Criminal Justice Page 10

  Elaine sipped through the little plastic straw. If she could finish that one without getting out of her chair, she thought she would be all right. She read silently the different kinds of liqueurs behind the bar. Chambord. Sambuca. Midori.

  If he decided to come by, he would tell his wife some lie or other as a matter of courtesy. They had separate bedrooms, and he could do what he wanted as long as she didn’t hear about it. Before Elaine and Vincent had become involved, he had explained the situation to her. He would stay married to his wife until their younger daughter finished high school. Until then he wanted a monogamous sexual relationship with a woman he could trust. No games, no pressure, total honesty. If both were in the mood, fine. If one of them wasn’t, just say so. He had put it to her this way: I respect you, Elaine. I think this would be good for both of us. What about it? Surprising herself, she had told him to give her a few days to think about it. She considered his proposal carefully. They liked each other. Vince Hooper was attractive and intelligent. Now thirty-five, Elaine had been single since her husband’s death four years ago. Her job scared off most men, even if she had time for dating. The singles scene was depressing. So she told him yes.

  It had sounded reasonable a year ago. Exciting, not tawdry. She had even hoped—still hoped—that it would last. Maybe Kelly Dorff had the low-down. They get you in bed, then they start looking for a way out.

  The bartender was leaning over the sink washing glasses. Her frizzy blond ponytail bounced against her neck. She smiled at Elaine. “Are you celebrating? I heard you laughing.”

  “No, I was just thinking about the guy I’m going out with.”

  “Yeah, I laugh about that all the time.” The bartender dried her hands. “Can I get you a refill?”

  “Sure. Maybe it’ll keep me away from the telephone.”

  “Did you have a fight?”

  “Not really.” Picking salt off a pretzel, Elaine watched the bartender measure vodka. Then the bottle clattered back into the rack. Soda bubbled out of the mixer nozzle. “It’s tiresome to talk about. What’s your name? I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.”

  “Terry.” She set down the drink. “And you’re Elaine. A friend of Charlie’s.”

  “Yes. He and my dad went to law school together. Charlie’s a peach, isn’t he?”

  The stand-up bass player was off on a solo riff now. The notes reverberated deep in the wood, then grew thin as the bass man worked close to the tuning pegs. His mouth twisted into odd shapes. Charlie stood up and clapped his hands in time with the beat. Then he sat back down at the piano, taking over the melody. A man at a front table whistled, and everyone applauded.

  “Whoooo!” Terry raised both arms, then went to see what they wanted at the other end of the bar.

  When Charlie’s set was over, and he had chatted with some friends, Elaine waved at him to come sit with her. He settled down on the next stool, straightening his jacket. “Hey, toots. How’s it going?”

  She put an arm across his shoulders. “Let me buy you a drink, sailor. I want to talk to you.”

  “A lady who buys the drinks. I won’t say no to that.” He told Terry, “Seven and soda, my love. Make it light.”

  Elaine said, “I haven’t seen you in a while, Charlie.”

  “That’s right. Where have you been?”

  “Too busy. How’s Alva? Tell her I send a kiss.”

  “I will do that. You know our daughter Lucy is expecting again?”

  “Is she? That’s wonderful.” Elaine remarked how long it had been since she had seen Charlie’s daughter, and how quickly people lose touch these days. Terry brought the drinks. Elaine put down some bills and told her to keep the change. Charlie lifted his glass to hers. “To the most beautiful girl in the joint.”

  She laughed. “You’re a sweetie, aren’t you?”

  The bass player came over, and Elaine shook his thick, dry hand. Now she could see he was blind in one eye. Charlie told her that George had played with Cab Calloway. George smiled widely, showing gaps in his teeth. Ooooo, that’s a looong time ago. Before you was born, I bet. Then he waved across the room and said he had to go, his harem awaited. A woman stood up, holding her arms out, shimmying. Another with gray hair was telling her to sit herself down this minute.

  “What a nutty place,” Charlie said.

  Elaine turned to face him. “Charlie, how’s Dan? I was thinking of him today.”

  “Dan’s fine.”

  “Really? He’s doing all right?”

