The Arraignment (38 page)

None of us says a word until we’ve covered at least a mile on the dirt road, and then Adam explodes: “What the hell happened? We could have been killed. Why didn’t your men stop Saldado out on the road?”

T
he best that Julio’s people can figure is that Saldado returned to the trailer by a different route. Besides, they were looking for a van, not the Buick he returned in.

“Son of a bitch,” says Adam. “Why the hell do you people think I hired you? So I could get my ass shot off?”

“We thought we had it covered,” says Julio. He is looking straight ahead, out through the windshield, avoiding eye contact with Adam, who is furious. Tolt is bouncing up and down on the backseat, leaning forward, his face six inches from the back of Herman’s head.

“You thought. Did any of you think to scout the road? To see who’s in the vehicles as they go by? No. Your man up there on the other road with us. He got a good look at Saldado through the glasses. He knew what he looked like.”

“How they supposed to look in all the cars come on that road?” says Herman.

“That’s their job,” says Adam. “That’s what it means to
be a professional. You can’t do the job, then you ought to find another one.”

“I do my job just fine,” says Herman.

“Don’t you talk back to me.”

Julio reaches over with one hand just above the seat and nudges Herman to shut up.

“If I wanted to get my ass shot off, I could have tied myself to a tree and let you take shots at me with that blunderbuss under your arm. Not that you could hit anything. Damn near got us shot out on the road going in, pulling that thing out.”

“Calm down, Adam. Nothing happened,” I tell him.

“Nothing happened,” he says. “Where the fuck were you? And what was that crap about Jamaile Enterprises?”

“We didn’t get a rise on Jamaile,” I tell him.

“You sure as hell got one out of me. Son of a bitch. You could have gotten us killed.”

“They would have killed us no matter what we said if it hadn’t been for the other car out on the road.”

“He’s right,” says Julio. “They wouldn’t believe us until I permitted their man to talk to my driver on the radio.”

“You screwed up,” says Tolt. “Admit it.”

“If it makes you feel better, fine,” says Julio.

“It’s not his fault,” I tell him.

“Bullshit.”

“Adam.”

“What?”

“If Julio hadn’t recognized Saldado when he did, you and I would have been sitting there sipping bourbon when the Mexican walked in and started peeing in my glass.”

“That’s true,” says Herman.

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” Adam tells him. “And as for Julio, if he’d done his job right, we wouldn’t have had to worry about Saldado. I have a half a mind to call the office in Mexico City and have them send somebody who knows their job.”

“And as for you.” He looks at me. “How the hell did you know he’d let us go? Forcing the issue like that. He could
just as easily have had that muscle-bound idiot shoot us. We could be lying back there dead right now.”

“If Saldado had come in and seen me, we would be dead,” I tell him.

I can see the chip in Herman’s tooth through tight lips in the rearview mirror as he grips the wheel with both hands and looks at me, thankful that there’s someone else to share Adam’s tongue-lashing.

“Take me to Cancún. I’m paying a fortune for these two idiots,” he says.

He sits back, quietly steaming for several seconds, arms folded, his face turned away from me, looking out the side window. Then the second rush. Adam starts doing what every angry lawyer does best, cross-examining everybody around him, demanding answers that don’t exist.

“Where did he go when he left? Tell me that.”

“Who?” Julio turns to look at him. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Who? Who the hell do you think I mean? Saldado.”

“How would we know that?” Julio turns to the front again.

“Of course not. That would be too fucking easy. Have one of your men follow him.”

“Adam, give it up. We didn’t even know he was going to be there,” I tell him.

“Why didn’t you watch him?” Adam ignores me. “What did he do, just reappear? Apparition out of thin air?” This is addressed to the back of Julio’s head as the Mexican sits there silent, his face increasingly red until it looks like a beet. The veins along the side of his neck resemble surgical tubing. “If you worked for me, I’d fire your ass.”

Adam’s executive style splashes all over the inside of the car as we drive, anger and ugly insults.

As I sit and listen, I wonder whether Nick had ever been treated to this. It is one of those watershed moments that tell you more about someone than you ever wanted to know. Julio is sitting there taking the worst of it, Herman gripping
the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, gritting his teeth and trying to project himself into some other dimension.

