Mile Zero (52 page)

“St. Cloud!”

Justo was running from the Cuban Martyrs, gun waving in air, his shouted words lost in wind and tin-whistling.

The skeleton’s legs pumped the bicycle furiously, a knife flashing in his hand. St. Cloud bent his arm to block the blade’s thrust. Whistling was shattered by gunshots striking the skeleton’s rubber chest. The bicycle’s momentum carried the skeleton onward, knife still poised. Two more shots fired. The skeleton pitched over rusted handlebars, crashing the bicycle to the ground.

Beneath arched wings of the angel was Renoir, his revolver aimed
above St. Cloud’s shoulder. Rising sun behind the angel showered brilliance around Renoir, he disappeared into light.

Justo knelt before the skeleton sprawled across the wrecked bicycle, pulling the rubber head mask off with a loud elastic snap. The unseeing eyes of Space Cadet rolled white, the released rope of his braided hair unraveling to the ground.

“A
santo de que
?” Justo looked up at St. Cloud.

In the name of what?

A
DIOS
Twentieth Century Cha-Cha. Such was the message. No matter which end of the telescope Justo looked at it from, there wasn’t a round world of sense to be made of it all. Such were the facts of the round and flat worlds, as for the other world’s, nether and upper, they were not for him to trifle with. Even if it were possible to salt the tongue of a bufo toad with the speech of spooks and saints, it couldn’t say much with a nail driven through its lips. Space Cadet knew that, Justo knew a thing or two more. The thing that kept him going from sunup to sundown was what he leaned upon in Vietnam, then cashed in when he came back from war; to make a good act of contrition, offer back evil to the source from which it originated. Justo made a good act of contrition after Vietnam, still had his mental health. What he learned in his own defeat of comprehending war was simple truth, a man who believes in contrition will always win out over a man who believes in destruction. Space Cadet believed in purification by destruction, didn’t understand evil exists in the name of many things, good rests uneasily among them, such was the accommodation.

Justo had been driving the streets of Key West for two days in search of Renoir. The bag of conch fritters on his car seat was empty, just as his head was empty of ideas about where to find Renoir. He had turned the island on its ear, pressed the button of every scammer for information, rampaged every gay bar and disco, flipped every trick who owed him a favor. What he got were looks of fury, as if he were Pontius Pilate asking apostles to squeal where Jesus hid after slipping his guarded crypt. Half the State of Florida was looking for
Renoir. No one thought he would stay in Key West after the shooting. From what Justo discovered at Renoir’s house, there was no question his prey would not stray.

Justo’s gut was on fire from a bellyful of fritters and time was stacking up against him. The search for Renoir had to end at four o’clock or there would be the devil to pay, worse, there would be Rosella to answer to. Today was Isabel’s
Quince
, three hundred people invited, the women’s ballgowns ironed to a sheen, the men’s tuxedos rented, twenty pigs roasting, the band warming up. Justo was spending a fortune, his belly burned hotter. If he wasn’t at the hotel by four o’clock, smiling wide as a banquet pig with a red apple in its mouth, Rosella would have his hide and the devil his due.

Ocho leaned over the car seat, his tongue slurping Justo’s cheek. The animal devoured a bag of fritters for lunch and whined for more. Justo pinched the dog’s ear, warning it to get its vice under control or it would be back on the track chasing a metal bunny for a living. The image of the bunny inspired him, he slammed the brakes and wheeled the car around, heading toward the Wreck Room.

The chalked message on the blackboard left no doubt as to which side of the cemetery shooting at least one of the Wreck Room regulars was on. The boisterous noontime crowd pushed at the long bar. The stool next to Handsomemost Jimmy was empty, left open for customers to whisper comforting commerce into his ear before striding purposefully to the bathroom. Justo slipped onto the stool. Handsomemost did not turn to see who his new customer was, continuing to sip his Scotch, his gold rings clanking against cold glass.

“Whose side you on?” Justo’s voice rose into the crowd’s roar, calling to Angelica as she splashed beer into mugs. He wanted to arrest her for indecent exposure, but this was no time for sport.

