Port City Shakedown

by Boyle, Gerry

  “Sounds reasonable,” Lucky said. “Good boat?”

  “Immaculate. Comfortable. Easy to handle. Come over, check it out.”

  “So this sailboat,” Irina said. “Can we see it?”

  “Sure,” Brandon said. “Royal Point. Across the harbor.”

  He turned and pointed.

  “We’ll come,” Irina said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “This is great,” Lucky said. “It’s sad and it’s difficult, but I think maybe it was meant to be. I mean, what are the chances after all these years? That we would meet. I really think some things are predestined, don’t you?”

  Irina smiled first.

  CHAPTER 19

  Kelvin watched as Brandon and Mia left the hotel, crossed Commercial and headed up Milk Street to their car. As they moved up the block, Brandon took Mia’s hand.

  “College boy gonna get it on,” Kelvin said, and he turned back to the window, peered into the lobby.

  “Yeah, they were with this short dude and this wicked hot babe,” he said into his phone. “Something out of a freakin’ James Bond movie. . . . You see ’em now? I didn’t know he was screwing her. . . . Uh-huh. . . . Money? I guess. High class, all mirrors and shit. . . . No, I’m looking for ’em now. . . . Must be staying here. Maybe their yacht’s in fucking drydock or something. . . . They was here a second ago. Hang on.”

  Kelvin went through the revolving doors, walked through the lobby toward the elevators. The concierge watched from behind his lectern, ready to move if Kelvin got in an elevator, but Kelvin just turned around slowly like he was looking for someone, then started back for the doors the way he had come.

  From behind a tall plant, Lucky and Irina watched.

  “He was watching them,” she said.

  “What the hell would he want?” Lucky said.

  “I don’t know, but I get nervous when I have men in bad clothes following me,” Irina said. “It’s my upbringing. In Riga they watch the bank machines now. Lookouts call back to say who’s coming with a wallet full of cash. Knock them off.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t have police,” Lucky said.

  “It’s Latvia,” she said. “The robbers are the police.”

  “That’s why your whole goddamn country wants to come here, Irina. Most of our cops aren’t criminals.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said softly, still watching the big man as he crossed the sidewalk to the street. “And the streets are paved with gold.”

  They headed along the waterfront toward the bridge, Mia sitting in the middle of the truck seat, pretty legs crossed, her hand on Brandon’s shoulder.

  “What do you think of him?” Brandon said.

  “Nice enough, I guess. He seems like he was fond of your mom.”

  “What do you think of him running away?”

  “I don’t know,” Mia said. “What would he have been able to say if he’d stayed? They were gone. Lucky talking about them wasn’t going to bring them back.”

  “I know. I can see wanting to avoid the whole thing. The questions. The reporters.”

  “The families,” Mia said. “I can see not wanting to have to be with all those families.”

  They were quiet. To their left were the jumbled wharves where big fishing boats put in: stocky draggers, tugs that moved the tankers and barges in and out. Mia looked over, saw the yachts in the basin on the far side of the harbor.

  “All his friends killed,” Brandon said. “I can see why he’d go as far from the water as he could get.”

  They were circling up onto the bridge, and Brandon looked out onto the bay. He pictured their boat leaving, people watching from the dock as it grew smaller and finally disappeared into the haze.

  “Survivor’s guilt,” Brandon said. “Soldiers have it. People who survive plane crashes. But I thought he was alright. Trying hard, but it was awkward, the way we found them.”

  “I don’t quite get her,” Mia said. “They don’t seem to go together.”

  “She seemed like she should be running something. A big business.”

  “Those were eight-hundred-dollar shoes.”

  “Won’t be wearing those on the boat,” Brandon said.

  “She just doesn’t seem like the boat type. Maybe lying around in a bikini on the deck in the Bahamas.”

  “Won’t be doing that on this trip.”

  “It’s cold,” Mia said, “and there’s nothing but woods and rocks and no casinos or dancing or shopping.”

  “Maybe they’ll just anchor and—“

  Brandon caught himself, but it was too late. Mia smiled.