It may be far too charitable, but Adam’s anger is motivated in large part by the afterglow of fear, the sudden realization that, but for the fates, the world could at this very moment be without one of its favorite sons: himself.

“Take us back to Cancún,” he says. “Now.” Adam slams his back into the seat again and folds his arms across his chest, his steely gaze again out the side window.

The trip back is like a ride in a deep freeze. Herman and Julio sit up front like two stone idols, trying not to breathe so Adam won’t notice them.

By the time we pull up in front of the Casa Turquesa, it’s dark. It seems Adam has gotten over his rage. “I want to freshen up a bit. How about some dinner, say half an hour in the restaurant downstairs?”

“Good.”

“Julio. You and Herman can join us as well.” Adam gets out of the car and heads inside.

“What’s that, a fuckin’ imperial command?” says Herman.

“Quiet. The man’s going to hear you,” says Julio.

“What the fuck do I care? Hope he does.” Herman leans over the steering wheel. “Who’s he think he’s talkin’ to like that?”

“He was scared. So was I.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t act like that,” says Herman. “That don’t give him the right to show us that kinda disrespect. I mean, I’d tear somebody’s tongue out for less than that. I’m a professional,” he says. “I’ve taken bullets for people worth more than that shithead.”

“Calm down,” says Julio. “You don’t need this job. I do. I cannot afford to be fired because you can’t keep you mouth shut. Take a swim in the pool, watch a movie on the cable. Cool off.”

“Can’t. Gotta be at supper half an hour. You heard the man.”

“Then go take a cold shower.” Julio gets out of the car,
slams the door, and walks toward the hotel, leaving Herman and me sitting there.

“Ain’t worth it,” says Herman.

It was an ugly incident, but I’m not going to pour fuel on the flames with Herman. Instead I get out of the car, stretch my legs, arch my back, and I see him coming down the stairs toward me. The stress of the day is worse than I thought. I’m seeing things, until Harry looks at me and says: “What took you guys so long?”

Inside, Harry and I head to the bar. I’m strung out like a wet noodle, sitting on one of the stools while the bartender makes a margarita and pours it into a glass the size of a tropical fish tank. I usually stick with wine or beer. Today I make an exception. Harry is on the stool next to me.

“He didn’t tell you I was coming down?”

“Not a word.”

“Probably got busy and forgot. He told me he only thought about it at the last minute.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came down to see if I could help,” he says. “I’ve been worried.”

“What about?”

“The conversation we had. The one about you getting killed and me getting on with life.”

I look at him but don’t say anything.

“I thought about it. And well, it might not be as easy as I thought. Besides, if anything happened to you, I’d have to divide up everything in the partnership and deal with Sarah. She’d skin me.”

I smile at this, nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “So when did you come down?”

“This afternoon. Adam called.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“We didn’t get in until after three in the morning.”

“It wasn’t that late when he called. Time difference I suppose. Still, he got me outta bed. Said the plane had to go back
to San Diego, to deliver one of the other partners on a quick flight somewhere early this morning. That it would be coming back down here this afternoon. He asked me if I wanted to take a ride. I had nothing up on Friday. So here I am. Adam had a car pick me up at the airport.

I suck some margarita through a straw, feeling the tequila score my stomach like etching acid. I remember now why I stopped drinking the hard stuff.

“I think Adam lives in a different world from the rest of us,” he says. “What did you think of the plane?”

“Forget it. It’s not in our budget.”

“We could park it and live in it,” he says. “Use it as a flying office. I think I could get used to it.” Harry as part of the jet set. “It might take a while, like an acquired taste. You know. Fly around some. Go to Bimini. Las Vegas.”

“You don’t even know where Bimini is,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but the pilot could find it,” he says. “You don’t think these executives give ’em coordinates when they get on board, do you? No, they just tell ’em they wanna go, drop a load on a crap table someplace, and an hour later they’re in Reno at the Mapes . . .”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“The Mapes was torn down two decades ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. They’re in Las Vegas at the MGM. Use your imagination. Speak of the devil,” says Harry.

Before I turn on the stool, Harry is up. “Adam. Want to tell you that plane is nice.”

