Steve Martini - The Arraignment

“Who? Who the hell do you think I mean? Saldado.”

“How would we know that?” Julio turns to the front again.

“Of course not. That would be too fucking easy. Have one of your men follow him.”

“Adam, give it up. We didn’t even know he was going to be there,” I tell him.

“Why didn’t you watch him?” Adam ignores me. “What did he do, just reappear? Apparition out of thin air?” This is addressed to the back of Julio’s head as the Mexican sits there silent, his face increasingly red until it looks like a beet. The veins along the side of his neck resemble surgical tubing. “If you worked for me, I’d fire your ass.”

Adam’s executive style splashes all over the inside of the car as we drive, anger and ugly insults.

As I sit and listen, I wonder whether Nick had ever been treated to this. It is one of those watershed moments that tell you more about someone than you ever wanted to know. Julio is sitting there taking the worst of it, Herman gripping the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, gritting his teeth and trying to project himself into some other dimension.

It may be far too charitable, but Adam’s anger is motivated in large part by the afterglow of fear, the sudden realization that, but for the fates, the world could at this very moment be without one of its favorite sons: himself.

“Take us back to Cancun,” he says. “Now.” Adam slams his back into the seat again and folds his arms across his chest, his steely gaze again out the side window.

The trip back is like a ride in a deep freeze. Herman and Julio sit up front like two stone idols, trying not to breathe so Adam won’t notice them.

By the time we pull up in front of the Casa Turquesa, it’s dark. It seems Adam has gotten over his rage. “I want to freshen up a bit. How about some dinner, say half an hour in the restaurant downstairs?”

“Good.”

“Julio. You and Herman can join us as well.” Adam gets out of the car and heads inside.

“What’s that, a fuckin’ imperial command?” says Herman.

“Quiet. The man’s going to hear you,” says Julio.

“What the fuck do I care? Hope he does.” Herman leans over the steering wheel. “Who’s he think he’s talkin’ to like that?”

“He was scared. So was I.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t act like that,” says Herman. “That don’t give him the right to show us that kinda disrespect. I mean, I’d tear somebody’s tongue out for less than that. I’m a professional,” he says. “I’ve taken bullets for people worth more than that shithead.”

“Calm down,” says Julio. “You don’t need this job. I do. I cannot afford to be fired because you can’t keep you mouth shut. Take a swim in the pool, watch a movie on the cable. Cool off.”

“Can’t. Gotta be at supper half an hour. You heard the man.”

“Then go take a cold shower.” Julio gets out of the car, slams the door, and walks toward the hotel, leaving Herman and me sitting there.

“Ain’t worth it,” says Herman.

It was an ugly incident, but I’m not going to pour fuel on the flames with Herman. Instead I get out of the car, stretch my legs, arch my back, and I see him coming down the stairs toward me. The stress of the day is worse than I thought. I’m seeing things, until Harry looks at me and says: “What took you guys so long?”

Inside, Harry and I head to the bar. I’m strung out like a wet noodle, sitting on one of the stools while the bartender makes a margarita and pours it into a glass the size of a tropical fish tank. I usually stick with wine or beer. Today I make an exception. Harry is on the stool next to me.

“He didn’t tell you I was coming down?”

“Not a word.”

“Probably got busy and forgot. He told me he only thought about it at the last minute.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came down to see if I could help,” he says. “I’ve been worried.”

“What about?”

“The conversation we had. The one about you getting killed and me getting on with life.”

I look at him but don’t say anything.

“I thought about it. And well, it might not be as easy as I thought. Besides, if anything happened to you, I’d have to divide up everything in the partnership and deal with Sarah. She’d skin me.”

I smile at this, nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “So when did you come down?”

“This afternoon. Adam called.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“We didn’t get in until after three in the morning.”

“It wasn’t that late when he called. Time difference I suppose. Still, he got me outta bed. Said the plane had to go back to San Diego, to deliver one of the other partners on a quick flight somewhere early this morning. That it would be coming back down here this afternoon. He asked me if I wanted to take a ride. I had nothing up on Friday. So here I am. Adam had a car pick me up at the airport.

I suck some margarita through a straw, feeling the tequila score my stomach like etching acid. I remember now why I stopped drinking the hard stuff.

“I think Adam lives in a different world from the rest of us,” he says. “What did you think of the plane?”

“Forget it. It’s not in our budget.”

“We could park it and live in it,” he says. “Use it as a flying office. I think I could get used to it.” Harry as part of the jet set. “It might take a while, like an acquired taste. You know. Fly around some. Go to Bimini. Las Vegas.”

“You don’t even know where Bimini is,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but the pilot could find it,” he says. “You don’t think these executives give ’em coordinates when they get on board, do you? No, they just tell ’em they wanna go, drop a load on a crap table someplace, and an hour later they’re in Reno at the Mapes…”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“The Mapes was torn down two decades ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. They’re in Las Vegas at the MGM. Use your imagination. Speak of the devil,” says Harry.

Before I turn on the stool, Harry is up. “Adam. Want to tell you that plane is nice.”

“You liked the ride?”

“What’s not to like?”

Tolt is shaking his hand. He has changed, put on a pair of slacks and a clean shirt, wearing sandals and looking comfortable and relaxed.

“Glad you could make it.” Adam’s voice is back to a normal tone.

“Yes, he did.” I swing around on the stool and look at Adam.

“What’s with you?” he says. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. The plane was coming back empty. We were getting near the weekend. Why should we have all the fun?”

“He’s right,” says Harry. “In fact, I think I’m gonna have one of those.” He points at the fish bowl in front of me on the bar.

“Why not? Bring a margarita for my friend here,” says Adam.

“How was your flight?” He and Harry head for one of the tables.

Adam is one of those luminaries who floats through life buoyed by the ether of his own celebrity. I suspect the fact that he lost control in front of me has injured his sense of divinity. He latches onto Harry, and they stroll to the table to talk about airplanes and the finer trappings of private flight.

“Bring your drink and join us,” says Adam.

“In a minute.” I notice Herman coming in the door heading my way.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Getting shitfaced,” I tell him.

“Good to know one of us knows what’s he doin’. Fuckin’ Vesuvius still spoutin’ lava?” Herman’s talking about Adam.

“I think it’s gone dormant for the moment.”

“So why don’t we eat and get it over with, so I can be accused and go back to my room?” he says.

“To get the bulletin on that, you’ll have to talk to the tour director.” I nod toward the booth.