  “He bitches and moans, but I told him, buddy, if you were meant to be anyplace else, you’d be there, right?” Charlie laughed, his belly moving. “We don’t have the penthouse office at the Sun Trust building. He’s bringing in some business, though.”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested that he work with you if I hadn’t thought he was a decent sort of guy. How do you tell about people, Charlie? I always considered myself a good judge of character. But maybe not. How do you know?”

  “Hell, don’t ask me. Just pay attention, I guess.”

  “I do. I thought I could tell. Dan, for instance. This is funny, Charlie. I had the biggest crush on him a couple of years ago. Don’t you dare tell him.”

  “I won’t,” he said.

  “Thank you. So I paid a lot of attention, and I thought I knew who he was. But if Dan isn’t what I thought, then who is?”

  Charlie looked at her. “What brings this on?”

  “Nothing, I was just using that as an example.”

  The bass man, George, was heading for the stage. Charlie finished his drink. “Time to go. Why don’t you come around to the office, Elaine? We’ll all go out to lunch.”

  “I wish I could get away.” She set down her empty glass. “Terry?”

  “No, honey, I should have cut you off already.”

  Elaine shook her head. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You already paid.”

  “Oh. Right. Did I leave you a tip?”

  “Yes, you left me a good tip.”

  Charlie said, “Whoa, you better not drive. I could call you a cab.”

  “Maybe I’ll sit here awhile. I didn’t have any dinner. It goes straight to my head.”

  “You bet it does. Terry, get this girl something to eat. It’s on me.” He gave Elaine a squeeze. “Don’t forget. Come see us.”

  “Bye, Charlie.”

  Stepping onto the small stage, Charlie leaned over to hear a request from a woman at a table in front.

  Elaine opened her wallet and poked among the coins there. “Terry? Do you have a quarter?”

  “Lots of ’em.”

  She realized what she was doing and put the wallet away. “No. Never mind.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Standing on the edge of the pool at the Lakewood Village Country Club, Dan flipped a quarter in a high, spinning arc. It went in with a plonk, and Josh, holding onto his dive mask, jumped in to find it. Dan saw his son wriggling along in his red swim trunks and bright green fins, skinny arms and legs moving as if he were trying to crawl through the water. Josh swung his head around, getting a fix through the mask, and spotted the quarter.

  Bribery—the only way to coax Josh underwater. He had clutched the ladder at the shallow end, shivering. His eyes had pleaded through the glass in his face mask. Thirty bucks, top-of-the-line silicone in a small size, pulled so tightly under his nose it made his upper lip stick out. Dan had told him he had to learn how to dive if he wanted to go see the fish. It had taken a buck-fifty to lure him to the four-foot depth.

  The water was clean as crystal, from the unblemished turquoise bottom to the decorative mosaics at the edges, where the water lapped over the sides and was routed under the Mexican-tiled deck to a hidden stainless steel machine that filtered out the occasional stray leaf or bird feather. Not many people were out now; the temperature barely nudged seventy. A foursome played cards at an umbrella table. Two teenage girls lay facedown on chaises listening to Y-100 Top 40 on their boombox. A white-haired man with oil
ed, sun-browned skin turned a page in the Sunday New York Times. In the distance lay the undulating green expanse of the Lakewood Estates golf course.

  Josh popped up with the quarter in his fist and dog-paddled over to put it in his stack. He grabbed the edge. “Dad! Throw one real far!” Dan spun out a quarter toward the six-foot mark.

  Usually on weekends Dan took Josh to see a movie or whatever, but today he wanted him to try out the new mask and flippers. Lisa was still opposed to spearfishing in the Bahamas, but Miguel Salazar’s bloody little tale about hunting wild pigs had pushed her toward a long weekend in the Keys.

  Lisa, who was playing tennis, had signed Dan in as her guest today. He kept up the membership for her and Josh, part of the divorce settlement. He used to play golf with two guys on his street, none of them anywhere close to par, having no time to devote to the game. He hated the sweaty pounding of tennis and had rarely used the pool, preferring the ocean and the pull of the tides. On weekends, if he wasn’t preparing for a trial, he had used the weight room. Through the glass he had watched the step-aerobics class. The women would be there, incredibly fit women, ponytails bobbing, their thong leotards showing mount-me moons of bright pink tights. He had never gone after them. He had been in love with his wife, in those days.

