Part 13 (2/2)

Moran got in his car and drove out toward the front of the Holiday Inn. He saw Mary's car turn south onto Le Jeune. Then saw a familiar car come out from the portico in front of the building, out of the shade, and turn onto the street after her. An older-model, faded blue Porsche. Nolen Tyner's car.

Moran followed, seeing faint bursts of colorless smoke coming out of the Porsche's tailpipe as it accelerated. There was no doubt in his mind it was Nolen. He hung back, keeping the oil burner in sight, then caught the light at Miracle Mile and had to sit there as both cars continued on, disappearing in the southbound traffic.

He took his time now, worked his way over to Granada and followed the road through Coral Gables to the country club to see if she might have turned in there; but there was no sign of either car. He pa.s.sed the street where he had lived for seven years, drove through caverns of tropical trees to streets that branched off into fingers of coastal land, the houses built on a network of free-form ca.n.a.ls and hidden by walls of stone and vegetation, stands of sea grape, hibiscus, jungles of orchids and acacia trees. He came to Arvida Parkway and rolled slowly through the gloom of foliage, catching flashes of Biscayne Bay in the late afternoon sunlight.

The de Boya home stood on a spur of land that curved out a few hundred feet into the bay, the peak of its roof ascending steeply against the sky like a tor, a landmark from the bayside but from inland only glimpses of bleached wood and gla.s.s. Moran had called it Polynesian contemporary, the home of a South Seas potentate. Mary said, ”If not a very successful cocaine dealer.” She called it b.a.s.t.a.r.d modern, neo-nondescript. The entire house, she said, could only be seen from the dock at the edge of the front lawn. Otherwise, and especially from the road, only an idea of its astonis.h.i.+ng angles could be seen beyond the iron pickets mounted to the low cement wall and through the forest of poinciana and acacia that sealed off the front of the property.

Stone columns marked an entrance to number 700. The driveway circled into the trees and came out again at another pair of columns up the road, 167.

without revealing the front of the house or cars that might be parked there.

All he could do was a.s.sume Mary was home now and Nolen had pa.s.sed this way a few minutes ago. What would happen if he pulled into the driveway? What was he doing there if de Boya came out?

Moran took the freeway north out of Miami thinking of the afternoon motel room and the warm awareness in Mary's eyes as she called him bighearted George, touching him, understanding him. Good, that part was good. But his own image of a bighearted George was not the bearded guy in the motel room. Or the cement-finisher working in the sun. Or the fire-team leader in the narrow streets of Santo Domingo. Not the fantasized seventeenyear-old lover either. The bighearted George he saw in his own mind was a dreamer, the ideal dumb-guy mark. He caught every light in Pompano Beach going toward the ocean and the bridge raised across the Intracoastal; it was all right, he was patient now as he realized he was out of patience, tired of waiting, accepting, listening to people like Rafi and Nolen, with their angles.

There was no faded blue Porsche parked in front of the Coconut Palms, no sign of Jerry anywhere, no one sitting by the pool. Lula came out of Number One carrying dirty towels and a plastic trash bag. Moran waited for her, looking out at the beach, empty with the sun gone for the day though it was still light.

”That girl in there,” Lula said, ”n.o.body musta taught her to pick up after herself. She got clothes, and they pretty things, all over the place.”

”Leave 'em,” Moran said, ”you're not her maid.”

”She messy. Dirty all the dishes-they been cooking in there. It don't smell bad but it makes a mess.”

”They'll be gone soon.”

Lula c.o.c.ked her head, frowning. ”I still got that, like a nightgown the woman left? You can see through it.”

”You want it?”

”Honey, I can't even get one arm in it, or n.o.body can I know. It's hanging in the laundry room.”

”I'll take care of it.” Moran looked over at Number One. ”They both in there?”

”She's in there eating potato chips,” Lula said, ”getting 'em all over everything. That's all I seen her do is eat. The man, I don't know where he is.”

