“We have to talk about him.”
Her face turned dark. Then tears rolled down her cheeks, and she started to crack. I sensed another presence in the lounge and looked up. The bouncer from last night was back. I offered no resistance as he lifted me off the couch.
“I told you to stay out of here,” he said.
Melinda held her head in her hands. I spotted Cheever at the bar and waved. He came running and pulled the bouncer off me. The bouncer cocked his fist, and Cheever showed him his badge.
“Fucking shit,” the bouncer said.
Cheever made him empty his pockets. The bouncer was carrying several fat joints and enough nose candy for the Mexican Army. Cheever read him his rights. I returned to the couch and pulled Melinda's toga together.
“I don't want to die,” she sobbed. “I don't want to die.”
“You're not going to die,” I said.
“Yes, I am. Skell's going to kill me.”
“No, you're not,” I told her. “You're not going to die.”
I fed Melinda pigs in a blanket at the local IHOP, and the life came back to her cheeks. She tried to talk, but I wouldn't let her. She was still messed up. Drugs mixed with fear produces something akin to insanity. She desperately needed to get straight.
“What's going to happen to Ray?” she asked after her third cup of coffee.
I assumed Ray was the bouncer and said, “He'll cop a plea, maybe do a couple of months, probably just house arrest or probation.”
She twirled her coffee with the tip of her pinky. She'd cried away her makeup, and beneath the estaurant's harsh neon she looked like a kid. I assumed Ray's coke was the carrot that kept her coming back to the club and saw her shrug indifferently.
“So what's your solution?” she asked.
I told her about rescuing the Vasquez baby and how it had led to my getting the house in Aspen.
“Ever been to Aspen?” I asked.
“I've never been out of Florida,” she said.
“I want you to go there and lie low for a while.”
“Let me think about it, okay?”
Melinda didn't own a car and relied on the largesse of other dancers for rides. I drove her to a sprawling apartment complex near Weston and parked outside her unit. A giant palmetto bug smacked into the windshield, making us both jump.
“Oh, Jesus, I hate those things,” Melinda said. “Make it go away.”
I cleaned the bug's remains off the glass and got back in.
“Will you do it?” I asked.
She looked away. “Leave Florida? I don't know.”
“You need to get out of here for a few weeks,” I said. “I'll buy the airline ticket, send you money for food.”
She placed her hand on my thigh. “Will that make me your kept woman?”
I got out, came around to her side, and opened her door. I was all business walking her up the path to her ground-floor unit. She caught my drift, but at the door she embraced me anyway.
“One day, Jack. One day.”
“Will you do it?”
“You sound like a recorded message. I hate that.”
“I'm sorry. Will you?”
Her key ring came out, and she unlocked her door.
“Let me sleep on it,” and she was gone before I could reply.
During the drive home I remembered Jessie's basketball game. It was late and she was probably asleep in her dorm room, but I called her anyway. Her voice was groggy when she answered.
“I'm sorry I woke you,” I said. “How was the game?”
“We won,” my daughter said. “Your dream was right. I shot eight for twelve from the three-point line and hit 80 percent of my free throws.”
“You're a star.”
My daughter giggled. “Thanks for calling. How was your day?”
“Couldn't of been better.”
“Good. Good night, Daddy. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I ended the call. Talking to Jessie gave purpose to my day, and I looked out my window at the shimmering lights from hundreds of houses visible from the interstate. It wasn't that long ago that I'd lived in one of those neighborhoods, with a wife and a child and a big backyard, where I'd hoped to put a swimming pool. Back then, my life had been filled with headaches and dreams, and I was always wishing for things I didn't own. It had never occurred to me how good things really were and that I should have been content with what I'd had. Now, I knew. And I wanted that life back, and all the problems that went with it. Somehow I didn't think that was too much to ask for.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
God blinked.
My five-year-old daughter stood before me, wearing a pink polka-dot bikini and clutching a plastic bucket. We were visiting friends on Hutchinson Island for the weekend, and Jessie wanted to go shell hunting on the beach with the older kids.
“Please, Daddy, I want to go,” she pleaded.
The beer bottle in my hand was empty, and I was craving another. Outside the screened porch stood the other children, waiting expectantly. I did not like letting Jessie out of my sight. Seeing my hesitation, Jessie stomped her foot.
“Please, Daddy!”
I sensed a tantrum coming on and felt myself start to cave.
“Promise me you won't bother the turtles we saw last night,” I said.
Jessie began to pout. Last night, under a full moon, our family had watched giant loggerhead turtles that had swum all the way from South Africa lay dozens of perfectly round white eggs in nests they'd dug on the beach. Jessie hadn't stopped talking about it.
“But I wanna see them,” she said.
“I'll take you later,” I said.
“You will?”
“Yes. Now promise me you'll stay away from them.”
She stared at the floor. “Okay.”
“Good. Now go have fun.”
I watched her leave, then went to the kitchen for a fresh beer. On the way I was besieged with orders from my friends.
“Hey Jack, how about another cold one?”
“Jack, I could use more wine.”
Jack, Jack, Jack.
We'd been partying all day long, and no one was feeling any pain. In the kitchen I fixed the drinks and put them on a tray, then returned to my friends. I served Rose, and she kissed me. Then I served my friends, and they tried to kiss me, too.
I returned to my chair. Something didn't feel right. Rising, I went to the screened window and stared at the sand dunes behind the house. The kids were having a blast and making plenty of noise. Finally I realized what was wrong. I didn't hear Jessie. Opening the screen door, I called her name.
No answer.
The dreadful void of silence was a sound worse than any cry or scream. Stepping outside, I went to where the older kids were playing in the dunes, half expecting to have my daughter jump up and yell “Boo!”
But she didn't.
“Where's Jessie?” I asked them. “Where is she?”
The older kids gave me blank stares. Then one pointed down the beach. I ran to the next dune and found Jessie's bucket. There were three sand dollars in it.
I couldn't believe this was happening. I was a cop. I should know better.
“Daddy!”
I ran to the sound of her voice. Twenty yards away, Jessie sat in the tall grass, crying and clutching herself. I gathered her into my arms.
“Make him go away,” she sobbed. “Make him go away!”