9.30 p.m. Eldon Burns had a home to go to. His day was done. He was going to go to his gated house in Hialeah, kiss Lexi hello, kiss Vanessa and Leanne, if they were still in, have himself a good hot bath and then kick back with some beers and watch some old fight films in his basement den. Friday nights were his alone, Saturdays he met up with the Cutmen, and Sundays he spent with his family, especially Leanne, the youngest, brightest and sweetest of his daughters. He hated to admit it and did his best not to show it, but she was his favourite. He had high hopes for her-an Ivy League college, then an internship with a congressman in DC, possibly Strom Thurmond, who the Turd Fairy knew very well.
He got in his dark blue Buick Skylark sedan. Leather seats, dark wood panelling, 2.8 litre engine, gold wire wheels, smooth transmission, plenty of room inside, like being in your own private club; an all over class ride. He also drove a Cadillac Eldorado, but that wasn't as practical for me day to day as this baby.
He got onto Flagler. Traffic was fluid.
He popped a cassette tape into the car stereo. It was an advance copy of Sinatra's new album, She Shot Me Down, which wasn't due out in the stores for another few months. He'd got it straight from Frank's management, where he had good contacts. He loved Frank, always listened to him on a Friday. It was great end-of-week music.
As Eldon took US1, he decided the album was pretty good for late-period stuff, possibly even the best thing he'd done since September of My Years. He wasn't trying to be relevant or appeal to hippies and moptops, and he wasn't doing none of that Star Wars bullshit he'd tried on Trilogy. No, this was Frank at his best, back in some bar on his lonesome, loaded on Jack Daniels and thinking about how Ava Gardner had dumped him for a bullfighter. The years were showing in Frank's voice, but the material he was singing suited him perfectly. It was a nice album you could kick back to. Lexi might even like it, if he could stop her from playing Kenny Rogers for just a second.
He noticed the black Mercedes which had been behind him since he'd left the car park wasn't exactly shy about the fact that it was tailing him. He wondered if he should do something now or later. He smiled to himself. He had a.357 Magnum in the glove compartment and a.38 under the seat. He preferred revolvers over automatics. They never jammed.
When he reached Hialeah, Eldon pulled over and parked in a well-lit residential street close to his house.
The Mercedes stopped behind him and killed its lights.
'Whaddaya want?' Eldon said, finally looking in the rearview mirror at the passenger who'd been riding with him the whole way. He could only see the side of his forehead.
'The most powerful man in town shouldn't be leaving his car door open.'
'I didn't,' Eldon said. 'Whaddaya want?'
'Two of your finest are investigating me.'
'Who?'
'I don't have the names. One's black, one's white.'
'How d'you know this?'
'I just do.'
'This more of your voodoo shit, Boukman? The spirit of King Kong materialize in your living room or somethin'?' Eldon laughed.
'You'll never understand,' Solomon said. The leather squeaked as he moved slightly in the seat.
'I'd "understand" if you gave me a name or two.'
'Look into it.'
'You heard of "please", or don't that word exist in Haiti?'
'Look into it-please,' Solomon said. No sarcasm in his tone. No emotion. No nothing. Usual flat, dull, personality-free voice. 'We don't want any problems, not with the construction about to start.'
'There's no problems I don't see comin' a month before they show up,' Eldon said. 'I'm your future, remember? So you got nothin' to worry about, s'long as you remember who's in charge.'
'Long as I remember my place, you mean?'
'Don't gimme that civil rights shit!' Eldon laughed. 'You ain't a nigra, Boukman. You're Haitian. Martin Luther King did not die for you.'
Solomon didn't answer. He shifted closer to the door on the passenger side.
'Why are you sweatin' this anyway? No one knows what you look like, right? You probably forgotten yourself, way I bin hearin' things. How many operations you had to your face?'
'You remember what I look like, Eldon. You never forget a face, right?' Solomon opened the door and got out of the car.
Eldon watched him walk off to the Mercedes, which had pulled back away from the street light and into the dark. The car then reversed up the road, did a three-point turn and headed back to Miami.
Weirdly, Eldon had the feeling someone was still in the car with him. He switched on the light and looked behind him. There was no one there, but Boukman had left something on the seat, his signature, his calling card: the King of Swords.
Their troubles weren't over. There'd be more killing.