  “Go down in the cabin and screw?” she said.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You know what?” Mia said. “I didn’t feel any of that, either. That chemistry.”

  “She was very good looking,” Brandon said.

  “It was all for show. She didn’t feel anything for him.”

  “You could tell that?”

  “Women can sense that sort of thing,” Mia said. “It was like they worked together, this is a business trip.”

  “She took his hand once at the table.”

  “Not like she meant it.”

  She let her hand fall from his shoulder as they came off the bridge. It rested on his thigh and he took his hand off the steering wheel and took hers. She squeezed.

  “Do you mean it?” Brandon said.

  “Yeah,” Mia said. “I do.”

  They circled through the car dealers and strip malls, out onto the coast road. The houses thinned and soon they were winding along, woods on the left, an occasional driveway threading through the trees. Brandon slowed the truck, turned in between two granite posts, rusty chain hanging from one. The driveway was gravel and Brandon went left and right around the deeper ruts, and then the trees gave way to a clearing with a stone cottage tucked off to the left. The house faced an overgrown field, a band of brush separating it from the shoreline, beyond which was the bay.

  Mia took it in. The field that perhaps once had been lawn. The grass mown close to the house, the gardens a mix of perennials and wildflowers. The garage door was open and an old red Volvo was parked inside, one taillight broken.

  Brandon parked behind the Volvo. He led the way into the garage, past a line of wine bottles, liter-size jugs that had held grocery-store Chardonnay. Brandon paused at the inside door, said, “There’s something you should know about my grandmother.”

  Mia put her hand on his arm and said, “It’s okay.”

  He opened the door and went inside and Mia followed. They were in the kitchen, dark wood and avocado refrigerator and stove, glass jars that held coffee, sugar and flour. Mia smelled cigarettes, saw another wine bottle on the counter, dirty glasses in the sink, a loaf of dark bread, the bag half open. Brandon picked it up, twisted the bag closed, and put the bread in the cupboard. He whisked the glasses into the dishwasher, wet a cloth and ran it over the counter and the butcher-block table.

  I get it now, Mia thought. The child of an alcoholic.

  From another room, Mia heard the radio. It was opera, the Sunday afternoon broadcast from the Met. Brandon called, “Nessa. We’ve got company.”

  There was a clunk from deeper in the house, a thud, someone getting up. Mia heard a door close, and Brandon took her by the arm and led her down a hallway. It opened to a living room with big windows facing the ocean. There was a leather couch with the imprint of a body, like someone had been vaporized. On the side table was a wine glass, half full, and a cigarette burning in a glass ashtray.

  “Nessa?” Brandon said.

  There was a rustle behind them and Nessa appeared. She was slight and still faintly pretty, wearing black stirrup pants and a red sweater, gray hair tucked behind a black headband, black driving moccasins. Mia could tell that she’d just put on makeup, her lips reddened like her cheeks, less grandmother than faded movie star.

  Nessa smiled, stepped unsteadily toward Mia, and held out her hand.

  “This is M
ia,” Brandon said. “She’s a good friend of mine.”

  “Mia, dear, I’m Vanessa Blake,” Nessa said.

  Her voice had a deep smoker’s rasp, her eyes dark like Brandon’s, but unfocused. Mia smelled the sweet odor of wine, a whiff of perfume. It was almost eleven o’clock.

  “So good to meet you, Mrs. Blake,” she said, holding the small, cold hand. “You have a lovely home. What a beautiful view.”

  “Nessa, please. And yes, the ocean certainly is unavoidable here,” Nessa said, giving it a passing glance. “Have you had lunch?”

  “Thanks, but we’re all set,” Brandon said. “We just had coffee in town.”

  “Oh, you kids and your Starbucks,” Nessa said. “Let me just make some sandwiches, nothing fancy. You’ll have to forgive me, Mia. I haven’t had a chance to do groceries, I’ve been so busy with—”

  Brandon put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Nessa,” he said. “We just saw Lucky.”

  Her mouth fell open and Mia could see the line of salmon pink lip where the lipstick hadn’t covered. Nessa took a step back, then another, and Brandon eased her down onto the couch.

