by Unknown
"Just a minute, Troy." Stanley leaned forward and frowned. "I'd like to help that Bajan just as much as you, but I'm on a fixed income--"
"Christ, you didn't think I wanted money, did you? I'm the one who's putting out the money for James's studies in New York. It'll all come from my end. What I want from you is a steadying influence. I want you to give James and Dale the benefit of your wisdom and experience, that's all. You must've misunderstood me. I don't imagine you brought more than a few hundred dollars down here with you anyway. Right?"
"Well, I didn't know exactly how long I'd be staying. I brought along five hundred in traveler's checks. Of course, I've got my checkbook with me, and Visa card."
"That'll be enough. Your needs are simple, and while you're staying with me you're my guest, of course. The last thing I want you to worry about is money. But you have to let me tell you about Dale.
"A few months ago, believe it or not, she was on her way to stardom on the Gold Coast here. She was already the featured stripper at the Kitty Kat Theater, and she sang a solo, 'Deep Purple,' before her act. They have these live acts between showings of Triple-X movies at the Kitty Kat, see? Eight girls altogether, and Dale was one of the featured stars, with a life-sized cutout on a poster board in the lobby. She already had a slogan her manager wrote for her, 'You can't see Dale Forrest for the trees!' "Troy shook his head. "She was on her way up, no question about it.
"Her manager had a new gig lined up for her in East Saint Louis. The next step would've been burlesque on State Street, in Chicago. Then, inevitably, New York, and into television. Eventually, and I'm sure of it, she could have been one of those pretty girls on daytime TV, on one of the talk shows, leading guests on and off the stage. And then, blooie!" Troy slapped the table so hard the bartender jumped.
"Yes, sir!" the bartender said. "Two long-necked Buds, coming up!"
"What happened?" Stanley picked at the scab on his upper lip.
Troy sat back and lowered his voice. "She fell in love."
The bartender took some money from the pile of bills and change in front of Stanley. "Take a dollar for yourself," Troy told him.
"Thank you, sir."
"Now there's nothing unusual about falling in love," Troy was saying. "Dale's young. She won't be twenty-one for another five months, even though she looks older. And the guy she fell in love with was a handsome young cab driver. He was also a part-time student at the community college, taking a course in real estate. He was an athlete, too, Dale told me, playing slow-pitch softball every Sunday at Tropical Park. They were star-crossed lovers, Pop. Dale was already a flickering star, with only one way to go--straight to the top. But here was a guy who only wanted a real estate license so he could sit around in empty houses on Sundays instead of playing softball. Compared to Dale, the boy had no future at all. See what I mean?"
"I think so. She was riding in his cab and they had a car wreck."
"No, that isn't what happened. I'm just filling you in on the background so you'll see that marriage was out of the question. Here was a handsome man, but he had no real purpose in life. Dale was heading for stardom, but if she'd married him, she would've had to give up her dream. That's the American way, Pop. If a man can't support his wife, he's got no business getting married."
"That's right. But it's okay if his wife works part-time."
"I didn't mean part-time. It's nice for a woman to get out of the house for a few hours every day, but Dale would've had to give up show business."
"What happened?" Stanley refilled his glass.
"None of us are saints, Pop. All of us are human, so Dale started fucking the cab driver. If that was all there was to it, there wouldn't've been no problem. Once something like that starts, they get tired of each other after a while, and it would have ended. She would've gone on to stardom, and he, in all probability, would've finished his real estate course. But it also happened that Dale was fucking her manager. After all, he had discovered her, picking her out of a group of girls in a wet T-shirt contest up in Daytona Beach. He gave Dale her first break, and he was pushing her toward the top. He was entitled to screw her for his trouble, and she wasn't making any big money yet. In show business, that's the way things are done. You've probably seen the same thing in movies."
Stanley nodded. "On TV, too."
"But this is a real-life story. Dale isn't too smart; her manager wasn't too shrewd either. But he found out about the cab driver, and that's what happened to Dale's face. Her manager busted in on her in the middle of the night and beat hell out of her, and that was the end of her stage career. No matter how beautiful her body still is, her face would frighten the customers."
