Angry Jonny

by Joaquin Emiliano

  “What?” Jessica stepped away from the wall. “Ten thousand dollars? She didn’t even do anything, you know she didn’t!”

  Casper didn’t budge. “Miss Kincaid, please calm down.”

  “Miss Kincaid?”

  “Yes, calm down, please. Right now.”

  If not for the knife in her back, Jessica might have noticed Randal and Donahue displaying similar expressions of dismay. As it was, she didn’t even notice Chaucer’s fingers digging into her arm.

  “Ten grand in assets, thanks a lot! You know we don’t have anything – ”

  Chaucer’s grip tightened. “Jessica –”

  The court officers began to move towards her.

  Chaucer held out his free hand, sending the magistrate a coded message.

  Casper motioned for the guards to step down. “Mr. Braswell, please escort Miss. Kincaid outside. I will inform Dinah Titus of the schedule for her first appearance upon your return, alone.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Chaucer said, practically carrying Jessica away. “Please accept my apologies.”

  Jessica didn’t get a chance to see Casper’s response. She was brusquely led back to the anteroom, past the metal detectors and out into the parking lot.

  Chaucer let go of her arm, practically threw her against his car. “Shake it off,” he ordered.

  “Don’t tell me what to do –”

  “Shake it off!” he repeated, emphasizing each word.

  “You’re not my daddy, Chaucer.”

  “That’s right. But your aunt is in jail, they’re holding her for a ten-thousand-dollar bond, and that’s just the way that one went.”

  He stalked back to the side entrance and left her alone.

  “Damn it!” Jessica knew she couldn’t have handled it worse. She slammed her hand down on the hood of the car and walked to the edge of the parking lot. Stood on the corner, awash in the glow of gas station signs across the street. Just beyond that, an endless procession of headlights rushed beneath the overpass.

  She shoved her hands into her pockets and stalked back to the El Dorado.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” she whispered.

  Wishing for once that numbers did lie.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, Chaucer joined her in the parking lot.

  He leaned against the car, every bit the Zen master, and put a cigarette to his lips. “First appearance is set for tomorrow afternoon at three… Don’t think the Detectives were expecting that one either. Think they were hoping to hold Dinah for the whole ninety-six hours.”

  Jessica had made a nest of her arms on the Cadillac roof.

  She raised her head and nodded.

  “You OK, Jessica?”

  “Yeah…” She blew a dampened coil of hair from her forehead with mixed results. “I’m sorry I blew up back there.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Going to have to be, right?”

  “The way that one went.”

  Jessica sighed, replaced her request for a cigarette with a more pressing point. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  “Casper’s got a job to do. If it’s ten thousand he set, then you’ve got to believe it could’ve been worse in the hands of another man.”

  “It’s still a one with four zeroes.”

  “Look…” Chaucer closed his eyes for a micro-nap, then blinked a few times. “I’m happy to get the money for you. More than happy.”

  “Shit, Chaucer, you don’t owe me that –”

  “Save it. I can get the money. Just don’t have it handy.”

  “Whatever favors you got lined up, I can’t let you cash them in for this.”

  “It’s collateral. I’ll get it back once this is all over.” Chaucer dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath his shoe. “It’s round about nine-fifty. Got my meeting in a few minutes. After that I’ll head on over to Wilmington. If I can pull the right strings, I shouldn’t be back later than one, tomorrow. With the money.”

  “And what if you’re not?”

  “I will be.”

  Jessica nodded, not the least bit satisfied. “All right, get on over to your meeting.”

  “Let me drop you off.”

  “I’ve actually got another destination in mind.”

  “Please don’t say bail bondsman.”

  “Nothing like that…” Jessica knocked on the hood of the car. Chaucer reached in, popped the lock, and let her slide on in. “I don’t want to be stuck at home. Not with Dinah in jail, not after the cops ransacked my home. Eli’s got a card game going on down town… take me to it.”

