Part 23 (2/2)
”Andres, this guy's out to take you.”
Maybe it was already too late. Jiggs was looking at him, de Boya staring off, frowning. Was it the wind in the rain, a police siren, what? Jiggs heard it without letting on. He said, ”George, you been drinking?”
Now a yelp-type siren chasing the wails, coming from beyond the ma.s.s of Florida trees bunched along the road.
Moran said, ”Andres?”
He got a glance, still with the frown.
”Jiggs Scully'll kill you if he gets the chance.”
De Boya's glance came again, like Moran was the distraction and not the shrill sounds piercing the rain.
”I don't know why I'm telling you, but if he asks you to go anywhere with him, tell him no.”
There. For what it was worth. He'd lost the attention of Jiggs and de Boya now, both listening, heads raised to the cool mist as the sirens wailed closer. Moran turned to Mary, saw her eyes. ”You have to get in my car. Right now.”
She moved without pause, not even a questioning look and he could have taken the moment and kissed her.
Squad cars were coming up both ends of the 299.
drive now, gumb.a.l.l.s flas.h.i.+ng, electronic sirens on high, some wailing, some yelping, giving the scene the full emergency treatment. As quickly as they arrived doors winged open and the police were on the scene, approaching the house.
Andres seemed bewildered.
But Jiggs was staring at Moran.
And Moran had to stare back at him, letting him know without saying a word who'd brought all this down on him.
A uniformed lieutenant was saying to Andres, with that impersonal deadweight of authority, ”Sir, I'm gonna ask you to evacuate these premises. I want everybody out of that house.”
Jiggs still hadn't moved, staring at Moran.
Moran smiled in his beard. Maybe Jiggs caught it, maybe not; it was time to go.
Mary was behind the wheel. She revved as he jumped in and pulled smoothly around Jiggs's car and the white Rolls. Squad cars coming with headlights on had to swerve out of the way as she pointed toward the garage and braked the old Mercedes to a skid-stop in the gravel. ”My bags,” Mary said.
The three matched pieces stood at the edge of the dim interior. Moran was out again, collecting the luggage, shoving it into the back seat. He took time to look toward the front of the house, the entrance-way.
De Boya was holding the police back with his iron will, resisting, objecting, pointing a finger in the lieutenant's face. No one was entering his house without his permission and he obviously wasn't granting it. Except to Corky now. De Boya said something to him that sent Corky running inside.
”Moran, will you come on!”
He turned to look at Mary. ”Drive out to the street before you get boxed in. I'll meet you out there in a minute ...Go on!”
She gave him a look with her jaw clenched and took off, horn blaring now, swinging out on the gra.s.s to get around the squad cars stacking up in the yard. There were cops with dogs now heading for the garage.
Moran moved to the off side of a squad car, its lights flas.h.i.+ng, radio crackling in a dry female voice on and off. He watched de Boya head to head with Jiggs now. They looked like they were arguing. De Boya at first standing firm, but Jiggs beginning to get through to him. De Boya, impatient now, gestured toward the garage. When de Boya turned and hurried into the house, Jiggs stood watching. Though not for long. Jiggs was moving now, running with a surprisingly easy grace toward the garage. He went in through the opening and Moran's gaze returned to the front entrance, the cops milling around, servants coming out now with umbrellas. When he glanced toward the garage 301.
again there was Jiggs framed in the dim opening.
Jiggs holding a telephone, its long extension cord trailing into the garage, talking into the phone with some urgency as he watched the police in front of the house. Jiggs stepped back into the garage and reappeared without the phone, pus.h.i.+ng his gla.s.ses up on his flat nose. He took the gla.s.ses off now, standing in the rain, pulled out part of his s.h.i.+rttail and began wiping the lenses. When he put the gla.s.ses on again, still intently watching the scene, the s.h.i.+rttail remained out, forgotten.
The slob. But look at him, Moran thought, fascinated. The guy was improvising, trying to put his act back together. He could hear Jiggs saying to him in the Mutiny Bar, ”Gimme some credit, George,” with that street-hip familiarity, his disarming natural style. He was fun to watch-as long as you didn't get too close.
Moran wanted to see de Boya again, but knew it was time to go: Mary waiting for him, anxious, Mary dying to get out of here. He moved down the line of squad cars looking back past Fireball flashers revolving slowly, the scene on hold for the time being. At the point where the drive curved into the trees he looked back one last time, hoping, deciding then to stretch it, give himself another minute, and saw de Boya coming out of the house: De Boya hurrying to his Rolls followed by Corky and one of the maids, Altagracia. De Boya with a briefcase waving now at Corky who was carrying two suitcases to hurry up. Jiggs there now saying something to de Boya and de Boya shaking his head, Jiggs still trying, de Boya turning away as the maid came with a cardboard box in her arms, framed pictures-they looked like-sticking out of the open top, the maid waiting now to hand the box to Corky as he put the suitcases that were exactly like Mary's into the trunk of the Rolls.
Where was Jiggs?
Moran saw him then, getting in his Cadillac.
De Boya and Corky were in the Rolls now, the car starting up, coming this way across the lawn and Moran stepped into the trees.
19.
”I TOLD HIM, I said don't go with him,” Moran said. He wanted to believe he had warned de Boya and wondered if he would have to repeat this to himself from time to time.
”You don't tell tell him anything,” Mary said, creeping the car toward a police officer in a rain slicker waving them to come on, come on, move it out. They turned off Arvida Parkway onto Cutler Road and the feeling of being released came over both of them at the same time, brought smiles and inside the old Mercedes was a good place to be with the winds.h.i.+eld wipers beating and the tires humming on wet pavement. The weather was fine. They pa.s.sed the fairways of Leucadendra and tennis courts standing empty, left the country club behind with a feeling of starting fresh, on a new adventure. Though Moran's thoughts would turn and he would see de Boya coming out of the house- ”Spook him and make him run,” he'd said to Jiggs in the Mutiny and it was happening. him anything,” Mary said, creeping the car toward a police officer in a rain slicker waving them to come on, come on, move it out. They turned off Arvida Parkway onto Cutler Road and the feeling of being released came over both of them at the same time, brought smiles and inside the old Mercedes was a good place to be with the winds.h.i.+eld wipers beating and the tires humming on wet pavement. The weather was fine. They pa.s.sed the fairways of Leucadendra and tennis courts standing empty, left the country club behind with a feeling of starting fresh, on a new adventure. Though Moran's thoughts would turn and he would see de Boya coming out of the house- ”Spook him and make him run,” he'd said to Jiggs in the Mutiny and it was happening.
He said, ”If he lets Jiggs follow him or take him somewhere he's crazy. I told him. You heard me, you were standing right there.” He had to stop thinking about Andres. But then asked, ”Where do you think he'll go?”
”Well, he owns property all over. Apartment buildings, even farms, land he'll develop someday. He could go down in the Keys, anywhere.” Mary glanced at Moran. ”If you're worried about him, don't be. Andres takes care of number one, the son of a b.i.t.c.h. And if Corky has to give his life Andres will let him.”
Right, it wasn't something new to these guys. Moran looked at her staring straight ahead at the winds.h.i.+eld wipers sweeping, clearing the gla.s.s every other moment. He loved her profile. He could see her as a little girl.
”You're a good driver.”
”Thank you.”
”How's your mouth? Is it sore?”
”Not bad.”
”The way your lower lip sticks out, it's kinda s.e.xy.”
”You want to bite it?”
”I believe I might. Did you hit him back?”
”I hit him first. It only made him madder.”
”There you are,” Moran said. ”The first rule of street fighting, never throw a punch unless you can finish it.”
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