Mr. Hooligan (15 page)

Barrel wiped his forehead. “See now, I remember that part but how I understood that, it was just a suggestion.”

“What?”

“Israel, the way you said it, you said you suggest I use the house phone to call.”

“A
suggestion
?”

Carlo said, “But still, anyway, what time did you call? A whole hour after the time you shoulda called.”

Israel said, “A
suggestion
?”

Carlo stared at Barrel, shaking his head. “Simple things he could not understand, this fool that’s part of the plan. Whoa! Somebody write that shit down, that’s classic.”

Israel braced himself against the cane and stood up. The waist of his pants looked to be above the navel, folded high-water cuffs flapping around black socks and skinny ankles. Carlo, curious to see what his brother was going to do, watched him limp over to Barrel. Like Israel still thought he was young and robust. Old boy had better calm down, getting worked up, look at him. Better watch it or he might stroke out again.

“I
suggest
you have a seat,” Israel said to Barrel.

Barrel looked around, got a folding chair from behind the sink and dropped his big butt down.

Israel said, “To me, your biggest asset is not your muscle, young man, it’s your brain. Unfortunately, anybody who does what you did and got the temerity to look at me and say ‘it was a suggestion’ illustrates that your balls are bigger than your brain. I do not need men with brass balls and no brains in my operation. I need some intelligence.” He stood over Barrel and glared at him. “Young man, you are an appallingly dumb shit. Out of whose ass did you pop from?”

Barrel opened his mouth to say something, but then sucked his teeth and looked off to the side with attitude.

Israel swung the cane so fast Carlo didn’t realize it until it had already belted Barrel’s face and was coming around for a second time. Barrel yelled, “Ow!” and caught it on the elbow, the cane snapping and a piece flying across the room. Barrel jumped up and scurried away from Israel. He stood looking at Israel and rubbing the elbow, a red welt across his jaw. “This ain’t right, man, this ain’t right.”

Israel was muttering—a red flag, a sign he’d lost his temper. He started shuffling over to get Barrel but Carlo stepped in, put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Easy there, wait. Don’t fluster yourself over this. I got this,” talking nice and gentle so he wouldn’t have to hear any complaints from Israel later about undermining him or making him look weak.

Israel said to Barrel, “Today’s your lucky day, boy. Hope you understand that,” and he headed for his chair. He sat, breathing hard, and looked at Riley, who was picking up the handle half of the cane off the floor. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” Riley said, handing Carlo the cane.

Barrel walked past rubbing the elbow and saying, “Fuck, Carlos, that ain’t right, dawg.”

Carlo spun and smashed the handle into the side of Barrel’s head. Barrel wobbled, tried to take another step and lurched face-first into his chair, knocking it over with a clatter and sprawling on his side.

Julius leaped to his feet. “Damn!”

Carlo walked up and stood over Barrel, the man groaning, a raw scrape on his chin. Carlo bent low and screamed into his face, “My name is Carlo! Do not call me
Carlos
. My name is not Carlos, you fat fuck.” He clubbed him again and Barrel curled up and took cover behind his arms. Carlo feinted another blow and then just dropped the idea, dismissing this dumb ass. Too much energy spent on him already.

Carlo washed his face at the big sink while Israel and Riley talked. He dried off with an old towel, saying to Julius, “Help him up and drive him home.”

Barrel was sitting on the floor, touching his face here and there and checking his fingertips. “I could drive myself.”

Julius helped him to his feet. Stood with him until he regained balance then guided him to the door.

Carlo said, “You drive or he drives, I don’t give a shit. I just don’t want to see you for the rest of the week.”

Julius unlocked the door and turned to the room. “I’ll be right back, then.”

Israel broke off the conversation with Riley and shook his head. “No, that’s all right, son. We’ll give you a call when we need you again.”

“Okay, but Barrel don’t live too far. I’ll circle back.”