  “Jessica, if I come back tomorrow and find I need to bail you out...”

  “I’m solid, Easy Rawlins,” Jessica said. “You’re late, and I just want to get out of here.”

  “Fine.”

  Chaucer started the car.

  He pulled out into traffic, signaling his intent all the way.

  Jessica kept her own motives to herself, knowing full well there was no chance she was going to leave Dinah behind for even one night.

  Chapter 33: House of Cards.

  Jessica was led across the finished concrete floor by Bob, one of Eli’s drinking buddies. She tried to take in as much as she could without appearing out of her element. The building was one of many defunct tobacco warehouses turned into fully refurbished high-end lofts. The crisscross of iron struts along the ceiling and thick, opaque windows embedded firmly into towering brick walls were the only remnants of that particular chapter in Verona’s history.

  Pallets of bundled tobacco leaves replaced with Corinthian leather couches lining the perimeter of a sunken living room. Hi-definition, flat screen on the wall, racks of DVDs in place of time cards. Instead of workmen, calloused hands and aching backs, young professionals and local bartenders gathered in small pockets along the exposed kitchen or ad hoc bar, shooting the shit over single malts and microbrews.

  Ghosts floating in the cigarette smoke, concentrated in a gray raincloud over a collection of red-felt card tables. Four ovals arranged like dots on a die. Two of them empty, nineteen players split between the remaining pair.

  Bob pointed towards Eli’s table. “Looks like you’re just in time for a real hand.”

  Jessica rounded the game’s perimeter. A collection of absorbed spectators had gathered to watch the action. Hardly a soul took notice of her, including Eli, eyes trained on the only player left in the hand.

  Eli’s opponent, an overweight redhead sporting a Nets jersey, reached for his chips. “Re-raising you; I’m all in.” With a single, aggressive shove, he bulldozed his entire stack into the center. The clay discs came tumbling down in a multicolored cascade. He crossed his arms and stared Eli down.

  A low murmur swept the table.

  Eli returned the redheaded stranger’s push with his own level gaze. Not amused in the least. Blank, unsympathetic eyes of a masked executioner.

  “I call,” Eli said, gently moving his own stack an inch or so forward.

  As though he expected to be getting them back, real soon.

  “Ah, shit.” The redhead turned over his cards. “There. Pair of threes.”

  Eli flipped over his own cards. “Pair of fours.”

  The crowd exploded into a hailstorm of Monday morning quarterbacking. Amid the laughter and stunned swearing, Eli leaned over and corralled the mess of chips into his stable.

  Jessica caught his eye, motioned for him to join her.

  Eli nodded. “Sitting this next one out, gentlemen.”

  They met by the bar. Eli poured himself a hefty dose of Black Label. “Not a bad hand, there. Up two hundred and change, by my count. Could be three times that, come morning –”

  “Dinah’s been arrested.”

  His cheeks bulged, and he had to force the scotch down. “Arrested for what?”

  “Davenport.”

  “But she couldn’t have –”

  “Don’t matter right now.” Jessica sai
d. “The bail’s been set at ten grand. I don’t have time to do a whole panhandler speech, so here it is… Do you have it or not?”

  Eli hesitated.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes, but…”

  “Jessica…” Eli took his drink, led her to a more secluded area. “I can’t get involved in this.”

  “How are you not already involved?”

  “I mean I can’t be responsible for bailing her out. That’s the kind of information that makes the papers. And if the national media starts paying attention to this again… Remember when I told you that I got into some trouble up in New York?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With some serious customers… people who seem to think I owe them money.”

  Jessica crossed her arms. “How much?”

  “Enough that they haven’t stopped looking for me.”

  “Fine, then give me the money. I’ll bail her out.”

  “And where exactly did you get ten grand from, Jessica? That’s what they’re going to ask.”

  “And I’ll tell them it’s none of their damn business.”

  Eli sighed. Hung his head, thinking.

