Gagliano,Anthony - Straits of Fortune.wps (19 page)

He pulled up to Vivian's apartment building, and his brake lights flared as he backed into a parking space. I reached under the seat and grabbed hold of the .45. I got quickly out of the car and went around to the curb and ran along the street half crouching, knowing that if Williams happened to glance in his sideview mirror, then he would surely see me. To avoid this I ducked behind the rear end of an old Chrysler. I tucked the gun under my shirt and waited. The way I saw it, I had two choices: take him now, before he went upstairs, where he might or might not manage to get hold of Vivian, or wait for him to come downstairs and then make my move. Williams got out of the van and started across the street. He was wearing a waist-length black leather jacket and black leather pants. That's when I decided on the second option. Still in a semi-crouch, I ran until I was just across the street from the entrance to Tuxedo Park and crouched again behind another car. Williams walked very deliberately up the flagstone steps and opened the glass door that led into the vestibule. He didn't bother with the intercom but went through the second glass door that led to the elevators. I waited for him to disappear and went around to the driv- er's-side door of his van. I got the .45 out and looked around. The tree-lined street was empty, so I used the butt of the gun to break the window and opened the door and swung in behind the steering wheel. I popped the hood and a second later had ripped loose the distributor cap and the cables that led to the battery. I closed the hood with as little noise as possible and stuffed the cap and cables behind some hedges. I'd felt a wild sense of glee as I ripped the cables free; I was getting to be quite the little ninja. Now it was time to wait. The key was whether or not he had Vivian with him. The next question was the location of his gun, for I had no doubt that he was armed. Williams was 162

big and strong and nasty enough to be able to coerce just about anyone into his van without a firearm, but if he came out with the end of the barrel at Vivian's back, then it would be a very delicate situation indeed. If that were the case, I'd have to be close enough to surprise him. I thought through it in fast forward. He'd see the broken window. That would distract him for sure. He'd have to open the door for Vivian, then for himself. The van would not start. He would have to open the hood. He might be suspicious, but he would still have to open the hood, and that's when I would take him. Knowing that, I also knew where I would wait. I pranced up a few cars south of where Williams's van was parked and squatted down by someone's rear fender, hoping nobody would spot me. But I wouldn't have to wait for long, because a moment later Williams came through the front door--I let out my breath. He was alone. The choice I had to make swelled up inside my chest like a Macy's Thanksgiv- ing Day balloon. Kill him now and have one less enemy at my back or let it wait for another time. The first choice made sense. From this range I couldn't miss. Could I get away with it? Maybe. Probably. People got dead in Miami all the time. Get rid of the gun. Would I be a suspect? Maybe. Prob- ably. Motive? What motive? Nobody knew about our inti- mate interlude on the high seas. After all, he had tried to kill me. Even the score. Wipe that smirk off his face now and forever. Still, it was no easy thing to kill a man. Not by accident, at least. Then the old video started, and I couldn't stop the tape. Going up the stairwell in the Fredrick Douglass projects. The heart's steady beating, a reminder that you at least are still alive. It sets the pace of your slow, cautious ascent up the stairs. Then the glint of metal in the almost dark and both of you firing your guns simultaneously as though in a semiautomatic dream, and for the rest of your 163

life the burning question of every day, of every stray waking moment: What if you had waited a second longer? Then I heard the wail of sirens far in the distance, heading away from me. The video blurred before fading completely. As I crouched there behind the car, waiting, it came to me that the time was not yet now. Williams and I were on a col- lision course. Of that much I was certain. But not now. It was too soon. Or maybe I was just scared. It didn't matter. I felt the relief of knowing that the time had not yet come. I heard Williams's muffled curse when he spotted the broken window, heard him curse again--this time more loudly-- when the engine wouldn't start. Crouched in the darkness, I smiled like a fiend. I peeked up over the trunk of my perch when I heard the hood of his van open. After a second or two, he slammed it shut and cursed again. He looked around sus- piciously for a moment, but there was nothing else he could do. I thought I heard him talking on a cell phone. Then he cursed yet again and started walking east toward Washington Avenue. He would be heading for Embers. I waited for him to turn the corner, then sprinted back to the car. I made a U-turn and went north on Michigan. At the park I turned left and drove the few blocks east toward the neon playground over on Washington Avenue. I got lucky and found a parking spot right in front of an all-night grocery store, then walked the half block to the main drag, already bustling with the crowds from across the causeway, the traffic not moving and the humid air smelling like a Chi- nese restaurant. I had the gun under my shirt like a deadly invitation. There are certain places on this earth that seem to rise up full-blown like Venus flytraps out of nowhere, caf�or nightclubs that flourish and prosper where other endeavors have failed and vanished almost as soon as they opened their doors. I had seen it happen in South Beach a dozen 164

