Moondogs - Alexander Yates [100]
“That’s movie cash for you,” Lorenzo says, amused at Efrem’s evident shock. “He still won’t give us a taste of those royalty checks.”
“That’s because I don’t get any,” Reynato says from up front, still sore about the reporters’ cold shoulders back on the tarmac. “I just know how to invest … and dabble.” He winks bitterly into the rearview, opens the door and retrieves one of the suitcases from the trunk. Efrem opens his own door, set to get out as well. Reynato gives him a brief, quiet look; embarrassed for his sake. “I don’t think so, Mohammed. I love you, and all. But mi casa, mi casa.”
He turns his back on the cab, fiddling with keys, working them into a series of iron locks. Lorenzo chuckles, not unkindly, as Efrem shuts his door. The taxi departs the gated village, continuing down EDSA, into the heat-pumped heart of downtown Makati.
THEY NEXT STOP among the dingily landscaped roots of an apartment high-rise. Lorenzo, Racha and Elvis pile out. Efrem remains in the taxi. Lorenzo raps on the glass and stares him in the face. “Come on, kid. We’ve had our differences, you and I, but I wouldn’t do you like that. Follow me.”
With that he breezily leads the others into the lobby, leaving Efrem to pay the fare. By the time he catches up they’re already in the elevator, Elvis transformed into a svelte black cat, staring intensely at the lighted buttons like they’re tiny yellow birds. To Efrem’s continued amazement, the elevator stops at the penthouse, where the bruhos wander out into a tremendous flat, floored in marble of alternating white and black. He’s never been inside—never even seen—a place like this. It’s even more incredible to him than Reynato’s massive house. As a bona-fide national hero, Reynato deserves to live like that. But they, surely, do not.
Racha, still weak from his ordeal, heads straight to bed and Elvis races down the hall, leaping up on the windowsill to gaze lustily at the lighted streets below. Lorenzo lingers with Efrem on the landing, regarding him bemusedly. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “You’re thinking: No way these boys can afford this on police salaries. And there isn’t anybody making movies about them. So they’ve got to have something on the side—some source of dirty money.” Efrem nods, because yes, that’s exactly what he’s thinking. “Well, you’re righter than you know.” Wincing a bit, Lorenzo reaches into his ear and produces a filthy twenty-five sentimo coin—earwax coating the entire thing, some blood speckling the words Bangko and Sentral. “Took years,” he says. “It’s when I got impatient and upgraded to those fat five peso coins that my eardrum burst. But it was and continues to be worth it.” He steps across the massive entryway, arms outstretched as though to hug his own home.
“So … I’m staying here?” Efrem can’t quite wrap his mind around it.
Lorenzo doesn’t turn around, but Efrem sees his reflection grin in the window. “You’ve got somewhere else to go?”
“No,” he says, “I don’t.”
“Well then. You’re welcome.” Lorenzo crosses to the glass, gazing out at Makati. He strokes Elvis’s neck lightly and Elvis, like a perfect alley cat, affects an unconvincing indifference. “Best make yourself at home, because Renny won’t have much use for us until after this election. That slick fucker Fuentes means to squeeze him dry. He’ll have him running all over