The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [106]
Annie said she was sorry to hear it but wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with Jewish people carrying lots of cash on their persons.
Raffy drank his Coca-Cola in one long satisfied gurgle. “The point is my grandpapa Simon Rook carried five thousand dollars in a belt beneath his undershirt. For an emergency. I don’t know what else you’d want to call the Bay of Pigs. But I guess some bastard stole it off his dead body or it floated out to sea at Puerto Esperanza, one or the other, or maybe the funeral home guy got it because it sure wasn’t there when my papa went to see Grandpapa’s Simon’s body.”
Annie’s cell phone rang. As she reached for it, Raffy pointed the large revolver at her. “Don’t answer that phone unless it’s Chamayra.”
“Don’t point a gun at me!” Losing patience, Annie whacked him on the wrist, hitting the same hand that the little dog had bitten, knocking the gun loose. With a heartbroken groan, Rook writhed on the floor. She leaned over him. “As your pal Shakespeare would say, ‘Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.’” Picking up both his gun and the emerald, she checked his wrist. “It’s not broken.” She answered her phone.
It was Brad. He wanted her to know Hopper Jets had called him to confirm that the jet she’d “borrowed” had been safely returned. Also that in St. Louis the Hopper machinist was repairing the King of the Sky’s engine. Annie could leave the King there as long as she liked. Or Brad could arrange to have a Hopper pilot fly it home to Emerald for her.
“Thank you, Brad. I’ll take care of it but now I’ve got to go.”
Hang on. He was in Atlanta, enjoying barbeque with Mama Spring and Brandy and her kids, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Annie. How about if he flew to Miami tonight?
“Thanks, you’re sweet but I’m okay. Don’t come. I’ll have to call you back.”
“What’s that noise?” he asked suspiciously. “Somebody’s moaning.”
“It’s a friend of my dad’s. I had to take his gun away.”
“A, what the hell’s going on there? You always told me you didn’t care about your dad.”
Annie sighed. “Everybody ‘cares’ about their dads, even if they hate them. Give me a break. You and your mother still spend weekends watching home videos of you in the Swing-o-matic and do you really like her?”
“I love her to death.”
“Hmmm. Don’t come here but thank you. Bye.”
Hanging up on Brad, she knelt down beside the Cuban, who was now squeezing his hand against his chest. “All right, Raffy, I’ve had it. I’m going to Golden Days right now. Either with you, or with the cops.” She showed him the gun. “Use your head. How tough do you think a woman my size has to be to fly combat missions for the U.S. Navy? Tough enough to shoot you in the knee?” She moved the muzzle down the veins of his arm. “How about this same wrist my dog bit? Talk about the day the music died.”
He stared at her for a moment with his soft dark eyes. “Buchstabe…your dad’s checked in as Coach Ronny Buchstabe.”
Incredulous, she sat back on the rug. “My dad is calling himself ‘Ronny Buchstabe’?”
“You play the hand you’re dealt.”
Annie pulled the Cuban to his feet by his uninjured arm. “I’m going to change my clothes. If you leave here while I’m in the john, I’m going to make sure the Miami police arrest you. Not to quote the Bard—it’s my way or the highway.”
He nodded with a bow. “My friend Chamayra comes on duty in half an hour.”
“Raffy, ‘the readiness is all.’”
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“Sure is.”
“You had a good education.”
In the bathroom Annie dressed in her white Navy officer’s uniform, jacket and slacks. She smoothed the starched collar, tightened the tie. Returning to the bedroom, she took her father’s old leather flight jacket from the closet. Raffy sat in a chair leaning over a gleamy guitar, softly plucking the strings, singing in his rustle of a voice.
Si te contara lo que me hizo esa morena
Esa mujer que solo me hace suspirar
Con su cadera
Near him Malpy danced in circles on his back legs as if trying to learn the rumba. Annie stood in the doorway for a while, listening