Slow Burn (22 page)

"What did
he have to say about that?"

"He had
him a good laugh' and then told the Galante brothers to take me on f other side
of the park and teach me some manners."

"Didn't
work out that way, did it?"

"Not hardly,
Leo." He grinned. "After a while, he come lookin' for the suet
brigade, and, you know . . ." He showed me a palm.

"The rest
is history," I finished for him.

"Yeah. I
piled 'em up, belly to belly, and was sittin' on 'em like a bench when he got
there. The Jackster, he liked that. Said it showed imagination. Been with him
ever since."

Spaulding
Meyerson was heading our way.

"Can't get
rid of that Meyerson kid," Rickey Ray said.

Spaulding
stopped in the middle of the room, pulled his feet underneath him and leaned
into the burger he was holding before him.

"You're
his hero for whatever it was you did to his mom's bodyguards."

A font of
refuse erupted from the bottom of the bun, plopping down onto the rich brown
carpet. Spaulding wasn't quick enough to react and ended up with half a lettuce
leaf and a glob of mayonnaise resting atop his right shoe.

"That was
back in Cleveland. Right after she hired 'em. Took all Jack's stuff off the
luggage dolly and left it in the garage. Bunch of it got stole. The old Jackster
was right put out about it. I just cuffed 'em around a little, is all."

"Don't
they ever speak?"

"I heard
Francona talk."

"What did
he say?"

His hp curled.
"He say, 'Please, no more.' "

Spaulding shook
his foot like a dog walking in snow for the first time, sending a hail of
condiments flying out in all directions. From the far corner, I heard Abby
Meyerson tell her son that she wished to speak with him. He ignored her and
headed our way, the dripping burger now held out to the side. "Hey, big
guy," he said to Rickey Ray.

He had a piece
of pickle on his front tooth.

"I think
yo' mama wants you, buddy," Rickey replied.

Spaulding
leaned in and gave Rickey a leer.

"You get
lucky yet, big guy?"

Rickey Ray
pinned him with a glare.

Spaulding
winked. "Rickey's sweet on the Jackster's girl toy."

"I tol'
you before, kid," Rickey growled.

"He's got
big wood for her," Spaulding assured me.

As they
bantered back and forth, I could tell that they'd run this scene before, and I
finally understood what it was Spaulding Meyerson did well. He got under
people's skin. He had an uncanny instinct for intuitively knowing just how to
be optimally obnoxious. He probably had a future in law.

He kept at
Rickey Ray, but now talked to me. "All Natural for Men," he said,
pointing at Rickey's head. Then he cupped the same hand to his mouth in mock
discretion. "Dyed his hair so they'd match." He put a finger to his
mouth. "Shhhhh."

I hoped to God
the kid wasn't counting on me to save his ass if Rickey Ray started on him, because
the best he was going to get out of me was shrieking for the police. Rickey Ray
was a couple of counties past anything I was looking for. To quote Dirty Harry
Callahan: "A man needs to know his limitations."

Spaulding kept
nodding and grinning his pickle-toothed grin.

I could feel
Rickey Ray's blood pressure rising Abby's low voice rolled our way. "Spaulding!"
"She looks pretty pissed off," Rickey chided through

clenched teeth.
"Don' wanna make yo' mama mad there,

Spauldo."

Spaulding
didn't bother looking. "Walter—he was one of Dixie's dicks before
Bart—Walter used to say Momma always looked like she had a Dove Bar up her
ass."

A resonant
voice came from behind me.

"If she
does, it's the only thing That’s ever been up there."

Brie Meyerson
took a wide arc over to my side, maintaining her distance from the seeping
burger.

"Mother
wants you back, Spaulding," she said, taking a sip from a plastic pop
bottle and then screwing the top back on.

Her brother
chomped down on the second third of his burger and began to chew with his mouth
open. I glanced away and resorted to idle chatter. "How are you, Miss
Meyerson?" I asked.

"Bored,"
she said.

