by Seth Harwood
“You got through, though. That’s what’s important. Those battles have been fought. The newspapers fucked you, and now you’re here. The question is, how you going to move on?”
Jack sits back. “You really have turned into a little Buddha! You fuck.”
He nods. “It’s true, as they say. Sometimes life imitates itself or gives some indication of where you’re going. I met Yuko when I got into Zen, and we moved up here.” He waves his hand dismissively across the table. “Fuck LA.!”
“Fuck LA.” Jack holds up his bowl of cereal to toast to that—it’s all milk now—and drains it off with one swallow. “I was at Ralph’s house the other day, the day he got killed. I found him.” Jack shakes his head, pushing away the image. “I saw a pad by his phone with both of our names on it, yours just above mine. It was crossed out. Any idea why?”
Buddha shakes his head. “He called me about helping him out with some drug deal and I turned him down. Let me guess: He came and asked you next?”
Jack nods. “That’s how I got into all this: I guess I was a second option.”
Buddha laughs, his small compact frame bouncing from the middle as he lets out the sounds. “Figures. Then he’d tell you to come find me and we’d talk about it. That sounds like Ralph.”
“I was trying to help him, you know? He seemed like he could use it. And I can use the money. But things got weird. The deal went sour. What can I say?”
Buddha nods; he stands up and leads Jack into a room off the kitchen that, sure enough, has a few meditation pillows set up around a low table and incense burning in a burner on the wall.
“Come on,” he says, walking in ahead of Jack and sitting down on one of the small pillows. “Let’s sit zazen for a little.”
When they’ve both been on the cushions for a couple of minutes, Buddha starts to laugh. “What the fuck, Jack. Welcome over here. It’s good to see you.” He jumps off his cushion and slaps Jack on the knee. “We were pretty worried about you for a little while.” Then he tackles Jack off of his cushion, knocking him back onto the floor. Jack laughs, pushes the smaller man off him like he was doing a bench press. Buddha rolls over and sits up.
“You’re lucky you guys got these soft pads down, little man.”
Buddha laughs, climbs back onto one of the pillows, and tucks his feet into the lotus position. “So let’s talk, Jack. You’re back now, out from your self-imposed exile at your house in Sausalito.”
“I’m out, man. I’m riding this crazy thing that Ralph got me started on, trying to make sure I’m safe when it’s all over, that I don’t end up dead. And you know what? This is better than living in the hills by myself. This kind of feels like acting again. It’s a rush.”
Buddha holds up one finger like he’s a less-wrinkled Yoda. “But you don’t want to get hooked on that rush, Jack. This time you have to remember: Be careful. It’ll get you hurt. This is real shit here.”
“No, man,” Jack says. “It’s not like that. I’m still clean off drugs and alcohol, and it’s just—I don’t know, it just feels like this takes me back to living again, like I’m acting, having fun that I haven’t had in a while.”
“I hear you.” Buddha slaps Jack’s knee. “That’s why we were getting worried about you up there. No news is bad news, you know?”
Jack nods. “But now I need you. I need to find out what happened to Ralph: who shot him, who he was dealing with.”
Buddha closes his eyes, furrows his brow. He brings his hands together over his chest in a prayer position. “You’ll figure it out and do what you have to. I can see that in your future. But you must beware of…” He opens his eyes. “What do I know. I’m just a little bald guy who has a bunch of pillows.” He folds his hands on his stomach and laughs.
“You’re fucked, little man,” Jack says. “I got a message from Ralph, from before he got killed, saying that if I got confused I should come to you. So I’m here. Unconfuse me.”
Buddha nods. “So you are. And I should tell you about Ralph: that he was into coke for a while, and then started dealing. He’d go around to a couple of clubs where he had deals with the owners. He basically sold for them, would try to find high rollers who wanted a supply of good product. He’d occasionally find some guys who wanted to make a big score. That’s where these boys come in. They showed up as Ralph’s dream clients. He thought this would be the last deal he’d ever need.”
“You got that right,” Jack says. “That’s exactly what he told me.”
