The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  “Visiting her folks.”

  “Somebody sick?” I asked sympathetically, though butterflies were already fluttering about my impending face-to-face with Clifford.

  Phil turned his back from the grill and looked across the counter. “Went to tell them she’s through living in sin.”

  “You’re breaking up?” Despite their constant bickering I’d always believed Phil and Red were fused at the hip.

  “Nah. I’m not getting any better looking so I figure it’s time to settle down. Gonna pull the trigger, get married.”

  Everywhere I fucking looked. And it was almost autumn, not spring. All I needed was Julius to break in wearing a tux. “Congratulations. Church?”

  “Government Center. They can flatten the place with as many plazas as they like, it’s still Scully Square. And City Hall is still the biggest brothel in town. Seems right for us. You eating?”

  “No. I learned to stay away from Clifford when I have a full stomach. Wouldn’t want to mess your floor.”

  Phil shook his head. “He’s not gonna slap you around.”

  “I’ll believe that after he’s gone.”

  “What’s your worry? You’re bigger than him.”

  “Taller isn’t bigger plus he’s twice as tough.”

  Phil lost his smile the moment the door creaked behind me.

  “You wanna use the upstairs?” he asked as Clifford’s shoes jackhammered toward my back.

  “Hell no. And don’t you disappear on me either.”

  Phil rolled his eyes and turned back to his grill as I spun my stool to face the Black Brick Shithouse. He hadn’t lost any muscle since our last rendezvous. He had, however, shaved his head.

  “Styling?” I cracked, unable to quiet my anxiety.

  Clifford stood very still before answering. “Nothing worse than a half bald nigger unless you include a leftover stoner playing shamus. Ain’t that right, Jacobs?” he asked setting his rock hard butt down on the stool next to mine.

  “Without the ‘s,’” I said spinning back toward the counter.

  Clifford ignored me and spoke to Phil. “Eggs over easy and I want extra ham. Skip the home fries but throw in a large glass of iced coffee, no sugar, no milk, no wait. Jacobs here works for himself so everything goes on his bill.”

  Phil looked at me. I nodded and said, “Just water.” I glanced at Clifford. “I do a lot of pro bono.”

  “Beats working the malls, don’t it? Nice you got those buildings to fall back on.”

  Right, Tycoon Matt. The room grew silent except for the sizzle on the grill and the tinkling of the coffee’s ice-cubes. And stayed that way until Phil placed a mountain of thick ham capped with a couple of eggs in front of Clifford and retreated to the sink at the far end of the counter. I wondered if Washington was going to use a fork.

  He did, stabbing the eggs, and we both watched the yolk slowly slide down the mountain. What the fuck had I been thinking when I called Phil?

  “Order your own,” Clifford said, misreading my stare.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not hungry.”

  “You look hungry,” he said after a couple of large forkfuls. “Why do you want to see me, Jacobs?”

  Good question. “Just to talk.”

  “Then talk,” Clifford commanded after razing more of the mountain.

  “I was surprised when Chief Biancho said Downtown had passed me off to you. Something about “babysitting.”

  Clifford stopped chewing long enough to flash a dirty smile. “Cops have a way with words, don’t they?”

  I watched Washington’s large hand circle the heavy glass of iced coffee. “When they use ‘em.”

  Clifford signaled for more coffee. “You understand this guy, Phil?” he asked while Phil was pouring. “A private dick who hates cops. The rest of those scumbags spend their lives swearing we’re in this together, but this one runs the other way. You get it?”

  “Maybe he’s just more honest. Or maybe it’s a Commie thing.” Phil smiled before moving out of earshot.

  Clifford’s laughter filled the room. “Scared, Phil. He’s more scared than the rest of ‘em. Ain’t that it, Jacobs?” His laughter was gone, nasty taking its place.

  “Maybe so Boss, but all that extra attention surprised me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Keeping an eye on you is like watching a three-toed sloth. Anyway, people appreciate how much I like to know what you’re doing.” Clifford pointedly polished off the rest of his meal in silence, but I knew he wasn’t waiting for me to speak.

