Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [25]
The first thing I did when I got back to the apartment was get my gear ready for the trip. I got the kayak out of the storage room and waxed it so it would slide through the water like a greased-down barracuda. Then I loaded the compartments inside the hull with the things I would need. It was not going to be a particularly long excursion, but I made sure I packed two bottles of water, a flashlight, four flares, a dive knife, my spare cell phone, and two protein bars. I took my life vest out of the closet, dusted it off, and laid it across the kayak where it rested, very much out of place, on the living room floor.
Then a sudden thought darted into my mind with the urgency of an unexpected warning I couldn’t ignore, and I went to the desk and got out the Glock 9-millimeter. I didn’t much like the look of it for some reason, and I had that feeling you get when you meet an old friend you’re not quite sure you want to see again. I put in a full clip, felt it click into the handle. A sensation of dread rippled through me and passed on. I put the gun in a plastic bag, sealed it, and stuck it in a pocket inside the kayak. I was glad when I didn’t have to look at it anymore.
I was watching the Tonight show when I heard the Porsche pull up. I peeked through the slats in the venetian blinds in time to see Vivian crossing the street. I listened for her footsteps, and when they got loud, I opened the door before she could ring. I didn’t want to wake Sternfeld. It was a little late for kayaking, and I didn’t need any questions.
Vivian walked past me, and I closed the door behind her.
She was wearing a black, sleeveless, leather dress that showed, I thought, a bit too much leg for the neighborhood—not to mention for my better judgment. She went over and looked down at the kayak. Her body was as hard and as dark-bright as a candied apple, and I caught her scent as she went by me, brushing my chest with her shoulder. She leaned over the kayak and caressed the smoothness of the fiberglass hull as though it were the flank of a racehorse.
Both her dress and the kayak had the same shine, like ripe fruit stained by the light.
“Did you bring the money?” I asked.
“Nick’s bringing it. He should be here in a moment.” She had seated herself in one of the wicker chairs and was lighting a cigarette.
“Why’d you bother to come?” I asked “Your brother’s the one with the cash.”
“Why do you think I came?”
“To wish me bon voyage, I suppose.”
Vivian looked up at me and shook her head. “You’re taking a chance for me. I thought I should be here.”
“You’re forgetting there’s a little money involved.”
The doorbell rang, and I let Nick in. The first thing I noticed was that he had dyed his closely cropped hair platinum blond, but the darker roots had already begun to appear at the scalp like a row of fresh quills coming in. He wore a black T-shirt over a pair of black Levi’s encircled by a black belt with silver studs, like a gunslinger’s livery. He was very tall and thin to the point of emaciation, with the wary face of a fox for whom the hounds will always be just around the last bend and closing fast. There was a Louis Vuitton knapsack on his back. He gave me his usual condescending smile, as though I were a fool for reasons beyond my philistine powers of comprehension. Considering the night’s main activity, he may have been onto something.
In the beginning, when we first met, I’d tried hard to be his friend, but from the start he’d never missed a chance to let me know he considered himself my superior in every realm except the physical. He had attended Columbia, the University of Chicago, and the Sorbonne and had managed to escape from each of those