Done Deal Page 8

  A generator’s roar echoed along the bridge span, and Deal felt the rumble of even heavier machinery through his feet.

  When he saw the silhouette of the crane against the backdrop of the distant city skyline, his first thought was that the bridge had caved in.

  A tiny drum of panic had sprung up unaccountably inside him, and he hurried onto the steel deck of the drawbridge itself. “Hey,” someone yelled, and Deal caught sight of a cop in a reflective jacket coming toward him.

  Deal waved as if he were greeting the cop and ducked under a broad yellow ribbon that was meant to cordon off the work area. He was so close now that the glare of the unshielded lights nearly blinded him. The clatter of the generator was deafening, drowning out even the grinding of the winch, the diesel engine of the crane.

  Deal reached the rail of the bridge, stopped, blinked until his eyes adjusted to the blue-white flame of light. A section of the rail at his right was gone, where something had ripped through it. The hollow aluminum girders waved crazily out above the dark water, twisted arms reaching for something they’d meant to keep. Deal gripped the rail in front of him, stared down. There were boats down there, divers, men with hard hats, cops. Civilian boats lurked in the background: whalers, a sailboat, a Donzi.

  A thick cable was twisting up into the maw of the crane, spitting water and seaweed over the boats. Deal saw a shape congealing underneath the water, like an immense ray he’d once encountered off Pennekamp Reef, the whole floor of the ocean coming up to envelop him.

  He heard shouts. “Look out. It’s coming up. Get back.”

  The car broke water then, twisting, glistening in the glare of the lights, draped in tendrils of weed. “Jesus Christ,” Deal cried, his insides frozen. “Oh Christ. Jesus Christ.”

  There was a hand on his shoulder, jerking him back. “Nobody’s allowed here, buddy,” the cop was saying, but Deal shook him off, turned back to the sight of The Hog, twisting in the air now, gouts of seawater cascading from its open windows, its snout.

  “Janice…” he screamed, but it was cut off by the cop’s arm about his throat, his other hand pressing his head forward, choking him. Stars danced at Deal’s eyes. He stamped down hard on the cop’s foot, felt something give. He flung the man off him and started toward the broken railing.

  He heard footsteps on the steel deck behind him, turned, threw his hand up.

  “Wait…” he said. Then felt something slam against his head. There was pain, but then there was also peace.

  Chapter 8

  “You’re sure it’s your car?”

  Deal was sitting on the back step of an emergency van while a technician swabbed something that stung on the back of his head. He looked up at the cop who wanted to know about his car. The cop was in his late twenties, with a thick neck, closely trimmed hair, shoulders that crowded in on his ears. He was giving Deal the same stare he’d worked up for winos he caught pissing in the bushes.

  “It’s my car,” Deal said. Workmen were hooking The Hog to a tow truck a few feet away. The right fender was caved in where it had gone through the railing. The doors still hung open. The leather seats were oozing water and shone in the glare of the portable floodlights.

  The cop nodded and jotted something down on his clipboard. “You leave your keys in the ignition, doors unlocked?” he said, still writing. “Anything like that?”

  Deal tried to stand, but the technician caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back down. “I’m almost finished,” the technician said.

  “I’d like you to take these handcuffs off,” Deal said to the cop. His arms were twisted behind his back. The cuffs dug into his wrists at the slightest movement.

  The cop finished writing, glanced down at him, then over by the police line where the cop who’d hit Deal with his stick was giving a statement to another officer. The cop in front of Deal shrugged.

  “You all calmed down, now?”

  Deal forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” The cop went back to writing on his clipboard.

  Deal stood up, this time ignoring the technician’s hand on his shoulder. He heard the technician curse and the sound of things breaking on the pavement behind him. Deal strode forward, ramming his chest against the cop’s clipboard, driving him backward, off-balance.

  “My wife was in that car.”

  The cop was still back-pedaling. He dropped his clipboard and was scrabbling for the nightstick at his belt. Deal closed in on him, kicked his legs out from under him. The cop went down hard on his back, his breath ripping from him.