“It’s all right,” Carlo said, “we’ll shout when we need you again.”

Julius didn’t like that, you could see it on his face.

Carlo said, “Hey, Barrel. What’s my name?”

Barrel didn’t answer.

Carlo smiled, watching them leave, shut the door. He sat beside Israel, who was saying that they were pursuing some quality leads.

“Since we know it’s a Coast Guard boat involved, we know where to start looking and what questions to ask. There are only a few people out there with the kind of pull to put together something like last night. So that’s the good news. Bad news is we got somebody in Mexico waiting for the stuff. Last time, by plane, we lost that three hundred kilos, those boys went elsewhere. We can’t afford to lose another shipment or we lose their business for good. When I find out who has my stuff, I’ll promptly assemble a crew to retrieve it, and I need you to be part of that crew.”

Riley squinted. “To go out and get it?”

Israel said, “See now, I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear that. Of course you’ll help me get it back.”

“I mean I’ll gladly complete my end of the deal and transport it like every other time, but this other business, you know that’s not my expertise.”

“But it’s your responsibility. This thing happened on your watch. Directly to you it happened.”

“And has never happened before. So it’s my fault?”

“Riley, there is the issue of a loan that you’re forgetting. You’re in a bigger debt than you expected. I find it surprising you could even think of resisting this plan, leave unfinished business.”

Riley shook his head. “You know I’m not into the roughneck trade. I don’t want to be part of that.”

“You hear anybody telling you carry a gun?” Carlo said, easing back in his chair. Riley looked down at the floor, Carlo enjoying watching doubt rattle his head. Sometimes lately, Riley was too confident for Carlo’s taste, on the border of arrogant, and Carlo found himself itching to take him down a peg.

Israel said, “We need somebody who knows the waterways, the in-country. We don’t know yet how this situation will turn, but we need somebody who’ll know how to reach the places we might have to search, reach there fast, you understand?”

Riley nodded, coming around. “Okay, okay…”

Israel leaned forward. “Yes?”

Riley, rubbing his eyes, said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m on board.”

Carlo smiled. “Riley, what’s my name?”

Riley looked up. He took a moment. “They call you the Serpent.”

Carlo grinned. Reached a fist across and tapped Riley’s face. “My boy, Riley.”

Riley, cool as ever. If Carlo found out he had gotten lazy last night on the water, though, wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, let’s see if this motherfucker was still cool after Carlo got through testing him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It started raining in the afternoon and continued into the evening. Riley pulled up outside Lindy’s and sat in the truck, listening to music and waiting for the rain to abate. Business would probably be slow because of this weather, but he wasn’t complaining; he needed the quiet for his mind to come down off the high-wire tension of the last several hours.

He dug out his cell phone and dialed his ex-wife’s house for the third time that day. He waited for the machine. “Vicky, where oh where are you guys? I’ve been trying for days. Are you guys on vacation? You didn’t let me know. Duncan, I love you and I’ll see you soon. Give me a call, please, Vicky.”

When he felt sufficiently placid he got out and walked through the cool drizzle and up the steps. Two tourists, a man and a woman, sat at the bar eating tacos and conch ceviche and swigging Lighthouse Lagers, Gert bartending. He twiddled his fingers at her and passed through to his office.

Before he could settle in with paperwork, he heard her fussing at Turo that he forgot to get the customers the Marie Sharp’s habanero sauce, always serve the tacos with a bottle of Marie Sharp’s, why’s that so hard to remember?

Riley tried to concentrate but every little noise bothered him. Gert barking orders at Turo, who was moving furniture out of the poker room in the back, rearranging it—they were closing it down temporarily, until they were confident Lopez would leave them alone—Turo muttering, “Tell me where I should put the chairs, then. Don’t delay no time.”

Riley set down his pen and puzzled over that one. Don’t delay no time? He unpeeled Post-its Gert had stuck to his computer monitor and turned his face to the half-open door. “Hey, Turo? Come in here a second?”

