Tampa Bay Noir Page 4
“I gave you cash in hand,” Chum says. “And that’s how I want it repaid. Cashier’s check will do.” He leans closer, his hot breath making Dale turn away. “Don’t usually see you in here, do I?” He pauses as Dale slowly shakes his head. “Myself, I promised Mrs. Giordano, God rest, I’d always get myself home in time for supper.” Another pause. “What about you? How late does your missus let you stay out?”
“She’s out of town,” Dale says, and takes another long drink because Chum wanting to know what time he’s leaving is not good. “Besides, got a nice-looking distraction here tonight. Hell, might stay until close. But don’t you worry, two weeks and we’ll be even.”
Chum slaps the table and pushes away, hobbling toward the door on mismatched legs.
“Just an old man,” he says, “with old stories.”
Ever since Dale listed the house for sale, which was his only hope of paying Chum back, a part of Dale has been wishing Chum would drop dead before the house closed. Surely the debt would disappear if Chum disappeared. Dale knows people. He could ask around, find a few guys who might take on the job. This is what meeting a girl like Elise will do for a man. She’s making Dale believe he can have the thing he’s been wishing for, making him realize he deserves it.
* * *
Pulling on the wooden door, Dale stumbles onto the boardwalk outside Smugglers. He draws in a deep breath. Island air. It’s salty and heavy, tinted with the smell of fish, too thick to go down easy. Behind him, the bar’s lights switch off. At some point during the evening it rained, but not enough to break the heat. The lights in the parking lot throw a glare on the damp concrete that stretches out below him. It shimmers like black ice.
Leaning heavy on the railing so he won’t fall, Dale pulls out his phone. The lights on it blur as he squints and holds it close. He sets an alarm for nine a.m. tomorrow morning, doing it now so he doesn’t forget. Elise is coming to the house at ten a.m. sharp. That’s what she said. Sharp. And she also said she was happy to help Dale with his bookkeeping and that she needs every extra penny she can get. Maybe, if the business bounces back, he can bring her on regular.
Every guy in the bar tonight saw Dale getting what they couldn’t. Elise. They’re all worn out, old guys, looking in from the outside, but Dale proved that even at fifty, he’s still on the inside. He’s still in decent shape, even has all his hair. And his bank account will bounce back. He’s nothing like all the others. Every one of them will want to hear the details of what happens between Dale and the girl tomorrow, but he won’t tell. She’s beautiful, sure. That’s all the other guys noticed. The lips and legs. The curves that spilled across the bar every time she reached out over it. But he saw her real beauty. She’s worth more than one night. She’s young and new and a fresh start on a tired life.
The pain in his upper arm is the first thing Dale feels. He swats at it and then he’s stumbling off to the side, struggling to keep his balance. Someone has grabbed him and he’s falling. But then someone grabs the other arm and he’s straight again and they’re dragging him toward the side of Smugglers where the lights from the parking lot don’t reach. His toes bounce over the curb and then over the rough ground.
There are two of them. They pull Dale by the arms, shove him so he’ll keep moving forward, don’t say who they are or what they want. They don’t have to. When they’re beyond the glow of the streetlights, they drop him. He hits the ground and they start kicking him. He curls up on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his hands over his head. And then they’re gone. By the time he can stand, pressing one hand to his ribs and touching the other to his top lip, he knows this was Chum’s reminder that he doesn’t give a shit about stagnant real estate or foundation problems in one of Dale’s flips or a barrel-tile roof for his own house that cost him forty-five thousand dollars or a seawall he had to replace along eighty feet of frontage. Two weeks means two weeks, and Dale’s house better damn well close. Standing in a patch of St. Augustine left to grow too long and waiting for the ground to settle underfoot, Dale wonders if those two guys might be the right kind of guys, if they might be the kind Dale could hire to make sure Chum disappears along with Dale’s debt.