“Problem is, sometimes Ralph got ahead of himself. And being Ralph, he got to pissing people off. He’d get pushed out of one club, thrown out of another. My guess is somewhere along the way, he pissed off too many people.”
“So who was his supply?”
“Some guy,” Buddha says. “I don’t know much about him. He lives up in North Beach or Pacific Heights. Some kind of name like a body of water. Something like Marsh. Julius or Junius.”
“Yeah,” Jack says. “That’s the name the Czechs used. Who Ralph told them: Junius.”
“Okay, yeah.” Buddha starts nodding. “Last name is Lake or something like that.” He snaps his fingers. “Ponds. Fucking Junius Ponds.”
“Junius Ponds.”
“Yeah. That’s it. He was Ralph’s guy. Bald, pretty serious. I only met him once, but he’s hard-core. Junius Ponds.”
“If I need to get a deal done for Ralph, he’s the guy?”
“He’s definitely the guy. Wouldn’t want you to go anywhere else.”
“Is he Russian?”
“Shit.” Buddha shakes his head. “Big black guy. Earring in both ears, likes to wear nice suits. That kind of tough.”
“Junius Ponds,” Jack says, nodding, starting to wonder what Ralph was thinking when he went to Castroneves. “Would this guy kill Ralph?”
“That I have no idea. I mean, we both know Ralph was mostly an asshole, but who’d want to kill him? That one I can’t answer.”
Jack gets himself onto one of the pillows, doesn’t bother trying to tuck in his feet. “You know a Colombian named Alex Castroneves?”
Buddha shakes his head. “Nope. Who’s that?”
“How about Tony Vitelli?”
“No. Not personally. I’ve read about his clubs in the papers, but never met the man. From what I’ve heard, though, he’s getting to be big time in this town, starting to run some serious shit south of Market.”
“He’s the owner of The Coast, this place Ralph got pushed out of, from what I can gather.”
Yuko pokes her head into the room through a door off the hallway. “John, you know we have our yoga class soon.”
“I know, babe. We’ll get there. Just visiting with an old friend from the movie days.”
Yuko comes all the way into the room. “Was John good in those days? Or did he run around like crazy?”
Jack has to laugh: Buddha got his name for his big belly and the fact that he always seemed calm, even in a room filled with strippers and people partying all around him, with all the drugs they could get their hands on. He never got too bent, no matter what kind of partying he did.
Jack shakes his head. “Not this guy. He was a strong, upstanding citizen.”
Yuko laughs. “In L.A.? I know what that means.” She looks at Buddha and tilts her head. “But I still love him. He was a good producer and made some good pictures. Now that’s over.” She pats the top of his head. “Fifteen minutes, okay?”
Buddha nods. He takes her hand from his head and kisses it. “We’ll be done in a bit, hon.”
She leaves the two of them alone.
“She’s all right,” Buddha says. “Marriage has been good to me.”
“Mine was one of the worst things I’ve ever done.”
“Victoria was difficult, to say the least. She’d been through it when you met her, and she had a ways to go to get out. She took you through some hard times.”
“What about now?” Jack asks. “How’s she doing in L.A.?”
“
Like I said, Jack, fuck L.A. I haven’t heard anything from down there.” Then he smiles. “Time to move on, Jack. You’ll do better the next time.”
“Next time?” Jack works his way up to standing. From a cushion on the floor, it’s not that easy.
“Here’s the thing about Ralph: We both know he was going to get himself into the shit. I don’t know how he got things fucked up so far he got popped, but he did. Now you should be careful. We’ve only got a few of the old crew around, and I don’t want to lose any others. Okay?” Buddha reaches out his hand, and Jack takes it.
“I’ll be all right.” Jack points at Buddha’s chest. “We’ll see each other again. Just answer one more question: If Ralph went to another dealer, say this guy Castroneves, a Colombian, would that get Junius pissed off enough to kill him?”
Buddha frowns. “A Colombian?” he says in a thick accent. “I fucking hate Colombians, man.” He gives Jack a hard, tough look, holds it. “Who do I trust? Who do I trust? Me, that’s who!”
