alcazar called after him.
Leon turned and glowered. Finally, he nodded and limped on out of the room.
Alcazar waited until Leon was gone, then lifted his glass to his guest, who sat in the shadows across from him. “Enjoy,” Alcazar said.
Alcazar saw Penfield’s glass rise in the glow reflected from a vapor lamp outside, near the entrance to his private dock. There was a sound from deep in Penfield’s throat. After a moment, the glass came down. “What is it?” he asked.
“A fermentation of the cactus plant,” Alcazar said. “Though to call it mescal or tequila would be misleading.”
Alcazar swirled the liquor in his glass. “The distillery has been in the hands of the same family for over two hundred years. This is young, however. No more than a century.”
“Very smooth,” Penfield said.
From outside came the faint throbbing of diesel engines. There was a view out the glassed-in room, across the broad swathe of lawn, then to a hundred yards or so of bay water glittering in the moon. Out there was the vague shadow of a pleasure craft moving up the Intracoastal, its running lights gleaming.
“I purchased the facilities, but I left the operations in the hands of the family,” Alcazar said.
“Probably wise,” Penfield said.
“I didn’t want to interfere with tradition,” Alcazar said. “The patriarch had reservations for that very reason. His family came from Spain, after all.”
“He got over it, I guess.”
“He passed away,” Alcazar said, nodding. He put his drink down and leaned forward in his seat abruptly.
“I will tell you something, Mr. Penfield. I am an impatient person by nature. And this has tested my patience to its limits. I have tried to be reasonable, at your urging, but we could have handled this far more simply. Do you understand me?” Alcazar felt a throbbing at his forehead.
“It’s clear,” Penfield said. He cleared his throat. “I know Deal’s been a problem.”
“I’d call that an understatement.”
“I thought perhaps his wife’s death would distract him, he’d let the damn place go.”
“As I did,” Alcazar said.
“But maybe there’s another way…”
“Precisely my point,” Alcazar said, leaning forward. Penfield held up his hands. “Let’s just give it a few more days. There’s a great deal at stake here. A great deal of money for both of us. A few more days, Raoul, that’s all we’re talking about.” Alcazar heard a note of pleading in the voice. It did not please him.
“I think you have allowed your emotions to cloud your thinking,” he said.
“My thinking is fine,” Penfield said gruffly. “We’re both going to come out of this just fine.” Penfield finished his drink.
“I hope so,” Alcazar said. He had not missed the tremor in the old man’s hand. He raised his glass in salute. “I sincerely hope that you are right.”
He sat back as Penfield left, holding the cold glass to his forehead. He heard the soft ping of the alarm as Alejandro ushered Penfield out, the muted sound of Penfield’s car winding away.
In a moment, Alejandro was at the door of the study.
“Is there anything else?” Alejandro said.
Alcazar thought a moment. His own poor judgment had led him into this tangle. He had only himself to blame. He had been timid and now he would have to be bold. He glanced up at Alejandro. “We are certain of Mr. Deal’s whereabouts, then?”
Alejandro nodded. “He arrived at his friend’s by taxi. The old man, the one with the strange automobile. If anyone leaves, we will know it.”
Alcazar held his fingers thoughtfully to his lips. He thought about Penfield’s weakness, about human weakness in general. Yes, a new plan would have to take effect, but he was not distressed. In fact, he had been thinking of this since the moment he rose from the wrecked and sodden floor of his new showroom.
He cleared his mind of every sentiment, then, and reminded himself of how it would work. It was a risk, but given the crazed machinations he had already agreed to, it was nothing. So many compromises he had agreed to just for the sake of others’ emotional attachments. And if what he had in mind worked out, the return would be so great. He glanced up at Alejandro, his decision made.
“Go wake up Leon,” Alcazar said. He gave the puzzled Alejandro a razored smile. “We must resolve
this
deal on our own.”
“You sure about this, Johnny?” Cal gave him a cautious look. The old man sat in a chair across from Deal, a diet soda in his hand. The Wild Turkey sat untouched on the counter behind him.
“It was Janice, for Christ’s sake,” Deal said. “You think I wouldn’t know?”
“’Course you’d know.” Cal looked aside, uncertain. “It’s just…”
“She’s alive,” Deal said, his mind racing. “She’s alive.”