  Without another word, he returned to the table and threw on his jacket. The abrupt departure didn’t win him any friends. Jessica watched him make with the sweet talk, profuse apologies as he counted out his chips. Her eyes went to Eli’s drink. The scotch glowed with sandy temptations.

  Eli returned, still playing politics with the host. “It’s not like I’m afraid of losing what I’ve won, Bob.”

  “That’s what it looks like to them,” Bob said, circling behind the bar. He ducked down and popped back up with a heavy gauge, steel cashbox. “These guys don’t mind losing every now and then. But they came to play cards, not get mugged.”

  “I swear, I will be back tomorrow, and the next night and the next –”

  “Cashing out three fifty-five!” Bob announced.

  “ – You tell old red over there –”

  “Charlie.”

  “You tell Charlie he’ll get his shot at me.”

  “Well, he lives here,” Bob said, handing Eli a stack of twenties. “So as they say in the movies, any time, buddy.”

  Eli took the cash with another humble apology, practically bowing as he led Jessica out of the loft, and down a flight of concrete steps. They exited into a spacious brick courtyard with grassy trim that ran between the East and West buildings of the New Historic Verona Complex.

  “How’d you get here?” Eli asked.

  “Got dropped off. The cops impounded the Mustang.”

  “We’ll deal with the details later. Time being, let’s get Dinah bailed out.”

  Jessica checked her phone. Battery still dead, leaving her to guess the time. Erring on the cautious side, she figured Dinah would be out of jail and back home by eleven at the latest. She settled on eleven-thirty, just in case there were unforeseen difficulties lurking around the corner.

  Midnight, at the very latest.

  ***

  Jessica sat at the kitchen table of the cramped, two-bedroom house, as Eli lay flat on his stomach, shoulder deep in what appeared to be an empty air duct. This was the second spot to have come up empty. The first, a hollowed out hardback of The Count of Monte Cristo, lay gutted on the linoleum floor.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” Eli leaped to his feet. He grabbed hold of a chair and dragged it into the living room.

  Jessica tilted her head, watched through the doorway as Eli placed the chair below a motionless ceiling fan. He stepped up, reaching between the blades. Eyes closed, breath held as he felt his way around. Finally, he let out a shuddery sigh. With a feeble yank, he freed a taped envelope from its hiding place and stepped from the chair with a heavy thump.

  When he returned to the kitchen, his eyes were moist. Shoulders slumped, as though the player from a half hour ago had loaned his suit to a dispirited and broken twin. “Silver lining don’t much change the cloud, does it?”

  He tossed the envelope onto the table, and took a beer out of the fridge.

  Cracked it open and leaned back against the door.

  “So what’s that put you at?” Jessica asked.

  “Little over ten grand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Eli drank down half his beer, wiped his lips against his shoulder.

  “Any sign of forced entry?”

  Eli shook his head.

  “Doesn’t look like the place was exactly ransacked.”

  Eli nodded, sniffed.

  “Whose house is this Eli? Who’s this friend of yours?”

  “Eric Teasdale. Know him from New York. I crashed at his place for around a year.”

  “He know your hiding places, your little spots?”

  “All under the mattress back then.”

  “Is your friend smart?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does your friend have a brain?” Jessica clarified flatly. “Your hiding spots may work against a random crackhead who ain’t looking for your bankroll. But someone who knows you’ve got that kind of loot stashed around, all it would take is a little creativity and some educated guesses.”

  “Someone like you or your aunt?”

  Eli laid it down so casually, it didn’t immediately stick.

  Jessica couldn’t even entertain the possibility that he had actually gone there. “What?”

  “Nothing, just thinking out loud.”

  She’d heard right, all right. “Take me home.”

  Eli groaned, banged his head against the freezer door. “Jessica, I’m sorry –”

  “Take me home now.” She picked up the envelope and hurled it across the room. It bounced off his thigh, fell to the floor. “I’ll wait outside so you can find a new spot. Never know who might come looking, right?”

