Saltz at the drugstore, he supposed, to tell him they’d only had Larry Bird on the knee brace box, and to say he’d stopped at Flanagan’s for a couple of pops.
Deal picked up. “Yeah, Cal?”
And knew right away it wasn’t Cal. There was a roar of static over the line, a faint background chatter between two men in Spanish, “sun fist, sun fist” he heard, in what sounded like pidgin English. “Hello,” Deal said, a trickle of fear springing up in his gut. Alcazar tracking him here? Already?
“Deal?” The voice hardly audible above the two Spanish speakers who seemed to be arguing about something, now.
Deal went numb. He wasn’t sure if he was still holding the receiver, if he was still in Cal’s chair. He could have been drifting in ether somewhere.
“Deal?” she repeated. The tone unmistakable. Not just fear, but outright desperation. Except it couldn’t be.
“Janice?” he said, knowing it was impossible. He was still asleep, drifted off in front of Cal’s television. This dream brought to you courtesy of all the fine folks down at Wild Turkey.
“Deal, you’re there. Thank God you’re there.”
Deal sat up straight in his chair, swung his bad leg down from the stool. He felt a surge of pain and knew he was not dreaming.
“…told me about what happened tonight. You’re in terrible danger…” her voice, rushed, frantic.
“Janice, Jesus Christ. This is you, isn’t it? Jesus Christ. Are you all right? Where are you, for Christ’s sake?”
“Deal, listen to me. I’m not sure how much time I have, and this damned phone…”
There was a burst of static that obliterated her words for a moment, then she was back.
“…where I am or not.”
Deal thought he heard a burst of salsa music in the background, but it might have come from the other conversation which nattered along, weaving in and out of the static.
“I couldn’t hear all of that, Janice.”
“…going to need a heading on the channel, do you read me?” It was another voice, this one crystal clear, male, a hint of a British accent, overpowering everything else on the line.
“Fuck! Shit!” Deal pounded the receiver against his palm, then held it close. The static was back. His heart was surging, great waves of pressure pressing against his chest, then receding, and building again. His breath was coming in gasps. “Janice?” he called. Alive. She was alive.
“Can you hear me, Deal?”
“I can hear you, Janice. You’re cutting in and out.” He took a breath, his mind racing. “Where are you? What is it, Janice? What’s happening?”
He stood, testing his knee. It was sore, but it supported him.
“I’m all right, Deal. I got out of the car and there was this man…” She broke off as another crash of static overtook the line.
He jumped in the instant the line cleared. “Janice, look, just tell me where you are. I’ll get there. I’ll handle it, whatever it is.”
“That’s just it,” she said, her voice ready to break. “I don’t know where I am. I woke up and I was in this room, a bedroom. The windows are boarded up, but I know we’re on the water. Right on the water…”
“…problems with that bloody generator.” It was the clear male voice again, wiping everything else away.
Deal pounded the phone again in a panic. He clapped the receiver to his ear again. “…if they have parts in Kingston, roger.”
Then, “I’m afraid, Deal…,” and she was gone.
“Janice,” he called. “Janice?” The line was filled with crackling now, his brain roaring a static all its own. Abruptly, the connection broke altogether. After a few clicks, Deal heard the dial tone. He stared at the receiver, stunned.
“Janice?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
Deal stared at the receiver, then across the room, at his reflection in the mirrored tile behind the tiny bar. He looked like a stranger, a wild man in torn slacks, his hair in disarray, his eyes bloodshot. A junkie who’d broken in, about to ransack the apartment.
The phone was talking to him now: “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial the number. If you’d like to make a call…” Deal came out of his trance. He broke the connection, dialed the operator.
“Southern Bell, Miss Apple speaking.”
“I just got a call, long distance, I think. Is there any way I can find out where it came from?”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, sir, did you say you had placed a call?”
“Jesus Christ, no…” Deal stopped, forced himself to lower his voice. Patience, patience. “I said I got a call. Long distance. I thought maybe there’d be some way to check where it came from.”