Moran got a beer and came back outside with a canvas deck chair he sat in to look at the ocean, his feet on the low cement wall. He'd get things settled with Rafi before the day was over, put him against a wall and pull his pockets out...

Nolen said, ”You drinking without me?”

169.

He came up next to Moran running a hand through his thinning hair as the wind whipped it across his forehead. He raised the can of beer in his other hand.

”I got my own. I bought four six-packs today; two for you, two for me.”

”You doing a little surveillance this afternoon?”

”No, I was off today. Listen”-he sat down on the cement wall hunching in close to Moran, anxious to tell something-”that broad, your little pal from Santo Domingo, she comes up to me-no, first she has her swim, her float. She gets out of the pool, comes over and sits down next to me in this little string number, her lungs about to come tumbling out-you wonder if the straps can hold all the goodies in there. She's sitting there-Isn't it a nice day? Get all that over with. You like Florida? Yes. She's sitting there very quietly for a couple of minutes, she goes, 'You want to have a party?' I ask her what kind of party. She goes, 'You know'-and looks around to see if anybody's watching-'do it, man, have a good time. Me and you.' I go, 'Do it?' Like I just got in from Monroe Station, some place out on the Tamiami. 'What do you mean, do it?' She gives this surprised look and says, 'What do you think? Half-and-half for fifty dollars. Okay?' ...That's your little orphan.” it?' Like I just got in from Monroe Station, some place out on the Tamiami. 'What do you mean, do it?' She gives this surprised look and says, 'What do you think? Half-and-half for fifty dollars. Okay?' ...That's your little orphan.”

Moran said, ”You do it?”

”I told her it had to be for love. I'm gonna catch her later. Little broad-she isn't eighteen years old she's a pro.”

”When'd all this happen?”

”Couple hours ago. Before I went to the store. I bought her some potato chips. She can't get enough of 'em.”

”Where else did you go?”

”No place. What is this? I told you, it's my day off.”

”I didn't see your car out front when I got home.”

”No, I loaned it to your buddy Rafael Amado. The guy's a hustler, you know it? He comes on with the manners like he's the chief of protocol, but just the way he asks if he can use the car, buy the gas, all that, you know he's a hustler. So be careful. He wants to sell you something, tell him no, you got one.”

”When'd you give him the car?”

”This morning, around noon. He left almost the same time you did,” Nolen said. ”He was right behind you.”

11.

THE SHOCK OF SEEING HIM was instant, even before he called her name. She had just now arrived home. Turned from the front door to see Corky hurrying toward the blue car in the driveway, Rafi getting out, smiling-there, at that moment-knowing who it was before she saw his face clearly but recognizing something about him, Corky shoving him then, keeping him against the car, and Rafi was calling, ”Mary, help me!”

Beaming then, all a joke, with a few words in Spanish for Corky and he was coming to her with outstretched hands-to do what, put his arms around her? She took his hands, managed to smile and said pleasantly, with a note of surprise, ”Well . . .” It was the best she could do.

”Mary, Mary, it's so wonderful to see you again!” His head darted and he kissed her, almost on the mouth, before she could pull back.

Mary said, ”Well . . .” She said something that sounded like, ”What a surprise.”

Altagracia served them chilled white wine on the sundeck. Rafi made a show of raising his to the fading sun and came close to rejoicing over the red hues reflected in his gla.s.s. He wore his tailored white Dominican s.h.i.+rt, the squared-off tails hanging free of his trousers.

”It's lovely,” Rafi said then, ”everything, your home, your-how should I say?-your taste in decorating, it's as I imagine it would be.”

Mary said, ”I didn't think you knew my name.”

His gaze came away from the view, the boat dock, the sweep of lawn, smiling with that air of familiarity, confidence, she remembered from the first time they met.

He said, ”Mary, a woman of your beauty begs to be identified.”

She said, ”Rafi, knock it off. Get to the point.”

”I'm sorry,” he said. ”What?”

”Who told you my name?”

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