Quietly telling him this in a room in the St. Louis Hotel at one-thirty in the morning, her eyes on him, waiting.
He said, “Lucy . . .”
He got up and stood looking down at her, it seemed like a long time before he offered his hands and brought her from the chair into his arms with a tender feeling, a good feeling. He said, “I’ll hold you. Let me just hold you.”
Close to him she said, “Can we lie down?”
25
* * *
ROY WAS ASLEEPin the back seat of Lucy’s Mercedes, in the underground garage of the Royal Sonesta Hotel. He came wide awake and asked what time it was as Jack opened the door and slipped into the front seat.
“Quarter to eight. Where’s their car?”
“Up past the second post and about six in. You can just see it. I moved this one,” Roy said, “so we’ll be pointing the right way. What’re the banana pickers doing?”
“Nothing, yet.”
“The broads stay all night?”
“No, they left. You could hear ’em.”
“Jesus, quarter of eight already. Fucking stakeout, I never thought I’d be doing it again.”
“You were sound asleep. It must not’ve been too bad.”
“What would you know about it? Nothing.”
“Where’s Cullen?”
“Beats the shit out of me. I went up to Darla’s hootch and banged on the door. No answer. He either had a heart attack in the saddle and she had to take him to Charity, or he pulled out.”
“He doesn’t have anyplace to go.”
“He’s a grown boy,” Roy said. “He’s dumb as a fucking stump, but he’s still a grown boy. I took him to meet Darla, I said, ‘Here you go, sweetie, see if you can fuck the old man’s socks off.’ She says, ‘You don’t have to use that kind of language.’ I said, ‘Yes, I do, ’cause you don’t know shit.’ How ’bout yourself? You and the sister have a nice time up there, Jesus Christ, while I’m down in the garage? Where is she?”
“Getting coffee.”
“Well, I hope to Christ she brings me some.”
“That’s what she’s doing, getting us coffee.”
“You go over and listen at their door?”
“Since five this morning. They’re sleeping in.”
“I can believe it.”
“The banana boat leaves sometime this morning,” Jack said. “Even if they’re not gonna be on it they have to make a move pretty soon, for show.”
Roy was looking past Jack toward the Bienville Street exit, a square of sunlight against the ground floor of the St. Louis Hotel, across the street. A parking attendant sat on a high stool to one side of the garage opening. “I think they already have the cash,” Roy said, “and I think we should do it here. Hitting ’em out on the highway somewhere is a bunch of shit and you know it.”
“You get the masks.”
“Fuck the masks.”
“That means you forgot.”
“I’m not gonna wear a fucking mask. If I don’t do it for Carnival I’m not gonna get one for this. The guy doesn’t know who I am. Tie a hanky around your face if you want and we’ll keep Lucy in the car. She isn’t gonna do us any good anyway. This’s the place, shit, right here. I think they stashed it in their car. I had a tire iron we could find out in two minutes.”
“Nobody’d be that dumb, leave it in the car.”
“Nobody’d think they’re that dumb. That’s why it could be there.”
“You look in the windows?”
“Yes, I did, Delaney. But I didn’t look in the fucking trunk, ’cause the fucking trunk doesn’t have a window.”
“I’m glad you had a good night’s sleep.”
“They don’t have it in there, fuck it. I’m going home and go to bed. Cullen might be smarter’n I thought. . . . Here she comes. I hope she brought us some brioche.”
Jack said, “Look who’s behind her.”
Franklin de Dios was coming from sunlight into shade, down the ramp to the floor of the garage, as Lucy approached the car with two white take-out sacks, intent, hurrying. Reaching them, handing the sacks through the window, she said, “Franklin just came out of the hotel.”
“He’s right there,” Jack said. “Now he’s gone.”
“He went down that first aisle. Watch,” Roy said, hunched over close to Jack in the front seat. “He drives off, you better be with him. Where’s your car?”
Jack had to think. “It’s in that same aisle.”
“You hear that?” Roy said, “He’s starting a car.” Now Lucy was getting in and Roy straightened, raising up. “Just wait, will you, for Christ sake? Jack . . . There it is, it’s the Chrysler. Isn’t that the Chrysler? Jack, you gonna sit there or get on it?”
By the time he was out on Bienville, edging the Scirocco past trucks unloading and parked cars the black Chrysler was gone, somewhere up the one-way street, out of sight till Jack caught a glimpse of it turning left on Rampart and that surprised him. Where was Franklin going? Rampart turned into Tulane Avenue and Tulane became the Airline Highway and that would seem to answer the question. Franklin was going out to the airport, in Kenner. Yes, indeed, it looked as if Franklin was taking last night’s advice and leaving town. If he’d rather fly than go by banana boat, that was okay. He probably had to stop off in Miami first, pick up his clothes and stuff.
