come to see me last night,' he said. 'Guys based in Miami. They weren't in a good mood. In fact, they were ready to whack somebody. Joey, tree million bucks in Colombian emeralds has been lifted off of Charlie Ponte's crew, and it was pretty definitely an inside job. People get dead over that kinda thing.'
'Three million bucks,' said Joey. His own stash had dipped below four thousand, and the poorer he got, the more big numbers impressed him. 'Jesus. But wait a second, Bert. If it was Charlie Ponte's crew, I don't see what it's gotta do with my old man.'
Bert the Shirt sat back slowly and seemed unwilling or unable to talk until his shoulder blades had made secure contact with the cushion. 'Probably not your father directly. But maybe some of his boys. Joey, it's this same old problem with drugs. Biggest fucking mistake our people ever made was not making a clear policy and sticking to it. Either dominate the business or don't fuck with it.'
Bert paused to lick his teeth. Outside, palms rustled and water splashed. The air smelled of iodine and limes.
'But anyway,' the old man continued, 'Charlie Ponte's crew, they're inna coke trade. They're not supposed to be, it's unofficial, but they are-it's like an open secret. Your father's people, supposedly they're not. But no offense, Joey, your father's crew has this like superior attitude-'
'I hear ya,' Joey cut in. 'I ain't offended, believe me.'
'Yeah, well, to them,' Bert went on, 'it's like the guys that are in drugs are outlaws, outsiders. They don't respect 'em, they think of 'em as fair game, like as if they weren't friends of ours.
'So, what happens with Charlie Ponte is this. He's expecting a two-million-dollar shipment from the Colombians, and the shipment is seized by the Feds. Charlie doesn't even get a look at it. So now he's pissed. He's got dealers without product, his business is disrupted. But the Colombians, they're so fucking rich it's unbelievable. Their attitude is like, 'Oh well, that shipment was only a few million. Kiss it goodbye.' The main thing to them is to keep the account active. So they want Charlie to be happy. So they say to him, 'Look, you were expecting two million in product, we'll give ya tree million in emeralds. Keep it as collateral, sell it off, it's up to you.' It's like a token of goodwill.'
'Some token,' Joey said.
'Yeah, right,' Bert said. 'But these guys, the money they have, it's like you or me giving a guy a buck to park the car. So anyway, Charlie gets his emeralds. Or supposedly he does. They get dropped someplace in Coconut Grove-I don't blow where, and I don't wanna know. But a safe place, a place that's been used before, and only the Colombians and Charlie Ponte's guys know about it. And that's where they disappear from.'
Joey tugged at an earlobe, then raked the back of his hand across his unshaven face. Tiny squiggles of limestone dust floated in the slashed light of the louvered windows. 'Bert,' he said, 'maybe I'm a little slow, but I still don't see where this has to do with my father.'
Bert leaned over to check on the dog, and moved it out of a stripe of sun into a stripe of shade. 'Joey, there were a coupla low-level guys who were like floating between the two crews. They'd commute between Miami and New York, they'd do little errands for Ponte, little jobs for your old man. They were lookin' to get made, and they were very ambitious. They found out more than they needed to know about the drop in Coconut Grove. They ain't floatin' no more, Joey. They're lookin' at coral. Up close. And they ain't got no snorkels.'
'Jesus,' said Joey, and in spite of himself he almost smiled. Not that he was happy about guys getting clipped; it was just exhilarating to be near some action again, to be getting information. 'So you're saying these guys brought in other guys in my father's crew?'
Bert shrugged. 'These guys were angling for a button, Joey. A tree-million-dollar score earns a guy some points. But of course, scoring it from another family was not too bright.'
'Maybe the spicks welshed. Maybe they took the stones back. Maybe they were never delivered.'
'Could be,' said Bert. 'But that isn't the Colombians' style. Why would they bother?'
Bert slowly crossed his legs and drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of the settee. For the first time, he seemed to be looking around at Joey's cottage, at the bad paintings of birds and shells, the haphazard furniture made tolerable and even likable by the fact that it was rented and not owned. 'Not a bad little place,' he said without enthusiasm.
Joey gave a modest nod. 'Well, it ain't the Paradiso. But it's fine until I really get on my feet.' He shot the older man a wry glance, which was as close as he would come to admitting that that might be never.
Then there was a pause. If Joey had been watching closely, he would have noticed that Bert the Shirt was momentarily exhausted and was marshaling his strength. But Joey wasn't watching closely, he was slipping back into his obsession with figuring how to pull a living out of Florida. 'And that reminds me. I was thinkin', Bert, about what you said the other day, ya know, about money comin' outta the water? If that's the way people get rich down here-'
Joey suddenly fell silent because the Shirt had put a hand to his chin and started wagging his head as if in deep sorrow or disbelief.
'Wha', Bert?'
The old mafioso looked down and spoke to his chihuahua. 'This kid, Giovanni. Is he very brave, very stupid, or does he just not listen?'
The younger man only crinkled his forehead.
'I mean,' Bert said to him, 'what have I been telling you heah? Your father's crew is suspected of stealing tree million dollars from our own people. Two guys have already been clipped. A coupla very nasty paisans show up in Key West. Joey, why d'ya think they came heah?'
Joey just sat.
The Shirt addressed his dog. 'This kid, Giovanni, he's a nice kid, but he's an asshole.' Then he glared at Joey. 'Asshole, they were looking for you.'
'Me?'
'Joey, use your fucking head. You just happen to be about twelve hundred miles closer than anyone else to where the emeralds were. And you just happened to move down here right around the time this whole thing had to get planned. How does it look?'
Joey rubbed his stubbly chin and admitted to himself that it did not look great. 'But shit, Bert, I was always the last to know what my father's crew was up to even when I was living right there. Why d'ya think I ain't there no more?'
'Why should Charlie Ponte believe that? Joey, you know how these people think. Always look for the blood ties first. You're still your father's son. Maybe you don't feel like you are. Maybe you don't have his name. But everybody knows it, just like everybody knows Charlie Ponte sells dope. So, Joey, I'm telling you like a father, watch your ass. These guys will probably come back, and they are very pissed. If I didn't stand up for you, they woulda been here last night. Just to talk. Probably. But it would not have been pleasant.'
'You stood up for me, Bert?' A sublime and un-bounded gratitude made the hair lift on the back of Joey's neck.
Bert looked at the rug, at his quailing dog.
'What did you tell em?' Joey asked.
'Never mind what I tol' 'em.'
'Hey,' said Joey, 'I wanna know.' He squeezed the arms of his chair and puffed up within himself, opening the passageways like a young man does, the better to absorb a compliment from a respected elder.
'Forget about it,' Bert advised.
'Come on,' Joey insisted. 'I wanna know.'
'Awright,' said Bert. 'I told 'em you were too much of a loser to be involved in anything that big.'
'Thanks, Bert. Thanks a lot.'
'Sorry, kid. You asked. Besides, it was the best thing to say at the time. On that you hafta trust me.'
— 11 -
'Joey, will you think about it at least?'
Sandra held an enormous fish sandwich in both hands and had a glass of beer in front of her. They were
