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.
“But I need you to go through with the main event Markus. It’ll be a classic ticker tape parade, as good as Stagger Bay can give you. We’re going to have live network coverage, TV bigwigs are going to host it, and some heavyweights from Sacramento and Washington are planning to show up, hand you some awards and medals, and use it for a photo op for themselves as well. This is very important for everyone involved. Important for you, Markus.
“When you join up with us, I admit we’ll pimp your celebrity to buy a little more credibility, have you front for us doing meet-and-greets with potential investors. You’ll pump some hands and pretend to laugh at some pretty corny jokes – but you’ll also be well taken care of, I promise. You’ll be part of the payday, son – part of the family. You’ll be on the inside for once, and I think you’ve come to realize just how big a stick we swing around here.”
I considered his words as I watched the flickering sidelong glances of the murmuring people keeping their distance. I’d rolled in here wanting to hate and despise these people. Maybe I’d expected them to be clutching cigars in their trotters and oinking together in glee like the hogs in Animal Farm, I couldn’t tell you.
But now that I was face to face with them? Just like with the cops at the deposition, I couldn’t deny our common humanity.
Maybe these club members were on the other side of the tracks from where I’d spent my entire life. Maybe they were disconnected from the lives and concerns of the middle class blue collars dependent on them for a paycheck. Maybe they looked the other way whenever they saw anyone living on the rock bottom of the American underbelly.
But they were as worried about their income as anyone on their payroll. These club folk had as much to lose as anyone in the Gardens, and further to fall if the current development failed.
If they weren’t in with the Driver, they weren’t automatically my enemies. But just how many of these club folk knew about the Driver, and thought he was good for business?
I turned to study Tubbs. Jim and the others were afraid of this hillbilly kingpin. Just why did these people kowtow so hard to him?
Tubbs grimaced at my assessing expression. “You keep looking at me like you’re judging,” he said, coming close to breaking his stated rule against complaint.
He kept his voice low, and his eyes tracked all the others in the room as he spoke. “Grow up, Markus. You think I don’t know they’re buying Stagger Bay from under us? You saying we should just give up without getting our end? The newcomers are gonna own it all anyways. We just need to make sure we’re not out in the cold when it’s over. You either rule here or you serve; there’s no middle ground in Stagger Bay anymore. It’s time to make your choice which one you’ll do, son.”
I looked around the club house, keying in on the signs of dissolution that hadn’t been apparent when we first walked in: a halo of flies buzzed in the void just below the high vaulted ceiling. Beneath the splendor of that Persian rug, the hardwood floors were cracked and sun-faded despite their wax and polish. A background sense of gimcrackery and decay wafted from beneath this club’s expensive, tempting veneer.
“You’re being selfish here, Markus,” Tubbs accused quietly, mistaking my meditative expression for the default stubbornness I’d gotten him accustomed to since our first meeting.
“There’s others you might want to be thinking of besides your own stiff-necked self.” He looked away from me out the window, jerking his chin toward Sam’s Lincoln across the street. I followed Tubbs’s gaze to see Sam staring right at me, white-faced.
But Sam couldn’t really see me in here, could he? No, I thought, stepping back away from the window – the sun had to be reflecting off the pane to conceal me; I had to be invisible to my son.
“Think about it, Markus,” Tubbs said, sounding like he was pleading. “You could buy Sam’s way out of his current sorry financial position. You could put your child through college, help him kick start a business, help him buy a house when he starts his own family.”
Oh God, that one hit me right where I lived, I’ll tell you. Tubbs might as well have punched me in the solar plexus.
Right now me and Sam were two drowning men; but I could let my son step up on my shoulders and thrust me down into the watery depths so he could have his chance at gulping air in the sunlight for a little while longer. Sam could maybe even get a leg up into the boat of prosperity, where he’d be sitting pretty as he and his fellow passengers watched the rest of us tread water around them.
So what if me sinking to the bottom was the price for my son’s salvation? Who cares Sam didn’t like me?
But after he turned his back on his friends and me, my son would live alone with whatever pile of money he managed to scrabble together after I gave him his jump start. He’d have no people to care whether he lived or died.
“I want to sincerely thank you for putting things in perspective Mr. Tubbs,” I said.
He continued to radiate some kind of pseudo-familial fondness at me, as if he wished me and mine no harm at all. If he hadn’t aimed my gaze out the window at Sam, he just might have had me.
But this club was built on sand, built
