Castro Directive (12 page)

They locked the car and headed toward the main entrance. The lot was well lit and several faint shadows grew from their feet, stretching in different directions. "So tell me about jai alai," she said, changing the subject from Andrews.

He'd heard enough about the Mayans and their timekeeping and her accusations about Andrews. Jai alai would be a relief. For the moment. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you bet on the games?"

"Sure. That's a big part of it. Gives you a reason to root for one Eskualdunak over another."

"What?"

"Most of the players are Eskualdunaks. They come from Eskual-Herria, and they speak Euskera. In fact, jai alai is an Euskera word."

She looked baffled. "What're you talking about?"

Pierce laughed. The tide had shifted. Now he was the knowledgeable one. Jai alai was probably as obscure to her as the Tzolkin was to him. "I'm talking about the Basques. Most of the players came from the Basque region or Eskual-Herria, as they call it, near the French-Spanish border. That's where the game originated."

They climbed the steps to the entrance. "I knew it was a Basque game. But how come you know so much about the Basques?"

"I led a tour there a few years ago. Once I memorize my material, I don't forget it." He smiled at her and had an urge to take her hand. Bad idea, he told himself, and opened the door for her.

"Tell me something else from your well of material on the Basques." They stopped at the end of the line at the ticket window.

"They're a mysterious people, like your Mayans. Euskera is one of the oldest languages. Of the more than four thousand dialects spoken in the world, it's the only one that's unrelated to any other language. Now, don't I sound like a tour guide?"

"I bet you made a good one."

Pierce took out his money clip to pay for the tickets. "So what does jai alai mean in Euskera?" Elise asked. "Merry festival."

He stepped up to the window, bought two box seats and a program, and found out the third game had just started. "The third game? Are we late?" she asked.

"Don't worry. There're thirteen games."

A moment later, they entered the side door of the arena. A couple of hundred people lined a low wall, watching the action. "This is the general admission area. Let's wait here until this game's over."

From where they stood, they could only see the two players closest to the front wall. Elise watched in mystification as the ball whizzed back and forth—front court to back court to front court.

Her court, my court, Pierce thought. When they talked about the Mayans, it was her game. Now, jai alai was his game, his court. His eyes pursued the ball.

"How many players are there?"

"Two on each team. Eight teams in each game."

"Eight teams play at once?"

"No, only two teams. It's a round-robin rotation," he said, adding that the winner got the point and stayed on the court to take on the next team. The loser went to the end of the rotation. The first team that scored seven points won. Pierce glanced around, spotted Fuego near the betting counter and nodded to him. He opened his program and studied a table of names and numbers. "It looks complicated," Elise said. "What is it?"

"The records of the players for the season. I'm trying to figure out who has the best chance of winning the next game."

"Need some help?"

He turned and smiled. "Evening, Fuego. I want you to meet Elise Simms."

Fuego nodded; his cheek twitched. "How are you?" he said, without mentioning that he'd met her briefly as Monica.

"You good at betting, Fuego?" she asked.

"Sometimes. I know all the players. I don't have to look at their records."

Just then the game ended. "C'mon, I'm going to place a bet," Pierce said. "Then we'll find our seats." He glanced at Fuego. "You going to be around for a while?"

"Until it's over."

They stepped over to the end of the queue, and when it was Pierce's turn, he bet six dollars on a quiniela box, Two, Five, and Seven.

"Not in a million years," Fuego said from behind him. You should have gone One, Two, and Six."

"We'll see," Pierce answered.

Elise glanced from one to the other, fascinated.

Just as the players were coming out for the new game, Pierce ushered Elise into the arena and toward a row of box seats close to the court.

"Wasn't Fuego the one you were with at that awful bar?" she asked as they sat down.

"Please, that's the famous Jack of Clubs." He laughed. "You're right. He was there."

Her mention of their first meeting brought home that this wasn't any ordinary outing. They both had reasons for being with the other that had nothing to do with companionship. He knew what his were; he wasn't at all certain about hers.

"Okay, tell me what I'm watching. I'm lost already," Elise said, peering toward the court where the game had begun.

"Well, they catch and throw the ball with those baskets."

"I know that much, for God's sake."

"The baskets are called cestas. Did you know that?" She shook her head.

"Okay, I'll tell you about them." He glanced down at his program and told her the cestas were made of Spanish chestnut and reeds from the Pyrenees Mountains. The ball consisted of two layers of goat skin over nylon thread. It was covered with tightly wound strands of virgin rubber.

She leaned toward him, and for a moment her cheek rested lightly against his shoulder. "That's cheating. You're reading that."

"You caught me. I can't remember everything." He smiled, enjoying the moment. He felt her closeness stirring his desire, and under different circumstances he would've touched her knee, her arm, maybe her hand.

They turned their attention to the court as the game began. "This is game four. We're starting with Teams One and Two."

The ball shot off the front wall as the game began. The back player for Team Two scooped it on one hop and fired it low against the wall. Team One's front player dashed over, caught it, and fired. The ball rocketed off the wall and arced high and deep. Team Two's back player glided over to the side wall, leaped, braced himself, and hurled it back. The volley continued several more times, until the ball eluded Team One's front player.

Team Three replaced Team One, and the game quickly moved ahead. "You see what happened? Team Two has one point now, and they're playing Team Three."

"Is that good?"

"Sure. Two's my team."

