Some nights, parked across the street in the Parisienne, he watched the hopefuls milling around the roped-off entrance to Club Precipice. But Royce never showed.
One morning he drove out to Gridley and knocked on Danielle’s parents’ door, but she had moved out again. They didn’t know where.
Maven sat at the usual round corner table inside the Berkeley Grill, Ricky his only companion. They had a new waiter Maven didn’t recognize. He did the Royce thing, ordering their Budweisers and steaks and a few appetizers, then asked if the headwaiter could come to the table when he had a chance.
Maven looked at Ricky, who had probably never had a good steak in his life. He didn’t know why he had brought him, except that he didn’t want to be sitting at this big table all alone. Ricky picked at the appetizers with his good hand, chewing an asparagus spear, the first vegetable he’d eaten all year.
Sebastian, the headwaiter, with the server in tow, slowed when he recognized Maven. Sebastian covered his surprise with a quick smile and approached the table.
“Mr. Maven,” he said, tanned and tailored as always. “I’m sorry, I didn’t... no one told me you were here.”
Maven nodded, chewing. “This is my friend Ricky.”
Ricky didn’t wear his hat inside the restaurant, his head dent visible for all to see. Ricky waved his Bud bottle. “Hey.”
Sebastian nodded back, the barest minimum of courtesy. “I trust everything is prepared...”
“Perfect as always, Sebastian. I notice you changed the broccoli marinade.”
“In fact we did.”
Maven nodded, eating as he talked. “Business good?”
“Well, the recession, you know. People still appreciate a good meal.”
Maven nodded again, making Sebastian wait. “Tell me, does Mr. Royce still come in?”
“Only occasionally. Not as often as he once did.”
“If you see him before I do, would you give him a message?”
“Certainly.”
Maven worked with his notched tongue at some bit of meat stuck in his teeth. “Tell him I am going to kill him.”
Sebastian went apron white. He stood very still, as though awaiting further instructions. “Very good, then...,” he said finally, begging off, making his way back to the kitchen.
Hector, who went by the street name Hex, was examined by a guy with an audio scanner. Royce entered the foyer wearing dress pants and a sweater of warm yellow cashmere.
The audio guy pulled down his headphones. “He’s okay.”
Hex said, “You think I’d come here wired?”
Royce said, “Maybe without your knowledge.”
Hex followed Royce into a solarium overlooking a backyard sloping to trees. Another of Royce’s guys was out there, walking under a black umbrella in the rain. Termino muted the television.
Royce said, “So you saw him.”
Hex said, “I saw him.”
“How’d you get away without saying anything?”
“I was there to pick up a payment. He thought I was just another buyer. My guy didn’t dime me out because he knows what’s good for him. But, Christ, he put him through the wringer. Set his fucking house on fire.”
“He took money that was yours. And therefore partly mine. And you let him.”
Hex smiled away the attempted insult. “He had the drop on me. I know when I’m beat. This guy’s on a mission.”
“Who’s he working with?”
“I didn’t see anyone. All by his lonesome.”
“Not for Lockerty, then.”
“I think that last gambit at the Flower Exchange chewed up the rest of Lockerty’s beaten ass.”
“No. He’s out there waiting. Watching. Hoping Maven can succeed where he failed.”
“Who the fuck is this Maven, anyway?”
Royce looked out at the rain. “Trouble.”
“Well, he’s got armor now. He was wearing a Kevlar vest.”
Royce sighed.
“He scotched the product and took the money and guns, but what he really wanted was you.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t tell him anything?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I did. He would.”
Royce accepted that.
Hex said, “What the hell did you do to this guy?”
“I stole his money, killed his girlfriend, and tried to kill him. Twice.”
Termino said, “I’m sick of sitting here talking about this. I say we flush him out. Get him to stick out his neck a bit, so we can cut his throat and end this fucking thing once and for all.”
Royce had his haunts and habits, and Maven knew that if he worked hard enough, their paths would once again cross.
Maven was watching Sonsie — the site of his and Royce’s first sit-down — from a shoe store on Newbury Street when a black SUV pulled up at the valet station. The vehicle obstructed Maven’s view of the first two people entering the restaurant, but two other occupants emerged, large guys in bulky North Face parkas, remaining out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant’s front windows.
One of them was Termino. Maven started right out of the store, stopping once he reached the sidewalk. Too many civilians. By the time he fought his way inside past Termino and friend, Royce would be gone.
Two beat cops came along the sidewalk on foot patrol. Maven took a chance, sliding the Beretta from the back of his waist into a curbside trash container, then approaching the cops.
“Hey, excuse me. Yeah, it’s none of my business, but those two guys over there, who just got out of that SUV? I saw them zip up, and they’re both carrying guns.”
The cops thanked Maven and started across the street. They approached Termino and the other guy, starting an inquiry. Maven walked around them toward the entrance to Sonsie. Termino saw him coming and lunged — the cops grabbing Termino and shoving him hard up against the glass.
Maven walked inside, right past the hostess, straight at Royce’s corner table. Royce saw him and stiffened, looking to the front windows.
Termino was being frisked by the cops in plain sight of everyone inside the restaurant.
Maven stopped before the table. Royce sported a tan wool blazer over an open-collared shirt, Maven wearing a work shirt of lined flannel, carpenter pants, black Timberland boots.
The silence between them was like a battle of wills, until Royce’s server appeared. “Another for lunch?” she asked.
Maven pulled out a chair and sat down. His eyes never left Royce. “Mr. Royce will start with the iced market oysters.”
The server departed. Royce again checked on the shakedown at the front windows. He knew he was on his own here. He looked back at Maven and said, “You must feel very clever.”
Maven said nothing.
Royce relaxed a bit when he saw that Maven wasn’t going to come right at him over the table. “Iced market oysters. We first sat here, you couldn’t even read a fucking menu.”
“You taught me a lot.”
“Congratulations on being such a nuisance. Using my own game against me. I didn’t think you believed in karma.”
“I do when it carries a gun.”
Royce checked Maven’s hands, both of them resting on the table. Royce’s were just out of sight, in his lap.
Maven said, “I’m not interested in any big explanation of your master plan. You can save that tale for the suckers working for you now. I just want to know — why?”
“Why?”
“Me and Milkshake and Suarez. Why lead us along so much? Why fuck around with us and make us believe, if you were going to off us in the end anyway? Why make it so fucking personal?”
Royce grinned as though it were the simplest question in the world. “To keep you loyal.”
“It was all bullshit, then. All those hours spent together. All the jobs, all the talk. All the steaks and the late nights.”