the semicircle of cafe counters with her Saks bag, on display in her Islands Air uniform. Next, she moved through the maze of aisles in the center area, beneath the giant gazebo, before choosing a table and slipped in behind it to sit against a planter, able to see what was going on around her. She thought she might spot Nicolet; Max, if he was able to make it; but didn’t count on picking out any ATF agents, assuming Nicolet had people with him. She didn’t put a lot of trust in anything he told her. He did say someone would follow whoever picked up the money. But that did-n’t mean another ATF agent. Jackie had a hunch Ordell would send the woman he lived with, the one who answered the phone, said he wasn’t there, and hung up. Fifteen minutes passed. Jackie finished her egg rolls and lit a cigarette.
A slender young black woman holding a full tray and a Saks bag hanging from her hand said, “This seat taken?”
Jackie told her no, sit down, and watched her unload the tray. Tacos, enchiladas, refried beans, a large-size Coke, napkins, plastic utensils . . . “You’re hungry,” Jackie said.
The slender young woman, dark and quite pretty, said, “Yes’m.” She couldn’t be more than twenty.
Jackie said, “Put your bag on the floor, okay? Under the table. We might as well make it look good.” She watched the young woman, who hadn’t looked right at her since sitting down, bend sideways to glance under the table.
“Right next to mine. Then when I leave,” Jackie said, “well, you know. What’s your name?”
She did look up saying, “Sheronda?” and down again at her tray.
“Go ahead and start. I think I spoke to you on the phone one time,” Jackie said, “when I was in jail and called Ordell. Wasn’t that you?”
She said, “I think it was.”
“I told you my name? Jackie?”
Sheronda said, “Yes’m,” and sat waiting.
“Really, start eating. I won’t bother you anymore.”
Jackie watched her begin, Sheronda hunching close to the tray. “I just want to ask you one question. Are you and Ordell married?”
“He say we like the same thing as married,” Sheronda said, without raising her head.
“Did you drive here?”
“Yes’m, he got a car for me to use.”
“You do live together,” Jackie said.
Sheronda hesitated and Jackie didn’t think she was going to answer. When she did, she said, “Most of the times,” still not raising her head.
Jackie said, “Not every day?”
“Sometime every day, for a while.”
“Then you don’t see him for a few days.”
“Yes’m.”
“You know what’s in the bag you’re taking?”
“He say is a surprise.”
Jackie stubbed out her cigarette. She said, “Well, it was nice talking to you,” picked up Sheronda’s bag, and left.
Max could see them from the Cappuccino Bar. He watched Jackie coming away from the table and told the girl behind the counter not to take his coffee, he’d be right back. Jackie didn’t see him, heading out with a certain amount of purpose. Max’s idea was to tag along, not catch up with her until they were well away from here. That plan changed as he saw the guy step out of Barnie’s Coffee & Tea Company and Jackie stopped. Max did too. He watched the young guy in a sport coat and jeans, cowboy boots, take the Saks bag from her and reach into it, looking at her as he did. The guy would be Ray Nicolet, Max decided, making sure she wasn’t walking off with the ten thousand. Max, the former cop, thinking for Nicolet: You can’t trust anyone, can you? Especially a confidential informant. They talked for a minute. Not, it would seem, about anything too serious. Jackie nodded, listened to Nicolet, nodded again, turned and walked off. A few strides and she was around the corner, gone, and Nicolet was looking toward the seating area talking to himself now, or into a radio mike he had on him. Max returned to the Cappuccino Bar to finish his coffee.
He had recognized the young black woman with Jackie, the same one who lived in the house on 31st Street and he had spoken to Friday morning looking for Ordell. Still trying to find him, five days now with the fake Rolex that was-n’t bad-looking, kept the right time, but still wasn’t worth a thousand bucks. He’d had it appraised at a jewelry store and Winston was right, the watch sold for about two fifty.
The young woman was still working her way through that pile of Mexican food, not looking up. Now she did. Turning her head to a woman
at the next table. An older black woman.
Max watched.
The older woman said something. Now the younger woman picked up the ashtray Jackie had used and handed it to the older woman. They exchanged a few words. Then didn’t say anything for a minute or so, the older woman smoking a cigarette now. Jackie had talked to the younger woman the whole time they were together, not at all sly about it, right out in front. The older woman had a cup of coffee in front of her, nothing to eat. Now she said something again to the younger woman, only this time without looking at her. The younger woman paused, then began eating again in a hurry.
Max’s cappuccino was cold.
As he finished it the younger woman was getting up from the table. He watched her stoop to get the Saks shopping bag, straighten her slim body, look around, and come out of the seating area. He watched her walk past the Cafe Manet, past Barnie’s Coffee & Tea, and turn the corner before the cowboy stepped out. He watched Nicolet allow the young woman to get some distance on him before he spoke to his radio mike and followed after her, around the corner. Max turned to see the older woman putting out her cigarette.
She sat there another couple of minutes before picking up—how about that—a Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bag and walking away from the table, toward the cafe counters on the other side of the seating area.
This one was not in the scenario Jackie had described. It didn’t matter. Even if she was carrying some other store’s shopping bag Max would have still followed her: down the escalator and along the lower level of the mall to Burdine’s, through the store, outside and down an aisle in the parking area to a Mercury sedan, a big tan one, an older model. He knew who the younger woman was and where she lived. But nothing about this one, getting in the car with her shopping bag and driving off.
Max wrote the license number in his notebook and went back inside to find a pay phone. His old pal from the Sheriff’s office, Harry Boland, head of the TAC unit, would be home now having a bourbon. They’d talk—Max would ask him to have someone call him at the office, later, with the name and address.
Ordell said, “It was like that monster in the movie
What’s wrong with you?’
Louis said, “Gerald reminded you of that?”
“The way he didn’t take Melanie out and jump on her. They go in the kitchen, he fixes her a cup of coffee.”
“It worked out,” Louis said, committed now, no getting off.
“Yeah, old Melanie.”
“Would you have shot him?”
“If I had to.”
“If you
Talking the way they used to a long time ago. Ordell grinning at him. In the Mercedes on the way to Simone’s house, early Tuesday evening. Louis knowing why Ordell had him staying there now. Not to be entertained. The main reason, to keep an eye on the cash Simone was bringing home. Ordell getting him more and more involved in his business.
Monday night, late, Ordell had taken him to the self-service storage place off Australian Avenue in a