Angelica spun on high heels, the mugs foaming in her hands. “I’m on the side of the true and virtuous. Your side, sugar. The side of common law for uncommon people.”

“I be see’n a three-sided asshole once,” Handsomemost slurred into his Scotch. “But ain’t never seen no straight cop.”

Justo leaned toward Handsomemost. “That’s because cops don’t have assholes.”

“Why you be foolin with me? Done told you where Space Cadet be livin. Not for me, you all never findin what hole that cat crawled from. That cat never had no mammy’s titty milk to suck. That cat sucked acid all his life. Dude was evil, nimble evil. Nimble evil be evilist of all, cause you don’t know where it’s at till it too late.”

“True enough.”

“Dog-balls true. So don’t be foolin with me, cause I tipped you where ol nimble evil done lived, if you call all that crazy shit livin.”

“Didn’t come to pin a good citizen’s medal on you for helping out on that.”

Handsomemost swiveled slowly, his eyes cloudy within fleshy slits. “We gots no more business. Ought to leave, but you won’t. You’re like an itch lookin for a scratch.”

Justo nodded at Angelica. “Mind if I have one of those beers? I’m steaming in this coat.”

Angelica pushed a mug to him. “Never seen you in a tuxedo before. I like that color on you, baby blue, matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown.” Justo lifted the mug, not taking his brown eyes off the cryptic smile poised on Angelica’s lips.

“Can’t a fishin man get served?” Bubba-Bob slipped up behind Justo.

“How’d you get out of the hospital?” Angelica leaned across the bar, kissing Bubba-Bob’s cheek. “Thought they were keeping you another week.”

“Can’t keep a fishin man down. Walked out. They got me wrapped tighter than a ballyhoo on a marlin hook. Got drugs in me a Miami greyhound would envy. Can’t feel no pain, perfect time to look for trouble.”

“How about my place after work?”

“Thank God my balls aren’t wrapped in tape too!”

“How bout you?” Angelica turned to Justo. “Want to get lucky?”

“Want to get another beer.”

“You got it.” Angelica refilled his mug. “Never seen you drink on duty before.”

“See this Palm Beach pimp coat, you think I’d wear this on duty?”

“Oh yeah, forgot, today’s Isabel’s big day. Just a few hours away, isn’t it?”

“Justo always be on duty,” Handsomemost mumbled. “Always got de itch.”

Justo looked at the message scrawled on the blackboard:
CRAZIES 0
,
GAYS 1
. “You know where Renoir is, don’t you?”

“Rabbit gets trouble, gets hisself a hole.”

“You told me about Space Cadet’s hole.”

“You owed me for not popping that run-out dog of yours.”

“You might need another favor.”

Handsomemost snarled in his Scotch, “Done need no favors, got all I needs. Ladies I gives favors. Mens I gives shit.”

“Even MK?”

Handsomemost turned his cloudy eyes to Justo. “Watch your tongue.”

“Thought you didn’t need no favors?”

“Listen,” Handsomemost hissed, “what shit you be carrying?”

“MK’s coming back.”

“You be tryin to jack off my ego?”

“Don’t believe me. Just willing to do a favor, guess you don’t need it.”

Handsomemost stared into his Scotch, silent as a drowned man.

“Here’s to Crazies, that they might even the score!” Bubba-Bob raised his mug. “You can piss, you can moan, but you can’t kill all the Crazies. God bless their looney tunes!”

“To Crazies,” chorused many in the crowd.

“Fuck you,” voted others.

“I gots my numbers covered.” Handsomemost pressed his thin lips together. “But MK ridin back into town, gots to be no good for some.”

“Where’s Renoir?”

“You ain’t spittin acid in my eye? MK’s headed back?”

“Heard MK’s coming to get his girl.”

“Girl? I knows everythings, never hearda no chick.”

“Lila.”

“That little redneck skirt St. Cloud’s been chasin?”

“She’s a lot more skirt than you think.”

“Wheeewh. MK had a bitch hidden in the woodpile all the time.”