"That man should be put in jail for ruining her face that way."
"Not so fast, Pop. You aren't looking at this objectively. Things are more complicated than that. It could be argued, for example, that Dale deserved to be worked over a little. After all, her manager was putting in a lot of time and effort in furthering her career. She had no business risking it with a cab driver. And the fact is, her manager didn't intend to mark her up that way, either. She was his bread and butter. But unfortunately, he was drunk at the time, and he forgot to take off his rings. He had a great big signet and a pinky, and that's what cut up her face so bad. And, being drunk, he kept on hitting her for a long time after he should've quit. You've got to admit she had a whipping coming."
"No, sir." Stanley shook his head. "A man should never hit a woman with his fists."
"What would you have done, if you were her manager?"
"I don't know, Troy. It takes a lot to make me mad, but I wouldn't've hit her, drunk or sober."
"Exactly. You'd have punished her, and so would I, but we've both got enough sense not to hit a woman where it'll mark up her face. Now that Dale's put herself under my protection, I can't look at her situation objectively. It's up to me to get her face fixed up again, so she can go on with her career. I just don't believe that a beautiful girl like Dale should suffer for one mistake, do you?"
"Of course, not. But what--?"
"Here's the answer, Pop, right here." Troy unsnapped the top buttons of his shirt and withdrew a brown envelope. He opened it and handed Stanley a color brochure of Haiti, with a photograph of the Gran Hotel Olofsson on the cover. "Haiti. That's the answer, Pop. When I met James in New Orleans, he told me a lot about the West Indies, and he sold me on the idea of living in the islands. I went to a travel agent here and looked at folders on all the different islands, and Haiti looks best of all. Except for visiting border towns in Mexico, Tijuana and Juarez, I haven't been out of the United States."
"Me neither, except for Canada. I been in Canada lots of times, but not Mexico. Where is this Haiti?"
"The other side of Cuba. My original idea was to just go island-hopping, taking a plane from one island to another till I found one I really liked. But Dale has changed my plans. There's a plastic surgeon over in Haiti, a German doctor who lost his license in the States, but he can still practice in Haiti. A con I knew in Soledad told me about him--you know, in case you ever wanted to change how you look? He's supposed to be a top man. Well, I'm going to Haiti, Pop, and I'm going to find that surgeon for Dale."
Stanley tapped the folder. "That'll take a lot of money, won't it?"
"Don't you think Dale's worth it? And doesn't James deserve a chance to study art in New York?"
"Sure." Stanley nodded.
"And what about you, Pop? Wouldn't you like to see Haiti?"
"I don't rightly know. I'm not sure where it is, even."
"It's only two hours away from Miami, Pop, on Air France. And that's where you, me, and Dale are going next Sunday morning."
"I don't know about that. That's pretty short notice. Don't you need a passport and some shots and things like that?"
"Not to go to Haiti you don't. I already checked it out with the travel agent. You can stay sixty days without a passport or visa, and as long as you've got money and a return ticket they'll keep e
xtending your stay. Indefinitely. You don't need any shots, either. Round trips for the three of us, not counting taxes, will cost six hundred and sixty~ nine dollars. Two-twenty-three apiece."
Stanley whistled softly. "That's a lot of money."
"Not for me it isn't. By Saturday night I'll have twentyfive, maybe thirty thousand dollars. Four thousand'll go to James, for New York, and then, after I pay you back two thousand, plus the vig, that'll still leave plenty for the three of us to go to Haiti, live in a nice hotel, and pay for Dale's operation. And while we're there, everything's on me, Pop. Transportation, hotel, drinks, anything you want, and for as long as you want to stay."
"What's this about paying me back two thousand?" Stanley straightened in the booth.
"I figure it's no more than right, Pop. I know it's only a short-term loan, but you're entitled to interest all the same. I'll need two thousand from you now, and on Saturday night I pay you back twenty-five hundred. I think that's fair, don't you?"
"Where're you gonna get all this money? The twentyfive or thirty thousand, I mean, to pay me back?"
