“Got some good news for you son,” Tubbs said as we stood together on the sidewalk; he had one hand sticking in his pocket with the thumb out as he aimed that contorted smile up at me. “I have me a little pull in Sacramento – got me some good old friends up there in the capitol – and I made some calls on your behalf. Looks like you’ll be getting that quarter mil for your time in prison after all.”
“I could use the money,” I confessed. “But you don’t owe me nothing.”
Tubbs chuckled. “Meaning you don’t owe me nothing neither, right? But you’re wrong anyways, son, leastways about me owing you. I meant what I said before about being a man who pays his debts.”
He gestured toward the Club. “You need to go in there with me now, Markus, and let me introduce you to the boys. They’ve all been wanting to meet you. You’ll be more than welcome.”
I glanced sidelong at Kendra’s dad. “It’s pretty fancy in there,” I said. “I’d feel weird. It’s not really my kind of place.”
Sam’s face sagged more fully into expressionlessness. What, did the kid expect me to shoot Tubbs down on the spot?
Tubbs nodded but his eyes were twin laser beams aimed right at me. “I can relate, son. I’m an old redneck myself – I assure you I felt like a fish out of water the first few times I walked through those doors. Tell you what though, it’ll feel like no more than your due after a while.”
“I’m sure you’re right. You’re painting a very pretty picture here,” I said. “But you’re focusing on what’s in it for me, like y’all are altruists or something.”
I tossed a shoulder, pretending the Club didn’t look strangely sweet from here on the outside. “I know you know the score; you’re the one sitting behind the stack of chips. Me, I’m just a newbie getting dealt in cold. I’m sure you’ll admit it ain’t exactly been a pat hand. How can I trust, if I don’t know what’s in it for you?”
“All right, that’s fair,” Tubbs allowed with a laugh. “I knew I was right about you. You never make no excuses for yourself. You don’t ask for shit from nobody. You’re one of my kind, son – you watch out for number one, I saw it right off. You’re no fool whatever some may think, and I’m for sure not fool enough to treat you as one.”
Tubbs and I crossed the street with the Meshbacks behind us, ready willing and able to pluck the petals off me like a dandelion. I heard a car door slam and turned to see Sam sitting in the driver’s seat of his Lincoln, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
“Maybe it’s off topic, but what about the Gardens?” I asked as we walked up the front steps of the Andersen Club. I glanced back at Sam again even as he refused to return my look.
“Do you really even care, Markus?” Tubbs asked as we stepped through the front door. “They’re not even tenants with rights – they’re illegal squatters, for Christ’s sake. I’m sorry about the little girl and all, not that I really know anything about it. Maybe those people thought you walked on water before, but I’ll bet they’ll never think as highly of you again.”
The flunky in the monkey suit muttered inconsequentials from behind his podium station, and granted us full Club access with obsequious gestures. Behind him, a sweeping tongue of a stairway curved down, wide enough for a squad to have marched abreast on. At the first landing above, a stained glass window filled the entire wall – you could have driven a bus through it.
“Hell, son, your jacket from when you were a kid was all for Class-A felonies, a lot of them violent,” Tubbs said as we passed the doorway to the dining room.
The light was muted in the dining room, and a husky Asian woman in a strapless evening gown sat in the corner playing the harp. The table linen looked crisp, and the serving staff was right there in attendance at the diners’ elbows; you wouldn’t have to chase any of these waiters down. The air was delicious with the smell of foods I couldn’t even put a name to. The subdued clatter of silverware and crockery flagged as most of the diners facing our way stopped to track us as we passed the doorway.
“You had no problem taking advantage back when you were a kid,” Tubbs pointed out as he continued fronting me down the hall with the Meshbacks body-guarding my rump. “Are you claiming to be a saint now?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m no saint.”
And he surely had a point: Back in the day I might have even rolled with him if Karl gave the go ahead. Maybe this wasn’t back in the day, maybe my big brother wasn’t nowhere around, and maybe I wasn’t that little monster anymore. But I could hang here, couldn’t I?
I could cross my fingers even as I swore into whatever blood oath equivalent this Club required. I could be a fifth column in here; I could destroy them from within. I could have them eating out my hand before they realized my offering was laced with strychnine.
