Powder Burn - Carl Hiaasen [91]
“Hey, Chris.”
It was Jill.
“Are you pissed off at me or what?”
“No, of course not.”
“You went for a drink and never came back.”
Meadows smiled weakly. “Sorry. I got sidetracked with our host.”
“Oh. Well, there’s some guys looking for you.”
Meadows quickly strode back inside. He found Manny and Moe in a corner and between them a gangly, coarse man pointing a smelly cigar. Meadows sat down next to Moe, and Manny introduced Alonzo.
The two Cubans jabbered at each other in Spanish. Meadows picked up only pieces of the exchange but was reassured by what he heard. “He’s a good man,” Manny was saying. “He was with us last night, and he didn’t blow up.”
Alonzo answered in English: “You men had some problems, eh?”
“We got spooked, is all,” Moe said thickly.
“We got interrupted,” said Manny.
“It was my fault,” Moe continued. “I hit the horn ’cause I thought there was cops coming.”
Alonzo said nothing.
“He did the right thing,” Manny cut in. “There was another car. We couldn’t see anything.”
Alonzo tapped the cigar until a chunk of ash dropped into Rennie McRae’s extravagant carpet.
“Chris, you were along for the first time?” Alonzo asked.
Meadows’s tongue felt like sandpaper. “That’s right.”
“Ever done anything like that?”
“Not quite like that, no.” They all laughed, but the tension did not dissipate.
“I can find all the stuff, Al,” Manny volunteered after a brief silence. “Just give me a night or two.”
Alonzo shook his head, and Manny responded urgently in Spanish.
“No, not now. There is to be a meeting.” Alonzo switched to Spanish himself. “There will be no business for a few days. Everyone is to take some time off. The big man wants to put an end to the craziness.”
Moe nudged Meadows and made an exaggerated shrug; he didn’t understand a word. Meadows rolled his eyes, playing along, but strained to listen. He could tell Manny was angry.
“What good will a meeting do? Nothing will change. The Colombians are here, my friend. They want the business, they take the business. Mine, yours, the Diegos…we go to meetings while they go to the fucking bank.”
“Quiet now,” Alonzo said reproachfully. “How does a delivery boy become so wise?”
Manny was silent. Meadows felt his heart pounding.
“El Jefe is such a big shot,” Manny argued, “he will never know if you let me sneak out there and find the stuff.”
“And why wouldn’t he?” Alonzo said coldly. “He knows that it’s missing.”
Manny rose and stalked off.
“Forgive me,” Alonzo said in English. “A minor dispute. Moe?”
“Huh?”
“Sometimes your friend Manny has a very bad memory. He forgets who runs the show.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Moe said sullenly. “Al, I already said I’d take the blame.”
“Blame is no longer important. Just see that Manny follows my advice. No deals for a while. At least until after the meeting this weekend. There will be important arrangements, I’m sure.” Alonzo coughed a small cloud of blue smoke. “How well do you know Manny?” he asked Meadows.
“I just met him the other day.” Meadows knew that Moe was paying close attention. “He seems OK”
Some of the party guests were crowing along to a Jimmy Buffett tape. Alonzo raised his voice to be heard. “Manny loses his temper sometimes. He gets impulsive. Don’t get impulsive,” he said. “Stay cool, and there will be more work coming your way.”
Alonzo patted Meadows on the arm, and the architect smiled appreciatively. He made up his mind he would have nothing to do with any of them. The shadow game was over.
“What happens now?” Moe asked.
Alonzo shrugged. “They’ll get it all straightened out, I guess. Pargo con salsa verde, and they’ll split up the world over the cafecitos. Dios, nobody cooks snapper like Cumparsi.”