That, too.
“We pay every week—on the nose, through the nose—like an honest place should.”
“See what I mean?” he said. “This town’s jus’ a big conga line of hustlers, all laughin’ and dancin’ and scratchin’ each other’s backs.” Except that Max’s boys liked my craps tables so much they probably returned what Max skimmed with interest, so the line was probably a circle.
“So,” I said, “if the cops own the union, and gambling’s in bed with the cops…?”
“Yeah, yeah, so who really runs the gamblin’, right? Well, no offense, but Maximino is really the big boy in town, obviously.” He leaned a little closer to the mesh. “But word is he gets his orders from some hard-core gangsters in El Marrow. Yeah, that fancy cat track is just a big laundromat… if you get my drift.” He leaned back again.
He might have had something there, only not very much.
“You know what, Terry?” I said. “You’re right. And I think it stinks. I put a lot of work into that club of mine and I don’t like seeing the money I’ve slaved for dribble away into the pockets of these crooks.” Or I would if, like I said, it didn’t have the habit of dribbling right back again. “So if you can hurt ’em, I’m all for it because, in the long run, what helps you helps small-time operators like me.”
“Yeah?” Terry buzzed in surprise. “I guess that does make sense.”
“There’s only one thing I want from you. A little favor.”
“Yeah?” he asked a little suspiciously.
“My buddy Glottis wants a job on the Limbo, but there’s a rush and he can’t find the tools he needs. Since you boys are gonna strike…?”
Terry snapped his fingers, six of them at least. “Done. I’ll send some tools over to the Limbo in Glottis’ name first thing. Glad to do it.”
“Thanks, carnal. I owe you one.”
“Bzzzt!” he exclaimed. “It’s little enough for what you’re doin’ fer me.”
When Virago got the writ we left the station with Terry, who flew off toward the docks.
“I guess our business is settled,” Nick said, putting Terry’s paperwork into his breast pocket.
“Almost,” I said and flattened him with a right, giving him yet another surprise.
“What?” Virago said as he picked himself up. “Was that for the photo girl?” He massaged his jaw.
“No,” I said airily. “That was just for being you. I don’t have time to get you for Lola, but I’m sure somebody will.”
“You didn’t have time to save her, either,” he said, a ‘punch’ much harder than the one I had just landed on him, “but I wouldn’t worry about that, Manny. I hear saving women isn’t your forté.” When I didn’t say anything—I was too busy fuming—he ‘grinned’ and turned to walk away. He turned back to ask, “I presume that photo will be deposited in a safe place?”
“I’ll give it to Glottis,” I answered as menacingly as I could. “You can’t hurt him, and the hornèd beast,” I added, making homage to Olivia’s phrase, “wouldn’t like it if anything were to happen to me.” Glottis was quite gentle, but I didn’t think Virago had much experience with demons. Proving my assumption, he quickly walked away without another word.
I hurried back to the club. The sooner I got that photo to Glottis, the safer I’d feel.
Top to Mop
I didn’t sleep at all well that night. I spent half the night tossing and the other half dozing only to be woken by dreams about Lola. But I must have fallen into a deep sleep eventually because I slept right through my alarm and was woken up by the phone. I fumbled with the receiver, dropping it on the floor before getting it right and mumbling, “’lo?”
“Manny?” a gruff voice asked. “Velasco.”
The phone woke me up so fast I wasn’t sure who or where I was, but Velasco’s voice brought it all back. I sat up and rubbed my eye sockets, bracing myself to play it out. “Y’a’?” I asked blearily. “Wha’s’a?”
There was a slight pause before Velasco asked, “Are you all right, son?”
“I had kind of a late night,” I answered, managing clear English at last.
“Did I wake you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, Manny, but this is kinda urgent.”
I knew it was, but I still asked, “What is it?”
“I got a call from the city morgue,” Velasco said. “It seems like Naranja’s sprouted.”
“Sprouted!” I made myself exclaim. “What’s happening to this town?”
“Big city crime, Manny,” Velasco said with a sigh, giving it a double meaning, or so I imagined. “We’re getting more and more of it every day.” There was a longish pause. “I know you probably hate getting it this way, but Naranja’s job is yours now.”
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking that…”
“You’ll take his job because there’s no one I can get on such short notice!” Velasco snapped. “The Limbo’s loading up now an’ she’ll be ready to sail just after noon. Glottis’ tools are all stowed already, so you get that piano player of yours an’ your head cleared an’ yer bony ass down here before they shove off… and you’d better have a union card with you.”
“I’ll have it.”
“Yeah, I figured you would. You’ve taken care of everything else.” His voice sounded unusually harsh.
“Did you identify Naranja for Membrillo?” I asked.
There was another short but noticeable pause before Velasco said simply, “Yes.”
“Well,” I said, feeling like I belonged under a rock, “we’ll be there before the Limbo sails.”
“Yeah, I know you will,” Velasco said with a snarl. Then he hung up.
It was already past ten when Velasco called. I got word to Glottis to meet me at the Limbo before noon. The man Salvador was sending to Rubacava to take over the club hadn’t arrived yet, of course, but I didn’t much care. Calavera Café was no longer any concern of mine. In fact, I no longer felt at home in Rubacava. I packed what little I thought I needed and sent it to the Limbo. Then I went to my bank and made sure I could get at my money further down the line. I almost decided to just turn it all over to Salvador, but I figured I might still need it. Chasing after Domino and Meche could get expensive.
It was well past eleven when I headed for the Limbo. I had just gotten to the docks, and spotted Glottis waiting for me ahead, when I heard a siren behind me and the screech of a car braking suddenly. I turned to see Bogen getting out of a squad car. Perfect timing. I turned back toward the Limbo’s berth and managed to take a step before Bogen called out, “Stay put, Calavera!”
I turned around again to watch Bogen and his cop driver approach me. Then there was a sharp whistle off behind me somewhere and, a couple of seconds later, an explosion. The concussion made us all stumble. I looked toward the sound of the blast and saw a fiery mushroom rising up from the dry docks, its underside brightly lit by flames rising from the hulks of incomplete ships. Bogen stared open-jawed while his driver rushed back to the car to shout into the radio.
Before Bogen could do anything himself, a group of Sea Bees suddenly flew up and started pelting him and the car with rocks, all the while loudly buzzing “Sea Bees! Free Bees!” Taking that as my cue, I spun around and sprinted toward the Limbo.