Mr. Hooligan (11 page)

“As long as it’s small, sure. Why not?”

“Tomorrow night then.” He drank his bourbon, grinning like a happy idiot.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Next morning, business before pleasure: Before giving Harvey and Sister Pat and his buddy Miles Young the news, he made one important phone call and showered, dressed, and drove to Lindy’s.

Harvey and Gertrude were already there, drinking coffee at the bar, and Turo was hosing down the deck and sweeping water off with a deck broom. Riley fixed himself a cup, creamed and sugared. “You guys didn’t have to be here.”

“This is half our place,” Gert said, “and you’re paying off somebody to ensure our survival and we don’t have to be here?”

“You got a point.” He sipped his coffee, looking at Turo coming, unfolding a sheet of paper from a pocket of his baggy pants. The sun was out, but rain clouds hung on the horizon, a bluish shadow far out on the water, a Sunday morning breeze.

“Mistah James, remember that deal about my landlord?” Turo stopped a ways off, meaning he wanted Riley to go there, wanted a private word.

Riley came around and Turo gave him the paper. “I wrote this letter that you could please proofread for me?”

The paper was folded into about sixteen squares. In the middle of the page, a block of neat letters:

Dear Parter,

There has been a rumor said by a certain loqwacious arsist on Pickstock Street that I am defrauding you of your prize tools. Two persons, certain pessimistick nonentittys are suspected of such ficticious acusations. I am gathering clues for the discovery of such infidels and to assist no one.

Yours gradigually,

Arturo Godoy

Riley said, “Quite a letter you got here. Maybe a few misspellings.”

“Keep that copy for your corrections. I got another one home.”

“Good thinking.” Riley folded and slipped the letter into a pants pocket. “How soon you need this back?”

Turo reflected on that. “Next Wednesday before five
P.M.
That’s when my landlord comes back from Cancún.”

“His name’s Parter?”

“No. That’s, like, German. For father. His name is Joseph Jones.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on this.”

“Appreciate it. It’s very important,” and Turo picked up the broom and got back to work.

Riley exchanged a look with Harvey and shrugged.

The Range Rover pulled in at 10:30 sharp, and Harvey and Gert swung around on their stools to watch Lopez scurry around to open the minister’s door. Riley was standing at the railing and set his coffee down while they came through the gate. He heard grumbling behind him and Harvey telling Gert, Be nice.

Lopez was dressed in a spiffy bowling shirt and Minister Burrows had on a white strapless dress with low heels, both of them looking post–Sunday brunch. Riley wondered about them. What was their real connection? Were they sleeping together?

Everyone traded greetings, and Lopez, Riley, and Harvey went to sit at one of the high tables with bolted-down stools on the inside deck. Riley looked over his shoulder and beckoned Gert to join but she wouldn’t. Stood right there shooting the minister daggers.

Minister Burrows clacked around examining the Lindbergh photos on the walls, the drawings of the
Spirit of St. Louis
etched into the bar counter.

Riley said, “Well,” and was about to begin, but Lopez pointed his chin at Turo rolling up the hose. They waited until Turo wheeled the hose cart away, broom in the other hand.

Riley said, “I think you’ll be pleased. Took some doing but I was able to come up with a hundred and fifty grand.”

Lopez made a face, turned his head slowly, and looked along his shoulder at the minister.

Leaning forward to inspect an etching on the bar, she shook her head slightly.

“No,” Lopez said.

“No, what?”

“No deal. I precisely remembered us sitting here and agreeing on the amount needed and that has not changed, Mr. James.”

“Agreeing on the amount. Was more like you dictating to us the amount. Furthermore, what’s to stop you from coming back asking for more? We need a guarantee that won’t happen.”

Harvey said, “That’s right,” arms folded across his chest.

Lopez put a hand on his forehead and massaged his temples. “Look, you two. I leave here today unsatisfied, it’s because when I return,” sweeping his hand across the table, “you won’t be here. Not one trace that you ever owned the place. And the keys to the house will be in
my
pocket.” He looked at Riley, putting on the befuddlement. “You must think I’m playing a little game with you. I will shut this fucking place down,” he said, finger stabbing the table. “By noon today, you and you,” pointing at them now, “will be the former owners of the establishment once known as Lindy’s.”

At the bar, the minister cleared her throat loudly, stepping over to the bank of windows, very casual, fiddling with the knobs.

“Okay, then,” Lopez said. “Okay, you want to go smaller than two hundred grand today, here’s an offer. In addition to the payment today, give me a five percent cut of your monthly gross, five percent or a thousand a month, whichever is greater. You do that and you won’t see me here again. But one fifty today? No, that won’t do it. Understood?”

Riley looked at Harvey.

Harvey turned down his lips. “Five percent or a thousand? I don’t think so. Let’s go with one fifty-five today and three hundred a month.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Riley said to Lopez. “If not that, you’ll get nothing because giving you a grand a month will put us out of business.”

Lopez scratched his weekend stubble, smiling.

Riley said, “One sixty. Three hundred monthly and one sixty today, but you’re absolutely killing me, you’re killing me.”

“You don’t believe a word I just said. I’m beginning to think I might need to go ahead, prove myself to you.”

Riley plucked the cashier’s check from his shirt pocket and slapped it on the table. “It’s what I got.”

Lopez rubbed his palms together and looked down his nose at the check. Sat staring at it.

On his periphery, Riley saw Minister Burrows swipe the windowsill with a finger, give the finger a disapproving look and flick away the dust. Harvey’s right knee was pumping, and Riley reached under the table and held it down.

Riley and Lopez studied each other. Lopez shook his head.

Riley said, “Damn,” slumping his shoulders. He scooped up the check, tucked it in his pocket. “Well,” he said and threw up his hands, slapped his thigh. “I tried, I really tried.”

