Skinny Dip - Страница 60

Maureen pulled the top sheet snug to her chest. "The woman can't do corned beef to save her life, but she is the grand diva of lentil."

"Lemme go fetch somebody else."

"Oh no you don't." Maureen wagged a finger. "If you make trouble, they'll ask you to leave. Just sit tight and relax. I'm fine for now."

Tool could tell that she wasn't fine. Gently he rolled her on one side and untied the string of her gown.

"Earl, don't," she said.

"Hush up."

He hiked the top of his lab whites, then reached behind his back and peeled off his last remaining patch. Carefully he centered it between Maureen's shoulder blades and pressed down firmly, so that it would stick.

When he turned her over, she said, "That wasn't necessary, but thank you."

"It ain't too fresh, but it's better than nuthin'."

"Earl, I want you to listen." She held out her hand, which felt cool to his touch.

"Some people give up when they come to a place like this," she said. "I see it in their faces-they just run out of fight. And the weaker you get, believe me, it's tempting… The painkillers they've got nowadays, goodness, the days and weeks slide by my window like a big warm river. But don't worry, I'm not ready to call it quits just yet."

"You can't!" Tool blurted. He felt mad, although he wasn't sure why. "When's the last time you seen your daughters?"

"It's hard for them to get away. The children are in school."

"That's a bullshit excuse."

Maureen laughed softly. "I'd slap you, Earl, if I had the strength."

He was at a loss. "You want, I'll try and give you a bath."

"You'll do no such thing!" She pinched his wrist. "Good Lord, I shouldn't have said a word."

Tool's mother had passed away barely a month after the doctors had told her she was sick. It was in the middle of a tomato harvest, and he didn't get back to Jacksonville in time to say good-bye. He heard himself telling the whole story to Maureen, who said, "Don't feel bad. I'm sure she knew how much you loved her."

"Your daughters oughta be here. It ain't that far away." He pressed the call button so hard that it broke apart in his fist. "Shit," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Earl, you need to calm down. I've got no intention of dying today."

At last a nurse came in with a fresh IV bag, two small vials of narcotics and a diaper for grown-ups. Tool stepped away from the bed to give Maureen some privacy. The nurse was a muscular pitch-black woman who spoke quietly to Maureen in an accent that Tool recognized as Jamaican. He thought about all the pickers from Jamaica that he'd yelled at and slapped around and ripped off, and he felt sort of shitty and low. The nurse who was helping Maureen might have been one of their sisters or cousins, or even a daughter. Her smile was as bright as a sunrise, and when she touched a hand to Maureen's forehead, Tool knew right then and there that he was done with crew bossing forever. He'd never be able to look one of them sweaty black boys in the eye and not think about this moment, about how jumbled and sour he felt toward himself. Somewhere in life he'd taken a wrong-headed turn, and most likely it was too late to back up. For sure he'd gotten in awful deep with Red Hammernut, who now wanted him to do something that would send him even further down the highway to hell. A week ago Tool would've said yes to any fool job, no matter how bad, as long as it paid in cash. But then he'd met Maureen.

"She gonna be okay?" he asked the Jamaican nurse.

"Oh, she'll feel better after breakfast."

Maureen said, "Earl, this is Evie. She's one of the good ones."

The nurse laughed. "I'll come back in an hour for your bath."

As soon as they were alone again, Maureen said: "She's a sharp girl. You should let her take a look at that problem with your you-know-what."

"No thanks." Tool wasn't spreading his ass crack to any female stranger, black, white, or purple polka-dotted.

"For heaven's sake, Earl, she's a professional health-care provider."

"How about some TV?"

"Hmmm-hmmm," said Maureen.

Tool noticed that her breathing had slowed and her eyelids were droopy. The drugs that Nurse Evie had brought, combined with the secondhand fentanyl patch, were taking effect. Maybe now Maureen could grab a decent sleep.

He said, "I better go."

"Thank you for the company, Earl."

"Anytime."

"I didn't even think to ask about your bodyguarding," she said drowsily. "How's it going with that big-shot doctor?"

"Same old crap."

When Tool stood to leave, Maureen turned her face to the wall and curled herself into a shape that reminded him of a question mark.

"Don't you dare give up," he said anxiously.

"Not me."

"I'm dead serious now."