Not for long.
Having expertly removed the meat, Jack now held the steaming T-bone aloft.
"Abby darlin'," he bellowed. "Here, take this thing. Use it on
that boy of yours. Time to face it, honey. You've done the best you could with
him, but that one just ain't a keeper."

Abigail
Meyerson answered without looking up. "At least my children are still with
me, Mr. Del Fuego. At least I didn't force them upon strangers."

Jack answered
through a mouthful of steak. "Other than that one you drove off." He
swallowed. "Ya didn't forget about that one, now, did ya? I know she been
gone a long time and all, but—"

"Oh,
yeah," Spaulding yelled at the top of his voice. "Old Jack don't
drive 'em off; he strings 'em up. Better check those drapes behind the old
Jackster. Make sure he hasn't got the cords in his pocket. The Jackster's got a
way with a rope."

Jack shot Spaulding
a disgusted look and began to wave the bone around in earnest, as if painting
grease letters in the air.

"Come on,
now, Abby. You still remember how. I know you do, and I'm even donating my
bones. It's for the good of the species, darlin'. For the good of the
species."

For the first
time, Candace seemed embarrassed by Jack's antics. She was sitting bolt
upright, her hands gripping the edge of her plate like it was a life preserver,
her hps invisible.

Jack waved the
bone at Rodrigo, who had been observing from the far wall. "Hey, Lorenzo,"
Jack drawled. "Take this here Meyerson tongue depressor over to the little
lady there."

Rodrigo
hesitated. Jack stayed at him. "Let’s go. Chop-chop."

Rodrigo skipped
across the room and took the bone from Jack's hands. He held it at arm's
length, using only the tips of his fingers. He turned to walk away.

Francona and
Hill rose as one. Abby continued to eat.

Rodrigo got the
message. Any attempt to deliver the greasy scrap to their table would probably
involve a prolonged need for physical therapy. He turned imploringly back
toward Jack. No help there.

Candace was
furiously whispering in the Jackalope's ear, but the old boy just wouldn't
quit. "Go on, boy. Abby's puttin' on airs, is all. She's one of the finest
bone artists on the planet."

Rodrigo was
flushed with color, his free hand pumping into a fist.

I walked over,
took the bone from the waiter's hand and deposited it in the nearest trash can.
The room was silent as I returned to my roost next to Rickey Ray. I turned to
Brie Meyerson and broke the silence.

"So how
are you holding up under all of this?" I asked as if nothing at all had
happened. She seemed relieved.

"I'm used
to it," she said. "They do it all the time."

"No, I
mean ..." I searched for a sentence that didn't include both
"Bunky" and "cook." "You know, the whole . . ."

"You mean
that whole barbecue thing?"

"Yeah."

She checked
over each shoulder and then leaned in very close. She might have reminded me of
spring, but she smelled of cologne.

"I
couldn't care less," she said. "that’s Mother's thing."

"Really?"

"I'm not
supposed to say anything, but, you know . . ." "I thought ..."

"Oh, you
mean the whole grand opera, little-girl-and-her-beloved-pet thing?" She
rolled her eyes heavenward. "Spare me. If s a cow. It didn't exactly sleep
on the edge of my bed. I was raised on that farm. I know what happens to cows.
Mother thinks it makes good copy, is all. Ifs all hype. I think she watched too
many Shirley Temple movies as a child. So dull."

Trying not to
be dull, I pointed at the bottle in her hand. The black plastic top featured
those green panther eyes.

"What is
that stuff, anyway?" I asked. "I keep seeing it around."

"that’s because
ifs all the rage, you know," she mocked. "It is, huh?"

She held the
label up to my face. Red background, yellow banner with the word
"Josta," and a sinuous black panther prowling across the top.

"It's
Josta," she said.

"Josta
'nother soft drink?"

She laughed.
"Very good, but no." She pointed to the label. "See, if s made
with the guarana berry, and the gua-rana berry is supposed to have medicdnal
properties. In Brazil, they say ifs an aphrodisiac."

