Nurse had a compartment in his mind for Lovell, the seventy-five thousand dollars worth of stolen heroin, his gambling debts on top of that. The door to this compartment was always open, so he always remembered it was there, but it was only one compartment after all, and for most of that week he managed to ignore it, going about his normal life at home, on the freeway, in his office. His wifes cottagey kitchen, Radio National on his car radio in the mornings, Angie, the teller with the boobs these things were familiar, unsullied reminders that life was okay after all. Not great, but he was hanging in there.
Then on Thursday Lovell came to his house, and the badness spilled out like a stain. It was eight oclock at night, big day tomorrow with the money transfer, so he was only half paying attention to Joyce and Mignon. They were doing the dishes, Joyce washing, Mignon drying, Nurse stacking the plates away, when the knock came.
Mignon answered it and she came back stricken, as if Lovell were a god. Lovell looked tall and lean beside her and his teeth flashed white in his tanned pilots face. He grinned at Mignon, eyes crinkling nicely. He grinned at Joyce. He wore a bomber jacket and seemed slangy and reckless and huge in the little kitchen overlooking the good private school at the bottom of the hill.
Nurse stumbled through the introductions and they stared at one another, Joyce and Mignon with their lips slightly apart. Nurse said, Actually, were a bit tied up at the moment.
Joyce came to life. Nonsense. Get Mr Lovell a drink.
Ian, Lovell said.
Get Ian a drink.
Lovell asked for scotch, ice, no water. Joyce said shed have a martini. She never had martinis. Mignon asked for one too, but both parents packed her off to finish her homework. Nurse poured himself a scotch as well, and he, Lovell and Joyce sat far apart in the well-upholstered chairs in the best room at the front of the house.
Having Lovell there seemed to open Nurses eyes to the room for the first time. It was all Joyce and he hated it, the berber-look carpet and the chintzy fabrics over everything, an old copy of Vogue on the coffee table. Then Lovell raised his glass, said Cheers, and everything about the man was insinuating and mocking.
Joyce sat like a fulcrum in the room. Nurse and Lovell both directed the conversation through her. Nurse said, Ian is one of our biggest clients. Lovell grinned at her, confirming it. Both men waited.
What is it you do, Ian?
Aviation business.
That must be interesting.
It is.
Finally Lovell leaned toward her. It was a careless, masculine gesture, full of promise. His brown forearms were on his knees, his glass dangled from one slender hand, his eyes were crinkling: the force of the pose hit her like a blow. Nurse saw her swallow. Actually, Joyce, your husband and I have got some tricky matters to sort out before the New York exchange opens tomorrow.
Joyce flushed. Of course. Ill leave you to it.
She went out, closing the door behind her. Lovell watched her go, then turned to Nurse. Lovely. Over here, me old mate, so I dont have to yell.
He pointed to the couch next to him and the journey across the room racked Nurses nervous system. His voice trembled. What do you want? Its out of order, coming here.
You could say Im a bit strapped for cash.
I could sell the car.
Chickenfeed. I need a lot more than that, and you owe me more than your cars worth.
I dispute that. It wasnt my fault your stuff got stolen.
You dont know, do you? You havent got a clue how it works. Lovell edged closer, violence crackling around him like static electricity. Matey, in this business, you lose it, you replace it.
How? Nurses voice went shrill. He tried again. How? I wouldnt have a clue where to get heroin.
You werent listening. I need cash. Seventy-five grand for the smack you lost plus another twenty-five to cover the hassles you caused me.
I havent got that kind of money. What do you expect me to do, sell the house?
As soon as he said it he wished he hadnt. Lovell said, Theres a thought.
Please.
On second thoughts, it would take too long.
So, how?
Keep your voice down. A bank loan.
Nurse lost energy. He collapsed into the spongy material of the couch. Hed heard of this sort of thing happening, organised crime figures getting their hooks into bank managers, arranging loans they had no intention of repaying. He said, I cant do that, regulations wouldnt allow it.
Lovell looked at him, shook his head slowly. Dont give me that crap. You do it every day.
What about asset security for the loan? Could we nominate your plane, maybe?
Youre incredible, you know that? Get real, Nurse. I want you to forget the formalities, dont you understand that? Jesus.
Nurse muttered, When?
Well, I need it soon, dont I? You see, being out seventy-five grand, I had to dig into my own reserves to pay for the last delivery. Now I find myself in a position where I need upfront cash.
What about Bone?
Lovell spoke through his teeth. We dont speak about the people I work for, understand? That side of things is strictly my business.
Nurse realised then that Lovell was running scared on this deal. Hed lost a load of heroin, probably soured relations with his buyers, and had people breathing down his neck.
Not that that was any comfort. With one round-trip to New Guinea, Lovell could be back on track, whereas he, Nurse, had permanently derailed himself.
He had to know: What if it cant be done?
Lovell tipped back his throat, sliding the last of his scotch down it like an oyster. Cute daughter, Nurse. What is she, fourteen? Fifteen? Hard to tell at that age.
You leave her out of this.
Lovell was finished. Tomorrow morning, your office.