Chapter 24
Ricardo was waiting outside. When the Kid pulled in the driveway, he entered the car. The cul-de-sac was starting to buzz. Young men and women were exiting their homes, carrying old card tables and benches. Surveying the landscape for prime locations. Sparne peered through the streaked windshield as he began to maneuver the vehicle. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck time do these parties start?”
“It’s Friday. It will be packed tonight. All weekend.” Morales waved to some of the settlers. It wouldn’t hurt to maintain the old ties. “The party won’t start for two or three more hours, but these people are getting a head start. Setting things up. Staking out their claims.”
Sparne asked, “Once we take over, can we make money here?”
“Sure. We can send some people out to sell shit. Our girls can make a ton of money off these horny fucks.”
The Kid became serious. “After I dropped you off, I went by Mr. Moffit’s. Nobody answered his door. I’ll bet everything is happening right now. Tonight, or tomorrow, we’re in. No more shit from nobody.”
A worried presence creased Ricardo’s face. “Are we gonna hafta cut our hands and speak Italian and shit, like they do in the movies?”
Richard didn’t seem concerned. “I dunno. We’ll hafta ask Mr. Moffit. Probably.”
Halfway through the trip, Ricardo’s anger at the woman’s disrespect began to swell again. Sparne fueled the rage. “The things this bitch said and did to you are the worst I’ve ever heard of. It’s a good thing we’re handling this now, before anyone has a chance to find out.”
“She’ll pay. I should have taken care of it right when it happened, when I was in that fucking office.”
“It would have happened too quick. If we do this slow and make her suffer, it will be an example to everyone else. They’ll see what happens if you fuck with us.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna do it real slow... Fuck it... I thought maybe we’d let her work for us after. If she begged right, but not now. Not after what she did. She has to fucking die.”
Sparne sanctioned the sentence. “You’re right. There’s no way we can let her live.”
They continued to discuss the insult. Richard stoking. Morales boiling. Their destination finally appeared. Sparne found a parking spot that gave them an unobstructed view of the huge steel and glass doors fronting the office building.
The facade temporarily drew their attention. A three level, domed parking garage abutting the back of the structure was under construction. Completion date was six months away. Until then, parking for employees and clients was a large, yellow lined lot on the side of the office complex. Some spaces close to the front had little white signs, sporting names painted in black.
The boys had a full line of sight for everyone exiting the building and crossing to the lot. They didn’t speak while they waited.
Gina had her eye on the clock. The workload was nonstop all day. Cahan was making up for yesterday. She had a half hour before the party started. Why in the hell did I say 5:30, Gina thought. I should have known there was no way I’d get everything done. But they’re young kids. You can’t start it too late.
She walked towards Cahan’s office. He was on the phone. His hand motioned for her to come in and sit. She leaned against the door jamb, shook her head and pointed to her wristwatch, in true mime fashion.
Regis, nodding his head and inching closer to the phone cradle, finally hung up. “Sheesh. I couldn’t get him off the line.”
Gina straightened and said, “I have to go. I’m already late. Would you be a doll and close everything up? I haven’t had a chance. It’s been nose to the grindstone all day.”
“Of course. Go ahead. Go. I’m sorry I loaded you up. You should have left an hour ago. That stuff didn’t have to get done today.”
“I know. But I hate to leave work... I’m outta here. See you Monday.”
Cahan said, “Goodbye,” but she was already gone from the door.
The elevator crawled. Her watch sped. Gina shook her arm. Thought maybe her semi-expensive wristwatch was malfunctioning. The elevator car hit the main lobby and she bolted through the steel and glass front doors. She tried to speed walk to the parking lot. Her body shook as she exaggerated her steps. I must be a sight, she thought.
“There she is!” Ricardo yelled. “That fucking little bitch.”
Sparne immediately sighted her. She was the only one coming out of the building. There was no one between her and the lot.
Richard started the vehicle. Morales watched Gina enter the lot, head towards a newer model, kelly green car, open the door, and climb in. She backed out of the space and was off.