  There were shouts behind Deal now, the sounds of footsteps drumming over the metal grid of the drawbridge. There was the whine of a motor, and a set of headlights washed over Deal suddenly, over the fallen cop. A car slid to a stop somewhere close by. The whole bridge shuddered.

  Deal heard a door open, felt a thick pair of arms encircle him, pull him away from the fallen cop.

  “You’re in enough trouble,” the voice said. Deal caught the scent of spearmint on the man’s breath. He did not resist as he was pulled away.

  The man dragged Deal back to his unmarked sedan and pushed him into the backseat. He poked a finger in Deal’s face. “Now sit there and keep the hell quiet.”

  He slammed the door and went off toward the group gathered by the cop Deal had knocked over.

  The detective was in his late fifties and moved like a bag of heavy parts trying to find a way to mesh. He waved his arms a few times as he spoke to the cop, jerked his thumb toward Deal once or twice. He bent down and retrieved the clipboard, patted the cop on the shoulder. Finally, he sent the cop off with his partner, the slender one whose foot Deal had stomped. The two limped toward their cruiser.

  The detective glanced inside The Hog, then made a gesture to the driver of the tow truck. As the truck ground slowly off, the detective came back to the car, got in the driver’s seat and turned to stare at Deal through the heavy mesh dividing the seats.

  “You’re Jack Deal, right?”

  Deal closed his eyes, nodded, reopened them.

  The detective was shaking his head. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  Deal took a breath. “Look. My wife was in that car. She could be out in that water somewhere and you got fuckheads asking me for my driver’s license.”

  The big man nodded. “We’re doing what we can. That car went into the water hours ago. We’ve had boats out there, divers…” He broke off as a police helicopter swooped down over the bridge, its searchlights washing the water into a white sheen.

  The detective waved at the helicopter. The thing was hovering low above the water now, the water a white and green froth beneath the clattering blades. “You see what I mean?”

  Deal turned away, seething. He wanted to slam through the mesh, tear this man to pieces with his teeth.

  “Hey,” the big man said, softly. “Look here a minute.”

  Deal found himself turning.

  “You’re John Deal’s boy, right?”

  Deal stared. Did he know this man?

  “My name’s Driscoll. Your dad and I have some history together.”

  Deal stared at him. Didn’t everyone?

  Driscoll turned to glance at the helicopter as it circled farther and farther out the channel toward the sea. “When the call came over, I wondered if it wasn’t you.” He paused. “Your dad built a bunch of these buildings out here, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t remember you,” Deal said.

  Driscoll gave a mirthless laugh. “’Course you don’t, son. No reason you should.” His gaze had drifted off into some other place.

  Deal leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Driscoll, can you do something for me?”

  Driscoll came back from wherever he’d been. He was measuring Deal now. “That depends,” he said.

  “I’d like you to get these handcuffs off.”

  Driscoll looked at him as if
he’d just remembered what they were doing there together. “Sure,” he said. “Let me just get a key from Carlos.”

  He started out the door, then turned back. “Listen, I’m real sorry what happened, son. We’ll find her, if she’s out there, okay?”

  Deal nodded. He heard the tone in Driscoll’s voice. They both knew what that current was like beneath the bridge. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Driscoll got out of the car. Deal turned away, feeling the tears hot in his eyes.

  ***

  Deal pulled into a 7-Eleven just on the other side of the bridge. A guy in dreadlocks was camped on the phone, but when Deal came to stand a foot away, he mumbled something into the receiver and slunk away.

  It took Deal two calls to information, but he finally found the number he wanted, a Hallandale exchange. It rang several times before a machine picked up with a squeal. The drawl that followed seemed as familiar as yesterday to Deal: “This here’s Cal Saltz and I ain’t here. You can leave a message, but I’m not promising anything.”

  Deal would have hung up, but the beep came while he was still holding the receiver, wondering who he could try next.

