Stagger Bay (18 page)

Meshback Number One got behind the wheel, and Tubbs climbed in to sit shotgun; Meshback Number Two was relegated to the back seat for this particular trip.

“Maybe this Driver is mutating from a serial to a spree?” Miller surmised. “If that’s so, then if he’s not stopped there’s probably a big body count blowout getting ready to happen, soon.

“Something’s changed drastically for him. In which case it sounds like all bets are off and he’s even more dangerous. Things are going to get even uglier with him now, and you need to be very, very careful, Markus. This guy just doesn’t care anymore.”

The Bronco pulled out the Club parking lot and started to make a left turn. But Tubbs saw me standing there and spoke to his driver.

“Dang,” Miller muttered, his mouth aimed away from the phone. “I’ve got to go. I’m already late for a big meeting; time ran away from me here.”

Tubbs’ Bronco rapidly reversed and pulled to the curb butt first, stopping less than a foot from Sam’s front bumper – Meshback Number One could drive, it seemed.

“So what happens if I bring you evidence enough for probable cause?” I asked, avoiding Tubbs’ efforts to catch my eye.

Miller didn’t hesitate: “Then my people and I will be on the next chartered turbo-prop up to Stagger Bay, with a SWAT team, a stack of warrants, and a mob of cracker-jack accountants. You’ll be feeling the warm glow appropriate to any citizen doing his civic duty. And, incidentally, you’ll also have a federal judge who’ll love you forever, as well as a life-long good buddy in the Bureau’s VCU.”

“And one more thing friend,” Miller said. “You don’t strike me as a law enforcement groupie. Heck, if I were you I might not be one either. But I swear to you on my life, if you give me what I need I’ll take them down hard, I’ll burn them to the water line. No getting off on technicalities, as few plea bargains as possible. Trust me, Markus.” He hung up.

“Hello, Sam,” Tubbs said from the Bronco’s shotgun seat, his lipless gash of a mouth compressed into the rictus that was as close as he could get to a friendly smile.

“Mr. Tubbs,” Sam mumbled, looking down at his feet as he never would have for me.

“Hello Markus,” Tubbs said, shifting his gaze to target me in turn. “If you’re done talking to whoever, I think you might want to give me some of your time.”

Chapter 41

“Got some good news for you son,” Tubbs said as we stood together on the sidewalk; he had one hand sticking in his pocket with the thumb out as he aimed that contorted smile up at me. “I have me a little pull in Sacramento – got me some good old friends up there in the capitol – and I made some calls on your behalf. Looks like you’ll be getting that quarter mil for your time in prison after all.”

“I could use the money,” I confessed. “But you don’t owe me nothing.”

Tubbs chuckled. “Meaning you don’t owe me nothing neither, right? But you’re wrong anyways, son, leastways about me owing you. I meant what I said before about being a man who pays his debts.”

He gestured toward the Club. “You need to go in there with me now, Markus, and let me introduce you to the boys. They’ve all been wanting to meet you. You’ll be more than welcome.”

I glanced sidelong at Kendra’s dad. “It’s pretty fancy in there,” I said. “I’d feel weird. It’s not really my kind of place.”

Sam’s face sagged more fully into expressionlessness. What, did the kid expect me to shoot Tubbs down on the spot?

Tubbs nodded but his eyes were twin laser beams aimed right at me. “I can relate, son. I’m an old redneck myself – I assure you I felt like a fish out of water the first few times I walked through those doors. Tell you what though, it’ll feel like no more than your due after a while.”

“I’m sure you’re right. You’re painting a very pretty picture here,” I said. “But you’re focusing on what’s in it for me, like y’all are altruists or something.”

I tossed a shoulder, pretending the Club didn’t look strangely sweet from here on the outside. “I know you know the score; you’re the one sitting behind the stack of chips. Me, I’m just a newbie getting dealt in cold. I’m sure you’ll admit it ain’t exactly been a pat hand. How can I trust, if I don’t know what’s in it for you?”

“All right, that’s fair,” Tubbs allowed with a laugh. “I knew I was right about you. You never make no excuses for yourself. You don’t ask for shit from nobody. You’re one of my kind, son – you watch out for number one, I saw it right off. You’re no fool whatever some may think, and I’m for sure not fool enough to treat you as one.”