“Here she comes, the green car,” Ricardo said. Sparne let her vehicle pass, then immediately jerked into traffic. Screeching tires sounded behind them, followed by horn blasts. The Kid looked in the rear view mirror and flashed a vulgar sign to the vehicles behind him. Gina heard the sounds, and reflexively eyed the interior mirror. Boys, she thought, drive safely. I can’t stop for some fender bender.
Ricardo shifted his attention from Gina to Sparne. “Should we be right behind her? What if she recognizes me?”
“Fuck you care? What’s she gonna do? Drive to the police station? They wouldn’t do anything. We’d still follow her home.”
The trip took twenty minutes. The boys didn’t talk again. Gina was mentally checking off everything she had to do before the party started. She wasn’t paying attention to her driving. Didn’t check her rear view mirror again.
She lived on a picturesque, tree-lined neighborhood street. Mostly two story houses on both sides. Her residence had an attached two car garage fronting the structure, and a wide driveway extending to the street. When she turned the corner and proceeded down the avenue approaching her house, she almost cried.
Four cars were parked in her driveway. Four others on the tree lined street. Mothers and children were standing in her front yard. Her daughter was in the middle of the group, sad faced.
Gina parked her car on the street, close to the residence and ran awkwardly to the assembled horde. The other mothers were laughing.
Sparne turned the corner, slowed, then came to a stop. “What in the fuck?”
Morales sat open mouthed, then recovered. “The bitch is having some kind of a party. I’ll be fucked. She should be dead and she’s having a party.”
The Kid was parked on the street, two houses down and across from the mob, behind another vehicle. As the scene unfolded, he began pounding the steering wheel. “Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn. What is it with this bitch? This is the second time she’s fucked us.”
“We can’t go up there with all those people,” Ricardo yelled, in near panic.
Sparne, curling his fingers around the steering wheel, arms extended, continued cursing. “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe this. We’re fucked. We can’t stay here. We’ll hafta do it tomorrow. I am not letting this bitch get away. We’ll do it tomorrow... In the morning.” He began running his hand across the front car seat, then jerked his head to search the back.
Morales, still somewhat panicked, watched his partner ransack the car, then quietly asked, “What are you doing?”
“I need something to write on. See if there’s anything in the glove compartment.”
Ricardo took a breath, felt under control, reached his hand out and popped the swing down flap. “There’s no paper but there’s an old, ratty pencil.”
“Give it to me.” The Kid said, as he scrunched forward, felt his back pockets and pulled out the three by five index card Moffit had given him, the night before. On the clear side he wrote “Lawyer’s bitch.”
“Can you read the address?” he asked Morales. Ricardo squinted and mouthed some numbers. Sparne wrote them under the epithet along with the street name. He returned the card to his back pocket. They sat in silence watching the festivities.
Gina apologized to everyone and herded the mothers and children inside. Her daughter was last in line to enter the residence, bottom lip curled out in a world class pout. “Honey, your daddy’s not gonna take you shopping tomorrow with that sad look on your face.” By the time the door closed, Gina’s daughter was all smiles.
Sparne started the car and pulled onto the street. A vehicle behind him slammed on the brakes. Luckily, George Drozler was slowing up for his house. He issued a mid level curse at the teenagers, found a place to park, and joined his daughter’s party.
The Kid was three or four blocks away from the birthday bash when he finally spoke again. “Well shit, what are we going to do now? It’s not even six.”
Ricardo’s mood, by then, had changed from brooding gloom to randy bravado. “Call Bobbie. You said she was a phone call away.” He obscenely rubbed his crotch. “I think I’ll inspect her tonight.”
The reminder came as a shock, but Sparne rebounded. “You’re right. I forgot about her.”
They were nearing a gas station. Morales pointed. His finger scraped the windshield. “There’s a phone. Call her”
The Kid was trapped. He had to call somebody. He turned into the station and parked next to the booth. He trod the short space between his vehicle and the push in door. Who the fuck am I gonna call, he thought.
Once in, he inserted a coin. The car was positioned such that Morales could see the side of his face and his fingers pushing against numbers.
Delores Sparne said, “Hello.”
The Kid smiled and said, “Hi Mom, I just called to see how you were doing.”
Delores gasped, then stammered, “Richard, I... I’m doing fine. How nice of you to call and ask. Do you need anything?”
