Port City Shakedown

by Boyle, Gerry

  They started up the block, the woman in high heels, the guy holding her arm on the brick sidewalk. Kelvin waited for them to draw ahead, then started down the block after them. They paused at the corner, glanced back, and walked on.

  A right at the corner, Kelvin behind them. Down to Commercial, where they paused, looked around, crossed over, trotting to beat the traffic. They turned down one of the wharves, fancy restaurants down there with the fishing stuff, bars where rich kids went. At a place called Scrimshaw they paused, turned. The woman seemed mad about something, the guy giving it right back to her before they walked in.

  “Hey, if you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” Kelvin said to himself, walked up to the door, and stepped in.

  It was dark, bigger than it looked from the outside, tables to one side, bar at the other, tanks full of bright-colored fish, and a deck out the back. There were people knotted here and there, waitresses in jeans and little black tank tops moving through the crowd with trays of beers, glasses of wine. Kelvin slipped between them, found a seat at the bar next to where the waitresses picked up the drinks.

  He ordered a Bud, slapped a twenty on the bar as it came. The bartender, a guy who looked like some fashion model, was watching soccer on the TV. Figured, Kelvin thought. He turned and scooped up the bill. The beer was half gone before the guy brought back the change.

  “Thirsty, huh?” the kid said.

  You try living with her, Kelvin thought, and looked around. It took him a minute, but he spotted them, sitting at a table against the wall near where a door opened onto a deck. The deck looked out on the water, masts sticking up from boats below. The woman still looked unhappy, frowned as she sipped a glass of wine. The guy looked away from her, poured some fancy pussy beer into a glass.

  So everybody’s in the same boat, Kelvin thought. Rich guy with his supermodel ain’t getting any, either.

  He finished the Bud, nodded to the bartender for another. It came and Kelvin held the cool bottle in his hand, the beer inside him already calming him down. He’d just looked away for a minute, checking out a table full of women who looked like secretaries or something, when the guy walked by him and out the door.

  Kelvin turned. She still was there, staring into her glass. He could see a long leg in black pants, a high heel hooked around the rung of the stool. He looked back at the door.

  Nothing.

  He looked back at her, watched the door for five minutes, then another five. The woman finished her wine, tipping the glass back, and got up from the table, started across the room toward him. He figured she was going to follow numbnuts there, slug it out at the hotel.

  As she passed him, she stopped. Turned. Stepped up to the bar next to him and said softly, “You look familiar.”

  Kelvin turned and looked over at her, taking her in, trying to think what the hell to say to that. “Yeah?” he said.

  “We’ve met somewhere.”

  She looked at him closely, like there might be clues on his face. Kelvin smiled, amazed that this was happening, thinking only way back in his mind that this might be a problem, that he might look familiar because he’d been following her around.

  “I know you from someplace,” she said. “Buy me a Stolli on the rocks with a twist and come sit.”

  She walked back to the table by the wall, Kelvin looking after her, heart racing. He looked around like there might be a camera on him, some kind of joke. But nobody was paying him any attention, or her. He motioned to the fashion model, said Stolli on the rocks with a twist.

  “Lime or lemon?” the guy said.

  Kelvin guessed. “Lemon,” he said. “Two of ’em. Doubles.”

  The guy turned, hooked the bottle off the shelf. Kelvin looked over to see if she still was there, like she was a winning lottery ticket that he had to cash in quick. He dug in his pocket for another twenty, paid for the two drinks, in brimming cold glasses. Grabbing his change, he started walking over. Told himself not to seem too ready to jump her bones.

  But man oh, man, he thought. She’s gorgeous.

  Five inches taller than Crystal, half as wide. He put one drink down on the table in front of her and she looked up and smiled, dark deer eyes looking up at him. He pulled the chair out and sat.

  “What is with you Americans?” she said, smiling at him, her luscious mouth. “Budweiser and watery wine. Sometimes you need a real drink, don’t you think?”

