“I took the lady to Florida for a few days,” Ryan said. “Get her straightened out.”
“Also looks like we’re going to bullshit awhile,” Mr. Perez said. “I thought we might get down to facts.”
“Okay,” Ryan said, “how about this? You tell us what the stock is, Mrs. Leary cashes it in and gives you ten grand for your trouble.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Mr. Perez said, pushing the metal plate away from him.
“Or,” Ryan said, “we take you to court on the injunction. The first way saves time and legal fees. The second way, you don’t get anything.”
“That first way also saves you from being prosecuted as part of the act, get your nose rubbed in it.” Mr. Perez looked at his wristwatch. “Raymond, you going to make the hockey game, you better get moving.”
Raymond looked at his own watch. “Yeah, I guess I better. You can get a cab all right?”
“I don’t see why not.” Mr. Perez said to Ryan, “Raymond’s never seen a hockey game before.”
“I been looking forward to it,” Raymond said. He was finishing off his escarole, mopping up the juice with bread. When he got up, wiping his mouth with his napkin, he was still chewing. “I’ll see you later on.”
Ryan and Mr. Perez watched him hurry along the bar to the front of the restaurant and out toward the entrance. Why? Ryan was thinking. Leaves his boss here and goes to a hockey game.
Mr. Perez said to Ryan, “Now then. I think you’re in over your head. I think you’re being naпve or somebody’s giving you the wrong advice. I let you take me to court, you’ll find out quick there’s no grounds for an intent to defraud or anything that violates a statute. I’m making a business proposal to Miz Leary. She can accept it or reject it, there’s no coercion. There’s not a hint, a smell, of criminal intent. If you’re going to tell me a lawyer drew up that complaint, then I say you’re bluffing. In fact, what you’re doing, you’re fucking up. I offered you thirty grand, but you see more. The thing is you’re not big enough to see more, because there isn’t any way you can get it.”
“You’re worrying about what you think I want out of this,” Ryan said, “and you start assuming things. Maybe I don’t give a shit if I get anything or not. Maybe she doesn’t either, it’s not your concern. All you’ve got to decide is if you want ten grand or nothing.”
“I see I better talk to the lady again,” Mr. Perez said. “Point out she’s getting some half-assed advice from a process server who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“You’ve already talked to her, and she wasn’t too impressed,” Ryan said. “I told her what you wanted, and for some reason you getting the whole thing sounded to her like a piss-poor deal.”
“You and I discussed possibilities, that’s all,” Mr. Perez said. He poured himself a little more wine. “Being realistic, what would she think of going halves?”
“At one time that might’ve sounded fine. Well, acceptable maybe. But now, see, she’s made you a counter- offer. Ten grand,” Ryan said. “So now it’s up to you.”
“You’re right there, it’s up to me,” Mr. Perez said. “It’s always been up to me. I could be dining at Commander’s Palace this evening instead of this place. I’m here because this is my business. Now you come along, try and fuck up things-it’s like you’re telling me I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I’ve got a feeling,” Ryan said, “I could go back to Probate Court, look up the guy who left the stock in the first place, Anderson, dig around, locate his heirs. I find out what the stock is, all the talking’s over, isn’t it?”
“Or, I could have Raymond drop by and see you,” Mr. Perez said. “How does that sound?”
“Throw me out the window? I’m on the first floor.”
Mr. Perez shrugged. “Or we could wrap it up tonight. Meet with the lady, she signs an agreement that we split it down the middle. Then it’s just a matter of some paperwork. Everybody’s happy, we shake hands and go home.”
Some paperwork. Something occurred to Ryan he hadn’t thought of before. He said, “First, before anything’s done, the stock’s got to be transferred to her name, through probate.”
“It does, huh? What stock? Transferred by whom?”
The waitress said, “Red snapper. I was able to get your tail piece.”
“I went ahead and ordered,” Mr. Perez said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“And your cottage fries and vegetable.” Making room for them on the table, the waitress said to Ryan, “Are you gonna order, hon?”
Mr. Perez looked at her for the first time.
“Not right now,” Ryan said. He wanted her to finish and move off.
Mr. Perez gave him a put-on surprised look. “You’re not going to eat? I thought this was the best restaurant in town.”
“I’ll let you know,” Ryan said to the waitress. He felt awkward, unsure of himself, and didn’t know why. Mr. Perez, with his dinner in front of him, squeezing lemon on his snapper, was in control again. The man was practiced, good at it. He made a little ceremony of tasting the fish and again acting surprised.
“Not bad, not bad at all.” He did the same thing with the escarole. “Yeah, you might be right for once.”
“If we go to court,” Ryan began, “get it into probate…” He hoped that was enough; he wasn’t sure how to make an explicit threat out of it.
“My friend,” Mr. Perez said, “there is no stock until the lady signs the agreement. There is no way you or the court can find out what it is. If I’m subpoenaed, I’ll say it again in court, ‘What stock? What stock is it you want transferred to her name? Your honor, I don’t know what they’re talking about.’ You understand?”
“Yeah, but I guess we’re not communicating,” Ryan said. He pushed his chair back and got up. “I hope you don’t mind eating alone.”
“Not at all,” Mr. Perez said. “In fact, I enjoy it. We’re through, anyway, aren’t we?”
Shit, Ryan was standing there with his hand on the back of the chair and couldn’t think of anything to say. He wanted to give the guy a good parting shot and walk away with the words hanging in the air.
“Well, call if you want the ten grand. Otherwise, let’s forget the whole thing.” That seemed about right. He was walking away from the table.
“Fine,” Mr. Perez said, “I’ll call if I need you for anything.”
Ryan kept going, along the bar to the front and past the reservation desk to the foyer. The son of a bitch, he’d call if he needed him. What’d he mean, if he
It was cold outside, misty. Almost eight-thirty. It was too early to call Virgil. He started along the sidewalk to the restaurant’s parking lot, getting a buck out of his pocket.
Like nothing Ryan said had impressed him or changed his way of thinking. Business as usual. Sitting there eating his dinner. Sends Raymond off to a hockey game. Ryan stopped.
He turned and ran back into the foyer of the restaurant. There were magazines on the tobacco counter,
“Hi, what time’s the game start, eight-thirty?”
The Wings were on the road, the voice told him. At Montreal tonight.
He dialed Denise’s number and listened to it ring. He said, Come on, answer it. Forget what I said and answer it. The phone continued to ring.
21
“IT’S A HOTEL LOBBY,” Virgil said. “You never seen one before?”
Tunafish brought his gaze back and looked straight ahead, toward the bank of elevators. “I never seen this one before. It’s the first time I been here.”
It was Virgil’s first time in the Pontchartrain, too, but he didn’t bother to mention it. He said to Tunafish, “Yeah, we here.” Like what was the big deal? “Anybody ask, we going up to see a man. See if he want his walk shoveled.”
They got off the elevator on 17 and walked down the hall looking at room numbers, Tunafish saying them out loud, beginning with 1725
“Oh-five,” Virgil said and stopped by the door. He knocked, giving the door panel three light taps, and waited.