Deal felt Cal’s eyes on him. Assessing, probing, wondering if he were crazy. He felt a sudden jolt. What if he
were
crazy?
And then he remembered Janice’s voice:
Deal!
Calling his name.
Deal shook his head. He had heard it. No dream. No delusion.
He glanced up at Cal, bringing his breathing steady.
“She never said
anything
about where she was?”
“Just that it was by the water.” Deal shook his head, still trying to make sense of things. “It was a terrible connection. I heard some other people talking in the background…”
“You mean in the room with her?”
“No, like crossed lines. Some guys arguing in Spanish. Then some guy talking about a channel and a generator.” Deal looked at Cal. “He had a British accent.” He thought a minute. “Maybe Janice was calling from the islands. Maybe somebody took her to the islands, that’d make sense.” There was a tiny flame of urgency starting up inside him.
Cal looked at him. “Sense to who? If she was in the islands, how would she have heard about what happened tonight?”
Deal fell back in his chair. He felt exhausted, but his mind was still racing. Something nagging at him, something he couldn’t put his finger on…and then he had it. How
had
she heard about what happened?
Deal sat up. “Cal, nobody mentioned my name in that story. Alcazar must have seen to that.” He broke off. The little flames were a fire inside him now. “What’s that tell you?” He turned on Cal.
“That the sonofabitch has his own plans for you, Johnny. You got to get someplace where you’ll be safe.”
Deal shook his head. “Somebody’s got her, Cal. Somebody who knows what I did tonight.”
Cal reached out his big hand to Deal’s knee, a sorrowful expression on his face. “That’s a stretch, Johnny.”
Deal’s face hardened. “Yeah? Then you explain it, Cal.”
Cal withdrew his hand, stung. His gaze wandered to the carpet where a big palmetto bug lumbered over the thick shag. Cal absently lifted his foot and cracked the bug under his heel. “Goddamn things,” he said. Finally, he looked up at Deal.
“Johnny, if you tell me Janice called you, then Janice damn well called you. I ain’t gonna argue with you about that. But who in the hell would want to kidnap your wife?”
Deal shook his head.
“You never got a note, a call, nothing. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t, Cal.”
Cal ignored him, waving his Coke at the television. “What I do know is, you got your ass in a big-time sling. You ought to wish Alcazar hung your name off his sign for those television people, put the cops all over you…cuz that’s a kind of trouble you could get a good lawyer and walk away from. Now…” Cal’s face had turned beet red and for a moment, Deal thought he was having a stroke. The old man took a breath then, and went on, in a slightly calmer tone.
“First things first, Johnny. I held onto that fish camp out in the Everglades. There’s food there, the skiff, everything you need for a few days until we can make some arrangements. I got a buddy down in Curaçao I’ll get hold of. He can take care of you a while, get you into South America if we have to. I’ll be here to look after things…”
“Cal,” he said, “I’m not running off somewhere. I’m going to find Janice.”
It was Cal’s turn to stare. “You leave that to the police, son. You call them up and tell them about this phone call and then you get the hell out of Dodge or there won’t be any
you
for Janice to come home to.”
Deal shook his head. A big breath now, fanning the flames. He would find her. He would find her if he had to walk across water to do it.
“If I call the cops, they’ll just think I’m crazy, like you do,” he said.
Deal saw the hurt spring up in Cal’s eyes and he had to turn away. It wasn’t Cal’s fault. Anybody might think the same. Unless they’d heard her voice. Excuse me, officer, I think my wife’s been kidnapped. We all thought she drove her car off a bridge but somehow she didn’t die, and by the way I’m the guy who blew up Alcazar’s showroom, that’s how I know…
Deal stood then, and walked out onto the little porch. It had cooled off a bit, though you could still eat the air with a spoon.
He gripped the railing, leaning back momentarily to stretch the taut muscles in his back. The exhaustion he’d felt for the last endless days was gone, replaced by a wild anxiety, a jittery energy aching to be given some place to go.
Far out to sea were a series of dimly lit freighters, drifting, killing time until morning when they could head into port. So maybe Janice had been swept out to sea by the current, where she was picked up by a banana boat bound for Haiti with a cargo of stolen bicycles. The captain is not about to call in the Coast Guard, so he steams on to Port-au-Prince and stashes her until he can figure out what to do. Meantime, Janice sees a television broadcast bounced off the satellite into Port-au-Prince, figures out Deal’s in big trouble, escapes, makes her way to a phone and…
…
and my ass is a short-wave radio
, Deal thought, as Cal joined him on the porch.
