Chapter 14

Dale already had most of the dinner on the table by the time Troy Louden returned to the garage apartment. Stanley watched everyone's comings and goings from his chair beside the window. Troy came in carrying a large Naugahyde suitcase in his left hand and his cowboy boots in his right. He paused for a moment and, with his eyes closed, sniffed the aroma of the steaming food. Then he disappeared into the bedroom. He was wearing a dark gray guayabera, pleated khaki trousers, and a new pair of gray leather running shoes with slanted purple stripes on them.

A moment later, Troy reappeared in the bedroom doorway and crooked a finger at James. As James crossed the room, Dale whispered to him, "Tell him dinner's ready any old time."'

James nodded, followed Troy into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Stanley got up from his chair and surveyed the table. "Everything sure does smell good."

"That's the pork chops," Dale said. Her face was flushed, and the hair at her temples was damp. "What I do, I pepper 'em real good and dip 'em in a simple egg-and-flour batter. Then I fry 'em in bacon grease. There's candied sweet potatoes, with little marshmallows on top, turnip greens in wine vinegar, spicy applesauce, and buttermilk biscuits. I'll finish up the milk gravy now, and that'll be dinner. I've got a Mrs. Smith's apple pie warming in the oven, and that'll be dessert. Mr. Louden does so much for all the rest of us, I want him to have a decent dinner."

The table was set for four, although there were not enough matching plates, cups, and saucers. There were only three silverware forks; Dale had put a plastic one at her setting, Stanley noted. A few minutes later, Troy and James came back from the bedroom, and they sat down to eat.

James was visibly nervous during dinner. He plucked at his ears, his lips, and his eyebrows, and he only ate one pork chop. Troy praised the meal, and Dale's puffy lips twisted into a grimace of pleasure.

"I had two brothers and two little sisters," Dale said, "and Momma taught all of us how to cook. She said us girls needed to know how to catch a husband, and the boys needed to know how so they could teach their wives when they got married."

"Let's not get into your family," Troy said. "We've got our own little family, right here. We're all starting out new, and the past is past. Why, James, are you picking your nose at the table?"

"I'm just nervous . . . it's . . . it's these greens, Troy," James said. "I don't like vinegar on my greens. "

"Whether you like them or not you have to eat them. Otherwise you'll hurt Dale's feelings. And in America, you don't pick your nose at the table. Everyone, from time to time, has to pick his nose. That's a given, but it's a private thing, James, and should be done where people don't have to watch you. I remember once when I was in Whittier-that's the reform school in Orange County, California-a boy was picking his nose at the table and the guy sitting beside him jammed the boy's finger right into his nostril all the way up to the last knuckle. The kid's nose got all swollen, so fast that he couldn't pull his finger out. Finally, the matron led him out of the dining hall and took him to the clinic. It was funny to see, and we all laughed, of course, but it was a lesson in manners for us boys, too. No one after that ever picked his nose in the dining hall. Not only is it impolite, it's un-American. I realize that as a foreigner and as a black man, you'll find some of our customs strange, James, but you'll just have to abide by them."

"I'm sorry," James said. "I won't do it again." "When you get up to New York, James," Troy continued, "you should rent a room with an American family instead of moving in with the other Bajans up there. Then you can learn our ways. Otherwise, when you have your first one-man show, and you're standing around in the gallery with two fingers up your nose, no one'll buy your paintings."

"I won't do it again, Troy." "Good. Now eat your greens. At Whittier, if we didn't clean our plates, we didn't get any dessert. You could eat all you wanted, but once you put it on your plate you had to eat it."

"I didn't put the greens on my plate," James said. "Dale did."

"I'll eat your greens, James," Stanley offered. "I like the greens."

"If you want more greens, Pop," Troy said, "Dale will get them for you. James will have to eat his own greens. "

James wrinkled his nose and ate. "I'll get the pie," Dale said, rising from her chair. "Put a scoop of ice cream on mine," Troy said.

"I don't have any ice cream," Dale said, hesitating in the doorway.

"Then cut a wedge of cheddar to go with it. I like cheese just as well."

"There isn't any cheese either." Dale put a hand over her mouth.

"In that case, skip me on the pie, and just bring me some coffee."