Jack began to notice what a beautiful day it was: clear sky, not too humid. He pulled the Beretta out of his waist, digging into his groin, and slipped it under the seat. He might very well be driving this way again sometime in the afternoon, with a suitcase full of cash, following a week of activity that was certainly different. Man, each day something new and different. Having met some very unusual people. Having slept with two different young ladies, actually slept. . . . It was the tender feeling that messed him up with Lucy. He could see them taking their clothes off and still feel some tenderness. But when he tried to see himself lying between her legs he knew he couldn’t do it, it would become something else and the tender feeling would be gone. He’d be performing and watching the performance, aware of her, yeah, seeing her, kissing her, but more aware of himself doing it, just doing it to her, and that wasn’t what they were to each other. . . . He held her and listened to her breathing as she slept. The tender feeling was enough. She seemed strange because there was nothing put on about her; she was like a child in that way and knew more than he did; she knew how to walk into her dreams. He could talk to her but had to listen closely and think. Helene, when he talked to Helene things he said just came out. He could act foolish with her. He could act foolish making love to her. Or give her a certain look and she was with it. He had a feeling Lucy and Helene would like each other. Yes, indeed, and had a pretty good feeling in general, tailing the black Chrysler following signs to the airport and as far as the National car-return lot. Jack parked at the side of the road and watched Franklin come out of the Chrysler.
The guy had only a small flight bag.
Jack thought about getting out of the car, yell at him and wave good-bye. Do it quick, before the guy walked over to the shuttle bus. Or he could drive Franklin to the terminal, wish him a safe trip—even though he’d already done that. He thought, No, leave him alone.
And then thought, What’s he doing?
Because Franklin was coming out of the car-return lot this way: Franklin in his black suit carrying his tan flight bag coming out to the road, up to the car, hunching over to look in the window with his pointy cheekbones and nappy hair, Jesus Christ, grinning.
“How you doing? You going back now?”
Jack had to nod.
“I wonder if you can give me a ride.”
“I don’t know if the boat goes to Honduras or to Costa Rica,” Franklin said. “I didn’t hear that from Wally Scales or from that other guy. What’s his name? Lives there in the city where the boat is.”
“Alvin Cromwell?”
“Yes, of course you know it. Yes, Alvin. It could go to Costa Rica. Our l
eader is there, Brooklyn Rivera. I like to see him, but I rather go to Honduras right away.”
“Why is that, Franklin?”
“So I can go back into Nicaragua with some friends of mine and visit people we know there.”
“Go for a visit, huh?”
“They live in a concentration camp in the province of Jinotega, a place call Kusu de Bocay.”
“Jinotega . . .”
“Maybe we can take them out of there. Help them have new homes and plenty rice and beans to eat.”
They were on the Airline Highway heading back to New Orleans. Jack said, “You know the woman at Carville, who was in the coach with me? Her name’s Lucy Nichols.”
“Yes, I hear Colonel Godoy say that name.”
“She worked in a hospital for lepers near Jinotega, the city.”
“The city of Jinotega, I think it’s far from Kusu de Bocay.”
“The colonel came to the hospital and killed the lepers and burned it down.”
“I believe it.”
“Lucy wants to build the hospital again.”
“Yes, that’s good.”
“She’s a good woman.”
Franklin didn’t say anything and they drove in silence for a mile or so, Jack thinking.
“Yeah, I was pretty sure you were taking a flight. But you just went out to return the car, huh?”
“They call me, say to take it back. It’s okay, I have time.”
“But now you have to get to Gulfport.”
Franklin didn’t say anything and Jack thought of his meeting with Wally Scales, keeping his mouth shut if the guy didn’t ask a direct question.
“You know how you’re gonna get there?”
“Yes, I know.”
Man, it was work. “You gonna take a bus?”
“No, not take a bus.”
“But you are gonna get on the boat.”
“Yes, of course. Go home.”
“But Colonel Godoy and Crispin, you’re convinced now, they’re not gonna get on the boat.”
“Yes, I know that. What you told me and what Wally Scales told me.”
Jack had to think. If he was supposed to know so much he had to be careful what he asked. They came to Tulane Avenue and followed it into Rampart.
“Well, I’m glad this’s working out for you, Franklin.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d be gone.”
“Pretty soon.”
“I followed you out to the airport.”
“Yes, I know. It was kind of you.”
“Yeah, I wanted to say good-bye. Maybe have a cup of coffee. Hey, after all that vodka we had last night, you feel okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
Jack turned off Rampart onto Conti, one-way into the Quarter toward the river.
“We’re almost back. Where can I drop you off?”
“Anyplace you want. I have to go back to that hotel.”
Oh, shit. Jack took a moment. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Franklin.” Then began to think that it might, in fact, be a wonderful idea. “Why do you want to see them again?”
“I have to tell them I quit and say good-bye.”
“You’re not gonna say anything about your going on the boat. I wouldn’t mention that.”
“No, tell them I quit and say good-bye.”
“They might be asleep.”
“No, they call me. Crispin.”
“He stayed there all night,” Jack said. “They had some women stop in for a party.”
“Oh, you know that?”
“Hey, Franklin, I even know what they haven’t done yet, right?” Franklin was looking at him, grinning. He had a gold tooth. “I told you about it as a special favor, even though I shouldn’t have. But that’s okay, we’re friends, right?”
“Yes, we friends.”