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no way I can help you. If you had placed the call, then…” Deal slammed the receiver down.
He heard someone at the door then, the knob rattling, somebody putting a shoulder to the wood. Deal raised the phone, instinctively. So this was it. He saw his likeness in the bar mirror, a wild-eyed man with a phone for a club, waiting for Leon Straight and the Cuban Bushwhacker Twins.
The door flew open, then, and Cal Saltz followed it in, off balance, still clinging to the knob, a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand, a drugstore package tucked under his arm. “Fix the goddamn door, Cal,” the old man was muttering to himself.
He broke off when he saw Deal. “Hey, Johnny,” he grinned. “I just stopped in at Flanagan’s…” He fought to bring his glittering eyes into focus.
“Sonofabitch wouldn’t sell me a bottle at the drugstore.” He shook his head sadly.
Deal realized he was still holding the telephone aloft. He turned and replaced the receiver in the cradle, suddenly very, very tired.
“Hey, what’s with you?” Cal was saying. Deal gripped the counter, watched in the mirror as the old man cocked his shaggy head. Deal felt the high-pitched whine starting up inside him again. It made it hard to hear. He couldn’t be sure what Saltz said next. He thought it was pretty funny, though. He thought Cal said: “You look like you seen a goddamn ghost.”
Chapter 21
“You about to fuck up everything, sweet cheeks,” Leon said. The woman was sprawled across the bed where he’d tossed her, glowering at him. He’d turned his newly injured leg, hurrying after her, and he had to wait a moment for the pain to subside.
“Big mouth like you have, I should have held you under a couple minutes longer.” And would have, if he hadn’t figured out how to use her.
He turned to inspect the strange handset he’d ripped out of the phone set on the floor. It was a big, boxy looking contraption, looked like something out of an old John Wayne war movie. “This a ship to shore outfit?” he asked. “Maybe it’s an antique. Ought to get it fixed up, make it worth something.”
She still hadn’t spoken. Her cheeks were red, like maybe he’d slapped her, but he knew it was just her being pissed off at him. In any case, she was a fox.
“You call the police?” he asked.
She hesitated. “They’re on their way.”
“Hmmm-hmmm,” Leon said. “On the way to where?” He’d been listening outside the door for a moment, puzzled when he heard her voice, thinking maybe someone was in the room with her, better figure it out before he went barging in.
“I don’t know where I am,” Leon said, mocking her. “We on the ocean someplace. Maybe Puerto Rico.” He shook his head. “Shee-it!”
“What do you want from me?” color high in her cheeks, all right. Making her look excited.
“When the time is right, sweet cheeks,” Leon said. “When the time is right.” Though he would like to explain it to somebody, proud as he was of his plan. Going to show Seen-your Alcazar a move or two that had nothing to do with football or how tough you were. No, Leon was operating on brain power, here. Wait for the right moment, and wham… take the man’s head off with a brain power forearm, that’s right.
He b
ent to pick up the phone set then, hefted it, then glanced at her as he let it drop to the floor. There was a crashing of glass from deep inside the thing and Leon laughed.
“Bunch of funky old tubes and shit in there,” he said, sadly. He tapped a pouch that was strapped to his belt, where the stubby antenna of a cellular phone protruded. “We get ready to call your old man, we’ll do it the right way.” He gave her a last smile and then walked out.
Chapter 22
Raoul Alcazar took the drink that Leon had brought him, then leaned back in the big leather recliner, tensing his muscles against the undulations beneath him. He had a sip of his drink, forcing himself to give in to the powerful rollers meant to soothe. “The Stress Eater,” was what the sales clerk at Men’s Toys on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach had called it. The chair had cost something over five thousand dollars. If you could afford such a chair, how much stress could you have, Alcazar had wondered aloud. The clerk found that ever so amusing.
