“Did I what?”
“Get it together?”
It’s over, Stuckey thought. “Yeah, I’m together,” he said. “But you have to watch the caffeine. Old people can make you crazy.”
“Well, that’s good, Dennis.” Rosario straightened his service revolver. “OK, then, you have a good one. Like I said, stick around. We’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here. At least until Colon fires my ass.”
“He doesn’t like you, I see that.”
Rosario started across the yard. He reached the gate next to the garage, stepped out and latched it, and was gone. Stuckey waited. Seconds later, the squad car’s searchlight blinked out. The car moved up the street.
He stood listening to the evening. Music played somewhere, followed by a commercial break. Skating, he thought. Jocks in condom racing suits. Lots of rah rah rah with the flag. Stuckey inhaled deeply. Even though it was safe now, still he waited, listening in the sticky night air. He hated cops. He thought maybe they put spy cams in trees to check on you after they left. You could put them anywhere, they even had spy cams in women’s dorms and restrooms. You could watch dollies taking a pee, or touching their toes for the boyfriend.
He stepped now to the biggest of his terra cotta pots. He had set them up where they would get lots of sun. Basil, chives, mint. The largest container held a bushy, staked tomato plant. He leaned down and held up the leaves. Carefully he dug with his fingers until he felt the plastic baggie. He tugged it free and looked again to the yard before he patted down the loosened potting soil.
Stuckey went back inside and closed the door. He circled the room and drew closed the Venetian blinds. When done, he went to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. Rivera had sat right here to use the knife on the watchband. But it turned out good, Stuckey thought. Eating the watch is why he trusted you.
He worked off the twist tie and turned over the baggie. Along with Ivy’s watch and wedding ring, a two-carat diamond engagement and a three-carat cocktail ring fell out, then an emerald the size of an olive on a pendant, then a ruby-and-diamond tennis bracelet.
Yes, a very good thing to eat the watch. That was why Rivera had brought him to Burlson’s on Saturday, because of trust. Stuckey saw himself in the TV room, freeze-framing the movie as the old woman wandered out. A minute later, he had gotten up to see where she was. This time, he had found her opening drawers in a bedroom. When she shuffled off, Stuckey had gone to look. It was one of those secretary desks with secret drawers. You couldn’t know how the drawers worked unless someone showed you.
That’s what she did, Stuckey thought, holding the emerald up to the light. She showed you.
He gathered up the jewelry, put it back in the baggie and stood. In the morning, or whenever they were finally done asking questions, Colon would fire him. Why you don’t go somewhere else? he’d say. I will, Stuckey thought. I’ll go where people understand all-organic.
He folded the baggie and stepped to the counter. Tupperware containers and sealed glass jars of legumes rested there, waiting to be put back in the cabinets. Stuckey looked them over, chose the pinto beans, and took off the lid.
“James, what’s this? My favorite young man wakes me up in the middle of my beauty rest. What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Mister K.”
“Are you in the truck? Never mind the hour, I’m glad you called. I have a new address for you. This is the company I got my empire tables from. I talked to them already, they’ll offer you a better deal.”
“I’m not in the truck, Mister K.”
The old man knew everything. Heard everything. What was he hearing in the young man’s voice? Why wasn’t his protégé in the truck with goods for resale? Rivera could see Kleinman sitting up in bed, already alert as he snapped on the nightstand light and reached for his glasses.
“You have trouble,” Kleinman said. “You had to leave Naples.”
“You can read minds, sir.”
“I hear it in your voice, Jim. I hear serious trouble, but I don’t read minds. Ray called me an hour ago, that’s how I know. Does it have to do with what I think? You know we can’t talk about it.”
“I know, but I thought you might be able to help. I’m ten miles outside Miami. I’m driving a nice Jaguar.”
“Sedan or sports car?”
“Sports car.”
“That’s good, they’re easier to sell. You want to sell it, is that right?”
“As I say, you’re a mind reader.”
“What color?”
“Sir?”
“This Jaguar, what color is it?”
“Beige. With red leather seats.”
“That’s also good, my friend. Beige is easy to paint over.”
“When I called last week, you said we could go out on the boat for privacy. I need your advice.”
“Of course I remember. And we’ll go, James. You’ll get all the advice you need. I’m not a fair-weather friend. But in a few days is better for us both, not tonight. Don’t drive up to Boca Raton tonight. Do you hear this, Jimmy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I’m thinking you need a place to stay. Here’s what we’ll do—”
Rivera held the phone close as Kleinman laid out the plan. At this hour, Alligator Alley had been almost deserted. Meeting Larson, then the foggy, trouble-free trip across the state—it all fit. Ray had called the old man, as you did with family in an emergency. Now, Arnold Kleinman was describing how someone would meet Rivera on the third level of the Miami airport’s west parking structure. James would be able to take the Jag to a safe location. Once there, he could spend the night in peace and safety. Tomorrow, the two of them would talk again to work out details. James would be in Boca Raton by the end of the week.
“All systems go, Mister K,” Rivera said.
“Exactly, Jim. A month or two from now, this never happened. Okay,
