by Seth Harwood
But then he feels a buzz, his cell phone vibrating against his chest from his inside jacket pocket. Here we go again, he thinks, taking it out. “Oh, yeah, baby,” he says out loud, and then, flipping open the phone, “Hello?”
“Jack Palms,” Junius says. “You were right, man. That bastard had the police drop in not five minutes after you left. And guess who skated out before anyone could find him?”
“Tony V.”
“That’s right.”
“What happened to Castroneves?”
“That motherfucker? Shit. Tony probably had his boys take him out the back way, take him out, or gave his ass to the cops. But I don’t see him down here.”
“How’d you get out?”
“I didn’t, bitch. This is my one call, and I’m calling you because if you know the cops are coming before they get there, then maybe you can get my ass out of here. I’m in the clink, motherfucker.”
Jack exhales at that concept: He’s supposed to be giving Hopkins the big dealers in the city and now they’ve got one, if not two of them, behind bars, and Jack’s supposed to help him get out?
“Who’s your lawyer?”
“Man, this is inside shit, strictly. You know someone on the force, right? If not, you’d be in here now. And I need out. What we both need is to take Tony V. down. We work together, we make that happen, and then we turn him over. We make that happen and everyone is happy.”
“Everyone but the guy I have to call at two in the morning to get you out.”
“Now you talking, Jack Palms. That’s the form of discussion I like to hear.”
Jack shakes his head. Outside his windows, he can see Golden Gate Park as they make the turn onto Stanyan. The fog is heavy across the trees and over the green lawns of the park. It’ll be cold outside, colder than downtown. He rolls up his window.
“Okay,” Jack says. “Let me see what I can do.”
“That’s good, Jack. You all right, man. And don’t worry. If it don’t work out, Freeman knows to call my lawyer in the morning. Not that that’s good.”
“I hear you,” Jack says, and hangs up.
“Shit,” he says in the silence of the car, dreading the call to Sergeant Hopkins to wake him in the middle of the night. But then again, Jack figures, why not? Fuck him.
The driver asks Jack again for directions, thinking he’s made a wrong turn. “We are there almost?” he asks.
Jack tells him what he needs, directing him the rest of the way to Maxine’s.
Across the street from Maxine’s apartment, Jack stands with the bag by his hip looking up at her windows, trying to decide if she might be awake. He paid the cabdriver with a fresh fifty from one of the stacks, enjoying the crisp feel of it and the ease of paying with cash in one lump sum. It’s been a while since he’s had this kind of liquidity.
There’s one light on in Maxine’s, but it’s dim, maybe a reading light or maybe just a light to leave on so she can find the bathroom. Jack’s not sure. But he’s here, so he might as well drop in, he figures. At least to leave off the money. He takes out his cell and tries calling her, thinking it’ll be easier to answer the phone that’s close to her bed than to get up and answer the door. But Maxine doesn’t answer, and after a few rings the answering machine comes on. “Maxine, I know it’s late,” Jack says. “But I’m outside. I came back for the car and I thought I’d come up for a minute if you’re awake.”
He waits a little while for her to pick up, and then ends the call. “Too many cell phones,” he says, walking up the street to his car. He tries her on hers to see if that’s any better, and it goes straight to voice mail. At the Mustang, he opens the trunk and puts the bag down into the bottom of the well. He opens it, takes out a fifty and two twenties in case he’ll need them later. Then he closes the trunk and locks it. The old American car has a firm lock, no push-button release switch, all hard metal surrounding his luggage. Jack knocks once on top of the trunk and feels good about the deep, resonant sound.
He takes a long look at the new tire, the spare, and kicks it to make sure it’ll be fine. If anything else happens to one of his tires, he’ll be screwed with a flat in the trunk, but he’s not going to find a new tire at 2 A.M. on a Saturday night anywhere. He opens the car door and, once inside, takes the cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and mouths one out.