  Had he been happy then? His life had been pleasant. One season flowing into the next, distinguished only by the variation in the slant of the sun at the end of a forty-minute commute home or the bill for air conditioning. He had ridden his bicycle along green and tranquil streets. No graffiti, no trash. There had been evening concerts lakeside in the town park. Fireworks on the Fourth of July. The Lakewood Plaza shopping center had a cappuccino shop between the hair salon and Birkenstock. Store clerks smiled. Minivans were filled with Evian and merlot, fresh pasta, prosciutto, raddicchio, a paperback best-seller, instant-starting charcoal, rock salt for the water filter—

  The weekends were quiet, not even the racket of lawn mowers—the yard men came and went Monday through Friday. The kids played in the streets. There would be the smell of backyard cookouts, and the sound of football games on television. If a car alarm went off, it was only accidental. The local chapter of Kids in Distress had to go outside Lakewood to find enough constituents.

  The nights were starry this far from the city. He had lain in bed listening to crickets. Or to tree frogs in their season. He had heard Lisa’s steady breathing. She used to wear a thin cotton nightgown, a white one with narrow straps that he would slowly push off her shoulders.

  “Dad!” Josh held up another quarter. Dan showed his empty palms. He put on his mask and flippers and somersaulted into the pool. He angled for the bottom, stayed out of sight behind an air mattress, then shot upward, grabbing Josh around the belly. The boy sputtered and shrieked happily.

  Dan told Josh to hang on tight and hold his breath, they were going under. Josh locked his arms around Dan’s neck. They cruised along at a depth of about six feet.

  The water flowed over Dan’s body, cool and clean. Through the mask everything was visible. An arm hanging off a red air mattress, the slow kicks of a chubby girl on a bright yellow boogie board. Light flickered and danced. He missed this place, he realized. He missed the order and purpose of it. How in the name of God had he thrown all this away? He ached for his son. For his family. Lisa. His wife. The thought ran through Dan’s mind with startling clarity. He missed his wife.

  They broke the surface at the edge, and Dan stood up, Josh still clinging. As water ran off his face mask, the view on the pool deck wavered, then cleared. Dan could see a pair of heavy black sandals, narrow ankles, and golden brown skin. Around one ankle curled a tattoo of leaves and tendrils. A skirt of some silvery gray material hung loosely at the knee, then hugged closer at thighs and hips. A hand with unpainted nails held a cigarette. The cigarette rose, and he followed its progress past a tight, long-sleeved gray top and ropes of black and silver chains.

  Dan pushed his face mask to his forehead.

  Martha Cruz. She smiled down at him through shiny green oval sunglasses. “Hi. I saw you from the restaurant.” Her hair was unbound, a cloud of black around her shoulders. “Nobody can smoke up there.” She gestured with the cigarette to the second-floor windows.

  “Hey, Josh.” Her voice was low. “You met me at Anita’s party, remember? I played piano for you guys.” Splaying her fingers, Martha Cruz rocked side to side, singing softly, “Where ya gonna go when the sun goes down—”

  “Yeah.” Josh smiled.

  Lifting him by an elbow, Dan deposited Josh on the deck. “He’s learning how to dive. Next comes the snorkel, then the tanks, when he’s older.”

  “Too cool.” The lenses of her sunglasses sent his tiny, doubled image back to him in green. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Lisa has a membership. I visit.”

  “Visit your son, I assume.”

  Dan took off his mask and fins. He placed his palms on the edge and vaulted out of the pool in one move, dripping water. Martha Cruz looked him over and exhaled smoke to one side. Dan pushed his wet hair back with both hands.

  “Dad, I’m free-e-e-zing.”

  “Go get your towel.” He turned back around. Martha was still watching him. Her mouth was deep burgundy. There were four earrings in each earlobe.

