Angrily, Andre started back to his car. “He can’t hide from me,” he fumed. “He must go to work.”
“Andre!” Honesto stood, head bowed, in his doorway, a cowering child called to the principal’s office.
Andre turned. “Give me my money now,” he demanded.
“I want my money, boy.”
“I don’t have it.”
“What the hell yuh mean you don’t have it?” Andre shouted.
Honesto glanced around the complex nervously. “Please keep your voice down.”
“I go keep my voice down when yuh give me my money.”
“It’s gone,” Honesto said quietly. “I sent it home to my mother.”
“No,” Andre said. “Yuh send your money home for yuh mother, not mine. I want my money now.”
“It’s too late. I don’t have it. Besides,” Honesto added defensively, “it was my money. I won it, not you.”
“But we agreed to split it.” Andre’s voice rose again. “Yuh used my machine and my money!”
“But I won. The money was my winnings, and now it’s gone.” Honesto stepped back and reached to close the door.
“Yuh lying sonofabitch!” Andre shouted, lunging at the door. The lock clicked.
That night as they lay in bed, Andre told Mary what had happened. “But he tief yuh money. How he could do yuh that?” she wailed.
“He just do it,” Andre responded wearily.
“To me, all the money was yours,” Mary declared. “It was your machine, and Honesto play with your money.” She shook her head. ‘‘I just don’t understand him. He’s a pharmacist and he working for more money than you, and he won’t even split it. And you was his friend.”
“All he care about is the money,” Andre sighed. “Money is the only reason he come to Trinidad.”
“I still can’t believe he could tief from us like that and get away with it.”
Andre shrugged. “Tell it to the judge, I guess.”
“Why not?” Mary demanded.
“Why not what?”
“Why not tell it to the judge? Sue Honesto for the money!”
“I thinking about doing that,” Andre said glumly, “but there isn’t enough money involved for that. After time off from work and legal expenses, it might cost me six thousand to get my six thousand.”
“Six? Go for the whole twelve! Honesto obviously don’t believe you have an agreement to split it.”
“That is true,” Andre agreed. “But it still risky to sue. There’s no guarantee, and if we lose, we go be in more expense.”
“There must be something we could do,” Mary sighed, turning off the bedside lamp. “Even with all the crime in Trinidad, being victims like this is the last thing I would have thought.”
Andre lay awake, his stomach churning. He tief my money. It was my machine and my money he sent home like clockwork to his mother. And I trusted him, that sonofabitch. My money, and now it’s gone — he stopped. That’s it! Why didn’t I think of that before? Excited, he began to make a plan. Yes, it just might work. Life may not be fair, he thought grimly, but that don’t mean I can’t try to right the wrongs.
The next morning, after dropping Brandon and Adam at school, Andre drove directly to Honesto’s complex. This time he parked outside on Jerningham Avenue. As he opened the car door, a pair of screeching keskidees flew from an overhead wire to a neighboring branch plumb-lined with ruddy mangos. He hastened to the nearest door on the first floor of the complex and glanced at the lock. Kwikset. Then he hurried back to his car and drove to the Priority Mall in San Juan.
In the locksmith shop, a middle-aged woman was seated behind the counter talking on her mobile. “Yuh think I pluck myself and get money? Yuh understand?” she was saying. She nodded at Andre and added, “Customer come. Call yuh later.”
“Where Moony?” Andre demanded.
The woman slowly looked up from putting her mobile in her purse, rolled her eyes, and steupsed loudly. “What? Yuh don’t even say hello? Where yuh manners gone, boy?”
“Sorry,” Andre said sheepishly. “Good morning.”
“That’s more like it. I don’t know what this country coming to,” she continued, shaking her head. “First people don’t have no time to talk with people, now they don’t even say good morning! What you in such a rush for, boy?”
Great, Andre thought. A talker. “No rush. I just thinking ’bout all I have to do today, is all.”
She shook her head. “Yuh going to have a heart attack, yuh keep up like that. This is Trinidad, boy. Nothing can’t wait.” To Andre’s relief she turned and called out, “Moony!”
A stocky East Indian appeared from the back room. “Lightning Man!” Leo Moonsammy beamed, giving Andre a bear hug. He and Andre had played football together at San Juan Secondary Comprehensive and remained friends through the years.
After exchanging small talk, Andre said, “Listen, Moony, I need a bump key.”
“What for? Yuh turning to a life of crime?” Moony joked.
“Anything gotta be more profitable than driving taxi,” Andre laughed. “Adam lock a door in the house I need to open.”
“What kind you need?”
“Kwikset. So you find is a lot of break-ins using bump keys?”
“That’s usually what they’re for. There’s a lot of all kinds of crime in this country. If the PNM don’t hurry up and do something about all the homicides, our people going get elected.”
Andre pocketed the key and was soon heading back to Honesto’s apartment. Honesto will be at work all day like the rest of the Filipinos here. No one will hear me banging on Honesto’s lock. By now rush hour traffic had dissipated. Andre tuned in to 91.9 and leaned back to soak up the soca and enjoy the ride. “Tonight I’m in the mood, I want to wine and behave rude / So anyting you want to do, I dare you, I dare you...”
When he reached Honesto’s building, Andre again parked on Jerningham Avenue. No one was in sight. He opened the trunk, pulled the rubber mallet from his sports bag, and hurried to Honesto’s door. Except for the usual symphony of chirping, squawking, and whistling, everything was as still as a Sunday sunrise. Andre inserted the bump key into the lock and banged the key with the mallet. Nothing. He banged again. No luck. He listened to hear if the noise had disturbed anyone. Satisfied that it had not, he pounded again, slightly turning the key at the same time. The lock opened. Andre reached for the knob, then hesitated. This is breaking and entering, he thought. No! Taking back my own money ent no crime. Quickly he slipped inside.
He stood in the tidy kitchen and looked around. “Now where would I put that check?” he wondered aloud. He noticed that everything was orderly. Even the breakfast dishes stood drying in the rack. Impulsively, he opened the cupboards beneath the sink. Each item was lined neatly across the space, three deep. “Backups for his backups,” Andre mused. “Like a buller man.” No, the check wouldn’t be in the kitchen or the bathroom. He walked into the dining room — living room which was as spotless as the kitchen. A light hung above the dining room table with its four chairs. Beyond a black leather recliner and matching sofa faced the wall with the flat-screen TV. On the right was the door to the bedroom.
The bed was made. Remote controls for the portable TV and overhead fan lay on the bedside table, along with a copy of Aelred’s Sin and some journals, Pharmacy Times and dotPharmacy. Andre pulled open the drawer — miscellaneous papers neatly stacked, pens, paperclips, coins, cash. Eight hundred dollars. I ent no tief. He closed the drawer and opened the double doors of the armoire. Shirts hung on the left neatly grouped according to color. On the shelf below was a row of neatly folded underwear, and behind a row of neatly folded socks. On the right was a fold-down desktop. Behind the desktop were pigeonholes filled with envelopes, bills, receipts, and — jackpot! — a Ka Pau check for twelve thousand dollars. Just like I thought, Andre gloated. The check not cash yet. He do everything like clockwork: He always on time, he always stop by the casino every Friday exactly at 7:30, and he always go in the bank and send money home on Friday afternoons.