Ronzoni took a long drink of his water. Maybe he was really thirsty or maybe he was buying time while he tried to think of something to say.
“I appreciate it,” he finally said. “You flout the law too much, Jones, but you’re okay.”
“Are you two becoming friends now?” asked Ron, with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s not go too far,” I said.
Ronzoni finished his water and put the glass back on the bar. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said to Muriel. “And thank you, Jones. But I remind you, come onto my island and break the law, don’t think I won’t bust you.”
And with a definitive nod, he was gone.
“Now that’s more like it,” I said.
Muriel poured Ron another beer and refreshed my tonic.
“This will be it for me,” I said. “I got stuff to do.”
“Um, guys,” said Muriel. “Is that a friend of yours?”
She nodded to the gate that led out to the parking lot. There, standing half hidden, face poking around like a spy, was a girl wearing a very unsure expression, as if she had wandered into the bad side of town wearing Cartier.
“Keisha?” I asked.
She frowned but didn’t move.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Come on in.”
She glanced around the courtyard, at the umbrellas and the empty tables and the surfboard with the bite taken out of it on the back wall, and then, as if moving through a minefield, she tiptoed toward the bar.
“You okay?” I asked.
She shrugged and gave Ron a look. He smiled and nodded, which worked with most people but did little to set Keisha at ease.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No.”
“Okay. Why don’t you grab a stool?”
“I’m okay.”
“All right. So what brings you to Longboard Kelly’s?”
“Where?”
“Here, what brings you here?”
“Um, I don’t know. I don’t know why I came.”
“You went to my office. That was you, right? And now you’ve tracked me down here, so I’m thinking it’s something reasonably important. Is it L’nita?”
“L’nita?”
I shrugged.
“Is she going to go to jail?” she asked.
“Jail? Over Camille’s windshield, you mean? No, she won’t go to jail.”
“She’s not a bad person.”
“She’s not a great one, either.”
Now it was Keisha’s turn to shrug.
“Keisha, do you see these people here?” I nodded toward the bar, and Keisha looked at Ron, still smiling, Muriel, who smiled and nodded, and Mick, who was replacing batteries in a television remote and paid her no attention at all.
“Do you know why I hang out here?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Because of these people. Because these are some of the best people a guy could ever meet. Them and my fiancée and my mentor, who is now just with me in spirit. They are good people, and being with them makes me a better person. We are all the sum of the people we associate with, Keisha, and I am better because of these folks. But I wonder, can you say the same thing?”
“She’s my friend,” Keisha said. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself.
“I know that’s how it feels,” I said. “But think about the difference between someone who has just always been around, and someone who is there for you. Someone who is good for you. Someone who gives rather than takes.”
She shook her head and mumbled, “I don’t know.”
“I understand,” I said. “So tell me, why did you come here?”
“I’m not sure now.”
“I think you are sure, but you’ve been told to keep quiet for so long, you’ve forgotten how to use your own voice. I know you don’t have a car, so you caught the bus down to my office, and then you caught it back up here, to a place you don’t know and have never been. That tells me you know your reason, even if it scares you to speak it. But you can speak it here. If you’re worried about sounding foolish, just remember that when you leave here you never have to see any of us again, if that’s how you want it to be. So fire away. Tell me why you’re here.”
She spoke to her feet. “I want better.”
“Better what?” I asked.
“A better life.”
“What does that look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“What doesn’t it look like?”
“It’s not hanging around all day, every day, doing nothing, hating on everything.”
I nodded.
“It’s not having to live with my mom and dad because I can’t afford to move out. I want to do something more.”
“What do you want to do?”
She shook her head again. “It’s silly.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s not important.”
“It is if it’s important to you. What anyone else thinks—me or L’nita or anyone else—that’s not important.”
“I don’t want to be president or anything. My dreams are too small. I don’t want to change the world.”
“Hey, my dream when I was your age was to play baseball, and let me tell you, that’s just a game. It’s supposed to be a bit of fun, not world-changing. Yet millions of people around the country get enjoyment out of that game. They love it as much as I do. So in my small way, I did change the world. I’m never gonna be president, either. Who’d want that job, anyway? Don’t worry about that. You do you. Change the world small, like I did. So tell me, how will you do that?”
For the first time, she lifted her head and looked at me. There was fear in her eyes. I didn’t know if it was fear of being laughed at, or fear of articulating her ambition, or fear of failure, or even fear of success.
“I told you I wanted to go to beauty school.”
“You did.”
“And you said if I needed help, I should ask you.”
“I did. So?”
“So, I need help.”