  She held out her glass and they clinked and she said, “Salud.”

  “Here’s to ya,” Kelvin said. He sipped the vodka, felt it kick him all the way down, fought off the urge to cough. She sipped, never lost the smile.

  “So what’s your name?” she said.

  “Kelvin,” he said. “What’s yours?”

  “Angelika,” she said. “With a K.”

  “You’re not from around here,” Kelvin said.

  “No, I’m from Poland.”

  “Huh,” Kelvin said, not sure what to add, not having thought of Poland in a long time, maybe not ever. He strained to come up with something, finally he said, “They make sausages there, don’t they?”

  The smile flickered.

  “Oh, yes. Great sausage like you’ve never tasted. We like to eat in Poland. Eat and drink and talk. Those are the only three things to do in Poland. Well, there’s one more.” She winked.

  Whoa, Kelvin thought. He smiled back, looked across the room, took a big swallow of Stolli. No kick this time, just a warm glow. He looked back at her.

  “What do people do in the winter here, Kevin?”

  “It’s Kelvin. I don’t now. Ride snowmobiles. Ice fish a little.”

  “Don’t you get cold?”

  “You find ways to stay warm,” he said, holding up his glass.

  She turned, looked out at the crowd. He stole a glance at her, the full lips and high cheekbones, the hard sleekness above her breasts, the cleavage showing above some black lacy shirt underneath a jean jacket. He’d seen women like this, but only on television.

  “Where’d your friend go?” he said.

  “My friend,” she said. She gave a little snort. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Your husband?”

  “God, no. He’s my boyfriend—or he was.”

  “Had a little argument?” Kelvin said, trying to keep the elation out of his voice.

  “Argument, yes. Little, no. He wants to control me, he wants to be the boss of me, but I can’t live like that. I am an independent woman. I throw off his leash.”

  This leash thing conjured up an image Kelvin had to fight off if he was to navigate this conversation.

  “Well, maybe things will get better when you both cool down,” he said, trying to sound concerned.

  “You’re right. It’s hot in here,” she said. “Let’s go outside.”

  She got up without waiting for an answer, took her bag and her drink, slipped through the crowd, and went out the door to the deck. Kelvin followed, turned right, waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. She was standing against the rail, one foot up, beautiful butt to him, looking down at the boats. He walked over, took his place beside her, and looked down, too.

  She held her glass out again, touched his, took a swallow of vodka.

  “In my country, everyone drinks vodka. Some people drink it all the time.”

  “I couldn’t get anything done if I drank vodka all day.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I work construction. I build things.”

  “Like big fancy American houses?”

  “No, more like additions, garages.”

  “Really,” she said, like a garage was more of a feat than a bank tower. “I can’t hammer a nail.”

  “Well, you don’t have to. You just hire somebody like me.”

  Kelvin smiled, confident now. He could do this.

  “Hey,” she said. “You want to smoke a little ganja?”

  He felt like pinching himself, make sure he hadn’t died and gone to heaven.

  �
��Wouldn’t say no,” Kelvin said. “But in this country, they frown on smoking dope in public.”

  “Then we’ll go for a walk,” she said.

  She walked to a gate that led off the deck to the side of the building. He followed, and they walked side by side down an alley, onto the street fifty feet from the bar entrance. She went left, down the wharf. He walked alongside her, hyperaware of her legs, the tap of her shoes, the angle of her jaw. She was like a racehorse walking up to the gate, sleek and strong.

  “You come over here right from Poland?” Kelvin said.

  “No, went to New York first. I met my friend there.”

  “He Polish, too?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, as they stepped off the sidewalk, around stacked fish crates, moving deeper into the darkened end of the wharf. “He’s American. We got hooked up through an agency.”

  “No shit,” Kelvin said. “You’re one of those mail-order brides?”