“Hey, Johnny…” Cal began, but Deal cut him off.
“It’s okay, Cal. I’d think I was crazy too. Besides, what are they supposed to do? Put a wall up around the islands? I’m not even sure that’s where she was calling from.”
“Maybe the phone company could do something.”
“I already tried that.”
“Well, shit,” Cal said, shaking his big head. He gazed out across the water and nodded. “Sun’s going to come up pretty soon. Things always look better in the morning.”
Deal followed his gaze. Sure enough, there was the barest hint of pink at the horizon where the sun was getting ready. The “sun fist,” he found himself thinking. The two guys in the background of Janice’s conversation, jabbering about the “sun fist.” What the hell was that in Spanish, anyway? Sun fist? Pidgin English for Sunfish? Two guys talking about a little sailboat?
Deal tossed the idle thoughts aside, turned and looked inside the apartment. Cal had wandered back in to the bar where he stood, his shoulders slumped, hefting the bottle of Wild Turkey, checking it against the Coke he held in his other hand, weighing things.
Deal was about to go back inside and give Cal some help on the Wild Turkey, when he stopped short. Sun fist. Sunfist.
Sunfest
. He felt a little jolt. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what they were talking about. Sunfest.
Deal went inside the apartment, took the bottle out of Cal’s hands. “Where’s your paper, Cal?”
Cal looked at him, puzzled, then pointed to a stack in the corner. Deal went over, pawed through the pile until he came to a Weekender, the entertainment supplement for the
Herald
. It took him a minute, but there it was in the music section, a double-page layout:
SUNFEST TO ROCK MONTEGO BAY
, plenty of pictures from last year’s reggae festival in Jamaica, a hundred thousand or more from all over the world, and the story predicting twice as many visitors this time around. Seven days of party, mon. Irie. Ganja city. No problem. Starting tomorrow night.
Deal looked up from the paper and met Cal’s questioning gaze. He held up the story.
“That’s what the two guys I heard in the background were talking about. And the other woman, with the British accent. Jamaica. Maybe she’s in Jamaica, Cal.”
Cal rolled it over in his mind. “Yeah,” he admitted, “it could be. Or she was calling from Pismo Beach and the lines got crossed up.”
Deal felt the excitement go out of him as quickly as it had come. Of course, it was crazy. And even if she were on some island in the Caribbean, what could he do about it? Conduct a house-to-house search? He sighed, feeling very tired. “You’re right, Cal. But what am I supposed to do, for Christ’s sake? Somebody took Janice somewhere.
Somebody
knows where she is. The same somebody told her what happened tonight.”
Deal had an image of himself, waving his newspaper under the nose of some Jamaican desk sergeant. They’d lock
him
up. His head had begun to ache. Maybe Penfield had some connections in the islands. Maybe Penfield…
…and then he stopped, unwilling to consider the possibility that had suddenly occurred to him, but unable to let it go.
Fuck your baseball
, Alcazar had said.
“I need to borrow your car, Cal.”
Cal looked at him dourly. “What’s on your mind, Johnny? You gonna drive over to Montego Bay?”
“Forget Jamaica, Cal. I need to see Thornton Penfield.”
Cal raised a shaggy eyebrow, but shrugged acquiescence. “All right. I’ll go with you.”
Deal glanced at him: a man in his sixties, veins crisscrossing his florid face, his breathing raspy, ready to walk in front of a truck if he asked. If what he’d suspected were true, that’s about what he’d done, Deal thought. Propped him up in front of a thundering, free-wheeling semi. Cal and anybody else crazy enough to get in the way.
“It’s okay, Cal,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Cal said.
“Really,” Deal said. “I have to handle this one myself.”
Deal saw the hurt look in Cal’s eyes and reached to clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll call you.”
Finally Cal nodded. “I’ll be here, Deal.”
“I know you will, Cal.”
He embraced the old man, felt the answering squeeze. For a moment, he wanted to give it all up. Call Driscoll, hope for the best.
“I know you will,” he repeated. And then it was time to go.