  I sipped at my water trying to wet my parched mouth. I knew he wasn’t going to hit me here, but just his mere presence recalled prior beatings. Unfortunately, the water didn’t work so I gave up and lit a cigarette.

  “Can’t you see I’m still eating?” Clifford suddenly snarled. “And you’re not supposed to smoke in restaurants. Can’t you do anything right?”

  “Sorry,” I said, stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Well, too late now, asshole. I can’t eat with that shit in the air.” He pushed his empty plate away, rubbed his bald head, then shook a smoke out of my pack. “Can’t fight ‘em, join ‘em,” he said lighting up. “Something you never seem to learn.”

  I held my temper, reminding myself I’d asked for this meet as I lit a fresh cigarette. “So what are they paying babysitters these days, Washington?” I just couldn’t help it.

  Clifford shot me a humorless grin. “I like you so much I do it for free. You’ve been useful every once in a while. But useful stops at the city’s limits. You’re straying a little far from your dope dealer these days, aren’t you?”

  Clifford despised Julius. Never busted him, though. Maybe Wash was waiting for the day he could use him.

  “Family business, that’s all. Checking out my father-in-law’s new girlfriend. Just wanted you to know so there’d be no misunderstanding. I figure better tell you myself.”

  Clifford dropped his cigarette into the ashtray without putting it out and spun off stool. “I appreciate your attitude, Jacobs. I spoke to Biancho and he wants you to make yourself scarce. I like him better than I like you. You understand me?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I don’t expect we need any more talk, do we?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Clifford nodded and gracefully marched his thick, muscular body toward the door. “Stay out of burbs, shamus. As you now know, I have some friends there.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said to his broad back. “And by the way, bald is beautiful.”

  If he heard me he didn’t show it, just walked out the door letting it slam behind. I breathed a sigh of liberated relief, cursed at myself for my last remark, and suddenly felt ravenous. “Phil, I’m fucking starving. Could you make mine the same as his?”

  I stood fiddling with my tie in front of the full length mirror. The Boots and Julie Show had finally caught hold, their combined words worming past my defensiveness, forcing me to reconsider my hostility. I told myself I was going to Lauren’s party because I wanted to make amends. Told myself it would be interesting to observe Lauren’s extended family and friends.

  I told myself a lot of things, but eyeballing the mirror invited the truth. I wanted to boogie. To stop my twisted thinking, apologize to Lou, and lose myself. Wanted to get right with one entangling alliance and momentarily forget the other. And right then I wanted my tie straight.

  But only the tie; it had been a while since hard liquor trailed flaming traces toward my bloodstream. I sat on the edge of the bed and cross-ruffed small shots of bourbon with little hits of the pipe. It wouldn’t help with the alliance I wanted to untangle if I wasn’t coherent.

  Still, it was a long way to the Hacienda and plenty of time to worry off any excess. I added more to my glass, topped the pipe, and took another run at the closet. I stripped off my gray slacks, white shirt, and noose in favor of a comfortable pair of Levi’s with a familiar black tee, black cross trainers, and a dark green, unstru
ctured jacket. The look wasn’t going to break me into GQ, but at least I could walk and breathe.

  When I turned onto Lauren’s street, muted multi colored paper lamps snatched my eyes and strains of a marimba filled the hot, humid air. I hadn’t been to a real party with live music in a millennium. I instantly contemplated a retreat, but tail turning meant slamming my ass back on the couch.

  So I drove past the decorated deck until I spotted a small break in the rows of expensive, spotless, off-roaders. I wedged in the old B.M.W., stared into the rearview mirror, then toked off a tightly rolled city slicker.

  The refreshed high renewed my party head. People were talking and dancing on the Hacienda’s upper deck and I could hear Lauren’s throaty laugh rise above the syncopated Latin rhythms.

  I hesitated when I reached the front steps and saw a good looking couple taking a desultory time out. My nerves squawked so I lit a cigarette. But the tinkling of glass and ice cubes seduced me, and I flipped the smoke nodding my way into Lauren’s spacious front hall.