Spaulding waved
the burger in our direction. We both tensed.

"Shit
tastes like cough syrup," he offered. "Her Majesty just orders it because
nobody^ ever got it on hand, and she likes to see them have to run all over
hell and gone to find it."

"Stuff it,
Spaulding."

Dixie
's voice rose above the throng. "Be
a sweetie, Bart, and get Momma a cup of coffee from over there in the cop
section."

Bart rose and
skirted his way behind Candace and Jack, moving into the middle of the room
from a break in the tables.

"Step it
up, sweetie," Spaulding brayed.

"Shut up,
you moron," his sister whispered.

Spaulding
grinned and brought the burger up to his mouth. It arrived ahead of schedule.
Just as he was about to take a bite, Brie reached out and pushed the sandwich
hard into her brother's face, twisting her wrist from side to side, mashing the
mess into his face. I wanted to applalld, but decided it would be
unprofessional.

Spaulding
jerked his feet back and allowed the mess to drop onto the carpet. "You
bitch." He reached for his sister.

I stepped
between the pair. "Easy, kid. Easy."

Spaulding tried
to move forward, but Rickey Ray had him by the belt. "Just a little joke
there, podna. Don't be gettin' your panties all in a wad now."

Rickey Ray
grinned over Spaulding's shoulder. "Got us a real hellcat here, Leo. Whip
any girl on the block."

All I saw was
Rickey Ray's hand lose its grip on the belt. Spaulding lurched forward, stepped
in his own hamburger mess and nearly fell. Francona grabbed the kid by the
elbow and pulled him upright.

"Well,
looky here," I heard Rickey Ray say. "Somebitch touched me." He
looked over at me. Hill was standing on his toes, two paces away from Rickey.
"Somebitch done slapped me on the wrist. You see that, Leo?" I told
him I hadn't, but I somehow knew it wasn't going to matter.

In an instant,
all vestiges of the friendly cowboy disappeared from his face, and I saw a
frightening ability to switch gears. The ancient Scots liked to speak in terms
of becoming fey. Of succumbing to a self-induced battle trance, in the midst of
which the warrior was a virtual killing machine. All hell broke loose.

As Rickey
started for Hill, Francona, in an amazing display of stupidity, started for
Rickey. Fortunately, Lieutenant Driscoll and Marty Conlan arrived at just about
the same time. As if magnetically drawn together, the five of them formed a
lurching knot of screaming, pushing humanity.

"Rowcliffe.
The Mondavi Reserve, please."

Alomar agreed.
"The Merlot lacked substance."

"Mr.
Waterman," Sir Geoffrey said without looking up, "would you be so
kind as to inquire when we shall be permitted to leave?"

"Sure,"
I said.

Marty and
Driscoll were starting to get things calmed down as I turned and walked toward
the corner of the dais. Lawrence and Lobdell were going nose to nose.

His face was
red. "that’s not what we'd do with any other group. We'd brace her and
check everybody's reaction. I don't see why—"

"I'm
merely saying that, considering the long-standing animosity among these groups
. . ."

He was shaking
his head. "Ifs standard procedure."

"This is
not a standard situation. As I see it—"

She noticed me
and stopped abruptly.

"Yes, Mr.
Waterman?"

"Sir
Geoffrey wants to know when he and Mr. Alomar can leave. Also, don't drink the
Merlot; it lacks substance."

My boyish charm
seemed to be at an all-time low. She sighed.

"We have
transcriptions of their statements for them to sign, and then everyone can be
on their way."

Francona and
Hill were shepherding both Meyerson kids back to the family fort. Spaulding
left a trail of squashed burger all the way across the room.

Rickey Ray had
flipped his switch the other way. He showed Driscoll his palms. "Just
funnin.' "

Marty Conlan
was jerking at his pants and tucking in his shirt. He looked winded. That was
the most action he'd had in years. I could see the excitement in his face.