The Creed of Violence - Boston Teran [63]
He stood on the boardwalk in unrealized bereavement, then, disregarding the obvious, he opened a set of the French doors and entered the ballroom. He took off his derby and set it and his bindle on an empty table.
People soon took notice of this unshaven and road-filthy vagabond with an automatic in his belt. He looked about the room until his eyes fell upon a small group of women standing alone and listening to the music. They saw him approaching and whispered amongst themselves. There was one lady amongst them near about his own age with raven hair and Mediterranean skin.
"Pardon me," he said.
She turned and faced this strange man uncertainly.
"Would you have one dance with me?"
Her companions stared in disbelief.
"I know," he said, "how I look. But I can act the gentleman, and am a fine dancer."
Whatever the reason, be it rebellion or reserve, she agreed. He escorted her past stares and whispers.
Then there they were, waltzing to a grace of chords outside existence. They could have been any man and any woman in the ineffable light of what's possible, but they were not. She watched his face, unhurried and without judgment. He was a depiction of personal anguish and soon tears collected at the corners of his eyes.
"Sir," she said, "you're-"
"Yes ... I saw my son for the first time today in almost fifteen years."
"You must be very happy."
"I abandoned him and his mother. She was dark like yourself. She has been dead since before I knew better."
This sudden and unexpected glimpse into someone's soul left her self-conscious. She tried to say something helpful.
"Maybe your son can forgive you this?"
"No, you see ... my son also knows I am a common assassin."
The dancing stopped. He saw her confusion laced with fear. He thanked her, then walked away.
JOHN LOURDES SAT at a cafe table outside the Southern. He had three men under surveillance and was writing in his notebook when the father returned. He whistled and flagged him over. "Where have you been?"
The father sat. "Dancing, Mr. Lourdes."
The son leaned toward him. "Three men by the entrance. One is in a white suit."
The father had been studying the face of this stranger sitting next to him in the light of the new reality. He then glanced up through a row of candlelit faces to where three men crowded together over their whiskey glasses.
"The one in the white suit," said John Lourdes, "is named Robert Creeley. He is part of the U.S. Consulate here in Mexico. The men with him ..." John Lourdes referenced his notes, ". . . are named Hayden and Olsen. They have adjoining suites to Creeley. I don't know what they do."
The father again took to staring at his flesh and blood.
"I bribed a desk clerk ... with some of your money."
"Very practical," said the father.
"Those three were at the mayor's house tonight with a number of other men. Two of them ... Doctor Stallings and Anthony Hecht."
Rawbone sat back. Stallings. He could feel the man's presence hovering over this very moment. The candle on the table flickered abstractly. He stared into its flame.
"Did you hear me?"
"I heard," said the father.
"What happened with Stallings?"
Rather than answer, the father asked, "What were you doing at the mayor's house?"
"Stallings had sent the girl there with the old woman to work. I went to see if they were alright. Men, over a dozen, were having some heated talk. All of them together. What does it mean?"
John Lourdes had been asking himself, but the father answered. "It means the Cains are getting ready to team up against Abel."
The statement was pointed yet cryptic and John Lourdes wanted to question Rawbone about it when the desk clerk walked over. "Mr. Lourdes," he said, "the phone call you've been expecting."
He thanked the man and slipped him some money. "Let's go," he said. The father stood, finished the last of John Lourdes's beer and followed. There was a telephone off the hook at the desk. John Lourdes answered and listened and soon he began to write in his notebook.
The father waited off to one side by the bar. From