Turo walked in blotting his face with a sweat towel. Riley swiveled his chair around and motioned for him to grab the chair over there. Turo squeezed past and sat, their knees inches apart in the cramped office. Riley held up a Post-it. “Duncan’s Tours. A group of five. Altun Ha, then Progresso, a day trip. You did good last time we went out together. Think you could handle this one by yourself?”

Turo nodded, smiling. “Yeah, mahn, sure. No doubt, Mistah James.”

Riley said, “Awright then. I’m a tourist. I ask you what does Altun Ha mean?”

“Sir, Altun Ha is a Mayan word stands for Water of the Rock.”

“And what’s so special about this place?”

“Hmmm.” Turo looked off into space a moment. “Well, sir, Altun Ha, located thirty-one miles north of Belize City, that’s where the Jade Head was found. That being the biggest jade object of its kind in the entire Mayan region. And if you look at any Belizean dollar note, you’ll notice the Jade Head in the corner. So that’s what’s special about Altun Ha.”

“Good. Your driver’s license in order?”

“No tickets or nothin’. And check this out, too. Altun Ha was a major ceremonial center and trading center way, way back, like twelve thousand years back. The history books say it connected the Caribbean shores with other Mayan centers in this region.”

Riley said, “Well, I for one am impressed.”

“I got skills, you didn’t know?”

“Which reminds me,” Riley said, reaching over and plucking a sheet of paper from a pile and handing it to Turo. “Your letter to your landlord. I rewrote it some, not much. Sprinkled in some corrections, now it’s good to go. But, I gotta tell you. ‘Gradigually’? I checked
Webster’s,
checked my
Concise Oxford,
sorry. No such word.”

“Serious? I could swear to god I read that somewhere.” He read the corrected letter. “Yeah, yeah … I likes, I likes.”

Riley said, “So Friday morning at eight, outside the Great House guest house. Party of five. Got it covered?”

“Definitely.”

Riley told him what time to come by his house for the van, it would have a full tank, and Turo left, excited.

Not a minute later as Riley pored over an electricity bill, Turo returned to the door. “Mistah James. I could ask you a question?”

Riley pushed back his chair and looked up. “You already started.”

“How come you the only one ’round here that trusts me?”

Riley frowned. “Turo, you think I should trust you?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s why I trust you.” Riley tilted his head. “I remember this from a book I always read. It goes, ‘I am good to people who are good. I am also good to people who are not good. Because Virtue is goodness. I have faith in people who are faithful. I also have faith in people who are not faithful. Because Virtue is faithfulness.’ ”

“Preach it.”

Riley smiled with him. “But you get my meaning?”

“Definitely. Mistah James? Something else, what’s up with Mistah Harvey? He’s like, I don’t know, extra jumpy. Drinking harder, messing around, like that other night? Just wondering.”

Riley said, “Harvey is going through a phase. It’ll pass.”

“Like a midlife crisis?”

Riley pointed at him. “There you go.” Turo turned to leave, but Riley said, “One question. Something from your letter. What’s an ‘arsist’?”

From down the corridor, Gert called, “Riley, someone here to see you.”

Riley said to Turo, “We’ll talk later,” and went out. There were a few more patrons now, a man at the bar and two young men at the high tables on the sheltered part of the deck, eating tacos. A tall man in a black straw fedora, back turned to Riley, stood near the stairs shaking water off his umbrella. From that view alone—long sleeves, creased dress slacks, leather loafers, and the elegant hat—Riley knew who it was. “Brisbane,” he said, smiling despite himself.

“Riley, it’s been too long.” They shook hands and Brisbane drew him into an embrace, slapping his back. “Too long.” Brisbane stood tall and examined him. “How you doing, Riley?”

“Can’t and won’t complain,” Riley said, turning to one of the deck tables, putting a hand on Brisbane’s shoulder to lead him there.