Part 10 (1/2)

The cigarillo looked at me; somewhere behind it, Jerry G was looking at me, too. ”You don't have the size for a strongarm. You're no pipsqueak, but I wouldn't hire you on as a bouncer, that's for f.u.c.king sure.”

”I'd get a nosebleed up on those boxes. No, my specialty wasn't handling problems or convincing people not to be problems.”

”Your business is removing removing problems.” problems.”

”Used to be.” I held my hands up in surrender, my empty hands. ”I retired. I made a lot of money, and I retired.”

”So you just happened to be in Haydee's Port.”

”I heard a good time could be had.”

”Got that right. So, then...you just want to pay my papa your respects? I don't think so.”

I shook my head. ”No. I want to tell him about somebody I saw over at the Paddlewheel. Somebody I recognized.”

He settled a hand on my shoulder. Gently. His smile emerged from the darkness, Ches.h.i.+re Cat style. ”Jack, you're going to have to tell me. The only path to my pop is through me. I'm the gatekeeper, capeesh capeesh?”

I capeeshed capeeshed.

”I saw a guy I'd worked with once in the old days,” I said. ”He was a specialist in hit-and-run. You know, 'accidents'?”

The hand came off my shoulder, the smile disappeared, and the cigarillo tip stared.

”I believed he was casing that guy Cornell, who runs the Paddlewheel-”

”I know who Cornell is.”

”And I think Cornell was his mark.”

”How do you know, Jack? Did you talk to this old pal of yours?” do you know, Jack? Did you talk to this old pal of yours?”

Improvising like a jazz solist, I said, ”I only worked one job with him, a long time ago, and that was before I had my face worked on.”

”You had a plastic surgery job? That good, was it?”

”My mother wouldn't know me. Anyway, I didn't want any part of it. No skin off my a.s.s if my old 'pal,' as you put it, takes Cornell out. My experience is, anybody with a target on his back probably mostly put it there himself. f.u.c.k the guy.”

”All right,” Jerry G said.

He'd liked the sound of that, I thought.

”Anyway, last night, or I guess this morning, I was in my car in the Paddlewheel parking lot. I drank too much and fell asleep in the back seat. Something woke me, and I realized it was daylight, and I saw a couple of Cornell's security guys grabbing Monahan. That's his name, Monahan, the hit-and-run specialist.”

”What do you mean, grab?”

”Well, more than grab. One of 'em smashed his head into the steering wheel. Then another shoved him over, and took off out of there, and the other Cornell security guy followed in a second car.”

”Disposing of the body...”

”Obviously.”

Silence.

He dropped the cigarillo, crushed it under his heel, and stepped into the light. ”And what does this have to do with my father? And me?”

I shrugged. ”I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. I can see who around Haydee's Port would want rid of Cornell. If a hit on that guy has gone t.i.ts up, I figure you guys would want to know about it.”

”Just out of the goodness of your heart.”

”Not really. I thought your papa might think the information was worth a buck. Or maybe...well, I should save this for him.”

He thumped my chest with a finger. Lightly but the threat was there. ”No, Jack. Give it to me.”

I shrugged. ”I thought you might need somebody else to step in, and take care of Cornell.”

”...But you're retired retired, Jack.”

I grinned at him. ”Yeah, but I retired early. I'm still healthy enough to pick money up in the street.”

His tan puss split into a white grin. He and Cornell were two f.u.c.king peas in one f.u.c.king pod.

He slipped an arm around my shoulder and said, ”Let's play cards.”

We played cards. I continued to play conservatively, hanging onto my stacks of chips, which were the envy of the others. I continued not to bluff. When my wrist.w.a.tch said it was nearing six, I finally asked how late we were going to go.

I could see from the expressions around me that the others would have gone on till either h.e.l.l froze over or they'd won their money back. Neither seemed likely, and our host knew it.

”Once more,” he said.

He dealt a simple game of five card stud. I'll cut to the finish, which may be of interest. I had an ace of diamonds up and otherwise bupkus. Jerry had two kings up. We each had two cards down, Jerry having dealt the first and last cards that way. The others had dropped out, and along the way, not a single other ace had been on the board.

Time to bluff.

I had the bet, and tossed out a blue chip.

Jerry G gave me the snort laugh. ”You want me to think you've got an ace down, Jack? I don't think you do.”

He raised me a blue chip.

So I raised him another blue chip. ”It's only five hundred to find out.”

He was frowning. I didn't think it was unfriendly, just a deep, thoughtful frown. He was losing. Down maybe three grand.

”f.u.c.ker doesn't bluff, Jerry G,” the surgeon said.

Jerry G snorted another laugh and threw in his cards. Because it was the last round, though, he gathered all the cards, and I noted him discreetly checking my hand, to see what I'd had. He flinched, but resisted the urge to let everybody know I had indeed, finally, been bluffing. He hadn't bought the right to see those cards, after all, and that was bad manners indeed.