  He’d seen it on the Internet. Meet beautiful Russian women, sign up here. All of ’em looked like swimsuit models, until you got past the home page, saw lots of Crystals, except they actually tried to look soft and nice. He knew how long that would last.

  Her smiled thinned. “I prefer to think of it as online dating,” she said.

  “Well, whatever you call it, he lucked out,” Kelvin said. “Big time.”

  “Thank you. He doesn’t think so,” she said. “He thinks I’m difficult. He thought because I came from Poland and I wanted to meet an American man, I would do everything he said.”

  “Screw that,” Kelvin said, coming to her defense. “You’re not a servant.”

  “Right,” she said. “Hey, I should’ve hooked up with you.”

  It was dark now, the little light emanating from a spotlight on the next wharf, the lights out on the harbor. She stepped off the roadway, led the way alongside a dock and behind a shed.

  “Easy,” Kelvin said. “You could fall.”

  She stepped around a fishing net mounded on the wooden slats of the wharf. Stopped beyond it, where the walkway ended at the water. Leaning against the shack, she dug in her purse, came up with the joint and a lighter. She flicked the flame alive, blew out the flame on the lighted end. Handed it to him.

  Kelvin looked at her, put the joint to his mouth, and inhaled deeply. Suppressed the urge to cough, then slowly exhaled.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Afghanistan,” she said. “Go ahead. You hold it for a minute.”

  He did, smoked it halfway down. When he handed it back, she watched him, took a tiny puff, blew the smoke out. Handed it back. Kelvin thought of Fuller, how he sure made the wrong choice of assignment, crawling around in the bushes outside the old lady’s house while Kelvin partied with James Bond’s girlfriend.

  The marijuana was powerful, packed a rush that went right to his head, like it was more than pot, maybe dust or meth or something. They stood for a few minutes, Kelvin smoking, handing the joint to her so she could hand it back. She said something about the beautiful lights, Kelvin not seeing what was beautiful about them but agreeing so as not to spoil the mood. He wondered if she’d get a hotel room for them, in the morning tell that New York butthead to kiss off. He looked at the shape of her buttocks, the line of her breasts. Couldn’t wait to touch her, wanted to know what it would feel like to hold a woman like that.

  More about the lights, then she was talking about being homesick for Poland, her sisters. Kelvin put his hand on her shoulder, consoling her, hoping to slide his hand downward. The dope was starting to work and her voice was humming in his ears, the lights starting to sparkle like fireworks.

  And then she said, “I know where I know you from.”

  Kelvin waited, not knowing the answer to that one.

  “The hotel. You were watching them.”

  “What?” he said, shifting gears, slamming on the brakes, the roaring buzz all of a sudden not such a good thing.

  “You were watching the guy and the girl. And then after they left, you came in and you were looking for us.”

  “Not me,” Kelvin said. “What hotel?”

  “Why were you watching them?”

  She turned to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and drew herself close. He could smell her perfume, the vodka. Her lips were parted, so close he could taste them. She smiled.

  “Is there something I should know about them? You can tell me, Kelvin.” She ran her hand over his neck. “Help me out here. I’m new to this country. I need a friend, someone I can trust.”

  Kelvin felt like an unlikely candidate for that job, but the way she looked at him, pressing up against him now, her chest jutting into his, he had to say, “If I tell you, will you keep it between us?”

  She touched a long, beautiful finger to her juicy lips.

  “Okay, it’s like this. We’re not really watching you. And it’s not really me,” he said. “I’m just kind of helping out. This buddy of mine, he just got out of jail? That guy, the one with the blonde girl? He punched my buddy’s mother. The guy was with the cops.”

  He felt her stiffen.

  “I thought he was in university.”

  “He is. Went with a cop on a freakin’ field trip or something. They go to this funeral and my buddy’s there from jail, it’s his grandmother who’s dead. Then there’s a fight.”

  “At this funeral?”

  “Different people in the family, they don’t get along so good. So they get wrestling around and this guy comes with the cops to break it up and just smacks Joel’s mom in the mouth.”