“This is a boom town these days. I know you can smell it,” Tubbs said as we rounded the corner and passed through the wide archway into the main club room. Now we were face to face with all the people Tubbs so desperately wanted to hook me up with. “Think of it like Dodge City. Maybe a few bystanders get caught in the crossfire once in a while, but that’s just collateral damage. You got to look to your own house, Markus. You got to quit trying to mend other people’s fences.”
He had another point there: What exactly had I accomplished so far in this town? I’d caused Natalie’s man’s death, I’d impressed Big Moe enough he wanted to use me as a throwaway weapon, I was on standby for whatever sketchy purpose Elaine had gotten me freed for, and I’d made no headway at all with my own son.
And the Hmong mother who’d never see her little girl again outside of dreams? That lady had to be thinking I was the cat’s meow.
“You’re not feeling the love here, that I can see,” Tubbs said when I didn’t answer.
But I wasn’t blowing him off; I was just scoping out the venue he’d plopped me in the middle of. The wide, invisibly clean picture window spilled a bar of golden sunlight across a floor covered by what appeared to be a genuine Persian. The overstuffed leather chairs looked comfortable, and the tropical hard-wood end-tables were polished to a solemn glow.
Sitting alone at the bar in the far corner was the coroner, the guy whose county paycheck obligated him to come out and take away the little Asian girl’s body. He was parking his muzzle hard and frequent in the brandy snifter he clutched in a death grip.
Despite the luxury of the club house, the smell of high-end furniture polish and designer cologne, the hushed sense of exclusivity and entitlement? The coroner’s angst flashed me right back to the joint. If you took the thirty-odd people in this room out of their thousand-dollar suits and stuck them in prison garb, they would have appeared right at home on the yard inside.
They were all separated into cliques along lines of mutual interest and shifting loyalties, watching one another’s backs and scheming on how to take advantage of any perceived weaknesses. Just like inside there’d be backstabbing and turncoats here, snitches running from group to group scavenging information to trade for profit. They were hunkered together for protection against forces outside their control, just like all the cons I’d known in prison.
Most of these club folk didn’t even pretend not to stare at me. Despite the smiles they wore, despite the welcoming expressions they aimed my way? I knew I was the new fish here.
One man stood and said something in a low voice to his table companions before turning to approach us carrying two flutes of champagne. A beautiful brunette sitting at his table glanced my way, but I didn’t meet her eyes.
I’d never seen the approaching man before, but his suit sure got my attention. It was a Savile Row, several quanta of rank higher than those on most of the other club members.
Angela had been a closet fashionista; she’d schooled me on all the name brands, she’d loved leafing through the style magazines. She’d always gone on and on about how, just once, she’d like to see me wear something nice.
If I’d pimped for her in a suit as gorgeous as this man’s, Angela’s face would have been beet red with pride. If I’d styled it for her in our bedroom she’d be fussing with my tie, her gaze downcast in pleasure until she looked me in the eyes and we realized we were alone together behind closed doors.
This man and I had all the time in the world to size each other up as he approached. His oncoming face should’ve been blandly politic. He was supposed to project the ‘hail fellow well met’ aura that was second nature to all con-men. And I’d’ve expected him, like any carnival barker, to switch gears instantly to hurt innocence if I didn’t embrace the false friendship he wanted to ensnare me with.
It was startling to see how much he needed me to approve of him.
“Welcome Markus,” he said, handing me a glass of champagne.
“Markus, this is Jim Scallion,” Mr. Tubbs said, and Jim and I shook hands. “He’s one of our star developers right now. He’s doing some really good things for Stagger Bay, like the new James Scallion Opera House, and a lot of the improvements I know you’ve been noticing around Old Town.”
Tubbs grinned at Jim. “So how’s the boardwalk project going?”
“Pretty well,” Jim allowed, swirling his champagne in its glass. “We pour the foundations for the pilings next week.” He looked at me. “We’re trying to bring in more tourist dollars. Our analysts project that an esplanade walkway along the old waterfront would be a real draw. Quaint.”
“You see, son?” Tubbs asked, brows raised. “It’s not just about taking. We give back too.”
Tubbs pinned Jim with his gaze. “Tell Markus what we was talking about,” he said.
Jim’s eyes brightened, and his shy smile widened. “Well, we were also thinking about building a rec center for the children of Stagger Bay, maybe even a public swimming pool.”