* * *
Elise shows up at Dale’s house right on time. She’s dressed in blue jeans and a loose-fitting polo, both meant to disguise her body, likely because she thinks she’ll be meeting Dale’s wife. Dale didn’t tell her that Patty left months ago when he finally confessed he had borrowed $150,000 from Santo “Chum” Giordano. Patty, like Dale, knew the name. She knew about the dentist too. According to her friends, the wife still lives in the house but her husband, the dentist, disappeared when he couldn’t pay Chum back.
“Beautiful place,” Elise says. The arched entry shades her from the morning sun, but even the short walk up the ten stairs that lead to the front door has caused sweat to break out across her upper lip. She rests a hand on the stucco siding. “Never been inside a house like this.“
“Me neither,” Dale says, moving aside to invite her in. “Until I bought one.”
Before closing the door, Dale steps outside and looks down onto the street. A dark-blue sedan sits in front of the house two doors down. It’s rusted around its front wheel basin, has the large, squared-off body of an older model, and has been parked there since Dale woke this morning. People on his street don’t drive cars like that, but men who work for Chum do.
“This is just beautiful,” Elise says, peering up at the ceiling that lifts two stories overhead, and then she notices Dale’s face. “Good lord, what happened to you?”
“I’ll give you a tour later,” he says, ignoring her question and waving her off like it’s nothing, though breathing still hurts and he’s been wondering all morning if he should go to the emergency room. Patty would probably come back if she knew he was in the emergency room, yet she’d also want to know how he ended up there.
In his office, he pulls out the leather chair from under his mahogany desk, and with a sweeping gesture, he helps Elise to sit. She slides in front of him and he can’t help but lay a hand on her waist.
“All this from flipping houses and condos?” she asks, glancing back at him with raised brows.
“Among other things,” he says, winking so she’ll think there’s more to the story. Once she sees Dale’s books, she’ll know he’s broke, and he wants her to think he has other deals going.
When she begins tapping on the keyboard, Dale leans close as best he can with the pain shooting through his right side. She smells of that lotion again. He tries to breathe it in deep.
“You don’t look so good,” Elise says, glancing up at Dale. Her hair brushes the side of his face. “You should go lie down. I’m fine here. I’ll let you know if I’m missing anything, and I can let myself out.”
Dale nods because he’s having trouble taking a full breath and a little rest will do him good.
“And I see here you’re only reconciled through February,” Elise says, continuing to tap on the keyboard as she talks. “Is that right?”
Dale shrugs. He used to have an accountant, back when he could afford one, who took care of everything.
“Just download your bank statements before I come back next time,” Elise says as he starts up the stairs to the bedroom that’s mostly empty because Patty keeps coming by and taking things when he isn’t home. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get you all straightened out.”
* * *
By the time Dale wakes again, he’s sweated through his T-shirt and the sheet is damp where his head is resting. Without moving, because he’s stiffened up while he slept and maybe all the sweating is a sign of infection or a fever, he reaches for his pillow. Not finding it, he sits up. Both pillows are gone, as well as the blue comforter Patty bought for them last Christmas. On Patty’s side of the bed, where her head used to rest, is one of her notes. She leaves them when she comes and goes with more of their belongings. This time, she’s taken the pillows right from under his head and the comforter from on
top of him. She’s even taken the top sheet. He picks up the note and unfolds it. This is the last time. I won’t be back.
Downstairs, the house is somehow quieter than before, because Patty is finally gone for good. His office chair is pushed up tight under his desk, the keyboard is centered, and the lights are off. Walking across his office, he flips open the slats on the plantation shutters and looks down on the street. The squared-off car is still parked two doors down. Pulling back, he closes the slats because even the filtered light is hurting his eyes, which is probably a sign of a concussion, and the spot between his eyes is pounding and he’s still worried about the ache in his side. Not only is Patty gone for good, but it’s as if Elise was never here, which makes the quiet in the house heavier. And then he gets a whiff of her lavender-scented lotion and smiles.
At his desk, he signs into his bank account, the sound of his fingers on the keyboard echoing in the mostly empty house, and downloads the monthly statements Elise asked for. When he goes to the bar tonight, long after six so he doesn’t happen upon Chum again, he’ll be able to tell her she can come back anytime, tomorrow even, because he’s done what she asked. Just thinking about seeing her makes him feel better.