Sparne faked a frown, “No. I don’t need anything. Bye Mom.” Delores hung up and told her husband what had occurred. They hugged, and in their own way thanked God.
After his mother hung up, Richard slammed the phone down. He reentered the car and slammed the creaky door. Morales didn’t think good news was coming. “What’s wrong?”
“The fucking bitch is sick. She has a goddamn temperature and cold sores in her mouth. She wanted to come, but I didn’t think you’d want cold sores crawling up and down your dick.”
Ricardo believed him. He shuddered and said, “Jesus, no. What’s wrong with her?”
“I dunno. She’s got the flu or something.”
Sparne entered traffic. They went to a fast food joint and scarfed hamburgers and fries. Then to Mr. Moffit’s.
Bad news. The coronation was going to be delayed. Not everyone had properly responded to Albert, but now there were just a few remaining. Moffit told them to be ready. Maybe tomorrow night. He was expecting some important messages within the next couple of hours. Major things were happening, not only locally, but worldwide. He cut the audience short with the boys. They left, feeling like conquering heroes.
Moffit returned to his perch across from his wife. He found a channel that looked promising. A short, albino hued preacher, dressed in a sharply cut, dull grey suit was swaggering across a stage, laying the heel of his perfectly manicured hand on the foreheads of cripples, bug eyed lunatics, and starstruck born agains.
Each time the preacher stamped his palm to the skin of a sinner, he uttered a sentence in the sing song double talk. Each sentence contained an arcane, almost idiomatic variation of Albert’s name. Moffit nodded his head in acknowledgement of the praise. Before the night was over, he also heard his wife exalt his accomplishments and status. He commended her in the special language.
The Kid drove Ricardo home. It was early, but both agreed they needed a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was a big day. They would kill the bitch in the morning, and then become men of importance in the evening.
The festivities in front of Ricardo’s house had turned ugly. Two squad cars, brightly colored lights flashing, highlighted bloody faces and vapid stares.
A uniformed police officer stopped Richard and told him to leave the area. The Kid explained he was bringing a friend home. The officer shone his flashlight on both their faces. He walked away from them, after saying, “Go ahead.”
In the driveway, they laughed. The kid said the cop probably recognized them, and knew not to fuck around. He told Ricardo he would see him at 9:30, then slowly circled the area and drove away.
Ricardo’s aunt, uncle and cousins were all at the windows, watching the end of the melee. He didn’t ask any questions. Whatever occurred was none of his business. He wasn’t part of that anymore. His mother’s bed was empty. He wished she were home, so he could finally tell her about their upcoming move. By the time she came in, Ricardo was fast asleep.
Sparne entered his house and went straight to his bedroom. His parents were still awake. They both checked the time and lovingly glanced at each other; the end of late night worrying. Delores had been right. It was just a phase.
Gina Drozler tucked both children into bed and kissed them goodnight. She reminded them tomorrow morning would come quick, and they needed to go right to sleep. She returned to her husband in the den, and collapsed on a beige lazy boy. The footrest elevated her sore feet.
Her husband handed her a vodka and seven-up. The ice had chilled the mixture, and the glass was damp from water droplets. She sipped it gingerly and issued a satisfied, “AAAAAh.”
George Drozler said, “Nice job, Honey. Sorry I got home late.... The kids loved the party.”
“It’s OK. I was late too.”
Her husband asked, “Why don’t you come with us tomorrow? We can go somewhere, have breakfast, stay out all day, and have dinner. You won’t have to lift a finger.”
“No. You go with the kids. I’m exhausted. I don’t even want to think about getting dressed to go out. I’m just gonna lay around all day. Bring some kind of take out home for dinner. Whatever the kids want will be fine with me.”
Gina finished her drink, and was half asleep. Her husband turned off the movie, took her glass, cranked down the lazy boy, and guided his exhausted wife up to bed.
In a seedy little bar called the “Rebel Yell,” Joe Crownder was drunkenly regaling a crowd of law and order types. The uglier the story about pistol whippings, tainting evidence, and hassling blacks, the more free drinks he received. A confederate flag hung over the bar. By the end of the night, the crowd was toasting the Land of Cotton. A third of the group were peace officers.