Pearce Hansen - Stagger Bay

“Hell, son, your jacket from when you were a kid was all for Class-A felonies, a lot of them violent,” Tubbs said as we passed the doorway to the dining room.

The light was muted in the dining room, and a husky Asian woman in a strapless evening gown sat in the corner playing the harp. The table linen looked crisp, and the serving staff was right there in attendance at the diners’ elbows; you wouldn’t have to chase any of these waiters down. The air was delicious with the smell of foods I couldn’t even put a name to. The subdued clatter of silverware and crockery flagged as most of the diners facing our way stopped to track us as we passed the doorway.

“You had no problem taking advantage back when you were a kid,” Tubbs pointed out as he continued fronting me down the hall with the Meshbacks body-guarding my rump. “Are you claiming to be a saint now?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’m no saint.”

And he surely had a point: Back in the day I might have even rolled with him if Karl gave the go ahead. Maybe this wasn’t back in the day, maybe my big brother wasn’t nowhere around, and maybe I wasn’t that little monster anymore. But I could hang here, couldn’t I?

I could cross my fingers even as I swore into whatever blood oath equivalent this Club required. I could be a fifth column in here; I could destroy them from within. I could have them eating out my hand before they realized my offering was laced with strychnine.

“This is a boom town these days. I know you can smell it,” Tubbs said as we rounded the corner and passed through the wide archway into the main club room. Now we were face to face with all the people Tubbs so desperately wanted to hook me up with. “Think of it like Dodge City. Maybe a few bystanders get caught in the crossfire once in a while, but that’s just collateral damage. You got to look to your own house, Markus. You got to quit trying to mend other people’s fences.”

He had another point there: What exactly had I accomplished so far in this town? I’d caused Natalie’s man’s death, I’d impressed Big Moe enough he wanted to use me as a throwaway weapon, I was on standby for whatever sketchy purpose Elaine had gotten me freed for, and I’d made no headway at all with my own son.

And the Hmong mother who’d never see her little girl again outside of dreams? That lady had to be thinking I was the cat’s meow.

“You’re not feeling the love here, that I can see,” Tubbs said when I didn’t answer.

But I wasn’t blowing him off; I was just scoping out the venue he’d plopped me in the middle of. The wide, invisibly clean picture window spilled a bar of golden sunlight across a floor covered by what appeared to be a genuine Persian. The overstuffed leather chairs looked comfortable, and the tropical hard-wood end-tables were polished to a solemn glow.

Sitting alone at the bar in the far corner was the coroner, the guy whose county paycheck obligated him to come out and take away the little Asian girl’s body. He was parking his muzzle hard and frequent in the brandy snifter he clutched in a death grip.

Despite the luxury of the club house, the smell of high-end furniture polish and designer cologne, the hushed sense of exclusivity and entitlement? The coroner’s angst flashed me right back to the joint. If you took the thirty-odd people in this room out of their thousand-dollar suits and stuck them in prison garb, they would have appeared right at home on the yard inside.

They were all separated into cliques along lines of mutual interest and shifting loyalties, watching one another’s backs and scheming on how to take advantage of any perceived weaknesses. Just like inside there’d be backstabbing and turncoats here, snitches running from group to group scavenging information to trade for profit. They were hunkered together for protection against forces outside their control, just like all the cons I’d known in prison.

Most of these club folk didn’t even pretend not to stare at me. Despite the smiles they wore, despite the welcoming expressions they aimed my way? I knew I was the new fish here.

One man stood and said something in a low voice to his table companions before turning to approach us carrying two flutes of champagne. A beautiful brunette sitting at his table glanced my way, but I didn’t meet her eyes.

I’d never seen the approaching man before, but his suit sure got my attention. It was a Savile Row, several quanta of rank higher than those on most of the other club members.

Angela had been a closet fashionista; she’d schooled me on all the name brands, she’d loved leafing through the style magazines. She’d always gone on and on about how, just once, she’d like to see me wear something nice.

If I’d pimped for her in a suit as gorgeous as this man’s, Angela’s face would have been beet red with pride. If I’d styled it for her in our bedroom she’d be fussing with my tie, her gaze downcast in pleasure until she looked me in the eyes and we realized we were alone together behind closed doors.

This man and I had all the time in the world to size each other up as he approached. His oncoming face should’ve been blandly politic. He was supposed to project the ‘hail fellow well met’ aura that was second nature to all con-men. And I’d’ve expected him, like any carnival barker, to switch gears instantly to hurt innocence if I didn’t embrace the false friendship he wanted to ensnare me with.

It was startling to see how much he needed me to approve of him.

“Welcome Markus,” he said, handing me a glass of champagne.

“Markus, this is Jim Scallion,” Mr. Tubbs said, and Jim and I shook hands. “He’s one of our star developers right now. He’s doing some really good things for Stagger Bay, like the new James Scallion Opera House, and a lot of the improvements I know you’ve been noticing around Old Town.”

Tubbs grinned at Jim. “So how’s the boardwalk project going?”

“Pretty well,” Jim allowed, swirling his champagne in its glass. “We pour the foundations for the pilings next week.” He looked at me. “We’re trying to bring in more tourist dollars. Our analysts project that an esplanade walkway along the old waterfront would be a real draw. Quaint.”

“You see, son?” Tubbs asked, brows raised. “It’s not just about taking. We give back too.”

Tubbs pinned Jim with his gaze. “Tell Markus what we was talking about,” he said.

Jim’s eyes brightened, and his shy smile widened. “Well, we were also thinking about building a rec center for the children of Stagger Bay, maybe even a public swimming pool.”

That didn’t sound so bad. But how would the Driver react to such a concentration of vulnerable children on supermarket display? And would the kids from the Gardens be welcome there?

“We were also thinking you’d be the perfect person to run it,” Jim continued.

“You wouldn’t have to survive off a glorified babysitter’s salary,” Tubbs hastened to add. “After we televise the real parade, we’ll have even more outside money to play with. It’ll put us on the map. More development, more investors, a good thing for everybody.”

“Real parade?” I asked with a scowl. People looked over at us, as I’d raised my voice. “What do you mean, real?” I asked more quietly, setting down my glass.

Tubbs reached over and squeezed Jim’s shoulder. “I know you’ll be making time for Markus soon enough, but I need him all to myself for right now,” Tubbs said with a shooing gesture.

Jim obeyed, returning to his table with an air of relief.

Tubbs focused his attention on me. “All right, so the dry run was a fiasco. You put egg on my face there, but I can forgive you. All those paparazzi sneaking up on you, all those flashbulbs going off in your face unexpected like – its only natural you’d get upset.