times in the years I'd been in Miami. Embers was in the first category. Nick, Matson, and a few silent partners had opened the place a few months before I met him, and from the moment the lights came on that first night, the crowds had been there at the double gold doors, buzzing with antici- pation like mosquitoes after a long rain. The Sheik had partied there, and so had the Space Man. The models that roamed there swayed like palm trees on the dance floor, and upstairs, in the VIP section, I had seen things usually reserved for motel rooms with mirrored ceil- ings, bedbugs, and hourly rates. I'd never expected to go back there again, just as I had assumed that I would never see Vivian again. Now it seemed I was wrong on both counts. It was still early by South Beach standards, just twenty past midnight, but there was already a long, pulsating line of people stretching around the corner. Rain showers had swept in off the ocean, and the crowd pressed its back against the sides of the building and under the narrow ledge that girded the curtained windows of the second floor. I stood across the street beneath the awning of a tattoo parlor and watched them get wet. The rain fell with the kind of slanted fury that gives birth to jungles and howling monkeys, to floods that cover the earth. It overran the gutters and jumped the side- walks, rolled back, then rose up and tried again. The line moved slowly toward the door where long, tall Sidney, the gatekeeper to paradise, waited under the awning behind a lectern, checking names against the guest list like St. Peter making sure the wrong people didn't get into heaven. He wore a white sequined gown and looked like the giant bride of a man few other men would envy. The yellow wig on his head, contrasted with his black skin, failed to add to his attractiveness. It was hard to believe he had once been a karate instructor up in Detroit--that is, until you saw him drop-kick a troublemaker. 165

I waited for a break in the rain, then sprinted across the street and up to the lectern. The two bouncers flanking Sidney straightened up and prepared to whip my ass. Sidney glared down at me as though I were a water beetle who had swum across the surface of a lake. Even without the heels, he would have still had me by three inches; with them he had me by six or seven. I could smell his perfume from four feet away, and it filled me with the opposite of romance. As usual, he had over- done his makeup. His lipstick was the color of purple orchids, and his mascara had started to run down his face, which was dark and handsome in a Denzel Washington kind of way. "Hey, Sidney," I said. "Don't tell me you don't remember me." He slammed the guest book shut like a preacher closing his Bible at a revival meeting. "Well, I'll be goddamned! Look who it is! Where the hell you been, you dried-up burden of a white man? I thought the Good Lord had called you home. Him or the devil, either one! Last time I saw you, we were playing pool at that after- hours place up behind the library. Remember that?" "Yeah," I said. "That was the night they stole your wig." "That's the problem with this godforsaken town, Jackie," he said. "Take off your hair for one minute and they go and steal it on you." "The neighborhood has changed," I admitted. "By the way, is Vivian here?" "I believe she is." "Can I get in?" "I believe you can't." "Why not?" "You ain't got on the right clothes. I let you in, I got to let in the homeless people, too." "It's an emergency," I said. "Come on, just this one time. I'll be in and out in ten minutes." 166

"What's going on?" "Somebody's after her. Somebody bad." He looked me over for a moment. I guess he sensed my desperation, because he told his assistant to let me in. "You must have snuck in," Sidney said. " 'Cause I sure as shit didn't see you." "That's right. I came in through the back way." "Dressed like that, you should have." The bouncer unclipped the rope from the brass post and lifted it past me. "He ain't dressed right," the bouncer said. "Shut up," Sidney said. "Say, Sidney. Did you ever finish law school?" I asked. "Sure did," he said, clapping me on the back. "Passed the bar exam, too--on the first try. Got some interviews coming up next month." "They're not ready for you in the courtroom," I told him. "They weren't ready for me here either, homeboy. Don't you worry--I dress different during the day." I eased closer to Sidney so that no one could overhear me. He had to lean down to hear what I was saying. "I have another favor to ask," I said. "What you need?" "There's a big guy trailing me. Almost as tall as you, bald head, red mustache, heavy into 'roids. Black leather. Looks crazy. If you can't keep him out, at least stall him." "What's the deal?" "Don't ask. Don't tell." "I hear you. Go on in." I went through double glass doors with the heavy brass trim, and the music and the lights hit me all at once, like the beginning of a bad trip. The bar in the anteroom was packed three deep, and the bartenders in their white tuxedo shirts and pink bow ties were gliding back and forth like a 167