"I'm holding up the new Green Lakes Supermarket, here in Miami. I thought I already told you. And I'm letting James and Dale help me."
"No, you never told me nothing like that. I can't loan you no money to commit a robbery! One of the main reasons I came down here was to keep you out of trouble. And why do you need two thousand anyway?"
"To pay for our airplane tickets, for one thing. There's a flight leaving Miami at twelve-forty Sunday, and we'll be on it, me, you, and Dale. I also need some cash to buy some things for the job. These are all ordinary business expenses. You know as well as I do, it takes a little money to make a lot of money."
"But if you get caught, you'll go to jail, Troy. And then where'll you be?"
"This job is foolproof, Pop. I've never seen a better setup than this one. Christ, this is what I do for a living. Hey-- you're not prejudiced, are you, just because James is a black man?"
"Black? James? You said he was a Bajan. He don't look black to me."
"Well, he is black, as well as being a Bajan. He's at least a fourth black, maybe more, so that makes him a black according to southern laws. But that's just another reason he needs my professional help. If he tried to do this job on his own, as he intended to at first, he'd get caught. You ever hear of Affirmative Action, Pop?"
"Of course. We had it at Ford. Ford's an equal-opportunity employer."
"All right, then. Chew this over for a few minutes. Blacks in this country are only about ten percent, or perhaps a little more. But in prisons, aboutforty percent of the prisoners are black. In city jails, the percentage is even higher. Why do you think this happens, Pop? So many black men in jail?"
"I don't know. I never thought much about it."
"Well, I have. It's because there's no Affirmative Action plan for black ex-criminals, that's why. Without proper guidance and training, they almost always get caught and end up in prison. But I believe in Affirmative Action, and that's another reason why I want to help James. This particular job was originally his idea, but I planned it, and I'll see that it's carried out properly. James is a pretty desperate nonobjective painter, and he needs my help almost as much as Dale does. But I never thought you were prejudiced--"
"I'm not prejudiced, Troy. I'll admit that with Affirmative Action, you sometimes got a pretty dumb black foreman on the line. But some of the white foremen were just as dumb, I always thought. When you consider the aggravation and responsibility that goes with being a foreman, the extra money isn't worth it."
"That's true, Pop. I could never understand why the so-called correction officers worked for such low pay, either, but there's always someone dumb enough to take a guard's job. But you won't find many professional white criminals like me who'll train a black man under Affirmative Action. And this'll be my last professional robbery. When we go to Haiti, and after the surgeon starts work on Dale, which'll take several months, I'm going to start a business over there, one way or another. The Haitians make and wear these voodoo masks, you see. I figure Dale, with her figure and strip act, and wearing a voodoo mask, can get work at one of the tourist night clubs. That way, she'll keep up with her dancing while her face is healing, and be ready to take up her career back here when it's all over. We can rent us a beach house and eat fresh lobster for lunch every day. How does that sound?"
"It sounds fine, Troy, but two thousand dollars--"
"Two thousand loaned for twenty-five hundred back is a profitable deal, Pop. Besides, I don't even need cash. I'll just borrow your Visa card, and by the time your bill comes in a month from now, you'll have already been paid back your twenty-five hundred in cash. Of course, if that isn't enough interest for you, tell me what you want."
"It ain't the interest, Troy. I want to help you, but--"
"And James and Dale?"
"Them, too. But I don't want you to go to jail."
"You're worried about the loss to the supermarket? Is that it? Well, don't worry about that. They have insurance, so they won't lose a dime. In fact, they'll probably pad their loss, saying it was more than it was. In an operation like this one, nobody loses and everybody gains."
"Tell me a little more about the job."
"I'd rather not, Pop. The less you know, the better off you'll be. After this is all over, and you come back from Haiti, some cop might ask you about it. And if you don't know anything, you won't be able to tell him anything. I want to keep you out of this thing altogether, Pop. See what I mean? I want to protect you just like I'm protecting James and Dale."
"Let me think a minute, Troy. It's a lot to take in all at once, if you know what I mean..."
"Of course. Take all the time you want. There's no big rush about this. We've got till Saturday night. Want some pretzels?"