Tubbs and I crossed the street with the Meshbacks behind us, ready willing and able to pluck the petals off me like a dandelion. I heard a car door slam and turned to see Sam sitting in the driver’s seat of his Lincoln, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“Maybe it’s off topic, but what about the Gardens?” I asked as we walked up the front steps of the Andersen Club. I glanced back at Sam again even as he refused to return my look.

“Do you really even care, Markus?” Tubbs asked as we stepped through the front door. “They’re not even tenants with rights – they’re illegal squatters, for Christ’s sake. I’m sorry about the little girl and all, not that I really know anything about it. Maybe those people thought you walked on water before, but I’ll bet they’ll never think as highly of you again.”

The flunky in the monkey suit muttered inconsequentials from behind his podium station, and granted us full Club access with obsequious gestures. Behind him, a sweeping tongue of a stairway curved down, wide enough for a squad to have marched abreast on. At the first landing above, a stained glass window filled the entire wall – you could have driven a bus through it.

“Hell, son, your jacket from when you were a kid was all for Class-A felonies, a lot of them violent,” Tubbs said as we passed the doorway to the dining room.

The light was muted in the dining room, and a husky Asian woman in a strapless evening gown sat in the corner playing the harp. The table linen looked crisp, and the serving staff was right there in attendance at the diners’ elbows; you wouldn’t have to chase any of these waiters down. The air was delicious with the smell of foods I couldn’t even put a name to. The subdued clatter of silverware and crockery flagged as most of the diners facing our way stopped to track us as we passed the doorway.

“You had no problem taking advantage back when you were a kid,” Tubbs pointed out as he continued fronting me down the hall with the Meshbacks body-guarding my rump. “Are you claiming to be a saint now?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’m no saint.”

And he surely had a point: Back in the day I might have even rolled with him if Karl gave the go ahead. Maybe this wasn’t back in the day, maybe my big brother wasn’t nowhere around, and maybe I wasn’t that little monster anymore. But I could hang here, couldn’t I?

I could cross my fingers even as I swore into whatever blood oath equivalent this Club required. I could be a fifth column in here; I could destroy them from within. I could have them eating out my hand before they realized my offering was laced with strychnine.

“This is a boom town these days. I know you can smell it,” Tubbs said as we rounded the corner and passed through the wide archway into the main club room. Now we were face to face with all the people Tubbs so desperately wanted to hook me up with. “Think of it like Dodge City. Maybe a few bystanders get caught in the crossfire once in a while, but that’s just collateral damage. You got to look to your own house, Markus. You got to quit trying to mend other people’s fences.”

He had another point there: What exactly had I accomplished so far in this town? I’d caused Natalie’s man’s death, I’d impressed Big Moe enough he wanted to use me as a throwaway weapon, I was on standby for whatever sketchy purpose Elaine had gotten me freed for, and I’d made no headway at all with my own son.

And the Hmong mother who’d never see her little girl again outside of dreams? That lady had to be thinking I was the cat’s meow.

“You’re not feeling the love here, that I can see,” Tubbs said when I didn’t answer.

But I wasn’t blowing him off; I was just scoping out the venue he’d plopped me in the middle of. The wide, invisibly clean picture window spilled a bar of golden sunlight across a floor covered by what appeared to be a genuine Persian. The overstuffed leather chairs looked comfortable, and the tropical hard-wood end-tables were polished to a solemn glow.

Sitting alone at the bar in the far corner was the coroner, the guy whose county paycheck obligated him to come out and take away the little Asian girl’s body. He was parking his muzzle hard and frequent in the brandy snifter he clutched in a death grip.

Despite the luxury of the club house, the smell of high-end furniture polish and designer cologne, the hushed sense of exclusivity and entitlement? The coroner’s angst flashed me right back to the joint. If you took the thirty-odd people in this room out of their thousand-dollar suits and stuck them in prison garb, they would have appeared right at home on the yard inside.

They were all separated into cliques along lines of mutual interest and shifting loyalties, watching one another’s backs and scheming on how to take advantage of any perceived weaknesses. Just like inside there’d be backstabbing and turncoats here, snitches running from group to group scavenging information to trade for profit. They were hunkered together for protection against forces outside their control, just like all the cons I’d known in prison.

