“So how’d he get her?” I asked “What did he say?”
“He was waiting for her at the bus stop after school. He said he knew me. He knew her name and mine. It's not tough to fool an eight-year-old. He told her I'd asked him to pick her up because I was busy at work. So they went and ate ice cream for a few hours. That's it.”
“That’s it,” I agreed. “This time.”
43
IT WAS GOING TO TAKE a monumental effort to play it cool with Arnold. I went to the gym and got in an early workout because I thought it might save his worthless life.
When I got to the diner he was already there. Same cup of coffee. Same Camel dangling from the same parched lips. His cigarettes and lighter were on the table next his coffee cup. I reached over, took one and lit it.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I didn't know you smoked.”
“Just one or two a day.”
“That's willpower. I admire that.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”
“So why'd you need to see me so suddenly?” he asked.
“Haven't you heard? Today's the day we finalize this thing of ours. There are two options, and before you walk outta here you're choosing one of them.”
What Arnold had told La Lena wasn't exactly true. I did have some negotiating power, it was just up to me to take it. It was a fine line, but I needed him to know he wasn't calling all the shots. I opted for the proactive approach. I was sure he wasn't expecting it.
“Michel,” he said. “You're not running the show here.”
He started another sentence. I cut him off.
“Cut the shit. Last time we met I told you that your plan was out of the question. That hasn't changed. If that's all you're interested in, we're done. But if you're interested in my offer, then we need to talk, so what's it going to be?”
“Tell me what you've got,” he said.
Before I opened my mouth I just stared. I wanted the suspense to build. I ran my right hand slowly across my cheeks and chin. It'd been a couple of days since I'd shaved. The stubble felt nice.
“Well?” he shrugged.
“Well what?”
“You gonna tell me or aren't ya?”
In dramatic fashion, I told him about the big fish I had for him. Baltimore's golden-boy. They mayor. Stanley Steinman. I was stroking Arnold's pathetic ego more than anything. Stein was a big fish, but not the biggest. Far from it. I knew it, and Arnold probably did too. Stein was middle management. The David Ordley of organized crime. But it didn't matter what we knew. What mattered was that most citizens thought he was the biggest fish.
“So do you want to sit here and play childish little power games or do you want to do what we came to do?” I asked. “It's up to you. But if you’re not onboard, it's O-V-E-R.” I spelled it out for him. Going on the offensive felt fucking great.
Arnold finished his cigarette and stubbed the butt in the glass ashtray. I took one last drag of mine and did the same. He stared blankly.
“He's the biggest swinging dick you're ever going to get a crack at,” I said. “I've got someone on the inside. Someone with access. Don't ask me who it is or how I know him because I won't tell you. You'll need to take my word for it. And there's one more thing. You've got to provide the bomb. I'll take care of the rest.” I was done screwing around. “So are we doing this?”
“We're doing it.”
It was all so strange, like we were a couple of kids playing gangster. I just told him we were going to kill the mayor of one of the biggest cities in the country, not some hick from a town of 3,000 in the heartland. And he'd agreed. Bang. Just like that. I wondered why. Then I remembered. He had me by the shorthairs. At least he thought he did.
“OK, I need the device soon. This could happen quickly. Then again it may not. But it's going to happen. Count on that. I need something that'll work well in a small space, like an office, a bathroom, or a car. It needs to be loud. Lots of fragmentation. And it needs to have an electronic detonator. That's important. The sooner you get it to me the better. Understand?”
“OK, I'll see what I can do,” he said. “Be patient.”
“I won't be patient forever,” I told him. “I just told you exactly what I need. Don't see what you can do. Make it happen.”
I stood to leave.
“I heard somebody went missing last night,” he said smugly.
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” I said calmly. “Let me know when you've got what I need,” I said, yearning to knock his yellow teeth down his cancerous throat.