  “It’s Jack Deal,” he said, woodenly. It seemed hard to make his voice work. “Something happened and I…” he trailed off. What the hell was he doing, talking to a machine.

  He was reaching up to cut the connection when he heard another version of Saltz’s voice cutting in. “I’m here, for Christ’s sake.” An electronic howl had set in on Saltz’s end. “Hold on. Goddamn thing’s supposed to turn off.”

  By the time the howling stopped, Saltz was coughing, great chest-rending hacks that made Deal wince. Finally, he heard the old man’s voice again. “Yeah, Johnny. I’m here. What the hell do you want, anyway?”

  “Something’s happened to Janice,” Deal heard himself saying. “I’m feeling a little strange, Cal…”

  Saltz’s voice came back, alert and firm, suddenly, the old Cal, Cal in control, with the world by the tail.

  “Where are you, Johnny?”

  Deal told him.

  “You wait right there. Go inside and get you a beer. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Deal nodded and hung up. A beer. He glanced inside the 7-Eleven. A woman at the self-serve counter was spreading mustard on a hot dog. Lifting it. Taking a big bite. A little boy beside her had his hand plunged into a bag of Cheetos. There was an orangish ring around his mouth.

  A beer. Sure, Deal thought. A beer.

  He took one step toward the entrance and then he was down on his knees, his stomach turning inside out.

  Chapter 9

  “It should never have happened, Cal.” Deal heard his own voice echoing, as if he were a third person in the room.

  “’Course it shouldn’t have, Johnny.” Saltz was pouring himself another drink. He came out of his little den onto the screened porch of his condo where they’d been sitting for hours.

  “I told the bastards. I told them…” Deal broke off, glaring at Saltz.

  “Those people are responsible,” Deal said, after a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Somehow, the words seemed to give him comfort, warmed away some of the iciness that came with every thought of Janice.

  “That’s right,” Saltz said, raising his glass of Scotch. “But you just need to take it easy right now.” It was getting light enough to see the beach down below, still deserted at this hour. A bank of clouds was rolling in from the east, and the wind had picked up. It looked like rain.

  “They’re gonna find her,” Saltz said, his gravelly voice doing its best to sound reassuring. “Hell’s fire, remember when we thought you drowned that time up in Jupiter? Your old man was crazy, thinking he lost you, and you come floating in at midnight.” Cal lifted his glass. “They could call any minute, tell you the same.”

  Deal nodded, but he wasn’t buying into Cal’s optimism. Sure, Deal had made it out of a tight spot, once, but he was a good swimmer. Janice needed water wings to take a bath.

  “I appreciate you sitting up with me, Cal. But you don’t have to bullshit me.”

  Saltz stared at him a moment. “A man gives up hope, Johnny…” he trailed off, shaking his head sadly.

  A moment passed. They listened to the surf piling in. Growing louder.

  Saltz swirled the ice cubes in his drink. “I used to be on top of the world, Johnny. But I was always doing a lot of stupid things, like I was ashamed to have the money, all the things that went with it. Like I had to piss it all away.” He smiled, tilting his drink at Deal. “And I did it, too.”

  Deal looked away as Saltz continued. “Elizabeth stuck with me all the way, though. That’s what kept me going. Then, when she died, I said, well, that’s it, there really isn’t anything left, go ahead and take the pipe, Cal.”

  Saltz got up, went inside, opened a desk drawer. He came back out, showing Deal a pistol. “I brought this out here one afternoon a week or so after the funeral and watched the sun go down, had myself a big Scotch, figuring that would be the time.”

  “So what stopped you?” Deal couldn’t imagine Saltz doing himself in, but how could you really tell about anyone?

  “I’ve often thought about that, Johnny. I was sitting there with the pistol, thinking about how a cop told me once what happened to your face if you had your mouth closed around the barrel when you pulled the trigger. Not that the end result was a whole hell of a lot different if you had it open, but the mess and all was a lot worse…”

  Saltz shook his head, remembering. “And then I thought, Jesus Christ, I’m worried about how I’m gonna look after this is all over? And then the next thing, I’m watching some cruise boat heading out of port like Christmas all lit up and thinking how good the Scotch is tasting. And I thought, damned if I won’t have another one.”