“Listen, you go up to the room they’re gonna be packing, I suppose. Or maybe throwing up in the bathroom after their big night, huh?” That got a grin. “Listen, while you’re in there and they’re not looking, you might have a chance to do me a favor, in return.”
Lucy said, “He’s back,” and watched Jack’s Scirocco, coming into the garage from the Conti Street entrance, roll past the row where Lucy’s car was parked and come to a stop in the drive.
Close behind her, Roy said, “Who’s that with him? Jesus Christ, he brought the guy back.”
Lucy watched Franklin come out of the Scirocco and walk off toward the Bienville Street exit, carrying a flight bag. Now Jack was out, standing by the car with the door open.
“They had a long talk last night.”
“Who did?”
“Jack and Franklin.”
“About what?”
Jack was saying something to Franklin. Lucy watched Franklin look back and raise his hand to wave. Now he was going up the ramp to the street and Jack was looking this way, over the top of his car.
“They had a long talk about what?”
She watched Jack close his car door and walk around the back of it coming toward them, in no particular hurry but with an expression that was a good sign, alive, somewhat eager. While close behind her Roy was yelling out his window now, “Will you get over here, for Christ sake?”
Jack looked at Roy but wasn’t going to be hurried. Lucy turned to face him as he hunched over and put his head in the window, close to her.
He said, “We might have it made,” and then looked at Roy. “If you’ll go over to the hotel, stand in the courtyard. After Franklin comes down, watch for the colonel. He comes flying out of the room, stop him. Give him some kind of official bullshit for about five minutes. If he comes out. He might not.”
“Can I ask why I’m doing this, Jack?”
“Because you’re our hero, Roy, and the colonel doesn’t know that.”
“And what’re you gonna be doing, if anything?”
“Taking a peek in their car. Franklin’s gonna see if he can get us the keys.”
26
* * *
FRANKLIN CAME OFF THE elevator with his flight bag, stepped over to 501, right there to the left, and knocked on the door. He waited and knocked again and waited and knocked again. There were no sounds from inside. But they were here or downstairs in the dining room or somewhere, because that new car was still in the garage. He turned and saw a thin black woman in a maid’s uniform that hung straight on her without shape, her hands resting on a cart loaded with towels and sheets, a plastic bucket and bottles of cleaning compounds. Franklin said to her, “Let me ask you, Mother, did you see them come out of here?”
The woman stood in profile watching him without appearing to watch him, her head only slightly turned.
“I work for them,” Franklin said, “but I’m going to quit and I want to tell them.”
The woman turned from the cart to look right at him now. She had something in her cheek he believed was snuff or tobacco.
“You gonna quit, uh?”
“I don’t like working for them.” He moved toward her a few steps, as far as the elevator.
“They don’t treat you good?”
Franklin shook his head. “I don’t like them. Do you think they in there?”
“I believe so. Where you from?”
“From Nicaragua.”
“Yeah, I thought you from somewhere, the way you talk. You leaving, huh?” When Franklin nodded she said, “They leaving too?” When he nodded again she said, “Good. I never seen a mess like I have to clean up after that man. I see him, he don’t give me the time a day.”
“It’s the way they are,” Franklin said. “I wonder, Mother, if you can open the door for me.”
“Sure, honey, I be happy to.”
Franklin gave her a dollar.
Inside, he heard music and heard them talking in the bedroom as he looked around, saw the room-service table, the mess of dirty glasses and dishes, cushions from the sofa on the floor and smelled the odor of stale cigarette smoke. He crossed the sitting roo
m to the desk in the corner. The colonel’s briefcase was here, but not the car keys. The sacks from the banks, he noticed now, were on the floor beneath the desk. He placed his flight bag on the chair and stooped over to feel one of the round sacks and look at the metal clamp that held it closed. It would be nothing to open it. He straightened, looking at the desk again, wondering if he should open the colonel’s briefcase that was made of alligator skin.
The colonel’s voice said, in Spanish, “What are you doing there?”
Franklin turned. The colonel stood in his tight shiny red underwear, a few feet from the bedroom doorway.
“How did you get in?”
“I knocked on the door for an hour.”
“How did you get in?” the colonel said in English this time.
“The maid, she used her key. I knocked on the door, but nobody heard me,” Franklin said, looking at this man in his underwear sticking his chest out, scowling at him. Now Crispin appeared, coming out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. Franklin wanted to ask them what they were doing in there with the radio music playing. Were they dancing? He almost smiled thinking of it.
“He says the maid let him in,” the colonel said to Crispin. Crispin appeared sick, very thin; his bones showing. He crossed the room to the coffee table without saying anything and picked up a pack of cigarettes. Franklin looked at the colonel again, the man still watching him.
“Did you return the car?”
Franklin nodded.
“What? I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, I return the car.”
“Where is my receipt?”
“I don’t have it. You didn’t say.”
“I told you get the receipt. Are you stupid?”
Crispin said in Spanish, “We don’t need it.”
“Whether we need it or not, I told him to get it.”
“He doesn’t know of receipts,” Crispin said in Spanish. “He wouldn’t know a fucking receipt if it bit him.”