While he’s still able to smell Elise and feel her hair on the side of his face, Dale walks outside and down the stairs to his driveway. He’d never be able to do something like this if he was still with Patty, but Elise is different. A good woman will have this effect on a man. He’s always known that, and he can’t fault himself for making a mistake with Patty. Squinting and wishing he’d grabbed his sunglasses, he looks for any sign of neighbors. Overhead, the fronds of a coconut palm rattle with the breeze, but the street is otherwise quiet. Most of his neighbors have homes up north. When summer rolls around, they install their hurricane shutters, make sure their flood insurance is up-to-date, and flee the Florida heat and humidity.
Both guys startle when Dale knocks on the car window. They’d been asleep, which Dale is certain would upset Chum if he knew about it. That could be leverage if Dale ends up needing it. He’s already good at this, already thinking like he needs to. Even with all this pain fogging his head, he’s thinking clear, thinking a few steps ahead. This is the Dale he used to be.
“The hell you doing?” the driver says. He has black hair, slicked back so it shimmers. His smooth skin shines and a tan sleeveless shirt shows off slender arms and a sunken chest.
“You fellows work for money, yes?” Dale says, leaning against the doorframe in a casual sort of way and because it’s easier to breathe.
The men look at each other. The one in the passenger seat is broad through the chest and shoulders and wears a baseball cap over a head of stringy blond hair. He lets out a laugh and nods. Dale has asked a stupid question.
“Chum’s an old man too, ain’t he?” Dale says.
The driver dips his chin and looks out at Dale over the top of a pair of dark sunglasses. “Suppose he is.”
“And you know I’m selling my place,” Dale says. “That place right over there.”
The driver hangs one arm out of the car and looks toward Dale’s house.
“Well, here’s the deal. You two see to it that Chum doesn’t live past closing day,” Dale says, not able to stop himself from swallowing midsentence and giving away how nervous he’s feeling, “and there’s fifty thousand dollars in it for you.”
* * *
Dale’s new place is a two-bedroom on a slab with a flat roof and cinder-block walls. The marble windowsills are etched with water stains, and while the walls have been freshly painted in a pale gray, the air vents in the ceiling are trimmed with black mold. “The place’ll do well in a storm,” the leasing agent told him, “but if the flood insurance goes up, you should expect your rent to go up too.” Sitting at the small table off the kitchen, Dale flips open the lid on the rubbery eggs and cold sausage Elise brought him when she came by to set up his computer and finish the last of the accounting. Taking one bite and then pushing the food aside, he stares out at the browning backyard and the lone cabbage palm. No reclaimed water here. No green lawns trimmed weekly by a lawn service. No towering royal palms. No saltwater pools.
“Chum come into the bar last night?” Dale shouts over one shoulder so Elise will hear him in the back room.
Yesterday morning, his house closed as scheduled, and when he walked out of the title office, he texted Chum to say the funds would hit the bank no later than noon today and that Dale would hand Chum a cashier’s check at the bar when it opened at three. He stared hard at his phone while he waited for an answer. He never got one, and Dale has been hoping ever since that no text means the guys finally made good on their deal and that Chum Giordano is dead.
“Yes,” she calls back, “I saw him. Pretty sure I did.”
“What do you mean, you’re pretty sure?” he shouts, swinging around and almost tipping his chair. “Either you saw him or you didn’t!”
When Elise doesn’t answer, Dale leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and hides his face in his hands. Fifty years old and he’s going to have nothing. Chum is alive and Dale’s going to have to give him damn near every last cent he has. The roofer took what was owed him right off the top. Another chunk went to pay off the equity line and the seawall company. And once he pays off Chum, he’ll be wiped out. Hell, he isn’t even sure how he’ll make rent next month. At the sound of footsteps, he turns.