Dale cleared the table and served slices of pie to Stanley and James. She poured coffee for the three of them and retreated to the kitchen. James put three spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and stirred it noisily. The spoon slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

"Maybe you shouldn't drink any coffee," Troy said, "if it makes you so nervous."

James glanced at Stanley, licked his lips, and looked back at Troy. "It ain't the coffee making me nervous. I'm afraid of what you want me to do."

"Do you want me to send Mr. Sinkiewicz instead? Send an old man to do a boy's job?" Troy shook his head and pulled back his lips in a lightning smile.

"I didn't say that, Troy. I want to do it. It's just that I've never done nothing like that before."

"What is it, James?" Stanley asked. "Maybe I can help you?"

"Please stay out of this, Pop." Troy held up a warning hand. "You've done enough already. I don't want you to be connected with this operation in any way. I told you that already. Dale, James, and I are the three who will benefit most, so we have to do the dirty work. And we each have to pull our own weight. As the head of the family and director of the operation, I've got to make the decisions on what each person has to do. You, of course, are retired, and although you are an important part of our little family-I hope you know that- you're also our honored guest. Here, before I forget, let me give back your cards." Troy took Stanley's Visa card, Social Security card, and a folded yellow receipt out of his wallet and pushed them across the table.

Stanley put the two cards away and examined the receipt. There was a letterhead that read: Overseas Supply Company, Inc. The address was a Miami post office box. At the bottom of the yellow sheet, in italics, Se habla Espanol was printed. The bill, for "used hunting supplies," was $1,565, but the supplies were not itemized. Stanley's Visa receipt was stapled to the bill.

"Where is this place?" Stanley asked. "The Overseas Supply Company?"

Troy laughed. "It isn't a place, Pop, it's an idea. Today it's a room in the Descanso Hotel. Tomorrow it's a house in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Everybody, nowadays, needs hunting supplies."

. Stanley was unable to follow this line of thinking. He looked down, folded the bill and receipt, and tucked them into his wallet.

"But as you can see, Pop, I didn't need the full two thousand. And I still got everything I needed, including these new pants, goatskin gloves, the shirt, and the running shoes. Boots look good on a man, but for running, when you have to run, they aren't worth a damn."

Stanley cleared his throat. "I been thinking, Troy. And I think five hundred's too much to give me in interest. Now that you've only used fifteen hundred, let's cut it down to maybe a hundred and fifty."

Troy shook his head and smiled at James. "Look at this guy, James. Without Pop's help, we'd be sitting here without any tools, and we'd either have to borrow money on the street at leg-breaking vig, or hold up a half-dozen liquor stores. Nothing doing, Pop. You still get your five hundred, and you get it Saturday night. But James here, who stands to benefit more than you do, is getting cold feet on a little project I gave him."

"I'll do it, Troy," James said quickly. "I never said I wouldn't do it. I just said I was afraid to do-it because I've never done nothing like that before. "

"I know you'll do it," Troy said, nodding, "because you have to. But I don't want you to be nervous. If you want me to, I'll go over everything with you again."

"Suppose I can't find one? What'll I do then?"

"All right, I will go over it again. First, I'll drive you to the Brickell Metrorail station. You ride it down to Dadeland North station, and then walk over to the Dadeland parking lot. This time of night, there'll be at least a thousand parked cars, probably a lot more. At least one in a hundred drivers leave their keys in the car, right in the ignition. It's one of those statistical truisms, I read about it in the paper. There was this Boy Scout troop that wanted to do a good deed on a Saturday morning, so they had little cards printed up, saying, 'Don't leave your keys in your car. It invites theft.' They found that almost a fifth of the cars they looked at in the Westchester Shopping Center had keys in the ignition. They then left the little card under the windshields, you see, so the owners would find them when they came back. So when you say you don't think you'll find at least one car out of a thousand with the keys in it at Dadeland, you're simply full of shit.

"I could do it myself, and I'd be back here within an hour with a nice big car for us to use, but I want you to do it as part of your on-the-job training. I've got other things to do. Dale can't go because her face is too conspicuous, even though she'll drive the car later on. Also, because of Dale, you have to get a car with an automatic transmission. She can't drive a stick shift. What else did I tell you?"

"You said dark blue or black."

"Right. But any dark color'll do. Just don't come back with some bright yellow or red car, or I'll send you right back. I don't want any Blazer, either, all shiny with chrome and those tires with big white raised letters. Understand? "

"I'm ready," James said, getting up from the table.