"A little too salty." Stanley shook his head. "But I'd like one of those small packs of barbecue chips."
Troy picked a dollar up from a small stack of bills and went over to the bar to look through the snack rack. Stanley took a sip of beer.
What would happen, he thought, if he turned Troy down? Everything between them would change, and quickly. If he still stayed on for a few days, the relationship between them would be strained, and he had truly been enjoying himself. It was all so interesting and exciting, being in the city with Troy, with James. Even Dale, now that he knew about her show business background, was a more exciting woman. On the other hand, if he lent Troy the money--which wouldn't hurt him too much, since it was out of savings, even if it wasn't paid back for a while--and Troy carried out this big robbery, Troy might end up in prison again. And he didn't want to be responsible for that, even indirectly...
Troy was back at the booth, handing Stanley a bag of Wise barbecue potato chips. "These are just as salty as pretzels, aren't they?"
"Maybe so, but the barbecue flavor gives 'em a better taste. They go good with beer." Stanley opened the bag, poured a handful of chips into his left hand, and offered some to Troy. Troy shook his head and made his lightning grimace.
"What happens, Troy, if I don't loan you the money?"
Troy shrugged, grimacing again, pulling his thin lips tightly over his small teeth. "James and me'll have to cowboy it, that's all. We'll have to drive around at night and hold up some liquor stores and gas stations. Two thousand isn't much. In two or three nights we'll have the stake. That's what I usually do when I need some quick cash. But James is inexperienced, and a little on the nervous side. That's why I asked you instead."
"In other words, you're gonna go through with this big robbery you planned, whether I help you or not?"
"You know I am, Pop. I already told you before, this is what I do. But I won't press you. If you don't think you're getting a good return on your investment, forget I asked you. And if you don't trust me--"
"I trust you, Troy." Stanley licked his fingers. "Hell, if I can't trust you, who can I trust? Besides, as they say, one hand washes the other."
&nbs
p; "Now you're talking. Just let me borrow your Visa card, your union card, and voter's registration for ID. You can then drive back to the house, and I'll get a cab to take care of business."
"I don't have no voter's registration card. Down here in Florida, if you register to vote they make you serve jury duty."
"Your Social Security card'll do just as well."
"That ain't supposed to be used for identification. It says so right on the card."
"The man I'm dealing with will accept it, Pop. Trust me."
Stanley took out his wallet, found the cards, and handed them over to Troy. Troy slipped them into his shirt pocket. He snapped the flap shut. "I'll take the rest of the change here on the table for cab fare. You keep the travel folder and show it to Dale when you get back to the apartment. She hasn't seen it yet. You better cash one or two traveler's checks, too. But keep a record of every cent you give Dale for groceries. We can add that in on top of your twenty-five hundred next Saturday."
Troy dropped the Honda keys on the table and slid out of the booth. "Finish the rest of my beer, Pop--"
"Just a minute, Troy. Whatever happened to the cab driver?"
"What cab driver?"
"You know, the one who was carrying on with Dale."
"Oh, him? He visited Dale in the hospital, took one good look at her, and she's never seen him again. Some men are like that."
"That poor girl." Stanley shook his head and poured the rest of Troy's beer into his stein. "She's lucky she found you."
"I think she knows it, Pop." Troy kissed the old man on the cheek and left the bar.
Stanley trusted Troy about the money. After all, he thought, everything so far had happened the way Troy said it would, so Stanley had no reason not to trust him, and he could tell that Troy genuinely liked him. Stanley had worked with other men all of his life, and he could tell whether someone was sincere or not, and Troy was the only person who had paid any attention to him since he had moved to Florida. On the other hand, the credit limit on Stanley's Visa card was all the way up to $2,200. Without even asking him, the bank had automatically raised the limit by two hundred dollars when he had renewed the card two months ago. Any way he looked at the matter, he couldn't afford to outright lose two thousand dollars, even though, as Troy said, his intention was to pay back five hundred in interest just for using the money till Saturday. Stanley picked up his beer and his cane and crossed to the bar.