Jack lights up and takes out his cell phone, dreading the call to Hopkins, but also ready to rattle the old bastard’s cage a little more for all the trouble he’s brought. But first Jack smokes for a minute, looking up at Maxine’s apartment. He wonders if she’s sound asleep or if she went out somewhere, doesn’t think either one seems probable. He tries to shake it off, stop thinking about it; he knows the trust road isn’t one he wants to start down again after the trouble it’s already gotten him into with her, that he’s better off not worrying. He thinks about calling again and instead dials the sergeant’s cell.
After three rings, Jack hears the phone pick up but no speaking. “Mills!” he says. Then he hears the sergeant breathe, mumble something, and swear. “Mills.”
“Fuck is this?”
“Jack Palms, Mills. Hate to wake you, but at least I don’t have the papers there with a camera in your face, right?”
“Fuck you, Palms.”
“Now you’re starting to talk to me.” Jack takes a pull off the cigarette, flicks the rest onto the asphalt. He waits a second, exhales, and then says, “I’m sorry, man. But I need you right now.”
“I hear you.”
“That favor you owe me. I need it now.”
Hopkins makes a coughing sound on the other end. “Favor? We finished that.”
“Did we?”
“Oh, yeah. When I didn’t pick you up after that shit downtown.” He breathes into the phone. “That was all your favors right there. You know, that shit that involved two people who don’t exist. What the fuck is that?” Hopkins says, waking up.
“That is you finding your terrorist warlord boys already, like I told you.”
“What happened at The Mirage?”
Jack drums the steering wheel with his fingers, turns on the engine so he can start the heat.
“What’s that?”
“I’m in the car. Here’s what I need.” Jack waits to hear the sergeant’s answer.
He hears breathing, then, finally, “Go ahead, Jack.”
“The guy you need is still on the streets. Your boys missed him tonight, but they got the guy I need to bring him in.”
“Who’s that?”
“Junius Ponds.”
“Fuck, Jack. You want me to release Junius Ponds. That fucking guy has a sheet as long as my—” Jack waits, hoping the sergeant will come up with something good.
“Your what?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I’m too tired. He’s bad.”
“Right. But I can give you worse. I’m talking ecstasy, coke, murder, and a guy who’s connected to the Eastern Europeans you’ve been looking for, probably using them to hit Ralph and come after us. This is more than just the shit that Junius runs. This is the new supply.”
“Keep talking.”
“Tony Vitelli is trying to take over Junius’ operation and bump everyone else out of town. I think he’s also trying to set up his clubs so he can distribute ecstasy. I don’t know his supplier, but Tony V. is ready for a fall.”
Sergeant Hopkins yawns into the phone. “Right,” he says. “You want me to give you Junius and then you give me Tony Vitelli and we’re even?”
“Murder, Mills.”
“Right.”
“Plus I give you his new supplier, someone bigger than Ponds. And the Europeans you’re looking for. I’m this close. Everything you want I can get you. I just need Ponds to show me how.”
The sergeant doesn’t respond. Jack waits him out.
“I’m listening.”
“That’s it, Mills. I give you Tony Vitelli and your friends there, the ones who caused the mess downtown today. I can lead you to more of
them and give you Tony’s supply line above and beyond Junius Ponds.”
“What makes you so sure there is someone bigger than Ponds?”
“Tony V.’s bringing ecstasy into his game. He has to be getting it from someone who’s not Junius. He’s also going somewhere else for his blow all of a sudden. I put those together, I get a new supply line in town, a bigger one. Plus, with Tony looking to squeeze out Junius and Castroneves, he must have something big. You spring Junius for me, he’ll think I can walk on water. Then there’s no telling what he’ll lead us to.”
“Okay.” Jack hears the sound of shuffling at the other end of the line—probably Hopkins getting out of bed. “I’ll make the call. But you got until noon tomorrow and then, if I don’t have Vitelli and your buddies, you’re going to be inside instead of Ponds.”