Alcazar touched the tender spot on his forehead as he watched Leon hobble back toward the bar in a far corner of the room. It had been a very long time since Alcazar had found himself in physical danger, and he had not enjoyed the sensation. But there was something positive in the evening’s experience: He had come to think of himself as invulnerable, he realized. And clearly that was a very grave mistake. His family had fled to this country with nothing. His father died of tuberculosis in a public hospital, his mother had been a hotel maid. He had grown up on the streets and he had never once felt secure. But acquire a bit of money and see what happens. You surround yourself with bodyguards, security devices, attorneys, and before you know it…
Well, Alcazar thought, he owed that much to Deal. Although Leon owed Deal even more.
The big man still hadn’t made it back to his stool at the bar. He was wearing some atrocious-looking athletic shorts, his good knee swathed in yards and yards of elastic bandaging. The other knee sported a maze of scar tissue from myriad operations, the old incisions glazed and glistening like slug tracks. Leon’s normally surly expression had turned murderous.
“Go on to bed,” Alcazar called after him.
Leon turned and glowered. Finally, he nodded and limped on out of the room.
Alcazar waited until Leon was gone, then lifted his glass to his guest, who sat in the shadows across from him. “Enjoy,” Alcazar said.
Alcazar saw Penfield’s glass rise in the glow reflected from a vapor lamp outside, near the entrance to his private dock. There was a sound from deep in Penfield’s throat. After a moment, the glass came down. “What is it?” he asked.
“A fermentation of the cactus plant,” Alcazar said. “Though to call it mescal or tequila would be misleading.”
Alcazar swirled the liquor in his glass. “The distillery has been in the hands of the same family for over two hundred years. This is young, however. No more than a century.”
“Very smooth,” Penfield said.
From outside came the faint throbbing of diesel engines. There was a view out the glassed-in room, across the broad swathe of lawn, then to a hundred yards or so of bay water glittering in the moon. Out there was the vague shadow of a pleasure craft moving up the Intracoastal, its running lights gleaming.
“I purchased the facilities, but I left the operations in the hands of the family,” Alcazar said.
“Probably wise,” Penfield said.
“I didn’t want to interfere with tradition,” Alcazar said. “The patriarch had reservations for that very reason. His family came from Spain, after all.”
“He got over it, I guess.”
“He passed away,” Alcazar said, nodding. He put his drink down and leaned forward in his seat abruptly.
“I will tell you something, Mr. Penfield. I am an impatient person by nature. And this has tested my patience to its limits. I have tried to be reasonable, at your urging, but we could have handled this far more simply. Do you understand me?” Alcazar felt a throbbing at his forehead.
“It’s clear,” Penfield said. He cleared his throat. “I know Deal’s been a problem.”
“I’d call that an understatement.”
“I thought perhaps his wife’s death would distract him, he’d let the damn place go.”
“As I did,” Alcazar said.
“But maybe there’s another way…”
“Precisely my point,” Alcazar said, leaning forward. Penfield held up his hands. “Let’s just give it a few more days. There’s a great deal at stake here. A great deal of money for both of us. A few more days, Raoul, that’s all we’re talking about.” Alcazar heard a note of pleading in the voice. It did not please him.
“I think you have allowed your emotions to cloud your thinking,” he said.
“My thinking is fine,” Penfield said gruffly. “We’re both going to come out of this just fine.” Penfield finished his drink.
“I hope so,” Alcazar said. He had not missed the tremor in the old man’s hand. He raised his glass in salute. “I sincerely hope that you are right.”
He sat back as Penfield left, holding the cold glass to his forehead. He heard the soft ping of the alarm as Alejandro ushered Penfield out, the muted sound of Penfield’s car winding away.
In a moment, Alejandro was at the door of the study.
“Is there anything else?” Alejandro said.
Alcazar thought a moment. His own poor judgment had led him into this tangle. He had only himself to blame. He had been timid and now he would have to be bold. He glanced up at Alejandro. “We are certain of Mr. Deal’s whereabouts, then?”