  He stared at Deal and shrugged. “So I guess you could chalk it up to whiskey, why I didn’t do it. Anyway, the moment passed, or I passed it.” He smiled and downed his drink. “Couple big Scotches right about dinnertime. Seems to keep me going.”

  Deal stared at him. “That’s good, Cal. I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

  “Whatever works,” Cal said, shrugging.

  Deal picked up the drink Saltz had poured him and slugged it down. He didn’t feel anything, except empty. Like he was throwing the drink into a big empty drum.

  “The whole world wants to cop a plea,” Deal said.

  “What are you talking about?” Saltz had one shoe off, was massaging his instep.

  “Janice is dead, that’s what I’m talking about. And it wasn’t an accident.”

  Saltz put his shoe back on. His face looked gray with fatigue. “You need sleep, Johnny. You wake up, things’ll be better. You’ll be able to think.”

  Deal shook his head. “I’m thinking just fine.” He watched a gull on the boardwalk, tearing at something stuck to the bicycle path, something run over many, many times. He could hear Saltz wheezing, breathing through his nose.

  The phone rang and Saltz walked inside to get it. Deal sat woodenly, listening to the murmur of the old man’s voice, refusing to let himself hope. A gust of wind blew a fine mist of rain through the screen. The sky was leaden.

  It didn’t surprise him when Saltz came back with the news: they’d had to call off the search because of the weather. They’d be out again, though, as soon as the front passed through. Boats. ’Copters. Divers. The works.

  Deal nodded. He had picked up Cal’s pistol, sat cradling it in his hands, staring out at the water.

  “Be careful,” Saltz said, gently. “That thing’s loaded.”

  “Don’t worry, Cal,” Deal said. He extended his arm and sighted down the pistol barrel at the gull. Something hung in tendrils from the bird’s beak. Deal eased the hammer back to rest. “I’m just letting the moment pass.”

  Chapter 10

  Leon Straight put the drink down on his boss’s desk, then sat down to wait as Alc
azar went on with his wheeling and dealing. Had to be something about money. Leon, who’d done some time, had seen prison dogs find all sorts of shit in the Georgia swamp, in the piney woods, track a possum across a knife blade, but nothing they could do held a candle to this man’s scent for cash money.

  Sooner or later, they’d get back to the matter at hand, which was his colossal fuck-up. Come on, get it over with, he thought. He had some things of his own to take care of.

  The desk backed up on some big windows that looked out on the Intracoastal Waterway, and even though it was a gray day, the glare was hurting Leon’s eyes. He turned and stared out the other direction at a big sweep of lawn surrounded by thick hedges. There was a golf course on the other side of the hedges, although Leon had never seen it. There was a gardener working out on the lawn, clipping a bush into a weird oblong shape. Why wouldn’t you just let the damn thing grow, Leon wondered.

  “We are very, very close now,” his boss was saying. “An item or two, nothing more.”

  Leon felt the glance that came his way. What the fuck, it wasn’t his fault.

  “I understand, but put it out of your mind. We will meet the deadline. I assure you. Absolutely.” Alcazar replaced the phone and turned to face him fully.

  “Now, Leon,” he said, “I believe I’ve explained to you about the complexity of this endeavor. How timing affects our efforts.”

  Leon nodded. He turned away from the gardener. Forget the words. He knew Alcazar had every dime on the line. That’s what he was trying to say.

  Alcazar glanced down at his desk, gathering his patience. When he looked up at Leon, he seemed almost relaxed. “Over the past eleven months, I have accomplished something that no businessman in this city could have dreamed of. Through subordination agreements, option arrangements, and outright purchase, I now control the largest, the most important block of commercial real estate in this city.” He stared off, wistfully. “It’s almost a shame that no one can be allowed to learn of it.”