“Coming back for her, and other things.”

“Other things?” Handsomemost stood, running hands over silk black clothes to smooth creases. “Time to rock and roll.” He tapped the toes of his alligator loafers. “How’d you get word anyway?”

“Brogan, he accommodated.”

“Thanks for the chit and the chat.”

“Hey! Where you going? You owe me.”

“Try Dick Dock.”

“Already did, first place I looked.”

“Up behind there, in the old fort where they got that garden. Try the orchids.”

“Certain?”

Handsomemost poked a bony finger into the ruffled front of Justo’s shirt. “Certain as your granny used to wash dishes for white folks.” He backed away, his bony finger still pointing. “I don’t owes no favors. You owes me.”

Someday, Justo promised, he was going to blow the mustard off that strutting hot dog. Someday when there would no longer be anyone to accommodate, even halfway. What he told Handsomemost about MK was only half true. Handsomemost was so smart, he could figure which half to believe.

Angelica poured Justo a beer. “If it’s true about MK coming, St. Cloud better catch the first rocket out of town.”

“Lila’s left. Saw her headed over Cow Key Bridge in her convertible about six this morning.”

“How do you know she’s not coming back?”

“I can tell by the look on a woman’s face if she’s driving off this rock for the last time.”

“Look into my face.” Angelica rested her chin in her hands, inches from Justo. “What do you see?”

Justo studied the blond closeness, sweet breath brushing his skin, his face flushed. “I see pleasure and pain, a homewrecker in search of a home, a woman too honest to take I
do
for an answer.”

“You see too much, honey.” Angelica’s lips came closer, her hand touching his cheek. “Go home to your warm Cuban bread. Go home, family man.”

Bubba-Bob slammed his fist on the bar. “Goddamnit! A fishin man can’t get a drink because the bartender’s hustling the heat!”

“Only trying to bribe him with my good looks and high-school education. No money changed hands.”

Bubba-Bob slid onto the stool vacated by Handsomemost, his hand locking on Justo’s shoulder. “Let me buy you an
anejo
, hear your little girl’s getting married today.”

“Not married.” Angelica opened a bottle of
anejo
. “It’s sort of a debutante’s ball. Fabulous gowns and a big feast.”

“Sounds goddamn expensive.” Bubba-Bob squeezed Justo’s shoulder. “How much money you make as a cop? Maybe you want to go king-fishin with ol Bubba, pull some extra bucks into the boat.”

“I’ll take that
anejo.”

Angelica poured the rum with a sly wink. “Today’s worse than a wedding. Give your daughter away and get nothing back.”

Justo raised his glass in farewell salute to Angelica, she still remained the wildest flower in his life.
“No hay rosas sin espinas!”

There are no roses without thorns.

THERE WERE
no roses inside the Civil War fort, no shackled Confederate soldiers, no fat cattle to feed Union troops. Towering brick walls constructed to withstand pounding of cannonballs fired from offshore ships now protected the local garden club’s offering of southern flora. Palm-lined pathways led to a lattice-covered grotto choked with vivid growth of orchids. Within the grotto’s overhead tumble of filtered light Renoir was not to be found. Justo opened a door onto a footpath winding beneath fragrant magnolias to a fence at the Atlantic’s edge. A solitary figure in a rumpled white suit gazed through the fence’s chained links.

Renoir knew Justo was coming. He did not attempt to run. Behind black-lensed glasses his attention remained fixed on youthful males in sleek swimsuits reclining along the arc of a wooden pier. Older men, fully clothed, moved cautiously among the youths. Renoir’s words were flat as the sea beyond. “That’s where I first met him. Suppose it would be better if I could say he wasn’t like the others. Fact is he was just like the others. That’s what attracted me from the beginning. Funny, those things, attractions, yearnings which can’t be denied.”

In blue heat beating on his blue coat Justo was sweltering. He had been in such a hurry he forgot to leave the coat in the car. Something prevented him from taking it off. He felt he had to keep it on in front of Renoir, like a badge.