That didn’t sound so bad. But how would the Driver react to such a concentration of vulnerable children on supermarket display? And would the kids from the Gardens be welcome there?
“We were also thinking you’d be the perfect person to run it,” Jim continued.
“You wouldn’t have to survive off a glorified babysitter’s salary,” Tubbs hastened to add. “After we televise the real parade, we’ll have even more outside money to play with. It’ll put us on the map. More development, more investors, a good thing for everybody.”
“Real parade?” I asked with a scowl. People looked over at us, as I’d raised my voice. “What do you mean, real?” I asked more quietly, setting down my glass.
Tubbs reached over and squeezed Jim’s shoulder. “I know you’ll be making time for Markus soon enough, but I need him all to myself for right now,” Tubbs said with a shooing gesture.
Jim obeyed, returning to his table with an air of relief.
Tubbs focused his attention on me. “All right, so the dry run was a fiasco. You put egg on my face there, but I can forgive you. All those paparazzi sneaking up on you, all those flashbulbs going off in your face unexpected like – its only natural you’d get upset.
“But I need you to go through with the main event Markus. It’ll be a classic ticker tape parade, as good as Stagger Bay can give you. We’re going to have live network coverage, TV bigwigs are going to host it, and some heavyweights from Sacramento and Washington are planning to show up, hand you some awards and medals, and use it for a photo op for themselves as well. This is very important for everyone involved. Important for you, Markus.
“When you join up with us, I admit we’ll pimp your celebrity to buy a little more credibility, have you front for us doing meet-and-greets with potential investors. You’ll pump some hands and pretend to laugh at some pretty corny jokes – but you’ll also be well taken care of, I promise. You’ll be part of the payday, son – part of the family. You’ll be on the inside for once, and I think you’ve come to realize just how big a stick we swing around here.”
I considered his words as I watched the flickering sidelong glances of the murmuring people keeping their distance. I’d rolled in here wanting to hate and despise these people. Maybe I’d expected them to be clutching cigars in their trotters and oinking together in glee like the hogs in Animal Farm, I couldn’t tell you.
But now that I was face to face with them? Just like with the cops at the deposition, I couldn’t deny our common humanity.
Maybe these club members were on the other side of the tracks from where I’d spent my entire life. Maybe they were disconnected from the lives and concerns of the middle class blue collars dependent on them for a paycheck. Maybe they looked the other way whenever they saw anyone living on the rock bottom of the American underbelly.
But they were as worried about their income as anyone on their payroll. These club folk had as much to lose as anyone in the Gardens, and further to fall if the current development failed.
If they weren’t in with the Driver, they weren’t automatically my enemies. But just how many of these club folk knew about the Driver, and thought he was good for business?
I turned to study Tubbs. Jim and the others were afraid of this hillbilly kingpin. Just why did these people kowtow so hard to him?
Tubbs grimaced at my assessing expression. “You keep looking at me like you’re judging,” he said, coming close to breaking his stated rule against complaint.
He kept his voice low, and his eyes tracked all the others in the room as he spoke. “Grow up, Markus. You think I don’t know they’re buying Stagger Bay from under us? You saying we should just give up without getting our end? The newcomers are gonna own it all anyways. We just need to make sure we’re not out in the cold when it’s over. You either rule here or you serve; there’s no middle ground in Stagger Bay anymore. It’s time to make your choice which one you’ll do, son.”
I looked around the club house, keying in on the signs of dissolution that hadn’t been apparent when we first walked in: a halo of flies buzzed in the void just below the high vaulted ceiling. Beneath the splendor of that Persian rug, the hardwood floors were cracked and sun-faded despite their wax and polish. A background sense of gimcrackery and decay wafted from beneath this club’s expensive, tempting veneer.
“You’re being selfish here, Markus,” Tubbs accused quietly, mistaking my meditative expression for the default stubbornness I’d gotten him accustomed to since our first meeting.
“There’s others you might want to be thinking of besides your own stiff-necked self.” He looked away from me out the window, jerking his chin toward Sam’s Lincoln across the street. I followed Tubbs’s gaze to see Sam staring right at me, white-faced.