Most of these club folk didn’t even pretend not to stare at me. Despite the smiles they wore, despite the welcoming expressions they aimed my way? I knew I was the new fish here.

One man stood and said something in a low voice to his table companions before turning to approach us carrying two flutes of champagne. A beautiful brunette sitting at his table glanced my way, but I didn’t meet her eyes.

I’d never seen the approaching man before, but his suit sure got my attention. It was a Savile Row, several quanta of rank higher than those on most of the other club members.

Angela had been a closet fashionista; she’d schooled me on all the name brands, she’d loved leafing through the style magazines. She’d always gone on and on about how, just once, she’d like to see me wear something nice.

If I’d pimped for her in a suit as gorgeous as this man’s, Angela’s face would have been beet red with pride. If I’d styled it for her in our bedroom she’d be fussing with my tie, her gaze downcast in pleasure until she looked me in the eyes and we realized we were alone together behind closed doors.

This man and I had all the time in the world to size each other up as he approached. His oncoming face should’ve been blandly politic. He was supposed to project the ‘hail fellow well met’ aura that was second nature to all con-men. And I’d’ve expected him, like any carnival barker, to switch gears instantly to hurt innocence if I didn’t embrace the false friendship he wanted to ensnare me with.

It was startling to see how much he needed me to approve of him.

“Welcome Markus,” he said, handing me a glass of champagne.

“Markus, this is Jim Scallion,” Mr. Tubbs said, and Jim and I shook hands. “He’s one of our star developers right now. He’s doing some really good things for Stagger Bay, like the new James Scallion Opera House, and a lot of the improvements I know you’ve been noticing around Old Town.”

Tubbs grinned at Jim. “So how’s the boardwalk project going?”

“Pretty well,” Jim allowed, swirling his champagne in its glass. “We pour the foundations for the pilings next week.” He looked at me. “We’re trying to bring in more tourist dollars. Our analysts project that an esplanade walkway along the old waterfront would be a real draw. Quaint.”

“You see, son?” Tubbs asked, brows raised. “It’s not just about taking. We give back too.”

Tubbs pinned Jim with his gaze. “Tell Markus what we was talking about,” he said.

Jim’s eyes brightened, and his shy smile widened. “Well, we were also thinking about building a rec center for the children of Stagger Bay, maybe even a public swimming pool.”

That didn’t sound so bad. But how would the Driver react to such a concentration of vulnerable children on supermarket display? And would the kids from the Gardens be welcome there?

“We were also thinking you’d be the perfect person to run it,” Jim continued.

“You wouldn’t have to survive off a glorified babysitter’s salary,” Tubbs hastened to add. “After we televise the real parade, we’ll have even more outside money to play with. It’ll put us on the map. More development, more investors, a good thing for everybody.”

“Real parade?” I asked with a scowl. People looked over at us, as I’d raised my voice. “What do you mean, real?” I asked more quietly, setting down my glass.

Tubbs reached over and squeezed Jim’s shoulder. “I know you’ll be making time for Markus soon enough, but I need him all to myself for right now,” Tubbs said with a shooing gesture.

Jim obeyed, returning to his table with an air of relief.

Tubbs focused his attention on me. “All right, so the dry run was a fiasco. You put egg on my face there, but I can forgive you. All those paparazzi sneaking up on you, all those flashbulbs going off in your face unexpected like – its only natural you’d get upset.

“But I need you to go through with the main event Markus. It’ll be a classic ticker tape parade, as good as Stagger Bay can give you. We’re going to have live network coverage, TV bigwigs are going to host it, and some heavyweights from Sacramento and Washington are planning to show up, hand you some awards and medals, and use it for a photo op for themselves as well. This is very important for everyone involved. Important for you, Markus.

“When you join up with us, I admit we’ll pimp your celebrity to buy a little more credibility, have you front for us doing meet-and-greets with potential investors. You’ll pump some hands and pretend to laugh at some pretty corny jokes – but you’ll also be well taken care of, I promise. You’ll be part of the payday, son – part of the family. You’ll be on the inside for once, and I think you’ve come to realize just how big a stick we swing around here.”