Alejandro nodded. “He arrived at his friend’s by taxi. The old man, the one with the strange automobile. If anyone leaves, we will know it.”
Alcazar held his fingers thoughtfully to his lips. He thought about Penfield’s weakness, about human weakness in general. Yes, a new plan would have to take effect, but he was not distressed. In fact, he had been thinking of this since the moment he rose from the wrecked and sodden floor of his new showroom.
He cleared his mind of every sentiment, then, and reminded himself of how it would work. It was a risk, but given the crazed machinations he had already agreed to, it was nothing. So many compromises he had agreed to just for the sake of others’ emotional attachments. And if what he had in mind worked out, the return would be so great. He glanced up at Alejandro, his decision made.
“Go wake up Leon,” Alcazar said. He gave the puzzled Alejandro a razored smile. “We must resolve this deal on our own.”
Chapter 23
“You sure about this, Johnny?” Cal gave him a cautious look. The old man sat in a chair across from Deal, a diet soda in his hand. The Wild Turkey sat untouched on the counter behind him.
“It was Janice, for Christ’s sake,” Deal said. “You think I wouldn’t know?”
“’Course you’d know.” Cal looked aside, uncertain. “It’s just…”
“She’s alive,” Deal said, his mind racing. “She’s alive.”
Deal felt Cal’s eyes on him. Assessing, probing, wondering if he were crazy. He felt a sudden jolt. What if he were crazy?
And then he remembered Janice’s voice: Deal! Calling his name.
Deal shook his head. He had heard it. No dream. No delusion.
He glanced up at Cal, bringing his breathing steady.
“She never said anything about where she was?”
“Just that it was by the water.” Deal shook his head, still trying to make sense of things. “It was a terrible connection. I heard some other people talking in the background…”
“You mean in the room with her?”
“No, like crossed lines. Some guys arguing in Spanish. Then some guy talking about a channel and a generator.” Deal looked at Cal. “He had a British accent.” He thought a minute. “Maybe Janice was calling from the islands. Maybe somebody took her to the islands, that’d make sense.” There was a tiny flame of urgency starting up inside him.
Cal looked at him. “Sense to who? If she was in the islands, how would she have heard about what happened tonight?”
Deal fell back in his chair. He felt exhausted, but his mind was still racing. Something nagging at him, something he couldn’t put his finger on…and then he had it. How had she heard about what happened?
Deal sat up. “Cal, nobody mentioned my name in that story. Alcazar must have seen to that.” He broke off. The little flames were a fire inside him now. “What’s that tell you?” He turned on Cal.
“That the sonofabitch has his own plans for you, Johnny. You got to get someplace where you’ll be safe.”
Deal shook his head. “Somebody’s got her, Cal. Somebody who knows what I did tonight.”
Cal reached out his big hand to Deal’s knee, a sorrowful expression on his face. “That’s a stretch, Johnny.”
Deal’s face hardened. “Yeah? Then you explain it, Cal.”
Cal withdrew his hand, stung. His gaze wandered to the carpet where a big palmetto bug lumbered over the thick shag. Cal absently lifted his foot and cracked the bug under his heel. “Goddamn things,” he said. Finally, he looked up at Deal.
“Johnny, if you tell me Janice called you, then Janice damn well called you. I ain’t gonna argue with you about that. But who in the hell would want to kidnap your wife?”
Deal shook his head.
“You never got a note, a call, nothing. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t, Cal.”
Cal ignored him, waving his Coke at the television. “What I do know is, you got your ass in a big-time sling. You ought to wish Alcazar hung your name off his sign for those television people, put the cops all over you…cuz that’s a kind of trouble you could get a good lawyer and walk away from. Now…” Cal’s face had turned beet red and for a moment, Deal thought he was having a stroke. The old man took a breath then, and went on, in a slightly calmer tone.
Done Deal Page 17