I nodded and gave her a half smile. I could feel the air thin out, the weight of everything on Keisha’s shoulders lift just that little bit, all for saying those three words. Three of the hardest words to say. And suddenly, I knew what Detective Ronzoni was doing with his time. He was like me. I had needed help for most of my life, but I had never had to ask for it. When I was a kid, my parents were there, and after that, my high school mentor, Coach Dunbar, was there. And after him I had college coaches and pro coaches, and some of them were just trying to get their pound of flesh for the organization, but others saw what I needed before I even knew, and were there to offer it. And then, after baseball, there was Lenny, who taught me true north, and then there was Danielle, who kept me pointed at it.
As I sat there looking at Keisha, I realized that all that had been dumb luck. My success, to whatever extent I had it, was based on the kindness of others as much as my own hard work. It wasn’t a question of money or where I grew up. The difference had been that I had lucked upon people willing to give me a helping hand, to lift me onto their shoulders and show me what opportunity looked like, if I was willing to work hard enough to take it.
Keisha had to ask the question that I never had to ask, because sadly, no one had ever appeared to offer her that assistance, that reassurance, that belief. The L’nitas of the world had told her she was not good enough for more, and only the rarest of humans can defeat that message if it is the only sound they ever hear.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“That’s what I don’t know.”
“What do you want?”
She shrugged. “To be a hairstylist. I told you, it’s dumb.”
“You think it’s dumb? Let me ask you this, then: Do you see the people who come into the salon where you work?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you see them leave?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think they feel better about themselves when t
hey come in or when they leave?”
“When they leave.”
“Why?”
“Because they look fine. And because sometimes they get to talk about stuff they maybe can’t tell anyone else.”
“Right on. So they get some therapy and a new look, and they feel good about themselves.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think in some little way, it changes their world, even for a day?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
“Not so dumb then.”
She nodded. “No, I guess not.”
“So what do you need?”
“To go to school?”
“And how do you do that?”
“You apply.”
“Have you done that?”
“No. There’s no point.”
“You’re thinking about all the reasons it can’t work. Try thinking about the ways it can,” I said, Penny Morgan’s words ringing in my ears.
“It can’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t got the money.”
“What’s the tuition?”
“It’s five thousand.”
“So what you need is a student loan.”
“Nobody gonna give me a student loan.”
“I will.”
Now she frowned. I could see the cogs ticking over, trying to figure out what my angle was, what I wanted from her.
“Why?” she said.
“Because once upon a time, someone who didn’t have to helped me out, right when I needed it. So now, I’m going to do the same for you. But there are conditions.”
She nodded, like she figured there would be, like there always were.
“Like what?”
“First is, you gotta do the work. Study harder than anyone else, stay longer each day, do more.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how you become better. And it’s non-negotiable.”
“Okay.”
“Second, it’s a loan, got it? You’re gonna pay me back. There’s no interest, and no set time limit. But this ain’t a free ride. When you start getting paid as a stylist, you start paying me back, even if it’s a buck here and there.”
“Okay.”
“Third, you start hanging out with winners.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you get off the streets and out of the malls and hang out with people who are already where you want to be. Go to your salon and tell them you’re in school and you want to start working as a stylist as soon as you graduate. If they say no, if they laugh you down, you walk down the street and find the next salon and tell them the same thing. And you keep going until someone gets how serious you are.”
“What if nobody does?”
“If you take yourself seriously, someone else will. Get in early, stay late. Learn every trick, every technique. People will notice. People will believe as long as you do.”
She nodded again but the frown didn’t leave her face.
“I got the application forms here,” she said. “I don’t get some of it.”
“Well, don’t look at me. I don’t do paperwork. But tomorrow, or whenever you’re not working next, go back down to my office. Talk to the lady there you met today. Her name is Lizzy. She’ll be expecting you. She’ll help you. Paperwork is her thing.”
Keisha nodded again.
“You got it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“All right then. I got somewhere to be. You go see Lizzy, she’ll sort you out with the forms and the fees and all that.”
I slipped off my stool.
“You need a ride somewhere?” I asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“I’m happy to drop you off.”
“No,” she said, and for a moment her shoulders went back and her chin lifted up. “I’m good.”
She nodded again at no one in particular and then turned and walked out of the courtyard without looking back.
“She might have said thank you,” said Muriel.
“Hard to be thankful when you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you,” I said. “I wasn’t thankful, either, not at the time. She’ll get there.”
“You never fail to surprise, Miami Jones,” said Muriel.