“Okay, Mills. But that’s where I was anyway. This works out, you get the mob leader you want and the supply.”
“That’s good, Palms. I fucking better.”
Figuring he’ll have a while until he hears from Junius again, Jack looks up at Maxine’s windows: sees the same dim light. “Shit,” he says, cutting the engine and opening the car door, getting out into the cold. He stands and walks up the block to Maxine’s doorway, flips open his phone, and calls her house line again.
This time she answers, groggy, after four or five rings. “Max,” Jack says. “I’m downstairs.”
“You okay?”
“I’m okay, but I can only stay for a minute.” He leans his head against the glass of her front door. The buzzer goes off, and he pushes the door open, almost falls into her front hall. He looks at his phone and sees she’s already hung up. As he feels the sudden warmth of her building, Jack knows how tired he actually is, but he fights it off: He stumbles to the stairs and starts up them, sees her there at the door. At the top of the stairs, he takes her in his arms.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says.
“I know the feeling.”
“Can’t you stay?”
Jack pulls back so they can see each other. “I think Tony had Ralph killed. My guess is he wanted a piece of the Czechs’ action and Ralph wouldn’t give it to him. Now he’s pushing Junius out of the game and trying to take over. That’s the theory I’m working off of.”
Maxine’s eyebrows go up. “You sure you’re not just trying to fit the story to get the guy who beat you up?”
“No,” Jack says. “I’m not sure. But I’m making the story the only way I can see it.” He shrugs. “If things change, they change. I could be wrong.”
She waits, then says, “But what?”
“But this feels like it’s right. That’s all.”
“Come inside.” She takes him into the kitchen. He sits down at the table, and she turns on the fire under her kettle. “You want some coffee?”
Jack shakes his head. “Tea.”
She smiles, gets a box of tea bags down from the long shelf above the stove.
“How long did you work at The Coast?”
She shrugs. “A couple weeks. Why?” With her back to him, Jack looks Maxine over, sees her nice legs and her plaid, flannel nightshirt just covering to the back of her thighs. He gets up and runs his hands up her side, kisses the back of her neck. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, Jack.”
“This should all be over soon.”
“Did you get the money?”
Jack steps back. When Maxine turns around, she has a small revolver in her hand, a snub-nosed .38 that she’s pointing at him. Jack sits down hard on the kitchen chair, shakes his head in disbelief. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Damn, Max,” he says. “Damn.”
Her face is cold, hard when she says, “Did the Czechs give you the money?”
“What money? Did Tony put you up to this?”
“Shit, Jack. Don’t play fucking dumb. Did they give you the cut they’ve been talking about?”
“No. I told them to keep it. To use it for Michal’s funeral.”
Moving fast, Maxine kicks Jack once across the face with her bare foot in a wide-arcing roundhouse. He sees her panties when she’s doing it, sees she’s just got on a thin lace thong under her shirt, and part of him is more turned on than hurt. Then he’s surprised that it didn’t knock him down or out of his chair, and he touches his face.
“That was your warning, Jack,” she says. “The next one is real.” He realizes she only meant to touch his face with her foot, that she could’ve done worse. She still has the gun aimed at him and now Jack’s in the uncomfortable position of being turned on, pinned down, and not sure what will happen next.
He holds up his hands, a motion that’s starting to feel too familiar. “You really going to shoot me, Max?”
She blows a few hairs out of her face, holds the gun steady with both hands. “I haven’t decided yet. You going to tell me the truth about the money?”
“So you’ve been with Tony the whole time?”
“Shut up,” she says. Behind her the kettle starts to whistle, and she half turns to shut off the flame, keeping the gun trained on Jack. She takes a step back from him to stand beside the stove.
“The money’s in the trunk of my car. You want it?” Jack goes to take the keys out of his pocket, and she shakes the gun, juts it out at him. “Relax. I’m just going for my keys.” He sits back and takes the keys out of his jacket pocket, holds them in front of him. “Is this because I wasn’t a good enough lover?” he asks.