"What was that word you said at the counter when you placed your bet? A quinla?"

"Quiniela. You pick two teams to finish first and second in either order. I bet a quiniela box, that means I pick three teams and win if two of them—Two, Five, or Seven—finish first and second in any order."

"How much can you win?"

"Depends. It's pari-mutuel betting, so the amount you win depends on the amount being bet and the number of winners. The house takes a percentage, and the winners get the rest. I've seen Fuego win twelve hundred dollars on one game, and he's probably done better."

"Really?" Elise leaned forward, alternately watching the game and studying the scoreboard above the court. "All right," Pierce shouted. "Two won again."

"What's your biggest win?" she asked as Team Four took the court.

"Fifty or sixty bucks. I really don't get down here too often. Not like Fuego."

The ball shot back and forth several times until it was bobbled by the back player for Team Four. "Two again," Pierce said. "See the scoreboard? Two's got three points already."

"They don't waste any time, do they?"

"No time-outs for commercial breaks."

"Come on, Five," Pierce yelled.

"Five? I thought you wanted Two to win."

"Five's my team, too. They need a win here."

"Don't the teams have names?"

"You can call them by the players' names," he said, glancing down at his program, "but it's easier to say, 'C'mon, Five,' then 'C'mon Olasagasti and Arteaga.'

She laughed. "I see your point."

My court tonight, he thought again. Elise, the archaeologist, was digging through the puzzle of the sport like it was an unknown culture, and Pierce, the insider, was the cultural interpreter, a native son.

Team Five beat Two, then Six ran off five straight points. When it was over, Six won first and Two second. "Well, I didn't win that game; neither did Fuego."

He glanced over at Elise. "You want to stick around?"

"We just got here. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on."

That makes two of us, he thought.

"W
e should have at least an hour. But I don't want to be in there more than twenty minutes. Tops."

Gore grinned from the passenger side of Thor's Mercedes, and the scar on his jaw curled into a backward S-shape. "I can do a lot in twenty minutes."

"I bet," Thor muttered, thinking over their plans, testing it for any weak spots. They would approach the house from the back, because he knew about the old woman across the street. The lots of most South Florida neighborhoods backed up against one another, but in Coconut Grove there were alleys and that would make it a simple matter. When they reached the house, they would enter through a side window. It would be easy.

The bushes in the front and along the side would block the view of anyone who happened to pass by. They were mostly bougainvilleas and hibiscus. A quality hedge, Thor thought. Far superior to the ficus, which every second or third homeowner in South Florida seemed to plant around his house. He hated ficus. They were a weed, a scourge. If you let them grow into trees, their roots would strangle everything in the area and would even tear up pavement.

He turned his thoughts away from hedges and back to the matter that awaited them. "When we get in, you start upstairs. I'll work downstairs."

Gore nodded and was about to open the door when he let go of the handle. "I got one question. How come you're going with me? Don't you trust me?"

Thor didn't want to tell him that he had his own job to take care of in the house. It was none of Gore's business. "It'll be faster."

They left the car and hurried away from the streetlight. A gibbous moon overhead cast a faint silvery light as they moved like shadows down the alley. The fragrance of jasmine wafted through the warm night air. They paused for a moment as they heard a car and watched as it passed by the Mercedes.

Gore apparently was still wondering why Thor was going with him. "You think I'm going to steal something? Is that it?"

Thor blew out his breath, exasperated. "The only reason I told you not to take anything," he whispered, "was because we don't want to be seen leaving the house carrying anything. This isn't some goddamn two-bit burglary like you're used to pulling in Tampa."

"I got that impression. What is it? What did the broad do, anyhow?"

Thor led the way into the yard and stopped. He stared at the back side of the dark house. "None of your fucking business."

T
hey stayed for several more games, until it was obvious that Elise's interest was waning. Pierce had bet three games and lost eighteen dollars. Elise hadn't been willing to place even a minimal bet because she didn't understand the game well enough, and she'd refused to allow him to bet his own money for her. After game seven, he suggested they stay for just one more.

"I think that'll be plenty for my introduction to jai alai," she agreed.

As they headed to the betting counter, he spotted Fuego working his way through the crowd toward them. "Last chance to bet," he said to Elise as Fuego was waylaid by a friend. He looked down at his program when she didn't respond and silently picked his numbers.

"Why the long faces?" Fuego said as he walked up to them.

"I'm losing," Pierce grumbled.

"I'm hot, on a roll. You should've bet with me. I'm up two thirty-five."

"I'll bet with you on the next game, Fuego," Elise said.

"Now you're talking," he said. "But you've got to bet a trifecta box. You know what that is?"

She shook her head.

"I pick three teams," Fuego explained. "They've got to come in first, second, and third in any order. It's a little tougher than a quiniela box, but it's my bet."

"How much?"

"Minimum of six."

Pierce watched, surprised and a bit annoyed as Elise reach into her purse and handed Fuego a five and a one.

She must have noticed because after Fuego moved toward the counter she told him not to get offended. "I believe in using the advice of experts. You said yourself that Fuego's here a lot more than you."

He shrugged and forced a smile. "I'm not offended. Be right back." He walked away, hoping she wouldn't follow, and got in line behind Fuego. "Listen, I need some help myself."

Fuego laughed and glanced over his shoulder. "You mean you want to go with my bet, too? That's a switch."