44
THEY SAY YOU CAN'T put the genie back in the bottle. Once he's out, he's out. Like a force of nature or a 10,000 ton train without brakes descending a six percent grade into a distant valley. After the incident with Jefferson and Soul things had been irrevocably set in motion. The annoying haze of uncertainty that had plagued me disappeared. A plan was taking shape in my mind. There were lots of little details to think about. My task oriented mind shifted into overdrive. It felt amazing.
La Lena called on Friday morning and asked if she and Soul could come by after work. It was a question that need never be asked. I even offered to come pick them up. Chauffer service was part of the dinner package I told her. The thought of the two of them alone on the street worried the hell out of me but she said it wasn't necessary, and I didn't push it.
At two o'clock I took a jog around the park. On the way back I stopped at the corner market and got what I needed. I'd been craving spaghetti. The plan was to brown some Italian sausage and onion, dump in a can or two of crushed tomatoes and make a salad and some homemade garlic bread.
I thought I'd noticed an urgency in La Lena's voice when she called earlier. Maybe I was just imagining it. We needed a relaxing night together.
It was nearly five o'clock by the time I got home. I flipped on the idiot box for a little background noise and went out onto the balcony for a smoke. The bits and pieces I caught from the evening news were the same as they always were. Predictable and depressing. Somebody once told me that God loves us and wants us to be happy. I wasn't buying it. The world never changed. I wondered if I could convert the television into something less annoying and more useful. Maybe an art nouveau terrarium or a birdbath. I flipped it off, turned on the stereo and made a decision. Someday soon I'd drop that sucker off at the Salvation Army and never look at another. What I needed were some old blues, the sizzle of sautéing sausages, and the rhythmic knock-knock of a sharp knife on a cutting board. It worked. In no time I was on the express line to Pleasantville. When La Lena and Soul showed up everything was ready. The table was set, the angel hair was perfectly al dente, and the garlic bread was under the broiler.
“Yum, yum. Smells good in here,” La Lena said. “What are we having?”
“Spaghetti. How’s that sound Soul?”
She said it sounded great.
We all sat at the table and ate together. It was just like a lost episode of Leave it to Beaver, except we were an unmarried, interracial couple with an illegitimate child plotting to assassinate a public official with a homemade bomb.
I wanted to know what second grade was like but Soul was too busy eating. She wasn't much of a conversationalist either. That was fine with me. When she was done I asked if she'd like to watch television. La Lena shot me a stern look.
“Start your homework first. If you get it done, then you may watch television,” she said.
“Not even married and already having parenting issues,” I said. She rolled her eyes.
I cleared the coffee table for her and she unpacked her backpack. La Lena and I were alone.
“Dutch,” she said, “Even if you do exactly what they ask of you, they'll never leave us alone. I just realized that. I should've seen it all along.”
I told her she was right and that I'd thought the same thing.
“I think you know what we need to do,” she said.
There was some kind of nonve
rbal communication going on between us. The time for passivity and foolish optimism was over.
“Sure do,” I said. “How do we do it?”
“I'll need to work here,” she said. “It's dangerous, so when I do you'll have to clear out. Soul and I will come over after work. I don't want to leave her with my grandmother. She's safer with you. The two of you can leave for a few hours. Go to a movie, walk in the park, eat pizza, whatever. I'll need you to go shopping for me. I'll make a list of what I need. You'll need to go to a few hardware and sporting goods stores. Mix it up. Don't buy everything at one place. Use cash. Do it as soon as you can.”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a notepad and a pencil. She made a list. I told her I could get everything the following day.
Soul was hard at work on the coffee table when I took La Lena's hand and led her into the bedroom. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, pressing my body against hers. Her smoky cinnamon scent swirled. Our tongues played.
Before they left I put the leftovers in Tupperware containers and wrapped the garlic bread in aluminum foil. I stuffed it all into a brown paper bag for them to take with them.
“If you think I'm letting you two take the bus home, you're insane,” I said.