“It’s a twisty old road we’re on, that’s for sure,” I replied. “And now, I must bid you farewell, kids. I’ve really gotta see a man about a dog.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I arrived in Miami as the sun was heading down, and the palm trees threw long shadows across Bayshore Drive as I cut through Coral Gables. I turned onto Fair Isle Street and slowly rolled across the causeway to Grove Isle. The irony—or perhaps the hypocrisy—of it was not lost as I slowed at the large gatehouse and gave my name and purpose for being there to the guard. He checked me off with a level of professionalism that had been missing in Crescent Lakes, and then I was given permission to enter the island.
Like much of South Florida, Grove Isle was the result of property speculation. When the many inlets and canals had been carved and dredged into the coast around Coconut Grove, the unwanted soil had been deposited into Biscayne Bay and eventually resulted in the creation of a new fake island. No such lump of land must go undeveloped in Miami, so developers had swooped onto the landmass and named it Fair Isle, a name that still stuck with the road that led onto the island but not with the island itself.
Grove Isle, as it was now known, was a gated community surrounded by water, with three apartment towers overlooking the bay on one side, and sun-bleached tennis courts and a marina on the other.
I parked near the south-most tower and wandered through the bright lobby. The elevator whisked me up to the penthouse level, where I found the apartment. I knocked and Penny Morgan answered.
“Miami, come on in, we were just enjoying the view.”
“We?”
I could have been struck by the sunset view overlooking Coconut Grove and the University of Miami in the distance, or by the marina below us, or even the spacious living room and stainless steel kitchen. But I wasn’t. What I saw was Danielle, leaning against the balustrade out on the balcony. She was in her cop gear—dark pants and collared shirt with a jacket over top. Although she was silhouetted by the sunset I could see the glow of the champagne flute she held in her hand.
“Let me pour you something,” Penny said, and she pulled a bottle from an ice bucket on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether she had a fridge in her car or a pre-arrival team who stocked places with drinks and nibbles, but I left her to do her thing and wandered through the staged living room and out onto the balcony.
“You know I’m never against bubbles at sunset,” Danielle said, giving me a kiss. “But what exactly is going on here?”
“I’m not 100 percent sure.”
“You’re not?”
“Ninety, but not a hundred.”
Penny stepped onto the balcony and handed me a flute.
“Congratulations,” she said, clinking our glasses. Danielle and I exchanged glances.
“Congratulations on what, exactly?” I asked.
“On your new home, of course.”
Danielle glanced at me and then at Penny. “What are you talking about, Penny?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
They both looked at me like I had been keeping state secrets.
“Didn’t tell her what?” I said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t recall our chat at The Breakers? About Danielle living in more appropriate accommodations?”
“That I remember, but you said something about an investment property you had.”
“Exactly,” said Penny, waving her hands at the balcony.
I nearly spat champagne. “You mean this place?”
“What did you think I meant?”
“I don’t know, but I wasn’t thinking Grove Isle. It’s a little above our price point.”
“No, it�
��s not.”
“Can someone please clue me in on what you’re talking about?” Danielle had her hands on her hips. I was fully aware there was a gun somewhere under that jacket.
“You, darling,” said Penny. “Both of you, in fact. I didn’t realize that you were planning on living in that little studio. It’s perfectly fine for a student—I would have killed for such a place in my day—but it’s not at all suitable for a young couple about to be married.”
“Young couple?” I said. “We’re the same age as you.”
“Exactly,” said Penny, with a look that said I should shut up now. “So, as I told Miami, I got a good deal on this place. It’s waterfront but not ocean-facing, which is where the real money is, but a good deal is a good deal. So I need to rent it. I’ll give you a good market rate, don’t worry. Your other rents will cover it. And I’m not just doing you a favor, okay? As you can see, this place is dated. The kitchen is functional, but eighties horrible. The bathrooms are the same. I need a tenant who is happy with a minimal rent while nothing is happening, but who will put up with a bit of reno from time to time. And whenever the reno is being done, it will be rent-free, just not hassle-free.”
“You’re suggesting I move in here?” said Danielle, her jaw dropping open.
“Not just you. The both of you. You rent out the other places and stay here for as long as you’re working in Miami.”
“But MJ works on the Palm Beaches.”
“Does he? I told him, and I’ll tell you. I can help you with the living situation. The rest you’re going to have to work out yourselves. But it seems to me that Miami can work wherever he wants to take a case, and he’s down here reasonably often already. I say just make it more often, but that’s not up to me.”
Danielle looked at me and I looked at her.
“But Singer Island is our home,” I said, not too convincingly.
“I suspect home is wherever you two are together, but I’m no expert on it. You can rent out the Singer Island place. Get a U-Haul, and you can be in here this weekend, and my team can have your other places on the market midweek.”
Danielle finished her champagne in one long pull, and then pointed the glass at Penny.
Half Court Press Page 26