  Dan reached for his own towel, which hung over the back of a chair. The old guy with the Sunday paper was looking at them. Dan dried his face and chest, then hung the towel around his neck.

  He said, “You don’t strike me as the country club type.”

  “I’m not. Miguel pretends he is, and he likes me to come along.” Her elbow rested in her palm, and the light breeze shifted the smoke. She said, “I got the names and addresses of witnesses, like you asked me to. There are only a couple of people, though, and they’re such flakes they might not show up for the trial.”

  “I don’t expect a trial, Martha. The witnesses are primarily to say we have some. Bring the list with you on Wednesday.” They had arranged to meet at Dan’s office prior to the pretrial conference at the state attorney’s office. They would go over details of the case. Not much of a case, Dan had reported to Rick, who had called to check on things. Hearing that, Rick had tried to weasel out of paying the thousand bucks for legal fees. Not a chance, Dan had told him.

  “Don’t wear that dress,” Dan said, “or jeans either. Do you have anything conservative?”

  Martha smiled. “I think I can figure out what to wear.” Then she traced the edge of a tile with the toe of her sandal, shifting so that her back was to the clubhouse. “Can I come a little early? I’d like to talk to you about something else.”

  “All right.”

  “Great. I’ll see you Wednesday,” Martha said.

  As she turned to go, Dan saw her eyes over the top of the sunglasses. She glanced upward for an instant before walking toward the gate. She moved like liquid, the hem of her skirt swaying. She took a last pull on her cigarette and sent it into a hedge of red hibiscus flowers.

  Dan looked toward the high windows in the upper level. A man in a jacket and open-collared shirt stood there watching Martha Cruz. Then the dark eyes with their slightly Asian tilt fixed on Dan.

  CHAPTER 14

  The hot tub was busted again, so Arlo Pate was on his knees at the little door with his flashlight. He peered into the works. A gasket on the pump this time. Last week it had been the electricity. Miguel Salazar had called him a few minutes ago, said bring your toolbox.

  Arlo rose up far enough to tell Martha Cruz that the motor would be back to running in a few minutes. She nodded but didn’t say anything. She was pissed, looking icepicks at Leon Davila, who was tapping his drumsticks all over the patio—the wood deck, the wet bar, the vine-covered lattice screens. Miguel had wanted screens so that he and whoever could come out here and get naked and the neighbors wouldn’t see. Lately the whoever happened to be Martha.

  In a way, Arlo felt the house was his. He had operated the dragline that
dug the lakes, had smoothed the ground with a bulldozer, and had laid the foundation. When Miguel bought the house, he hired Arlo off the construction crew because he could build things. The other reason was, Arlo had broken the arm of a sheetrock worker who had tried to take the cell phone out of Miguel’s car.

  Right now Miguel was in his bedroom getting on his swimsuit and making some phone calls, like he usually did after a deal went down. He didn’t use the phone out here because he wanted to keep Martha out of his business.

  Leon tapped his drumsticks on the hanging pots with orchids in them, then across the umbrella table, then along the edge of the hot tub itself, where Martha sat drinking her wine. Steam was rising out of the water. She’d be warm enough in there. It was pretty chilly otherwise, the patio being open to the night sky.

  Shining his flashlight around the pump, Arlo found the loose gasket. He lifted a tray in his tool box to get his pipe wrench. He looked at Leon and slapped the wrench into his palm a couple of times, then went in to tighten the nut.

  Leon had just come back from delivering some cash to one of Miguel’s customers, and now he wanted to be patted on the head for it. He got too close to Martha, and she grabbed for one of his sticks and missed. He laughed at her. Martha called him a name and sank farther into the soap bubbles.

  “Don’t hide from me, girl. I know what you look like.”

  “You do not.”

  “No? Who was that girl up here the other night with a tattoo of a bird on her ass? That wasn’t you?”

  “Stay away from me, you shit. I’ll tell Miguel.”

  “Go ahead. I’m family.”

  Arlo kept working. People as stupid as Leon usually had their mistakes pointed out to them one way or another. If Leon hadn’t been related to one of Miguel’s partners back in Guayaquil, he would have been gone already.