"Earl?"

He could barely hear her speak, so he leaned over the bed rail and balanced his huge head close to hers.

"Yes, ma'am. What is it?"

"Earl, I need a favor."

"Anything."

"It's a whopper," Maureen said.

"Just name it."

"Can you get me out of here?"

Tool smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Chaz Perrone awoke nude in his yellow Humvee on the shoulder of Interstate 95, somewhere in Palm Beach County.

Friday morning.

Rush hour.

His bladder was the size of Lake Okeechobee and his skull was splitting open like a rotten melon. He opened the passenger door and tried to take a leak, but it felt as if he were pissing broken glass. Crawling behind the steering wheel, he was relieved to spy the keys in the ignition.

He headed home with careful regard for the speed limits, not wishing to be stopped by the cops and forced to explain his appearance. He was grateful for the absurd height of the Hummer, which concealed his chafed and sallow nakedness from other motorists, save for a few coarse truck drivers.

What the hell happened last night? Chaz wondered, squinting into the cruel morning sun.

The last thing he remembered with clarity was Rose, in those incredible short jeans, leading him to her bedroom. That's when he must have flipped out, because somehow Rose had morphed into Joey and right away she'd started unloading an unholy ration of shit.

Joey, in the same skirt and blouse that she'd been wearing on the night he threw her overboard!

By the time Chaz reached the exit for West Boca Dunes Phase II, he had it all figured out. What had triggered his freak-out was watching the video of Joey's murder over and over; that, combined with too much booze. And hadn't Rose been wearing the same perfume as Joey?

Chaz didn't recall running from the bedroom, but apparently that's what he'd done. Dashed out the front door, dove into the Hummer and took off. Rose must have thought he was totally whacked.

He glanced down at his pecker, which he scarcely recognized in its dolorous, chastened droop. He wondered if he'd ever again be able to initiate a sex act without being taunted by the ambrosial ghost of his dead wife.

He wheeled into his driveway and parked next to Tool's Grand Marquis, checking both ways down the street before loping into the house. The door to the big goon's room was shut, so Chaz furtively padded to the kitchen, where he gulped four aspirins with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Then he stepped into the shower and propped himself against the tiles, massaging his hangover until the hot water ran out.

When he emerged from the bathroom, the phone was ringing.

"Where you been, son?" It was Red Hammernut. "I left, like, a dozen goddamn messages on your answer machine."

"I spent the night at a friend's," Chaz said.

"Without Mr. O'Toole?"

"It was an emergency, Red."

"You wanna talk about emergencies? Tell you what, I got a major-league motherfucker of an emergency arrived just yesterday by Federal Express. It's a videocassette."

"Oh shit."

"Up to your eyeballs, son. You know about this damn thing?"

"Yessir. I got one, too."

"Is that so?" Red Hammernut sounded like he was working up to a spit. "I thought I seen plenty in my day, Chaz, but never nuthin' like this. I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't shook up."

Red's slurred delivery suggested that he'd gotten an early start on his cocktails.

"Let's not do this on the phone," he said to Chaz.

"You want me to drive over to the office?"

"Hell no. I'm parked right'n front of your goddamn house."

Chaz went to the window and saw the gray Cadillac idling in the swale. He stepped into a wrinkled pair of trousers and hurried outside. The passenger door of the big car swung open and Chaz climbed into the chill. Red Hammernut was dressed like he'd just stepped off a niar-lin boat, a sunburned gnome in Eddie Bauer khakis. He had a plug of tobacco in one cheek and smear of zinc oxide on his radish-shaped nose. From his thick ruddy neck hung a pair of polarized sunglasses. A bottle of Jack Daniel's stood open on the seat-back tray; no glass.

Chaz said, "I didn't know the guy had a video camera. When I saw the tape, I was blown away."

"Son, it's bad, bad news."

"The worst," Chaz agreed.

"I gotta say, it was a tur'ble thing to watch. I always liked Joey, I really did," Red said. "I won't ask why you done it, because it ain't none of my business."

Chaz was mildly irritated. "But we talked about it, remember? How worried I was? I thought she'd figured out our whole deal."

He was disappointed that Red hadn't commented on the efficiency of the crime itself; the steel balls it took to go through with it.

"We've got to pay the blackmail, Red. Now there's no choice."