The Arraignment

by Steve Martini

  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.”

  The conversation between Adam and my partner hasn’t been entirely about the history of flight.

  “He told me what happened this afternoon.” Harry spreads a little butter on a hot flour tortilla as he talks. The empty margarita reservoir is on the table where he left it. Harry is feeling no pain.

  “What is it, best two out of three falls, you and this guy Saldado?” he says. “How many chances are you gonna give him?”

  “It wasn’t my idea to go visiting this time.”

  “You know, Adam, I assumed when you told me you were coming down here, and that with security and all, everything would be covered.”

  I look at him. Harry keeps talking.

  “But I guess even with that, things go wrong.”

  “Let me get this straight. You talked with Adam before we came down here?”

  Harry looks at me. “Did I say that?”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  He gives me a sheepish look, then turns to Adam. “Knew I shouldn’ta had that drink,” he says.

  “Paul, it’s no big thing. Harry was worried about you,” says Tolt. “And he had good reason, after what happened at Saldado’s apartment.”

  “And so you called for lunch, and it just so happened you were taking some vacation time.”

  “Well, all right, so we conspired a little.”

  “A little.”

  “We weren’t going to let you come down here alone,” says Harry.

  Now I understand how Harry got here. Empty plane, my ass. Adam sent it back to get him since one of us had to be in the office on Thursday.

  “He has a point,” says Adam.

  “And look what happened,” says Harry. “Even with the precautions. Security and all. You know what I think? I think maybe we should all take a nice swim, lay in the sun tomorrow morning, have a nice lunch, and then hop on Adam’s plane, say adiós, and fly on home.”

  “I’ll vote for that,” says Adam.

  “Haven’t you forgotten? We have a meeting with Pablo Ibarra tomorrow evening.”

  “Forget the meeting with Ibarra,” says Harry. “You met with the son today, the one who talks and whose knuckles don’t drag on the ground, and what did you find out? Nothing.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What? Tell me what you found out that you didn’t know before,” says Harry.

  “We found out that the sons are connected to Saldado.”

  “Excuse me. I stand corrected,” says Harry. “Besides that revelation, which they nearly engraved on your headstone, what else?”

  “We know Saldado killed Espinoza and that Espinoza was the link to Gerald Metz. We also know that the brothers had American partners in a prior deal and that the arrangement didn’t work out. What were the words he used? They had to sever the relationship?”

  Adam nods. “Something like that.”

  “You knew that before you came down here,” says Harry. “When people kill their partners, it’s usually due to some dissatisfaction in the arrangement.”

  “No. What we had before was conjecture, guesses. Now we have Arturo Ibarra in his own words telling us, filling in the gaps. If you want to go home, go. As for me, I’m going to talk to Pablo Ibarra, then I’ll go home.”

  “Listen to him,” says Harry. “You haven’t had enough of these people? You talk to him.” He turns to Adam and lays his linen napkin on the table next to his plate.

  Adam takes a deep sigh, picks up his wineglass, and takes a sip. “First, I should apologize. I admit I lost it this afternoon. I’ve had all the excitement I want for a while. Julio, Herman, I want you to understand I didn’t mean what I said today. And Paul. Well, I think you know. I’ve never been quite that close to a near-death experience before, and it unnerved me. I didn’t handle it with much grace.”

  “You got up and followed me out the door,” I tell him. “That’s all the grace required, given the circumstances.”

  “I don’t mind telling you I nearly tossed everything on his desk when I turned around and saw him holding the wallets. I thought he knew for sure we were lying.”

  “I suspect he did. What he didn’t know was where the other cars were, how many men were in them, and how they were armed. You don’t go to war unless you know where the enemy is.”

  “That was Julio’s idea,” says Adam. He raises his glass in a toast to the Mexican, and Julio smiles, looks down, embarrassed. He is starting to lighten up.

  I ask him what he threw at the window to get our attention.

  “A coin,” he says. “I think it mighta been a ten-peso piece. I don’t know.” The value of this is less than a U.S. dollar.

  “Who’s counting?” says Adam. “Put it on the tab.”

  We all laugh.

  “Damn.” Adam’s looking at his watch again, takes it off, and taps it on the edge of his plate. “Thing keeps stopping.”

  “It’s all that cold sweat,” says Harry. “It’s probably frozen.”

  “What time is it?”

  I look at my watch. “Seven-twenty.”

  Adam sets it, winds it, and listens with the crystal up to his ear. “I want to collect my messages. See if anybody called.”

  “That reminds me. I almost forgot,” says Harry. “You had some messages, voice and e-mail. I had Marta listen and make up a list off the phone and print out the e-mails. I’ve got them in my briefcase upstairs.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Oh. I almost forgot. Grace Gimble.”

  “What about her?”

  “I talked to her. It’s what we thought. She did the corporate papers for Nick on Jamaile, but she doesn’t know what it was for. She said that Nick just asked her to put ’em together. She signed as an officer just to get them filed.”

  Another dead end.

  “And Joyce from Carlton called. Left her home number, said to call her back. And your friend Blakley from New York. He sent you an e-mail on Wednesday. He checked the address from Nick’s little handheld. It was a vacant office building, just like . . .”

  I cut him off with a look.

  “The other one . . .” he says. “What? What did I say?”

  “What’s this about Nick?” Adam is looking up at him, strapping the watch back on his wrist.

  “Nothing,” says Harry.

  “Nick had a handheld PDA?”

  Harry has already stepped in it.

  “Yeah. What did they call it?” I look at Harry.

  “A Handspring. I think that’s it,” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “Actually, Nick left it behind at the coffee shop the morning we talked, on his way to see Metz.”

  “What, and you found it?”

  “Paul saw it on t
he seat and tried to catch up with him,” says Harry. “But he couldn’t get there in time.”

  “So he had already been shot?” says Adam.

  “No.”

  Adam stares at me, one of those acid-like analytic gazes, a Tolt mind probe.

  “I have been wondering all this time why,” he says. “The death of a friend, sudden and violent, I understand that. But that’s it, isn’t it?”

  “What?” Harry looks at him, wondering what he has missed.

  “Forget the PDA,” Adam tells him. “What your partner is saying is that if he’d been able to catch Nick, to stop him out on the street, Nick wouldn’t have been standing there when they drove by to get Metz. That is it, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. I can see it. It’s written in your eyes. What stopped you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the reason you’re down here, looking for answers,” he says.

  “Now you’re starting to sound like Harry.”

  “What is it?” he says.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I tell him.

  “Fine. Then let’s talk about Nick’s electronic address book. Did you turn it over to the police?”

  “No.” Harry gives Adam one of those looks that pass between lawyers whenever they discuss the stupid things clients do. “He wanted to see what was in it first.”

  Adam rolls his eyes. “Surely you’ve had enough time to do that?”

  “I don’t think Nick had it that long. He was just beginning to play with it. Trying to figure out how it worked.”

  “So there was nothing in it?”

  “Just a few items. Some names, addresses, a few dates. Nothing of significance.”

  “This address in New York?”

  “A dead end.”

  “I see.” Adam is miffed, another secret I didn’t share. But there is something else I haven’t considered until now.

  “Let me ask you, did you bring this thing of Nick’s with you?” says Adam.

  I shake my head. “It’s back at the office.”

  “That’s too bad. You know, if you’d let me take a look at it, there might have been something in it I might have recognized. After all, Nick did work for the firm.”