“You liked the ride?”

“What’s not to like?”

Tolt is shaking his hand. He has changed, put on a pair of slacks and a clean shirt, wearing sandals and looking comfortable and relaxed.

“Glad you could make it.” Adam’s voice is back to a normal tone.

“Yes, he did.” I swing around on the stool and look at Adam.

“What’s with you?” he says. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. The plane was coming back empty. We were getting near the weekend. Why should we have all the fun?”

“He’s right,” says Harry. “In fact, I think I’m gonna have one of those.” He points at the fish bowl in front of me on the bar.

“Why not? Bring a margarita for my friend here,” says Adam.

“How was your flight?” He and Harry head for one of the tables.

Adam is one of those luminaries who floats through life buoyed by the ether of his own celebrity. I suspect the fact that he lost control in front of me has injured his sense of divinity. He latches onto Harry, and they stroll to the table to talk about airplanes and the finer trappings of private flight.

“Bring your drink and join us,” says Adam.

“In a minute.” I notice Herman coming in the door heading my way.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Getting shitfaced,” I tell him.

“Good to know one of us knows what’s he doin’. Fuckin’ Vesuvius still spoutin’ lava?” Herman’s talking about Adam.

“I think it’s gone dormant for the moment.”

“So why don’t we eat and get it over with, so I can be accused and go back to my room?” he says.

“To get the bulletin on that, you’ll have to talk to the tour director.” I nod toward the booth.

“Who’s he talkin’ to?”

“My partner.”

“What’s he doin’ here?”

“I don’t know. Adam’s full of surprises. Take a load off. Sit down. Have a drink.”

“Hey man, not me. I’m on duty. I don’t do that. Uh-uh. That’s
all
I need. Man report me for drinkin’ on duty, the mood he’s in. Get my ass fired, be flippin’ burgers back in Lubbock by Monday.”

“Few minutes ago, you were ready to quit. Besides, I thought you said you were from Detroit.”

“Way of Lubbock,” he says. “ ’At’s when I lost my scholarship. Fucked up my knee and ended up down here.”

“Football?”

“Uh-huh.” Herman steals a furtive glance toward the booth, making sure it’s safe to talk. “Fire-breathin’ shithead scorched all the hair off the backa my neck. Lucky I didn’t take us head-on into one those scuba-flippin’ taco-tenders comin’ the other way with all their shit up top. He be lookin’ like jaws about now, fuckin’ metal tank stickin’ outta his head.”

“Where’s Julio?”

“He’s hidin’ out. Be down in a minute. You notice there ain’t no courtesy bar in the room and no vending machines. This place looks like a fuckin’ tomb. Off season,” he says. He reaches over and grabs a handful of bar napkins from the waitress station, since there is no waitress on duty, and wipes beads of sweat from his forehead and neck, and drops them all wet and rung out on the bar.

“We ain’t had nothin’ to eat since breakfast. No lunch, no supper. Contract says we get a break every two hours. You seen any fuckin’ breaks?”

“Take a break. Have a drink.” A drink might calm him down. I’m afraid if Adam opens his mouth again, given Herman’s mood, he might find the big man’s foot in it.

“You tryin’ to get my ass in trouble, man? Besides, I wanna eat. I’ll drink later when it cools down. That shit ain’t good for you in the heat.” Herman’s obsession at the moment is his empty stomach. I can hear it growling.

The bartender comes over to clean up the pile of napkins Herman has left on the bar, and Herman starts complaining to him about his constitutional right of access to a vending machine.

“No hablo inglés.”

“Yeah. I bet you’d talk some fuckin’ English if I slapped a fifty on the bar and told you to put a round of drinks up.”

“Qué?”

“Kiss my ass.”

The bartender scoops the napkins into a trash can on his side, smiles, and moves away from the angry dark mountain next to me.

“This shit ain’t cuttin’ it. I want something to eat.” He turns toward the table and Adam. “Hey you, boss man. Tell me, we gonna eat or what?”

Adam, who has his back to him, turns around, blinks a couple of times, then smiles. “Sure. You hungry, Herman? Good idea. Go get Julio. We’ll have some dinner.”