But Sam couldn’t really see me in here, could he? No, I thought, stepping back away from the window – the sun had to be reflecting off the pane to conceal me; I had to be invisible to my son.
“Think about it, Markus,” Tubbs said, sounding like he was pleading. “You could buy Sam’s way out of his current sorry financial position. You could put your child through college, help him kick start a business, help him buy a house when he starts his own family.”
Oh God, that one hit me right where I lived, I’ll tell you. Tubbs might as well have punched me in the solar plexus.
Right now me and Sam were two drowning men; but I could let my son step up on my shoulders and thrust me down into the watery depths so he could have his chance at gulping air in the sunlight for a little while longer. Sam could maybe even get a leg up into the boat of prosperity, where he’d be sitting pretty as he and his fellow passengers watched the rest of us tread water around them.
So what if me sinking to the bottom was the price for my son’s salvation? Who cares Sam didn’t like me?
But after he turned his back on his friends and me, my son would live alone with whatever pile of money he managed to scrabble together after I gave him his jump start. He’d have no people to care whether he lived or died.
“I want to sincerely thank you for putting things in perspective Mr. Tubbs,” I said.
He continued to radiate some kind of pseudo-familial fondness at me, as if he wished me and mine no harm at all. If he hadn’t aimed my gaze out the window at Sam, he just might have had me.
But this club was built on sand, built
This club was a gang just like any other gang I’d ever seen, either as a young blood or inside. And just like any other gang I’d ever encountered, once I got in the car with them I wouldn’t belong to myself anymore. I’d belong to them.
This wasn’t where Angela would have wanted me to wear that fancy suit anyway – and Sam would despise me all the way if I ever called this place my own while the Driver was still at large.
“We’ll be talking again later,” I said.
“You are a stubborn stiff-necked fool,” Tubbs said, realizing he’d muffed the sale even if he didn’t know exactly how. “You’ll never really step through this door all the way with me.”
I’d been about to leave but the paternal disappointment oozing from his voice irked me no end. So this withered son of a whore wanted to use Sam to work me? He wanted to keep playing like some sort of surrogate daddy to me?
“I suppose you’ve talked to whoever switched Kendra and Reese’s tours, right?” I asked, keeping my own voice as low as Tubbs was keeping his.
“What do you mean?” he asked, cocking his head.
“Answering a question with a question – go on playing dumb why don’t you? Kendra wasn’t on her normal patrol when she died, I’m sure you know that at least. In case you didn’t know though, about the guys who killed your daughter? A little birdie told me the guns and grenades they murdered Kendra with came from the SBPD evidence locker – the drugs they were high on too. They made a grand old party out of your daughter’s homicide, huh? And it all came from you and yours.”
For the first time that poker face cracked – he went pale. He tried and failed to be impassive, cranking down on his facial muscles hard enough his features twitched.
Still, I leaned in closer, spoke even softer and quieter so he’d have to listen hard and focus exclusively on my words over the hum of the Club. “Kendra was set up. It was a hit. And you know who murdered her.”
Tubbs trembled as both Meshbacks robotically approached, awaiting their master’s command.
“You will tell me who told you that. Now,” Tubbs gasped, his voice harsh and low.
He still didn’t want anyone else in the club to know we were having a border dispute over here; he had something to lose if they figured out I wasn’t as deep in his pocket as he had maybe been implying I was.
I kept anything even resembling a smile off my face, not wanting to push him any further than I already was – I wasn’t stupid enough to think I knew his limits. “Like I said, a little birdie. Tweety tweet, Mr. Tubbs.”
I turned on my heel and strolled down the hall, out the door, and across the street toward Sam’s Lincoln, my back crawling the whole way. I had no real faith that having all his business buddies around as eye witnesses would slow Tubbs down.
Sam had started the Continental, but the passenger door was locked and the window was up. I rapped on the closed glass with my knuckle but he just gave me the stink eye.
“What?” he mouthed.
“Open sesame, kid,” I said. Sam unlocked my door and I climbed in. Across the street Tubbs’ Bronco roared out the Club parking lot like it was in a hurry.
Sam wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You know we got nothing to offer to match what they’re putting on the table, and I know you’re looking out for number one like always. So what’s changed? How is now any different from an hour ago?”
I grinned at him. “Quit fishing. All you need to know is I want to go back to the Gardens.”