She said they didn't have to leave yet, so we sat cross-legged on the floor and helped Soul with her homework.
Is six greater than, equal to, or less than nine?
Why does a beaver slap its tail on the water?
Seven plus what number equals ten?
How does a beaver cut down trees?
Perfect domesticity.
Half an hour later I took them home. I parked, walked them to their apartment and looked in all the closets, under the bed, and behind the shower curtain. I wasn't taking any chances. I waited until I heard the dead-bolt lock with a reassuring thud. Then I left.
45
THE NEXT MORNING I spent a few hours getting the things on the list. I didn't take my car or my wallet, and I wore a floppy red baseball hat, an old sweater, and a pair of thick bifocal reading glasses I’d picked up at a pharmacy for a few bucks.
When La Lena and Soul showed up at six I was worried that it might be awkward getting Soul to go out with me alone. La Lena told her she had some important errands to run, and the two of us were going to go out to have some fun.
Soul grabbed my hand. “OK mama.” Easy as pie. La Lena gave me a, well, well, well aren't you Mr. Special look. I grinned charmingly.
“We'll be back in a few hours,” I said. “Please be careful.”
While La Lena was at my place tinkering with explosives capable of twisting steel and shattering bone, Soul and I were out on the town. We went to the mall again because I knew she needed new shoes and jeans, even if La Lena was too proud to admit it. She might get pissed off when Soul showed up wearing a new outfit, but she'd get over it. I loved Soul and wanted to do something nice for her. If La Lena thought I was usurping her parental role we'd just have to deal with it later. It was a cool, rainy evening, and as I drove I switched on the radio.
“What kind of music do you like Soul?” I asked.
“This one,” she said. It was Dean Martin.
I parked under a streetlight a few feet from the department store’s entrance, then walked around to the passenger side. She'd already undone the seatbelt, and when I helped her out her warm little hand slipped into mine.
“We're going to surprise your momma tonight,” I said.
“OK,” she said. She thought about it. “How?”
“We're going to get you some snappy new clothes. Maybe new jeans and shoes. Maybe a shirt too. Sound fun?”
She smiled. I remembered how fun it was getting new clothes at eight-years-old. Not being able to sleep because the anticipation of wearing them to school the next day was too overwhelming. I was glad I could do that for her.
We spent the next 40 minutes running back and forth between the children's section and fitting room. Each time Soul tried on something new she came out and gave me a few twirls. I wanted to make sure what we got fit, and that she wouldn't outgrow it in a week or two. She didn't notice, but the two of us were getting lots of strange looks. La Lena and I were an unlikely pair. Soul and I were too. It didn't matter. It made what we had more special.
We settled on jeans with embroidered flowers above the knees, an Eddie Murray jersey, a pair of red Chuck Taylors, and an O's cap. Her mom might be mad, but she couldn't dispute that Soul and I had good taste.
When we were done we strolled around the mall, eventually ending up in a big pet store. The exotic fish, lizards and turtles mesmerized Soul, but they depressed the hell out of me. So many beautiful animals trapped in tiny glass cages just a few weeks away from the great flush into eternity. It wasn't natural.
In the back was an enclosed area where kids could play with adorable puppies and kittens. A marketing department kill-zone designed to make it difficult for mommy and daddy to say no to their petless little angels. Inside a clumsy yellow lab puppy roughhoused with a little boy as his mother checked her watch impatiently. Two charcoal and white kittens stared at Soul and I, willing us to enter and lavish them with affection. When Soul crept in and sat cross-legged they converged onto her lap, and the two puffy masses became nearly indistinguishable as they burrowed in and licked one another’s faces. Soul ran her fingers through their fur and looked up at me pleadingly.
“I'm starving,” I said. I needed to get her out of there before I did something stupid. Just what I needed, another responsibility. When she stood the kittens stayed on her lap until the last second before jumping to the ground.