  “Jessica –”

  She made sure to slam the door on her way out.

  Chapter 34: Fight Club.

  Jessica emptied her book bag onto the floor of Eli’s car. The lights outside Camelot didn’t help, left her operating on pure touch. She began to rummage around through magazines, notebooks, spare shirts and miscellaneous bills.

  Eli pulled the parking break.

  Tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Maybe you left them back at the station.”

  Jessica ignored him. She ducked down, reaching beneath the seat. Fingers pierced by sharp, metal angles. She smacked Eli’s knee, implicitly ordering him to make room.

  He obediently shifted his legs.

  Jessica threw herself across the floor, keeping her abdominals tight against the plastic paneling. Searched along the driver’s side, tearing at the floor matt. Came up empty. She felt a tap on her shoulder. Twisted around, got a gnome’s view of Eli looking down at her. He pointed to the passenger’s side.

  Jessica struggled to her knees.

  The tip of her key ring was poking out from the crevice of her seat.

  With a disgusted sigh, she pulled them out, began stuffing her book bag.

  “You really never going to talk to me again?” Eli asked.

  Jessica zipped up, let the silence speak for itself.

  “I’m sorry if you think I implied…” Eli stopped. Tried a different approach. “It was a stupid thing to say.”

  “And yet you keep saying stupid things.”

  “Jessica –”

  His door flew open, seemingly of its own volition.

  Jessica watched with detached wonder as Eli was yanked, lifted from the car like an astronaut through an air lock. Sent rolling down the hill, limbs entangled with his shadowy assailant.

  Taking hold of her book bag, Jessica leapt from the car. Ran to the top of the incline and stared down.

  Eli and Malik were lodged against a cement parking block. Writhing in a bed of dried pine needles, each looking to get the upper hand. Fists swinging wildly, few punches finding their place.

  With a couple of clumsy grunts, they managed to split apa
rt.

  Got to their feet and began swinging.

  Hurling a hundred obscenities for every roundhouse and haymaker.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” she yelled.

  They froze, breathing heavily, each in their own uniquely inept fighter’s stance. Only a few pathetic scrapes and cuts to show for their brazen display.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Malik cried out, squinting without the aid of his glasses. “I been sitting at the pool hall for two hours, like a goddamn fool, waiting for you!”

  On any other night, he might have had a point. “Well, you’re handling it real well.”

  “What do you expect? You tell me you’re going to meet me at eight, and now I find you blowing this white motherfucker in his car –”

  “Excuse me? Get your prescription updated, you idiot! And while you’re at it, stay the fuck out of my business!”

  “All I have done is try to make it up to you –”

  “Stop trying, Malik. To do anything.”

  Eli wiped his mouth. “Give the kid a break, Jessica.”

  It was more honor than Malik was ready to handle. “When I need your help, I’ll whistle for you, bitch.”

  “Bitch?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Hey!” Before the bell could sound, Jessica laid it all out. “Please, go ahead. Dinah’s in jail and here you two go wilin’ out like a couple of goddamn punks! You can beat each other’s brains out for all I care!

  Malik burped out a confused Huh?

  Jessica replied with a similar, sarcastic grunt. “Like either of you really care.”

  She shouldered her book bag and marched into the back stairwell.

  Jessica stomped to her room, forcing her footsteps to make up for the empty apartment. She violently shook out the contents of her bag onto the floor. Looking to reorganize. Fending off the day’s calamities in a bout of obsessive compulsiveness.

  She threw her shirts into the laundry basket. Tossed the red notebook onto her desk. Stuffed the electric and cable bills into her filing cabinet. Grabbing hold of the periodicals, she marched into the bathroom. Set them down with the rest of the magazines.

  Noticed that one of these things was not like the others.

  Poking out between the stack was a copy of Player, one of Eli’s many gambling publications. Jessica figured she must have scooped it off the floor of his car. All set to toss it, when she caught sight of a book mark filed halfway towards the back.