Jack looks around and sees Yuko’s still gone. “What’s that?”
“That’s Tony Montana, Jack. Scarface.”
Jack shrugs. “Okay.”
Buddha slaps him on the thigh. “Sorry. Movie moment. Would Junius want to pop Ralphie? That I don’t know.”
“What do you think?”
He turns his hands up, places one on each knee. “That sounds like something that could happen, but who’s to say, really. Junius would be a better one to tell you. Why don’t you go ask him?”
“Just ask him?”
“You’re ready to meet the man. Somebody has to find out what happened to Ralph.”
Buddha fakes a punch at Jack’s groin, laughs when Jack flinches back.
Jack laughs. Sometimes you have to give it up for the little man. “So where can I find Ponds?”
Buddha frowns like he’s thinking it over. “Well, I can tell you where I’ve seen him, which is in Japantown. Ralph said he spends a lot of time in SoMa, but he has a place in Japantown where he eats—it’s the only place he eats. My guess is that you go around dinnertime any night, he’s probably having dinner. You’ll find the place right across from the Peace Pagoda. Big round window on the front. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
Buddha holds up his hand, shakes his head. “If you see Junius, you’ll think he’s big. But he’s not that bad. He isn’t half the size of his bodyguard: a big guy named Freeman. Guy has a chest like the hood of a car.” Buddha holds both hands out to his sides. “He used to play for the Jets. Now he’s big. But they’ll talk to you.”
“Freeman Jones?” Jack says. “Jets lineman? Pro Bowl?”
“That’s the one. Give him my best.”
Jack tries Maxine’s cell and her house phone on the way to The Coast, but can’t get her on either one. He leaves a new message on her cell, apologizing, but doesn’t add a second at her apartment.
He’s sure letting the Czechs talk him into a repeat visit to The Coast isn’t right, that he should probably stay away for a while, but they’re probably already there. Part of him wants to see them try and take the place down piece by piece, see Tony Vitelli made to eat it.
And besides, it’ll be nice to see his old friends in the tight black shirts again, this time with some friends of his own watching his back. But he knows it’s the wrong move. Still, whatever it would take to stop it, Jack’s not making those moves.
When he pulls up outside, he sees the Czechs’ sedan, a Mercedes, and Vlade standing next to it with his arms folded. Jack pulls up in the spot next to theirs in the parking lot, lets the car idle.
“What’s happening?”
“They do not let us inside. They say the club closed to us now.”
“What?” Jack puts the car in park, shuts it down, and gets out. When his sneakers hit the ground, he feels good standing, like it’s the first time in a while that he’s been on solid ground; he’s ready to go in there and break heads. Niki gets out of the Mercedes, followed by Al and David. Jack can see the bulge in Niki’s jacket that covers his gun. Al already has his in his hand. This is ready to get serious, fast.
“Okay,” Jack says. “Hold up for a second. You trying to shoot his place up or are we going in talking?” For a second he hears his own version of Hopkins’ voice in his head, saying, “These are my mob guys, Jack. The warlords I was telling you about.”
Al waves his hand in front of him. “Fuck yes,” he says. “We get to them and then we go after the guys who shot Michal!”
Jack shakes his head. “Whoa,” he says. “Wait with the guns and we’ll talk this thing through a little. Let’s see if these are even the same two guys.”
Vlade puts his hand on Al’s shoulder. “Al,” he says. “Put the gun away.”
“But…” Al says.
Vlade shakes his head. Al puts the gun into his jacket and turns toward the door. “It does not matter, Jack Palms. They did this to you?” He looks Jack up and down, lingers on Jack’s face. “They did this, they need to pay. You are with us now.”
“Okay. But there are different guys who work here.”
Jack walks around the corner of the building, away from the parking lot and toward the front door, where the bouncers hang out. Two big guys have been here checking IDs the two other times Jack’s come. Now it’s no different. One of the guys is the one who recognized Jack the first time they all came, when they got into the VIP room that impressed the Czechs so much—the one where Maxine used to work. He has another tight black shirt on, the tight short Afro. Now the bouncer looks at Jack and stands up. The other guy, the one with the clipboard, puts it aside and stands, folding his arms. This guy has a wide mustache that touches both cheeks, the mark of a definite asshole. A third guy, smaller than the other two, maybe the talker of the group, runs back into the club.
