Lola stood up and paced around a little. “I’m not sure how to explain this.” She paced a little more, then stopped. “Well, you know how I’ve told you people always treat me like their kid sister or something?”
“Sure.”
“Well, you’ve been different. When you needed someone to help you keep an eye on this place when it was being remodeled, you picked me of all people. I’ve never had responsibility like that before. You listened to me when I had something to say—usually—and sometimes you backed down when I got up the nerve to argue with you.”
“Sounds like you had a pretty good experience here.”
“Yeah, I have. It’s been great working for you.”
“So why leave? This place won’t run itself, you know. I still need your help.”
“Glottis can give you all the help you need, if you let him.”
“That’s not an answer. Why leave if things have been so great?”
“Because… well, because I’ve had to take responsibility for things. Stand up for myself. I found out I can do it. Now I want to do it for myself, on my own.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
“Photographer. People come through town, see the sights, and want their pictures taken. I had a camera when I was alive. I was pretty good. Still am. So I’ve set myself up to do souvenir photos.”
“You’re all ready to start?” I asked.
“Actually, I already have… using whatever spare time I could find. Now the club’s finished, I’m done here. Tomorrow I start making a go at being a full-time shutterbug.”
“Well,” I said, turning back to the drinks I was mixing, “I guess we’ll be drinking to something else, then.” I finished up and gave Lola hers. I held up my glass, “To your new endeavor. All the best.”
“To Calavera Café,” Lola said. “Ditto.”
YEAR 2
Feline Meadows
The club did all right. In fact, it did great. It was a little hard at first doing without Lola. I had really gotten to depend on her and I missed her. But she turned out to be right: Glottis could help out running the place, even if he did need more supervision. That was a little more work for me, but that was OK. We were raking in the dough, and I soon had to make a decision about whether I should try to pay off my debts early or stick to my self-imposed schedule and funnel profits to the LSA as soon as there were any. Well, it wasn’t that tough a decision. As much as I would have liked to be free and clear, the LSA needed money right away. So within about a month of opening, money from the club was going to Salvador through my LSA cell.
For a long time I was bothered by what Membrillo had said on the club’s opening night. I had worked at the DOD long enough to know that he was wrong. The Land of the Dead wasn’t a great place to be in, he was right about that, but what got to me was the fact that Membrillo’s belief was keeping him in the Land of the Dead when he could buy a steamship ticket at any time. But he wouldn’t because he thought that was part of the torment. I told myself it was no business of mine what Membrillo believed because he was only hurting himself. But it didn’t work.
Even though I knew he was wrong, there was this little voice in my head that kept asking if maybe he wasn’t. After all, I had never been to the Ninth Underworld myself and knew of no one who had ever come back. So why was I so sure I was right? If I was getting those kinds of doubts, then Membrillo wasn’t really just hurting himself. Who knows how many people he may have brought around to his way of thinking? And besides, I thought of Membrillo as a friend. He wasn’t just a client, someone I could simply send on his way and forget about. But there was nothing I could do about it. Membrillo was sure he was right and that was that.
Even though Lola didn’t work at the club any more, she was still around. She worked most of the night spots in town, including Calavera Café, and we still both stopped at the Normandie. She wasn’t making as much money as would have with me, but she said she was making enough and was happy with what she was doing, so that was fine by me.
She also worked Feline Meadows, not that she ever did much business there. People were too busy with the cats. She did most of the little business she did there in the High Rollers’ Lounge whenever Max had a party, but not really enough to justify hanging around there. Truth be told, I think she only did it because she had a thing for Max. I suppose that must have started when we ran into Max at police headquarters after the sprouting, but it took me a while to notice it. She would have been better off just working the more profitable spots, but I supposed she knew her business. When I talked to her about Max she insisted she knew what was what.
In the middle of the club’s third week open I decided it was time to pay my respects at the track. I was sure my staff could handle things and they knew where I was going to be. So I went down to the track, picking up Carla along the way, and flashed my card to the goon at the elevator. After a quick, smooth ride up, the doors opened to opulence that made my swanky club look like a rat hole.
“Wow!” Carla said as we got a good look around. She stumbled a little on the deep carpet.
“Should’ve worn your flats,” I said. “Or maybe snowshoes.”
“Uh-huh,” she said absently, craning her neck to take in the giant, golden cat statue that dominated the place.
I snagged a passing waiter. “Hey, where’s Max’s office?”
“Are you expected?” the guy asked.
“I’m Calavera,” I said, wondering if that would get a reaction. It got enough of one but not what I was hoping for.
“I see,” the waiter sniffed. “Well, Maximino’s office is right over there.” He pointed to a recessed doorway off the main part of the lounge.
“Thanks,” I said, and we went toward the door. “Suppose they’re paid to act like that?” I asked Carla.
“Dunno,” she said, “but I’m feeling a little above it all just being here.”
“Yeah, and I got a kick just outta flashing that card. Maybe I need something like that for the club, something to make the regulars feel special.”
“What could be more special than just being in Calavera Café?” Carla asked just to be silly.
“Well, this joint for one thing.” We got to Max’s door then so I knocked. After a little pause it opened up to reveal one of Max’s ‘boys’ who slowly looked us over with a clear Whataya want, mug? expression not really on his face. “I’m Manny Calavera,” I said. “I’d like to see Max, if that’s OK with you.”
The guy shrugged. “Sure, Calavera. The boss says you get the red carpet.” He let us into the outer office, a kind of small, smoky lounge where a handful of guys sat around looking sharp but dangerous. Some were playing poker.
“Weren’t you at my club’s opening?” I asked, taking the chance that I really did recognize the guy.
“Yeah,” he said. “Dropped a bundle at your craps table, too.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said, not the least bit sorry, “but when you gamble, sometimes you lose.”
“Oh, I ain’t kickin’,” he said. “Max says you run honest tables. That’s good enough for me.” Suddenly he jammed a forefinger into my ribs. “I’d be sore if I ever found out it wasn’t true.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Max knows what he’s talking about. Come by the club, maybe you’ll get your money back.”
“Already have,” he said.
“Yeah,” one of the poker plays said over his shoulder. “Then he let it ride.”
“Fingers don’t know when to quit,” another said with a laugh.
“Shut your holes,” the one who let us in snapped. “Go on in,” he said to Carla and me, jerking a thumb toward the inner door. “The boss’s been waitin’ for you to pay him a visit.” He rapped in a peculiar way on the door and opened it for us.