  “Lucky,” she said softly. “Are you sure? Like you said, it could have been someone else, it’s been so many years.”

  “Nessa,” Brandon said, leaning over her. “We had coffee. We talked to him.”

  Nessa didn’t look at either of them, just stared somewhere in between.

  “My God,” she said. “He is alive.”

  “He said he was never on the boat, Nessa,” Brandon said, sitting on the edge of the couch beside her. “He said he was late and they left without him. He tried to catch up, but they never made it to the next port.”

  “But,” Nessa said, her voice weak, the rasp nearly gone. “Where has he been? All these years. Where did he go?”

  “Out west,” Brandon said. “Santa Fe and Arizona. He said he had to get away from the ocean.”

  She looked at Brandon, leaned over for the wine glass on the table. She hurried it to her mouth and look a long swallow, then clutched the glass in both hands. Mia sat down on the edge of a chair.

  “Why is he back?” Nessa said.

  There was an edge of panic in her voice.

  “He’s with a woman. He’s showing her the Maine coast. They want to charter a boat.”

  “They’re staying?” Nessa said. “But I thought you said he had to get away from the ocean.”

  “I guess he got over that,” Mia said. “He’s been sailing in the Caribbean.”

  “What does he do now?” Nessa said. “Does he have a job?”

  “He said he made money in investments,” Brandon said. “He seems pretty well off.”

  “His friend is from Poland,” Mia said.

  “I think he really liked Nikki,” Brandon said. “He said she was so happy on the trip. He said she was—what was the word?”

  “Effervescent,” Mia said.

  “Mia’s a writer,” Brandon said.

  “What does he want?” Nessa said.

  “He said he’d like to come see you.”

  “No,” Nessa spat.

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  “Okay,” Brandon said. “I just thought, because he seemed to like her so much, that maybe you’d—”

  “No, it’s all over. You’re right. It was a long time ago and she’s gone and seeing him, it’s just . . . it’s just too much.”

  Another gulp of wine, the glass empty now, Nessa searching for the bottle, spotting it on the floor at the end of the couch. She leaned for it, started to fall, and Brandon caught her automatically, pulled her back up.

  “Why didn’t he call? Why all this time?” Nessa said, half to herself. “Oh, it just brings it all back, and we’re over it, we’ve locked it away, you know? Locked it away in a box.”

  She looked at Mia.

  “That’s what they say to do, dear. Do your grieving, then lock it away. Don’t keep getting it out and looking at it.”

  She reached for the wine again, caught the bottle this time, brought it up and filled her glass, a half-inch from the brim.

  “You sure I can’t get you anything? A glass of wine? A cup of—”

  “No, thank you,” Mia said.

  “I don’t usually have wine before lunch,” Nessa said, “but this is very upsetting.”

  Another quick sip. Brandon looked at her, this sad little woman, not over it at all. And he wondered, for the millionth time, why she couldn’t heal, why she couldn’t accept that she’d lost her daughter in an accident at sea.

  “So I’m glad you talked to him,” Nessa said. “If it helps you, that’s fine. But I just can’t. So he can take his goddamn boat and sail away, just like they did before. You know—”

  She paused. Another swallow, the rim of the glass pink from her lipstick, like blood had been spilled.

  “I went down to the dock and said goodbye. I did. And everything was fine. They were putting things on the boat. And Nikki was so happy, such a big smile. Oh, she had a beautiful smile. Just melted you. And do you remember? How she took you around the boat? You remember that, don’t you, Brandon?”

  “Sure, Nessa,” Brandon said, also for the millionth time. “I do.”

  “She showed you the cabins and let you hold the big wheel thing. You must remember that.”

  “Sure.”

  “She hugged us and she was going to be back soon, just a couple of weeks. It was no problem, it was a happy time. And they all seemed so fun, those fellows.”

  Nessa paused, the film playing on in her head. And then some imagined scene overcame her and she started to cry, heaving breaths from deep in her chest, wringing tears that ran down her cheeks like something squeezed from a sponge. She moaned, said, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, my beautiful baby. Oh, my God.”