  Where I found myself alone in a sudden pocket of quiet. The marimba had stopped its Caribbean and, for a split second, the party chatter vanished. Just as suddenly, I heard Lou’s grunt from a room at the rear of the dimly lighted hallway. I rode my resolve into the kitchen where he was wiping sweat from his face with a towel as he leaned against the sink. Lou was wearing one of the sporty, suspender outfits I’d spotted the weekend before. No beret.

  As soon as he saw me his flushed face broke into a pleased grin. “Boychick, I’d given up. Let me run upstairs and get Lauren.”

  “‘Oh ye of little faith.’ But don’t run anywhere, I need a minute to chill.”

  “Where is Shoes? You knew she was invited, didn’t you?” Lou asked anxiously.

  “We’re not Siamese Twins, Lou.” I heard the way it sounded and added hastily, “Actually, she’s away on business.”

  Lou’s face relaxed and he took a short swig of Sam Adams.

  “Just tell me where to get one of those,” I pointed to his bottle.

  “We can step onto the back porch,” he said, immediately bending into the open refrigerator, “if you want a cigarette before we go up.”

  He noticed my look when he handed me a Bud. “Everything good is upstairs: food, a bar, music. I just came down for a little less commotion.”

  Lou raised his voice against a fresh burst of melody. I tapped his shoulder and pointed to the back porch. The music, laughter, and voices were louder outside, but at least I could eat my shit with a cigarette.

  “I’ve been acting like a shmuck,” I said into his ear, catching a strong whiff of cologne.

  He placed his hand on my shoulder, “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Yes there is. I’ve been anxious about all the changes and it’s spun my head.” I covered my embarrassment with a fast slug of Bud and a slow drag on the smoke. “But there’s no excuse for my rotten attitude.”

  “Attitude isn’t everything,” he said dropping his arm. “You’ve been there when we needed you. That’s the important thing.”

  “Yeah, it hasn’t been entirely black or white but...”

  Lou interrupted with a smile, “Not black or white? What’s come over you?”

  “Middle age.”

  “But not too old to party, I hope?” He clapped me on my shoulder, “Stop shtupping yourself, Matty. What’s done is done, and no harm has come from it. My only real concern is this stalking business, but tonight isn’t the time.”

  Lou pulled my arm. “Come, we’ll take the rear stairs. I want to tell Lauren you’re here.”

  I forced my suddenly resistant body to follow by promising myself a real drink. When we arrived I saw that Lou hadn’t been kidding. A makeshift bar with a uniformed bartender stood next to the marimba along one side of the huge deck. Next was a long table lined with chafing dishes and rows of overflowing trays. The colored lamps hung from the corner poles; up here they shed just enough light to see people’s features, but not their sweat.

  Which meant no one could see mine. Though we were a spit away from the ocean, the air hung like a heavy woolen shawl. My throat was dry, the beer can empty, but I didn’t know whether my parch was due to thirst or jitters.

  Both called for the same solution. While Lou went searching for his woman, I slipped to the marimba corner of the bar and waved to the bartender. As soon as I thought double, I felt guilty and asked for a beer. At least here they had the Sam Adams. Lou was right, there was good stuff and a lot of it. Lauren couldn’t afford me but could pay for this? We definitely weren’t talking potluck.

  I drowned my quick rush of suspicious anger with a serious swallow and stared stonily into the crowd. Despite the music, food, and alcohol, there was only one center of attention—Lauren Rowe.

  She slid from group to group, stopping just long enough to laugh, hug, or introduce Lou who stood comfortably by her side. Occasionally Lauren would grab someone’s hand and talk intensely into their ear. Perhaps a pariah to the townsfolk, Lauren was the cat’s meow to her guests—her approach invariably treated with open arms.

  And watched by most everyone else, just like I was watching.

  I turned my back and slowly finished the bottle. But before I could call for another, a hand clasped my shoulder.

  “Thanks for coming, Matthew. You keep surprising me,” Lauren said in a low voice that sliced through the racket. “Let’s go to the other side,” she suggested, pointing to a small secluded spot where Lou stood. “He won’t hear a thing this close to the music.”