“Yes, he was there,” Elise says. “I remember because he told me you were having a rough go of it.” She presses up close behind Dale and works her hands and fingers along his neck muscles. “Said you’re a good guy too. That true?”
Dale closes his eyes. Her hands slip down his chest as she presses closer. He glances at the clock. He’s got plenty of time to get to the bank and then over to Smugglers, where he’ll meet Chum. From his old house, he could walk to Smugglers, but it’ll probably take him twenty minutes from here.
“Yes, that’s true,” Dale says. “I’m a good guy. The best.”
Elise must know he’s broke since he’s living in this shithole, and yet she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Dale leans his head back, resting it against her as she runs her fingers down one arm and takes his hand. She tugs so he’ll stand and then leads him to his bedroom.
* * *
Dale can still smell Elise on him as he stands at the counter and waits for the teller to pull up his account. His skin is damp from the late-day heat and the cold air blowing down from overhead makes him shiver, or maybe it’s the memory of Elise. As he waits for the teller to hand over the cashier’s check that will wipe him out, he closes his eyes, letting himself slip back to that first moment of seeing her and touching her.
“There’s a problem with your account, sir,” the woman sitting behind the computer says. Her short brown hair is cut at a sharp angle that makes her look older than she is. She taps the screen.
“How so?” Dale says, leaning to get a look.
“You don’t have the funds.”
“They were supposed to clear by noon.”
“Yes,” she says. “A deposit cleared late this morning.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“And a withdrawal was made at . . .” She pauses, tucks her angled hair behind one ear. “Twelve twenty-three. Yes, twelve twenty-three this afternoon.”
Outside the bank, Dale drops against the stucco siding. The ground underfoot tilts. He braces himself with one hand to the building. “Did you ever use a public computer to access your bank account?” the teller had asked him. A man joined them, asked if Dale needed to take a seat. “Who might have access to your accounts?” the man asked. No one, Dale kept telling them as the room began to spin. And then the man, the branch manager, had asked . . . “Who else might have access to your home computer?”
Three calls to Elise’s cell phone roll directly to voice mail. Inside his car, he tries to take slow, steady breaths so he might remember where she lives. Or if she ever told him. After she climb
ed out of his bed, she said she was headed to work. From the bank parking lot, within walking distance to the house he owned until about thirty-six hours ago, he can look across the street and see Smugglers. Leaving his car at the bank so Chum won’t see it parked outside the bar, Dale runs across four lanes of beach traffic, up onto the boardwalk, and yanks open the door to Smugglers.
“Good lord.” It’s Donna. She’s standing behind the bar, a paring knife in hand and an orange on the counter. “What’s got you in such a hurry?”
“Elise,” Dale says, scanning the room for Chum or his men. “Where is she?”
“Darned if I know. Supposed to be here to open things up. Thought I’d found some decent help, but . . .”
“Her address,” Dale says, swinging around at the sound of a car’s gears popping into park. “I got to know where she lives.”
The door opens and sunlight spills into the bar. Dale squints, and while he can’t make out the figure standing in the threshold, he can see the hand that waves him outside. His shoulders drop and he walks head-on into the stream of light falling across him. He’d left her in his office when he went upstairs to sleep. “When you get a chance, just download those couple of other bank statements,” she’d said. “I’ll take care of everything else.” And while he slept, she’d put something on his computer to capture his password. That’s what the bank manager said as he helped Dale to a seat and handed him a glass of water. It had to be Elise. It really was so easy.
At first Dale can’t be sure it’s Chum standing outside the bar, but as his eyes adjust, the old man turns from a fuzzy outline into a solid figure. He’s leaning there against the barrel that hasn’t moved in twenty years.
“It’s all gone, Chum,” Dale says. “That girl, the new girl, Elise, she took it all.”
* * *
The air blowing across his face is what wakes Dale. At first he thinks it’s the overhead fan in his bedroom and that Elise is lying next to him, naked, her slender legs tangled in his. But there’s a noise too and he’s bouncing. He’s on a boat. Warm saltwater sprays across his face, warm like bathwater. And the boat is slowing down.