“Can we help you?” asks the one who first recognized Jack, Afro. These guys don’t wear name tags, just tight-fitting black shirts and jeans. Both of them spend a lot of time in the gym, it’s clear, probably more than Jack.
Jack walks up to where the two bouncers stand, close enough that he has their full attention. “We’re here to see your boss.”
They shake their heads, almost in unison. Now it’s Mustache’s turn to talk: “You and your friends ain’t allowed inside The Coast no more.” He turns to the side and spits on the ground. “Anyway, he’s not even here.”
Jack touches the bandage on his face, the new one that Maxine put on this morning. Maybe it isn’t worth it, he thinks. Maybe Junius is the man to go see. “What about Junius?” he says. “You seen him?”
“Junius?” Afro looks confused. “Shit, man, he ain’t here. Motherfucker don’t come around here no more.”
“Fuck Junius,” Mustache says.
Jack takes a step back. What he wants to do is rush both of them, knock them down, and walk in over their bodies, find Tony Vitelli. With a glance at the Czechs, he sees that they want the same; Niki and the others look ready, waiting for something to happen so they can make a move. But Vlade stands in front of Al, holding him back.
Jack rocks back on his heels, thinking for a second. Here is where the indecision creeps in and he doesn’t know what to do, what separates him, as an actor who plays a role, from the others, the ones who do the acts. When it comes down to it, looking at the bouncers and rushing them seems like a leap across a bridge that he’s not willing to take. Sure, he got violent with the Colombian’s guy, Juan José, but where did that get him? He’s not even sure where it came from. Uncertainty grips Jack, gets him second-guessing whether coming to The Coast was the right move. He folds his arms.
Now the little guy comes back out and he’s got another bouncer with him: the white guy from Jack’s last visit and untimely departure, one of the guys who Jack remembers looking up at from the floor. This guy touches the side of his face where Jack has the bandage. “What happened to your face, bro?” he asks, all surfer accent, raising his chin at Jack.
Now Jack really doesn’t like where this is all going, but he likes the numbers a whole lot better than the last time he was here. But with Al on the warpath, Vlade holding him back, Niki looking like he could bite a nail in half, and David still looking drunk, Jack doesn’t like the prospect of the immediate violence. Also, if Tony Vitelli’s not even here, what’s the point? He raises his hands. “We don’t want any trouble here, guys. We’re just looking for Tony, is all. Just want to ask him a few questions about our friend.”
Now the little guy, the Talker, comes forward. “Mr. Vitelli doesn’t want to see you today.”
“Oh?” Jack says.
“No. He told me that you were not allowed in here anymore.”
Afro steps forward; unfolding his arms, he reaches out to Jack. “I did like your movie, though, man. You have to understand. This is business here.”
“But we’re still not allowed inside The Coast?”
“Huh-unh.” He shakes his head. “You don’t come in no more. And Tony don’t come in Saturdays because he be at the other club.”
David and Niki are looking at Jack like they don’t know where this is going, why he’s talking so much. But now that Jack knows Tony’s not here, he wants to leave; there’s nothing else in it for them. Vlade tilts his head toward the cars. “Maybe we go,” he says.
Jack steps forward toward the bouncers. Maybe he can buy the Czechs and himself some insurance for the next time. “Guys,” he says. “Part of why I came down here today is that I just finished talking with Joe Buddha. You guys know him?”
Afro nods; the other bouncers look uncertain, and then nod just slightly.
“He’s the Hollywood producer who made Shake ’Em Down. We were talking about a new movie, a sequel, and he’s pitching me a script.” Jack shrugs. “I think I like it, and Joe’s excited about the project. But he wants to make it up here in San Francisco. He’s just asking me if I know any local talent with muscle.” Jack shrugs again. “But I told him I don’t know.” He turns to look at the Czechs as if sizing them up for the parts. Then he turns back to the club.