"What are you doing, Troy?" Stanley asked. "Are you sending James out to steal a car?"

"I'm trying to keep you out of this, Pop. You really should save your questions till it's all over. But the answer is no, James is not going to steal a car. He's going to obtain a car for our use in the operation, which we'll drive to the airport later, on Sunday morning. The owner will be notified by postcard where we parked his car at the airport, and I'll leave a generous rental fee for the use of his vehicle in the glove compartment. I guarantee that the person whose car we use'll benefit. Are you with me? You can see I'm explaining to you as we go along on a need-to-know basis."

Stanley nodded. "Sure, Troy. I just thought, from the way you were talking, that James was going to steal a car, that's all."

"Renting is a long way from stealing, Pop. While I run James over to the Brickell station, see if you can find some hacksaw blades down there in the garage. There's a vise on the workbench where James keeps his paints, and I remember seeing a box of tools under the bench. Then, when I come back, you can help me out. "

Troy and James left in the Morris, and Stanley went into the kitchen. "That was a nice dinner, Dale, and I really enjoyed it. Want me to carry that bag of garbage down to the yard?"

"No, I'd better do it myself. " Tears trickled down her cheeks. "You've got to look for the hacksaw blades like Troy said. When he tells you to do something, he means it. How was I to know he wanted ice cream on his pie? If he'd said, then I could've gotten ice cream and cheese, too. If you only knew how many rejections I've had in my life, Mr. Sinkiewicz, you'd feel sorry for me."

"I feel sorry for you already, Dale. That's why I loaned Troy the money he needed."

"Did I ever tell you about the lawyer I lived with once in Coconut Grove?" Dale wiped her eyes with her wet hands and then had to use the dry edge of a dishtowel to get the soap out of her eyes. "I'd been living with him for two months in his apartment, you know, and I thought he really liked me. Jesus, I used to go down on him every morning before he went to the office, and I never had any complaints. Then one night, it was after midnight, he said, 'Get your coat.' I was wearing a nightgown, so I started to get dressed. Then he said, 'No, just your coat.' I had this fur coat he'd given me, but I'd never worn it. It was a good fur- dyed rabbit-but you never need a fur coat down here. Anyway, I put it on over my nightgown, and slipped on some sandals. I didn't have on panties or pantyhose or nothing else. Just the nightgown and the fur coat. We got into his Mercedes, and he drove to Biscayne Boulevard, downtown, and then he stopped the car and told me to get out. Nothing else. Not a word of appreciation or thanks or nothing. And after two months. I didn't have my purse, my clothes, my money, anything. Lucky for me, just after he drove away, another car picked me up-an insurance man from Hialeah. We went to a motel on Seventy-ninth Street, and I was back in business again. But my life's been one rejection after another like that, and sometimes I just don't think I can stand any more of it."

"You're lucky you have Troy now." Stanley patted her on the shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt your feelings about the ice cream. You saw the way he made James eat his greens. That shows how sensitive he is to your feelings. Next time, you'll know to get ice cream when you fix apple pie."

"I guess I should look on the bright side, huh?" Dale's twisted, toothless smile made Stanley turn his head away. "I like you a lot Mr. Sinkiewicz, and if you ever want a little action and Troy ain't around, you just let me know. Hear?" She reached amiably for Stanley's crotch, but he backed away before she could touch him.

"I'd better go down to the garage and look for those blades. "

Stanley found a metal toolbox beneath the bench, but the box had been left open and the unused tools were rusty from long exposure to the humidity. There were a half-dozen hacksaw blades wrapped in waxed paper, and the rusty saw was usable. The garage was well lighted with several overhead 150-watt bulbs. One of the shadeless bulbs was directly above James's easel so he could paint at night. Stanley looked at James's paintings until Troy returned, thinking that James was lucky that he didn't need subject matter to paint. The Bajan could paint day or night, or anytime he felt like it, and it wouldn't make any difference. He wondered if they would make James paint objects of some kind when he enrolled in the Art Students League up in New York. If they did, James was going to be in trouble . . .