Harvey turned to him. “Wait, hold it now … that’s it?”

“What you want me to do, Harvey? Blood outta stone?”

“This is how you’re going to take care of it? This how you say you got things covered?”

Riley turned his head away. Rested elbows on the table and admired the sunlight on the palm trees out in the park.

“One sixty,” Lopez said. “That’s the best you got?”

Delivering the opening line Riley was waiting for. “I suppose…” He nodded, scratching an ear. “My personal savings, you know … I suppose…” He detected the change in Lopez’s body language, a small forward tilt, raised eyebrows. “One moment,” Riley said and got up and walked away, past Gert and the minister, their eyes following him, into his office.

When he came back, Burrows was saying to Lopez, “I think if we knocked this wall down and added more feet to the deck, it would be just as nice, or keep the general airy feel of the big windows, only put them farther out.”

Oooh, Gert’s eyes were afire.

Riley stepped to the table and set the check down, in front of Lopez. Next to the check, he plopped a paper sack.

Lopez cracked his knuckles before he picked it up, tested the weight, the sack chunky with cash. “Added some sweetener?” He unfolded the top, peered in, and set the sack back on the table. “How much?”

“Ten grand cash. Plus the check. One seventy, absolutely all I got. And don’t forget, the five hundred guarantee.”

Lopez took a deep breath and stood up. He glanced over at the minister. If something passed between them, Riley missed it. He watched Lopez eye the sack … one second, two seconds, hand hanging loose at his side, twiddling his fingers. Then he snatched up the check and the sack, held the sack to his chest. He gave a little laugh, an embarrassed boy caught stealing.

Harvey lifted his eyes to the ceiling and pumped a fist. “So we’re good?” He looked around at everyone. “We cool?”

Lopez said, “Well, there is another little matter,” with a sly grin.

“What now?”

“We’re cool if you could fix me a good Bloody Mary. How I like it is with not too much black pepper, put a stalk of celery in there, fresh celery. The minister may care for a little refreshment, too.”

“A ginger ale would be fine,” she said.

“We’re all out,” Gert announced from behind the bar.

Harvey said, “Maybe I can find some in the back?”

“No bother. A Sprite will do.”

Harvey sprang up to get behind the bar.

“Tell you what I
must
insist upon, though,” the minister said, “is this photo here.”

Riley turned to see her pointing at a photo on the wall: Lindbergh crouched by the propeller, repairing the plane in the field, amid a group of onlookers.

“Gives me the feeling of those old days. Just look at their clothes,” the minister said, easing up to the photo. Her hands moved up to it. “Do you mind? A little gift for me?”

Riley met Gert’s eyes, and Riley said, “Sure. Not a problem.” Gert was fuming.

The minister took the frame off the nails in the wall and held it out, admired it.

Harvey just about ran up bearing a tray with the drinks, although later he’d say that wasn’t the case, Riley was exaggerating and he didn’t say, “No, masah, yes, masah,” either, but he did admit it was probably the best Bloody Mary he’d ever prepared and the tallest, prettiest glass of soft drink over crushed ice he’d ever poured.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Monday afternoon, Riley awoke to the sun glaring on his bed—no, not his bed, this was Candice’s—a jagged glass splinter in his brain. His mouth tasted like stale beer and cigars. Candice lay twisted in the sheets beside him, snoring.

He stumbled out of bed, shifted back into last night’s smoky clothes. Just about everyone he considered a close friend had attended the get-together at Lindy’s. Sister Pat came offering kisses and congrats, but left around eleven, way past her bedtime. Miles Young, whom he hadn’t seen in weeks, came with his little girl, Lani, and sipped a couple of beers with Riley in a corner. “I got a feeling this time, marriage will settle you down,” Miles said. “Just the medication you need.” They tapped bottles and drank in full agreement, then Riley excused himself to speak with the other guests. His neighbor, Bill Rivero, showed up, too, and drunkenly informed everyone within spitting distance that he’d known all along Riley and Candice were gonna march up that aisle. Candice rolled her eyes. Given the fact, Bill said, Riley was always ogling her from his front porch when she took her morning runs and
she
knew it, too, ’cause those shorts got a little shorter as time went by, got a little tighter. Candice walked away when Bill kept going on and on.

This person was there, that person—friends who brought friends. Candice seemed uncomfortable but relaxed after a second glass of wine in the smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Riley remembered one or two shots of chilled Don Julio with lime and snuggling with Candice and people shouting at them to get a room. He remembered Miles waving when he left, carrying his sleeping daughter.

Harvey had invited a woman, Jawanda, who said she was from Chicago, but Riley had doubts, and whenever Gert’s head was turned, Harvey would rub Jawanda’s shoulder or hold her hand, in full view of everybody, guy had no shame when he drank. When one of the kegs ran dry at the same time the vodka finished, Riley trekked to the back with Turo to fetch more and they heard a
clink clink
coming from the back porch. Quietly, Riley cracked the door and looked outside.

Harvey was standing out there in the semidarkness, his back to them, pants around his ankles, bare-assed. Jawanda’s legs wrapped around his back as she sat on a stack of beer crates, the empty bottles inside going
clink clink clink.
Turo said, “Disgusting,” but didn’t move, edging forward to peek some more. Miles shut the door and said, “At least he’s doing it
gradigually
.” Together they left to make sure Gert was in the front or wasn’t on the way to the back for some reason, but it made Riley want to take a shower.

It was a noisy, blurry night, all right, but four in the morning, Riley toppled into bed happy, and now despite the pain racking his cranium he was most assuredly happier, knowing that after tonight, no more runs, no more anxiety over schemes; he was hours away from being a free man.