  Brandon took her by her shoulder and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Mia got out of her chair and crouched in front of Nessa, put a hand on her knee, and rubbed. Nessa was sobbing, saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Mia said, “It’s okay, Mrs. Blake. It’s good to cry.”

  “After my husband died, Nikki was all I had. And when he was alive, he was never here, never home, always working. Used to say to him, ‘Don’t you even want to be here? Don’t you want to be with me?’”

  Mia was thinking, oh, what was it like to grow up with this.

  She said, “Oh, Mrs. Blake, I know. My dad, he’s in court, he’s flying to meetings, taking depositions. Never home. And then my mom, when he does come home, one time she said to me, ‘He’s like a stranger.’”

  Nessa focused, looking at Mia.

  “Oh, you sweet dear. So you understand. I know you do, She was everything and then I couldn’t lose her, too. So I—”

  She paused, catching herself, turning to Brandon. “So you’ll tell him? You’ll tell him I can’t see him?”

  “Sure, Nessa,” Brandon said. “I’ll tell him.”

  She took another drink of wine, and this time looked between them, beyond them, like she was staring into a portal into the past.

  “He was gone,” Nessa said. “He can’t just come back.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Kelvin and Crystal at dinner, Crystal badgering him about money, saying they couldn’t wait for the settlement because what if it didn’t come? Kelvin saying if he got a job the company would find out and that would be the end of it, after all he’d been through.

  She said it didn’t look to her like he’d been through much, and if he wasn’t working he could maybe come home and babysit Destinee instead of hanging out with that asshole Joel Fuller. And maybe she could get the hell out of the house sometime, and not just to go to work at the store, go to her mother’s to pick up the baby, come home and do laundry, make supper, pick up all the goddamn crap he left behind him everywhere he went.

  “I can’t take this,” Kelvin said, and he got up from the couch, where they were eating and watching T
V, pitched his burrito in the sink, took the last two cans of Bud out of the refrigerator, and slammed his way out.

  “So go,” Crystal shouted, the baby starting to cry, standing up with her fists clenched on the side of her playpen like she was in jail, screaming at the guards.

  “We don’t need you. You’re worthless. Worthless piece of shit!”

  Kelvin squealed the tires on the edge of the road, opened the beer as the car accelerated, swallowed a third of it, flipped open his phone, muttering “goddamn bitch,” as he punched in the number.

  Fuller answered, a crunching sound in the background.

  “Where are you?” Kelvin said.

  “The old lady’s house,” Fuller said. “Doing some recon.”

  “I’m coming into town.”

  “Take the hotel.”

  “They still there?”

  “Good chance. Went down to the harbor this afternoon, looked at some boats. Went back at four, I figure they hopped in the sack, about now they’ll be getting hungry. Or at least thirsty.”

  “If they come out, what you want me to do?”

  “Just sit on ’em, go where they go. I got a feel on this one. I mean, it takes one to know one, and everything about them says they’re working something.”

  “Watching me watch the college kid and the babe?”

  “And me watching them, reading their minds. Who is this guy? What’s he want? He gonna try to rip us off?”

  “What if they see me?”

  “That’s okay. We’ll let ’em sweat a little, see how they react. There’s a pot a gold here somewhere, I’m telling you.”

  “I ain’t going home,” Kelvin said.

  “Stay with me in the camper.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll have to park and walk. Crystal’s loaded for fucking bear.”

  “Something new and different. I’ll call you in an hour.”

  Kelvin rolled down Congress, put the Caprice in a pay lot, took the tag off another car and stuck it under his wiper. He walked down the hill, with the couples coming out of happy hours, lurching against each other, laughing about nothing. Opposite the hotel, he found a doorway, leaned and watched the revolving doors. He was watching this one couple, the guy in little flip flops, a pink shirt, tan shorts, the girl with him an ass to kill for. Wondering what the hell she saw in that dipshit, Kelvin spat, shook his head—and saw Blake’s buddies leaving the hotel.