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.”
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 room 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.”
“I told him to get it-I wanted them to see who it was returned the car.”
Crispin was smoking his cigarette now. “Yes, I forgot for a moment.”
Franklin looked from one to the other.
At the colonel saying, “Because you drink too much and then you talk too much. You know nothing of self-discipline. You know how long you would last in the jungle?”
At Crispin saying, “Tell me about living in the camps, I didn’t hear enough of it last night. Mother of God, telling those whores the history of your military life. You know what they cared about it? Nothing. You know where they want to go? Miami, that’s where.”
At the colonel saying, “Of course. You invited those whores to come with us. You don’t remember that, do you? You were so drunk.”
Franklin watched the colonel turn to him again and stare, as if thinking of something to say. But it seemed that all he could think of was, “Well, what do you want?”
“Should I carry something to the car?”
“I haven’t packed my clothes yet.”
Franklin, standing at the side of the desk, looked down and touched one of the bank sacks with his foot. “What about-should I take these?”
The colonel was watching him. He said, “Why? You think we have the money in those?”
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Crispin said, walking back across the room.
As he went into the bedroom, leaving them, Franklin said, “But I don’t think so. I think you keep it in your new car.”
The colonel put his hands on his hips, above his tight shiny red underwear. “Oh, you do, uh? You’re a pretty smart guy, Franklin. How did you become smart, from the missionaries, uh?” The colonel said over his shoulder into the bedroom, raising his voice, “Franklin says he thinks the money is in the car.”
Franklin heard water running in the bathroom and Crispin’s voice say, “Ask him how he knows that.”
“How do you know that, Franklin?”
“I know you wouldn’t keep it here.”
“But we keep it in the car, with no one to watch it?”
“I think you have something watching it.”
The colonel said over his shoulder, “He says he thinks we have something watching it.”