Darcey nods to George Lewis and mouths the word thanks. He walks backward, pulling money out of his pocket and placing it on the counter to his right. Yuk Tang slips out of their booth, mixes his money with Darcey’s, and thanks the fry-boy. He lifts the sandwich off the plate, one half in each hand and tomato sauce oozing down the sides, and follows Darcey out of the Menard.
In the car, they sit for a moment, both a little shaken. To calm himself, Yuk Tang begins arranging the sandwiches on the glove box door like this was a formal banquet. He finds napkins from various drive-through restaurants, packets of salt and pepper, tubes of ketchup and mustard. When he comes across a container of duck sauce, he eases it out the window.
Darcey opens the envelope, reads it once, looks at Yuk Tang without expression, and hands the letter over. Yuk Tang sucks tomato sauce off his thumb and reads:
Darce.
I’m screwed. Sorry I can’t get that 200 to you. I know you’ll understand. You and Bruce Lee go easy. I got no time. I’m heading south. You know what to say when you get the calls on me. Thanks for your time and my new teeth. I’m glad I could show you all those horror movies you would have missed otherwise. Go easy.
P.S.
Here’s something better than the 200 bucks: 99 Usher. Up in Windsor. A doctor and his wife. No dog. They’re doing some cruise. Cheap bastards. Discount store alarms (batteries are prob. dead already). Could be a good haul. Look close for specialty items. Sorry.
Yuk Tang hands the letter back to Darcey as if it were evidence in a trial. It ends up with a red tomato stain despite his attempt to be careful. Darcey folds the letter several times, lifts his behind off his seat, and crams the paper into a back pocket.
They sit in silence, watching cars run down Orbis Ave, until Darcey says, “What the hell you figure got into the little bastard?”
Yuk Tang stares forward, takes a breath, and says, “I think we know what got into your friend. I think we should discuss retirement.”
Darcey reaches over and pulls his half of the veal cutlet off the glove box door. He decides to ignore Yuk Tang and says aloud to himself, “And how the hell did he get to the Menard before me? The little shmuck is late for everything. He gets there, writes a half-assed note, gives it to some weird old fart at the counter, and gets on the road before I pull in?”
In an attempt to be taken seriously, Yuk Tang’s voice drops to a whisper. He says, “You can ignore me. This is fine, ignore me. But we both know there’s a problem here. Something scared your friend Scalley enough to make him run. Do you really want to wait around and find out what it is?”
Darcey licks across the front of his lips, swallows hard, and says to Yuk Tang. “First of all, stop calling the little bastard my friend. I hate it when you do that. My friend. Jesus. And second, you little wuss, you don’t cut and run because some half-retarded scumbag gets a tough question and decides to tour South America. Goddammit.”
“We could vacation,” says Yuk Tang. “Just for a little while.”
Darcey turns, mouth bulging with veal and bread, and says, “It’s this pager crap, isn’t it? You’re spooked because of this pager crap. Christ Almighty.”
They chew in the dark, watch lights go on and off in the apartments over the storefronts. When he finishes his sandwich, as if he’s decided to give in to things he can’t change or understand, Yuk Tang says, meekly, “So you want to do this Usher job?”
Darcey, unsure if this is a challenge or not, says, “You’re damn right.”
The quiet comes again. At one point they turn at the same moment, and look in the windows of the Menard Diner. Neither one says a word. George Lewis has left his soup and his stool and walked out of the diner.
At the Mother of Angels Home, Yuk Tang is having a confusing day. He’s followed two move-patient memos and found the wrong people in the rooms. A new carton of ammonia bottles was missing from the supply closet. Though he looked everywhere for Mr. Bernard Cooper from 319, the new nurse swears that Mr. Cooper did not die overnight. Yuk has put down six Extra-Strength Tylenol, but his headache seems to be getting worse. His stomach’s off and he can’t bear the thought of macaroni and cheese for lunch. He’s got more than one bad feeling about tonight.
Passing out ancient paperbacks in the dayroom — a Zane Grey for Mr. Ash, a Harlequin for Mrs. Wiclif — he thinks about jumping on a train after work. No call to Darcey. No explanation. But as he sits to read the first page of Tex Buckley’s Ambush to Mr. Kerrigan, he puts the thought out of his mind. As always, he’ll do the honorable thing. He’ll work tonight and let things happen. He’ll do the Usher job and give over to fate.
Yuk Tang finds the nurses’ lounge empty so he stops for a minute to rest and make a cup of tea. He closes the door and takes a few deep breaths. He wishes they had a couple of days to confirm some information. To double-check a few facts and drive through Windsor Hills with a stopwatch and a clipboard. But if the Usher job is going to happen, it has to be tonight. For a lot of reasons, one of them being their mutual diminishing nerve.
There’s an old metal coat rack in the corner, next to the table that holds Mister Coffee. Hooked on it are three or four nurses’ uniforms, simple white dresses that end at the knee. He guesses that they’re Doreen’s. They’re fresh from the dry cleaners, starched and looking perfect on separate wire hangers covered with cellophane. Yuk Tang lifts the sleeve of the top uniform and pulls up the cellophane. He holds it close to his nose and breathes in the fresh laundry smell. He takes it off the coat rack hook and looks to the neck for the size. He presses the uniform against the front of his body and holds out his arm and the sleeve, comparing lengths.
And that’s when he’s engulfed in the pleasing smell of pipe tobacco. He turns around and sees, in the doorway, standing rigid and staring, a tall man with a dark complexion. The man is dressed in a well-tailored business suit. It’s impossible to tell his age. Though he seems fit and agile and in command of himself, something makes Yuk Tang want to estimate that the guy is as old as anyone in the Mother of Angels. He’s clean-shaven. In one hand he cradles the pipe. It’s white, maybe ivory, and carved into a shape that Yuk Tang can’t make out.
Yuk Tang puts the uniform back on the hook and, forgetting his normal politeness, says, “You really shouldn’t be in here.”
In his left hand, the man holds a leather suitcase that makes Yuk Tang suspect he’s a pharmaceutical salesman trying to catch Dr. Brophy. Though the case looks heavy, the man keeps it in his hand, at his side. He takes several steps into the lounge and says. “Would you be Mr. Tang?”
Without thinking, Yuk Tang reaches into his smock pocket for a Tylenol, but finds none. He repeats, “You really shouldn’t be in here. Is there someone I can help you find?”
The man eases into one of the blue plastic seats opposite Yuk Tang and says, “I’m Mr. Estrada. I believe you’re expecting me?”
Yuk Tang’s stomach heaves. He clenches his back molars and shakes his head “no.”
Mr. Estrada is undisturbed. He says, “No matter,” and for the first time, looks around the lounge. His eyes end up back on Yuk Tang and he says. “I’m glad we can finally get together. I’ve come to you about a purchase.”
Yuk Tang stays quiet and Mr. Estrada reaches to his back pocket and takes out a handkerchief. He dabs at his forehead and says, “Could you tell me when we might be ready to make the transaction?”
Yuk Tang repeats, “Transaction.”
Mr. Estrada closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. His eyes open and he seems on the verge of being angry. He says, “I assure you I’m fluid. And I’m not attempting to negotiate at this late date. You people have my word, three times the estimated book value with the payout in equal parts diamonds, bullion, and your choice of currency, though my people asked me to propose to you the option of paying the final third in dinar, for the obvious reasons of speed and convenience. You can trust that I forewarned them that, most likely, this would not be acceptable.”