Troy returned in the Morris and parked it beside Stanley's Honda. Stanley showed him the blades, and Troy went upstairs to get what he called his "new, but used" shotgun from his suitcase. He came down to the garage again, locked the shotgun in the vise, and sawed off the barrels as close as he could to the forestock. Then he turned the gun around in the vise and sawed off the rear stock. It took him a great deal longer to get through the wood than it had to shorten the metal barrels. When Troy finished it was an odd-looking weapon. He would have to hold it like a pistol to fire it. It looked unwieldy to Stanley.

"Won't that thing kick out of your hand when you shoot it?" Stanley asked. "It won't be accurate, neither, if you go dove hunting."

"I'm not going to fire it, Pop. Jesus, there'll be double-aught shells in it. If I shot it, especially at close range, it would blow great big holes in a man's body. I just sawed off the barrels so it wouldn't look like some kind of sporting gun you see in the Sears catalog, but would look like a sawed-off shotgun, which it is now. It's a psychological ploy, Pop. A person associates long barrels with bird-shooting. But he associates a sawed- off shotgun with gangster movies, and he's afraid of it. This way, you don't have to shoot anyone, all you have to do is show the thing. If I do shoot it, I'll just shoot it up at the ceiling or something, and carry a few extra shells in my jacket pocket."

"It looks wicked that way, and you've sure ruint it for shooting birds."

"It was more accurate, or wicked as you say, with long barrels, Pop, and you just proved my point. But I'd never shoot birds with a shotgun. I think hunting for game of any kind stinks, and I'm against it. The only way to justify hunting is if you're lost in the woods or something, and you have to kill a bird or a rabbit to survive. Otherwise, hunting for sport is cruel. It ought to be outlawed. You don't think so?"

"I like quail, and there was a neighbor of mine up in Hamtramck who-"

"I don't want to hear about it, Pop. If you want to eat quail, Dale can get you some at the supermarket. All you want. They raise 'em for that purpose, and you can buy 'em fresh frozen - You don't hunt, do you?"

"No, not me, but I had this neighbor, and he used to-"

"I said I don't want to hear about it. Where's Dale?"

"After she finished the dishes I think she took a shower. I heard it running awhile ago."

"What do you think of Dale, Pop, now that you've met her and had a chance to talk with her?"

"She seems like a nice enough girl. A little forward, maybe."

"She come on to you while I was gone?"

"Oh, I don't know. A little bit, maybe. She felt bad about you not eating the apple pie."

"That's my fault, not Dale's. I'll have to make a list of the things I like and don't like, so she won't make mistakes like that again. I can't blame Dale for my own oversights. But she'll learn soon enough what I like and don't like. It's her face that makes her so sensitive, Pop. Dale's life's been one rejection after another, so if she offers you head, you'd better accommodate her. Otherwise, she'll think you don't like her."

"I like her fine, Troy, but I haven't done nothing like that in three or four years now, and I guess I don't have the desire anymore. But if there's any leftover pork chops, I wouldn't mind a cold pork chop sandwich before I go to bed."

"Good. I'll tell Dale how you feel, and I know she'll be happy to fix you a sandwich later on. Or, if you want, you can have my piece of apple pie and a glass of warm milk."

"I'd rather have the pork chop sandwich."

The doctored weapon was still in the vise. Troy used a file to smooth the ends of the jaggedly cut barrels, which were not cut off evenly, and then he filed off the splinters from the stock.

James drove a navy blue Chrysler New Yorker into the yard and parked beside the Honda and the Morris Minor. The big Chrysler dwarfed the two foreign cars. James honked the horn once and then jumped out of the vehicle as if it had been set on fire. He walked toward them, wringing his hands.

"Oh, a terrible thing happened, Troy! And I didn't know what to do! I was chased, and if I hadn't cut off a pickup at the Miller exit they'd of caught me for sure!"

"You didn't lead anybody back here, did you?"

"No, I made sure of that. But I didn't mean to take the baby! I didn't see it back there when I got the car. There was this old lady with packages at the curb in Dadeland, and a younger woman was driving-" He was trying to catch his breath. "Then, when the woman got out to help the old lady with the packages, I jumped in and drove off. The keys were in the car and the motor was running. Both those ladies came running after me, and then a taxi chased me down Kendall Drive. I went through the red light and so did he, right on my back, all the way down the Palmetto to Miller--

"What baby?" Troy said, going over to the New Yorker and opening the back door. "Oh, shit," he said as he looked at the baby strapped in its car-seat in the back.