  “The poor woman,” she said.

  “Oh, she can handle herself. She’s one tough bitch. But she got whacked really good. So my buddy, Joel is his name, he decides to find the guy, even things up.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, her voice husky.

  “But then we find out this college boy is into yachts and shit and Joel, he’s always looking for an angle, he decides maybe we can work something, get even some other way. It’s only fair.”

  “Of course it is. So what was this Joel in jail for?”

  “Ah, Joel’s always in some sort of scrape, always got something going, too. Buying, selling, dealing. Joel says he’s in the leverage business. He gets stuff on people.” He held up the stub of the joint. “Joel’s like a coyote, you know what I’m saying? He’s always got his eyes open, nose down, sniffing for an opportunity.”

  “An entrepreneur,” she said.

  “Yeah. I mean, you should see these boats over there where this Blake guy lives. You gotta have bucks to run with those dogs, you know what I mean? So we’re just scoping the kid out, looking for the opening. His girlfriend’s along for the ride, I guess. So then they meet up with you guys and my buddy Joel, he’s watching, he’s asking himself, ‘Who are these people? Where do they fit?’ He’s one smart son of a bitch, always thinking.”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  He was really buzzing now, his voice a million miles away, coming out of somebody else’s mouth.

  “So you’re staying in that hotel, that’s big bucks, too. We’re just getting a lay of the land. Between us, Joel’s more interested in the grandmother, you know? She lives in this fucking big house on the ocean, place is kinda beat, but that’s when you find wads of cash under the mattress, some old lady living with a hundred friggin’ cats. I mean, it’s an opportunity. We wanted to know what you were up to here, where you came from, just because we don’t know how that fits into the total picture. It’s nothing personal.”

  Suddenly he pulled her close, tried to kiss her. She moved left and he missed her lips, got a brush of cheek and a little ear. Damn, she smelled good.

  She pushed him away, but she smiled. “Oh, you are frisky, aren’t you? So what did you little detectives find out?”

  Kelvin smiled, tried to kiss her again, got a little lip this time, soft and succulent. He tried to focus.

  “We know you rented a car, it has Georgia plates. We know y
ou pay cash for everything, which Joel thought was interesting. We didn’t know you just got here from Poland. Joel thought maybe you was drug dealers or something, ’cause of the cash thing.”

  She gave a little giggle.

  “I know,” he said. “He comes up with some wild shit sometimes. I think he’s got too much time on his hands, sitting in a jail cell, you know? He’s like that, though. Wants to know everything, once he sets his teeth into something, he’s like a fucking pitbull, he don’t let go.”

  Kelvin reached for her and this time she didn’t resist. He pulled her closer, smelled her perfume, ran a hand across her cheek. “You know you’re gorgeous,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re a sweetheart,” she said.

  Her left hand was on his shoulder, and he leaned in, tilted his head to kiss her lips. Felt her fumble for something in her bag, had a vision of a condom coming out.

  Felt something sharp pressed against his neck.

  He froze.

  “You know what that is, Kelvin?” she said, her voice a purr, the point pressing harder.

  “No,” he said, not moving.

  “It’s an ice pick except much, much sharper. It’s pressed against your jugular vein. You know what happens if I stick it in?”

  Kelvin didn’t answer, the two of them in each other’s arms.

  “All of your blood pumps out until there’s none left. You know what you are then?”

  “Dead?” Kelvin said.

  “Smart boy. And I hope this Joel chap is smart, too.”

  “Oh, he is.”

  “Good, because my friend, the guy you’ve been watching me with? He’s a businessman. Very successful. And he likes his privacy. He’s got a huge thing about that. He would be very unhappy if I told him you were watching us. Or our friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you know what else?”

  She pressed the point harder and Kelvin felt something warm like blood.

  “He’s got a foul temper. I mean, he makes me look like Mother Teresa.”

  “Gotcha.”