Stranger in Paradise

“Your daddy?”

“Yes,” Amber said. “Daddy hired this guy to find me and my old lady, and kill the old lady, and bring me home.”

“What’s your daddy’s name?”

“Louis Francisco,” Amber said.

“That your real name?” Esteban said.

“Yes. Amber. Is that a sappy name? Amber Francisco.”

“Yeah. Where’s Daddy live?”

“Miami,” Amber said. “He’s very rich.”

Esteban nodded.

“What’s he do?”

“I don’t know. He’s in a bunch of businesses.”

“You like him?” Esteban said.

“Hell, no,” Amber said. “He’s in on all kinds of shady shit, you know? And he sends me to the fucking convent school. You know? Nuns. Jesus!”

Esteban nodded.

“And he wants your old lady killed?”

“Yeah.”

A couple of Horn Street Boys came into the garage. Amber rolled over onto her stomach. Neither of them paid any attention to her. They got beer from the refrigerator, sat down on a couple of rickety lawn chairs, picked up the remote from the floor, and turned on a soap opera. Amber hated soap operas. Her mother used to watch them in the big, empty house and drink beer until she fell asleep on the couch. Amber wished they’d shut it off. She wished she had her clothes on. She wished things were different.

“I think I should talk to your old man,” Esteban said.

29.

Crow was sitting under the small pavilion at Paradise Beach, talking on his cell phone. The day was eighty-five and clear. The tide was in. The ocean covered most of the beach, and the waves rolled in quietly, without animosity.

“I’m not going to kill your wife, Louis,” Crow said. “And I’m not going to bring your daughter down to Miami.”

“You sonovabitch, Crow,” Louis Francisco said at the other end of the connection. “I paid you a lot of money.”

“To find them,” Crow said. “I found them.”

“You want to survive this, Crow, you do what I told you.”

“Nope.”

“If I have to come up there, by God…”

“Probably ought to,” Crow said.

“Then I will,” Louis Francisco said. “And I won’t be coming alone.”

The outrage was gone from his voice, Crow noticed. He seemed calm now. He was doing business he understood.

“I’ll be here,” Crow said, and turned off the cell phone.

He sat for a time looking at the ocean. He liked the ocean. There were young women on the narrow beach, in small bathing suits. He liked them, too. He stood and walked along the top of the beach and onto the causeway that led to Paradise Neck. He stopped halfway across, leaning on the wall, looking at the ocean, breathing in the clean smell of it. It would take Francisco a couple days to organize his invasion. He wondered what the cop would do with that. Stone was a cop, and this was a small town. But Stone wasn’t a small-town cop. It interested Crow, how far Jesse would go. Crow was pretty sure Jesse would stick when it came down to it, that Crow could count on him. And he knew that Jesse’s cops were loyal to him. The big kid, Suitcase, looked like he could handle himself. And Crow loved the feisty little female cop.

He turned and rested his back against the seawall and looked in at Paradise Harbor. Might be time to call on Marcy Campbell, too. She was good-looking, and, he was pretty sure, she was ready. He smiled. Women forgave him a lot. He watched the harbor-master’s boat moving about among the tall pleasure boats riding their mooring, sails stowed, people having lunch on the afterdeck. He looked at his watch. Maybe he should have lunch. Daisy Dyke’s? No, that would be iced tea. At the Gray Gull, he could have a couple of drinks with his lunch and then go home and take a nap. He straightened and flexed his shoulders a little to loosen them, and began to walk back to the beach where his car was parked. He felt really good.

Maybe he was going to have his war.

30.

They were all there in the garage. Twelve Horn Street Boys, plus Esteban Carty. Amber sat on the floor in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. Listening while Esteban spoke.

“Okay,” he said to the Boys, “we got a contract.”

The boys seemed pleased.

“Guy gonna give us ten grand to off a broad in Paradise.”

The boys responded.

“Ten grand?”

“A broad?”

“Muthafuck, man, how easy is that?”

“Easy,” Esteban said.

One of the boys said something in Spanish.

“Knock it off,” Esteban said. “We speak English.”

Amber wondered randomly if that was some sort of self-improvement rule, or was it because Esteban didn’t speak much Spanish. She shrugged mentally. The Horn Street Boys had a lot of rules.

“And here’s a gas,” Esteban said. “Guy paying us is Alice’s father.”

Everyone looked at Amber. She giggled. It was nice that Esteban told them.

“Who’s the broad?” one of the boys said.

“Are you ready for this?” Esteban said.

Amber could see he was excited. She felt excited, too. He pointed at her like a referee calling a foul.

“Alice’s momma,” he said.

Everyone looked at her again. Amber giggled again. One of the boys started clapping, and the others joined in. Amber giggled some more, and hid her face.

“Bye-bye, Momma,” Esteban said.

And the boys took up the chant.

“Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma.”