"I never looked in the back, Troy. There wasn't time. I just took the car 'cause I only had a second or so to get into it and go. He didn't even start crying till I got onto Kendall Drive."

"This is a nice car, James, exactly what I wanted, but it's useless to us now. Everybody in town'll be on the lookout for this vehicle. I try to think of everything, but I didn't tell you not to steal a car with a baby in it. I thought you'd have more sense than that. "

"I didn't see him," James said. "Then, when the cab started chasing me, I couldn't stop and get out. I had to lose him first."

"What is it," Stanley asked, "a boy or a girl? The way it's bundled up and all . . . "

"Boy or girl doesn't make a helluva lot of difference, Pop," Troy said. "Whatever it is, they'll want it back, and the cops'll be looking for this New Yorker all over the damned county. Are the keys still in the car, James?

"Yes, sir."

"I told you before not to say that anymore, James. We're all equals here, so I don't want to hear any more of that no, sir, yes, sir crap. I just asked if the keys were in the car. "

James nodded and gulped. The night was hot and humid, and James's shirt was soaked. Water ran down his flushed face as if he had just been doused with a hose.

"All right," Troy said. "I'll get rid of this car and come back with another. You two go on upstairs, but don't tell Dale about the baby. Women get upset over misunderstandings like that. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I do get back, James, I hope you realize that I'll have to punish you for this mistake."

James nodded and wiped his face with his fingers. "It ain't altogether my fault, Troy. These things hap- pen. "

"I understand. And I'll take under consideration that you're a foreigner here on a student visa. But if I don't punish you in some way, you might make more mistakes that are even more serious. So go on upstairs now, both of you. And ask Dale to fix your pork chop sandwich, Pop."

"I don't want it right now."

"When you do."

Troy took his shotgun out of the vise, loaded it, and put some extra shells into his guayabera pocket. He then got into the Chrysler New Yorker, backed and filled, and drove out of the yard.

James took a shower and put on a clean pair of jeans. His old jeans, which he had worn to Dadeland, were stained from when he had wet his pants during the chase by the taxicab. James rolled the soiled jeans into a ball and took them, together with the garbage bags, down to the trash can in the yard.

Stanley stripped to his underwear and went to bed on the porch. It was too warm to cover himself with a sheet, although a breeze from the bay made the porch a little cooler than the living room. The moon was up, and he could see everything in the yard from his window. The enormous two-story house was an ominous dark mass beyond the circle of light flooding from the bulbs inside the garage. James, apparently exhausted, slept on the couch in the living room, naked except for his jeans. Stanley couldn't sleep. He was worried about Troy driving around in the city with the baby in the back of the car. If they caught him in the car, he would be charged with kidnapping, as well as car theft. Troy should have made James take the car back to Dadeland. But that wasn't Troy's way; he was too responsible for that, despite all his other faults.

Dale, wearing her nightgown, came out to the porch and sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you mind if I lay down here with you, Mr. Sinkiewicz? Just till Troy gets back. I can't sleep all alone. It's scary in the big bedroom all by myself."

"I don't mind. But don't roll up against me. It's too hot for anything like that. " Dale curled into a ball, sighed once, and fell asleep.

A moment later, she was snoring through her damaged septum.

It was well after two A.M. before Troy drove into the yard and parked a dark blue Lincoln town car beside the back porch of the two-story house. Stanley woke Dale up and told her to go back to the bedroom. Troy came upstairs, woke James, and whispered something to him that Stanley couldn't hear. The two of them went downstairs again. The garage lights were switched off. Without the lights, Stanley could barely see them in the yard as they walked to the Lincoln. He heard the trunk of the car being raised, and then heard it slam down again. For a few minutes, the lights in the big house were on, and then they were switched off again. It was about ten minutes or so before the two men came up the stairs quietly. Stanley pretended to be asleep. James went back to sleep on the couch, and Troy went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Now that Troy was back safely, Stanley got so sleepy he could barely keep his eyes open. But then, why should he keep them open? He wondered, for a moment, what Roy and James had been doing in the big house, but he supposed that Troy had been bawling James out for taking the car with the baby in it. It didn't matter. As Troy said, if he needed to know, he would be told. After all, he was a guest here, and not part of the operation.