She shakes her head. Her eyes look big in her face.
“Because I’ve been getting these e-mails that tell me how I can get better—”
“Shut up!” she yells, and takes a step toward Jack. He throws his keys at her face and she turns, shying away from the flying object as he’d hoped, and he throws himself onto the floor at her feet, his legs on either side of hers; he scissors her calves between his legs and rolls over, taking her down onto the floor of the kitchen. Her gun goes off as she’s falling—it’s loud, but not as bad as the guns going off in the car—and Jack grabs her hands, wrestles the gun up over her head, and then knocks her arms against the floor until she drops it. She’s trying to knee him in the stomach or the groin, but he’s got his legs still tight around hers and she can’t accomplish more than a pronounced squirm against him.
“Fuck, Jack. Fuck. You. Jack,” she’s saying.
“Maxine,” he says. Their faces are close, but there’s no intimacy now that she’s trying to break away from him and has just held him at gunpoint. “Did you just want the money?”
She doesn’t say anything; her lips are pale with how tight she’s holding them closed. Her face is furious.
“Max,” he says. “Why couldn’t we just relax together when this was over?”
“Because fuck you, Jack. You think I like just dragging guys I don’t know home and taking care of them? You think that’s my idea of fun?”
Jack wants to let her go, but she’s still fighting. It seems so crazy that they’re on the floor of her kitchen, their bodies pressed against each other, his legs around hers, and both of their arms over their heads, and yet she’s trying to kill him. “I actually liked you,” he says, feeling like an idiot.
“Yeah, well, that was dumb, wasn’t it, Jack?”
He kisses her on the cheek. “You’re the one who was dumb, Max. What’s Tony giving you?”
“Fuck! Why don’t you just let me go and leave?”
“Okay,” Jack says. He holds her arms with one hand so that he can take the gun off the floor, and then he pushes her back and sits up, pointing the gun at her. “Don’t get up just yet,” he says. “Let’s us talk for a minute.”
She pulls her shirt down around her thighs and sits up, legs crossed, with her hands in her lap. Jack moves back slowly, reaching behind him. He finds the chair and sets it right, sits down. “Now,” he says.
“What do you want, Jack?” Her eyes are cool, without any of the emotion he’d seen in the past few days.
“I guess I just want to know
why.”
“You really going to shoot me?”
Jack looks at the gun. She’s been staring at it, and now he has a look at it himself. “I don’t know,” he says. “Would you have shot me?”
She turns her head to look away, then down at her hands. She shakes her head. “Tony wanted me to follow you and see what went down.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. He found out about The Mirage from Castroneves. So why’d he need you too?”
She looks up, and Jack can see tears in her eyes. “He just wanted me to stay with you in case anything happened. He didn’t know that you guys’d be dumb enough to meet in his club.” She laughs, looks down at her hands, plays with the silver ring on one of her fingers. “I told him no for as long as I could. I swear it, Jack.”
He puts the gun down on the table. “Didn’t you feel anything this whole time?”
“I don’t know.” She nods. “Yes.” She stands up and looks at the gun, but Jack’s got his hand over it. There’s a moment where he can see her considering another run at him, but then it passes.
“Good decision,” he says.
She moves back to the stove. “You want some tea?”
“Why don’t you just sit down with me at the table.” He points to the chair across from him: a good distance from the kettle, any knives, any heavy objects. She moves across the kitchen and sits down.
“So,” he says. “What was in that for you?”
She sits down, fixes her shirt around her shoulders, and tightens it to her body. She shrugs. “I did this for Tony,” she says. “He asked me to and so I did it.”
Jack feels like he just realized halfway through his marriage that he’s been spending his time with someone he doesn’t really know. It’s not unlike what happened with Victoria. It took him a lot longer to see what was really happening there, but this isn’t so different. It really all just comes back to trust: Jack trusting the wrong person—the wrong woman—yet again. He tries not to wince.