trio of ice-skaters. The cigarette smoke was so thick it made the ceiling seem much lower than it was. A mixture of per- fume and sweat filled the air like the prelude to an orgy, and the women were wearing just enough to keep from getting arrested. I went through a second set of wide-open glass doors to my left and found myself looking out over a dance floor al- ready packed with people. I fought back a surging wave of claustrophobia and squeezed through the crowd sideways, twisting and turning my body like an eel trying to ease through muck. If I was going to find Vivian in a place like Embers, I would need an aerial view, so I pressed my way toward the stairs that led to the balcony, knowing that Wil- liams would not be far behind. You would have thought that with all the advances in technology they would have found a replacement for the disco ball, the cyclopean, multifaceted silver ball spinning like a miniature sun over the dance floor, but you would be mistaken. The lights were low; the speakers were throbbing; the dance floor was a quivering fresco of arms and legs, and above it all, the ball turning slowly, strafing the crowd with bars of blue and gold light. The air was so cold it was hard to smell the marijuana, but it was there, hovering, cloying, and sweet, like a red-eyed genie waiting for a wish. The bouncer at the foot of the stairs there knew me and let me go up to the VIP section, though I could see he wasn't thrilled with my attire. Upstairs there were ten tables, but only six of them were occupied. No one paid me any at- tention as I crossed over to where the balcony leaned out over the dance floor like the edge of a cliff. I was standing there peering down into the crowd, completely absorbed in my search for Vivian, when I recognized the man standing against the railing with his back turned to me. I went over and tapped him on the shoulder. It was Nick. 168

He turned casually enough but when he saw who it was, his head jerked forward and he spit an ice cube out of his mouth. Then he began to cough. I sat on the stool next to him and waited for him to get hold of himself. "Where's your sister?" I asked. Nick jumped a good six inches sideways, but I grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back to earth. He shook him- self free. "Jack! My God! We all thought you were dead!" he said in a loud whisper. "I almost was, but guess what: Jack is back, and now Jack wants to know why Williams tried to kill me last night while I was doing your father's dirty work. I'd like to hear your thoughts on that." Nick took a nervous puff from his cigarette and leaned closer to me. "This is bad, Jack. We're all in a lot of trouble. Williams has lost his mind. I'm afraid he'll kill every one of us. He's an animal, you know." "Where's Big Daddy? At the house?" "No, not there. He had to leave. He couldn't stay there." "Why not?" Nick looked out over the crowd. "My father is in trouble," he shouted. "Big trouble. I don't know where he is, and I don't really want to know either." "Williams is on his way here," I told him. "We don't have a lot of time to play around. You better tell me what you know fast, before I get nervous and shoot the wrong person." "Williams is coming here? Do you have a gun?" I pulled back my shirt so he could see the butt of the .45 that Space had given me. "Sure," I said. "Doesn't everybody? Now tell me what kind of trouble the Colonel is in. I'm not going to ask you again." Nick glanced around nervously, like a cornered animal that didn't know which way to run. "Please, Jack. For God's 169

sake. Let's just get my sister and get out of here. Then I'll tell you everything. I swear I will, please!" "Where is she?" "Down there, dancing." Nick moved closer to the railing, but warily, as though he expected me to pitch him over the side. He took his glasses off and polished the lenses with a handkerchief. Then he put them on and looked down again. After a moment he pointed. Even in the dark, he looked scared and badly in need of a suntan, like someone who had spent too many years in an office without windows. "See her? There, in the black dress. She's dancing with another girl." I looked down and spotted Vivian. She was dancing, all right, and I very nearly got lost in watching her. It was not the kind of dancing you learn at any decent school. I watched her for a moment, horrified and at the same time completely transfixed by the way she moved. It was as though the music had melted every bone in her body. Then she and the girl exchanged a kiss. South Beach at its finest, I thought. Nick leaned closer to me and shouted in my ear. "We thought you were dead!" he yelled. "You said that already. Don't act disappointed. Tell me this: Why is Williams after you and Vivian?" "It's a long story, but he thinks we're out to double-cross him." "Double-cross him how?" I asked. "Please, Jack. Can't we just get out of here first? Aren't you afraid of Williams?" "If you're so afraid of Rudolph, what are you doing here?" "We thought we'd be safer in a crowd," Nick answered. "Is that right?" I said. "Think again." I took out the gun under cover of darkness and stuck it into his ribs. I looked around, but no one was watching us. 170