  I nodded, signaled the bartender for a fresh, and took a deep breath. Lauren looked glowing, her eyes brilliant and glittering as if lit from within. Center of attention became her. She wore a sleek, dark burgundy dress with a long slit up the back which I followed as we haltingly made our way across the vibrating floor boards. Haltingly because we couldn’t move more than a couple of feet before someone would rush up. Lauren was unfailingly good spirited, making certain to always introduce me. I never caught a name.

  Halting turned into a full stop as Paul Brown popped up out of nowhere just as the marimbist flipped his sticks and shouted “Meringue`.”

  “Dance, darling?” Paul asked, an inviting smile on his face before glancing at me with cold eyes.

  “Do you mind, Matthew?” Lauren asked.

  “Of course not,” I started, but before I could finish Lauren and Paul had already begun a series of intricate steps.

  The two moved with elegant familiarity, Paul’s lean body and silver hair a perfect foil for Lauren’s full figured grace. Classic ballroom partners, the two unerringly anticipated each other’s moves, their polished dance captivating.

  And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The rest of the couples split apart forming an enthusiastic circle around Paul and Lauren who fed on the energy. The marimbist screamed “Tango” over the noise, changed the beat, and the couple effortlessly slipped into a new set of backbreaking bends and whirling spins.

  The party went wild with whistles and foot stomping as the old deck trembled under the excitement. I even caught myself clapping, though I was careful not to spill the beer.

  But, like everything else in life, good things come to an end. Lauren, with an exaggerated pantomime of wiping sweat from her brow, placed a hand on her heaving chest, and bowed toward Paul. Paul bowed deeply in return, though he wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. I stayed where I was as Lauren wriggled free, leaning forward and placing a friendly peck on Paul’s cheek.

  “I hope that didn’t upset Anne,” Lauren commented breathlessly, as we finally got close to Lou’s quieter corner.

  “What a show!” Lou praised, wearing his wide smile. “I almost had a heart attack watching the two of you.”

  “We used to sneak out for lessons. We called it our “straight world” vice,” Lauren explained, still breathing heavily. “It’s fun but I don’t have the same stamina.”

  “Who does?” Lou asked. />
  “Paul,” Lauren replied, scanning the deck. “He would have danced the rest of the night.”

  There was a long pause before Lauren, having finally caught her breath, pointed, “I don’t see the kids, but my mother, Vivian, is over there.”

  At first, all I saw was an enormous floppy hat. Then, as if she felt Lauren’s finger, the hat turned and started over. Mama marched like a macho pigeon. Fists at her sides, she strutted her square body with short jerky movements. When she arrived, the body stopped but her mouth picked up speed.

  “Aren’t you the Queen of the Ball?” Vivian mocked. She angled her husky torso in my direction, banished her bite, and smiled coyly. “We haven’t met.”

  Even in the dim light I could see the thick pancake powder and bright red splotches of rouge. But before I could nod in return, Vivian’s smile vanished. “It makes me ill every time I think about the two of them,” she slanted her head toward Lauren while Lou hung in the rear. “My own daughter in bed with someone old enough to be her father.” Vivian’s lip curled, “I don’t know why I screwed hers—and he was my husband.”

  Lou looked shocked and helpless, but Lauren was one cool cuke. That, or she’d been assaulted by her mother too many times for one more to matter. “Mom, first of all Lou isn’t old enough to be my father. And this is Matthew Jacob. He’s Lou’s son-in-law,” she said as if speaking to a child.

  Vivian turned on me with another seductive smile chiseled into her plaster. “Well don’t misunderstand me, I have nothing against your father. What the hell, every old man wants what he’s getting.”

  “Mom,” Lauren sounded exasperated. “Stop it. You’re humiliating yourself.”

  And me. Lauren’s loose-lipped mother was voicing some of my own hostility.

  “You mean I’m embarrassing you.”

  Lauren smiled grimly, “Always, Mom, always.”