Henry didn't want to make the call from his cell phone. The first pay phone he found was on Grand Avenue in Coconut Grove. This was not the world's safest place for middle-aged white guys wearing Rolex watches, which Henry was.
Leonard, still woozy and seriously hurting in the head, stayed in the car, lying across the backseat. Henry got out, fed a quarter and a dime into the phone, and dialed a number from a piece of paper. Watching him, from a vacant lot across the four-lane avenue, were three young men.
The phone rang once.
"Tell me," said a voice on the other end.
"There was another shooter," said Henry.
There was a pause, then the voice said: "What do you mean?"
The three young men started walking across Grand Avenue, very casually, toward Henry.
"I mean there was another shooter, is what I mean," said Henry.
"Who?" said the voice.
"I was thinking maybe you would know," said Henry.
Halfway across the avenue, the three young men fanned out, with one moving to Henry's left, one to his right, and one coming directly toward him. They were still moving casually.
The phone voice said: "Whoever it was, it wasn't us." Then: "Did you take care of the job?"
"No," said Henry.
"Did the other shooter take care of it?"
"No."
"So you're saying there's two shooters, and our guy just walks away?"
The three young men had stopped about eight feet from Henry, forming a triangle around him.
"Hang on a second," Henry said. He dropped the piece of paper with the telephone number on it, then bent down as if to pick it up. Instead, he pulled the gun out of his ankle holster, straightened, and pointed the gun at the one of the three young men, who Henry figured was the leader, on the grounds that he was the nearest, plus he was wearing the biggest pants. Henry arched his eyebrows at him, letting him know, hey, not right now, OK?
The leader nodded approvingly at the gun, at the general coolness of Henry's move. He pivoted and walked casually back across Grand Avenue, followed by the other two young men.
"Hello?" said the voice on the phone.
"Our guy didn't walk away," said Henry. "He more crawled away when this other shooter comes running up like he's Geronimo, and then Geronimo gets jumped by the wife, and then the cops come."
Henry decided to leave out, for now anyway, the part where he lost his rifle to the guy from the tree.
The phone was silent for a moment.
"We need to talk," said the voice.
"You got that right," said Henry.
A police detective named Harvey Baker came and asked the Herks, several different ways, if they could think of any reason why anybody would want to shoot them. Anna had no idea. Arthur speculated that it was probably some fucking kids, because these fucking kids today, they all have fucking guns. Detective Baker did not believe that Arthur was telling him everything. He pointed out that the police could not protect people if the people didn't cooperate. Arthur stated that he didn't think the police could protect their own dicks with both hands. Detective Baker found himself developing a strong emotional bond with whoever had taken the shot.
Nina was not helpful, either. Detective Baker, with Monica translating, made it clear that he was not interested in the legality of her residence in the United States, but she wanted no part of any police business. All she would say is that when she heard noise, she jumped out the window, ran across the yard, and hit the wall. She did not see anything; she did not hear anything. Nada.
Detective Baker decided that this was probably going to be one of those cases where somebody shoots a gun and nobody ever finds out who or why, which is a fairly common type of case in Miami. To make Anna Herk feel better, he poked around the backyard a bit, aided by Roger, but he didn't find, nor did he expect to find, any clues. He told the Herks that he would continue to investigate the shooting, which everybody understood to mean that he would not continue to investigate the shooting.
Detective Baker decided not to arrest Matt, thanks in part to the pleading of Anna Herk, who felt really bad about having pounded Matt's face into the floor. Detective Baker did, however, point out that creeping around people's backyards at night in Miami with what looked like a real gun was, no offense, dumber than dog shit. Matt assured the detective that he had learned this lesson.
As soon as the police left, Arthur turned to Eliot and said: "Now you and your punk kid can get the fuck out of here and never come back."
"It's been a pleasure meeting you, too," said Eliot.
"I'll walk you out," Anna told Eliot. They headed for the foyer, with Matt, Jenny, and Roger trailing behind.
Outside, Matt said, "I'll go get the car." To Jenny, he said, "Did you ever want to experience the thrill of riding in a genuine Kia?"
"It's only a lifelong dream," said Jenny, and they set off toward the gate, followed by Roger, in case they were going to get food.
"Sarcasm," said Eliot. "I don't know where they get it."
"Certainly not from their parents," said Anna.
"Listen," said Eliot. "I am really sorry about…»
"No," said Anna. "I'm sorry, for hurting Matt, and I'm sorry my husband is such an idiot."
"Well," said Eliot, "he's probably really upset about the bullet."
"No," said Anna. "He's an idiot."
Eliot just looked at her for a moment, because the truth was, he agreed with her that Arthur was an idiot. Also, she had amazing eyes.
"Well, listen," he finally said, "if there's ever anything that I can… I mean, not about your husband of course, I mean, the bullet, if I can…»
"I married him when Jenny was little," Anna said, "and my first husband left me with no money, and I had to move to a horrible apartment and I had no job. Arthur didn't drink so much then, and he seemed… stable, I guess, and I just… I was desperate."
"Geez," said Eliot.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she said.
"It's OK," said Eliot. He was glad she was telling him this.
"I keep looking up divorce lawyers in the phone book," she said. "Sometimes I even call, but when they answer, I hang up, because… I mean, I want to do it, and I know I have to do it, but I also know Arthur, and he's going to be just as big a prick as he possibly can. He's going to want to hurt me and Jenny. And I keep seeing us back in that horrible apartment."
"Geez," said Eliot. He was wondering what she would think of his apartment.
"Does that mean I'm pathetic?" she said.
"No!" said Eliot.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll stop dumping on you, I promise."
"Hey," he said. "Anytime."
"Thanks," she said. She touched his forearm. Whoa.
They stood there for a moment, both of them a little bit uncomfortable, but neither of them wanting to break the spell, and then…
I want your sex pootie!
I want your sex pootie!
The sound of the thudding bass preceded the Kia, which pulled into the driveway going too fast, as it always did when Matt was at the wheel. It jerked to a stop. Jenny got out, and Matt followed, holding a CD.
"You want to borrow it?" he said.
"Sure, thanks," Jenny said. "I love the Seminal Fluids." In fact, she already had this particular CD; she was borrowing it so she could return it, and thus talk to Matt again. When she took the CD, their hands touched. Whoa.
"I'll drive," said Eliot, and Matt did not argue, which indicated to Eliot that Matt was either falling in love or suffering from a concussion.
The four of them stood by the car for a second or two.
"Well," said Eliot, to Anna, "bye."
"Bye," said Anna, to Eliot.