The food court was full of options, but when I asked Soul what she was in the mood for it was obvious that the choices were too overwhelming. I told her to have a seat, and that I’d go get a few things that we could share. That was OK with her, but before I’d taken my third step I stopped. No way was I leaving her alone. Not after what we'd just been through.
“Come with me,” I said. It startled her, and a few nearby eaters raised their heads to see what was going on.
We got burger, salad, and soda, and since Soul was already wearing her new clothes I stuffed a few napkins into her turtleneck to make a bib. No way was I going to let a grease stain ruin her retail therapy high.
Back at my place I parked and called La Lena from the payphone on the corner.
“We're downstairs. We've got a surprise.”
Soul and I huddled. “OK, here's what we're going to do, You hide behind me, and when your mom comes down, I'll say, 'NOW!' Then you jump out and say, 'SURPRISE!' Got it?”
She got it, and when La Lena came down the stairs she followed my instructions perfectly.
“Well, look at you baby. You look just like Al Bumbry,” she said.
“Eddie Murray,” I corrected. “I made her eat a salad too.”
46
AT THREE AM HE WEAVED down the hall of their modest two story colonial in the suburbs. His shirt was untucked and partially buttoned, and sex and booze vapors hung heavy in the air behind him. His right shoulder clipped an old framed photo of a young and beaming couple at the beach with their infant daughter. It fell to the floor and the glass shattered. He passed the master bedroom unaware of his wife's gaze through the slightly ajar door, then turned left into the guest bedroom and collapsed on the bed.
At five-thirty his dependable internal alarm clock went off like it always did. No amount of cocaine, sleep deprivation, and late night fornication could change that. He lay dead still willing his crushing hangover to accord him some mercy. Trudy 'n Tanika, the dynamic duo of indecency paraded through his cloudy mind.
An hour later he strolled into the kitchen full of phony vim and vigor and poured himself a cup of coffee. His wife wiped the counters with a wet rag, refusing to turn toward him. He drained the cup in three gulps and took her in with cold, indifferent eyes. Her butt was big, her skin was splotchy, and her hair was stringy. Apart from the odd pang of nostalgia he hadn't felt any
thing for her in years. They'd never make love again, and thank God. What a chore it'd been the last time they had so many years ago. The only things keeping them together were cowardice, habit, and their precious daughter.
At ten o’clock he planted two unsteady hands on the stalwart walnut desk in the center of his office. When he stood he nearly fainted. His brain throbbed and even his teeth ached. A burning ribbon of vodka, bile, and essence-of-Trudy spurted into his throat. He walked to the window and parted the venetian blinds with thumb and forefinger, gazing at the ugly mass of city employees picketing outside the capital building. They'd been there since the story broke. Every day for the last two weeks. The headline had been clever and unambiguous. Worker's Pension Fund Looted! Like cattle they walked the same hypnotic circle hour after hour. The only thing missing was the cud. Their meaty arms pumped colorful signs on long sticks.
Stein Steals Savings!
Not with my pension you don't!
Politicians + Pensions = Problems!
The whole thing had a disturbing tribal feel. They were the headhunters. The sidewalk their remote island sanctuary. He was the shipwrecked white man cowering in the jungle waiting to be discovered, and when he was they'd impale him on a spit. In the rectum and out the mouth. They'd paint their faces, dance in the moonlight, and roast him over a bed of hot coals until his flesh crackled.
Watching them from his office had become part of his morning ritual. The same fickle scumbags had once been vehement backers, and since then the headlines had just kept coming.
Major Financial Irregularities Found
Pay-for-Play Scheme Exposed
Bid Rigging Bonanza!
They were headlines that could’ve been attributed to every mayor, in every city, in every corner of the world since the beginning of recorded history. It was the headline he didn't see that haunted him. It was coming, it was a mathematical certainty. He guessed what it'd be, as if it might somehow soften the blow when it finally materialized. The tricky bastards would come up with something catchy.
Shakedown on Hate St Page 15