South by South Bronx (23 page)

“Okay, I get it,” Mink said, snapping the book shut after he had followed her line by line on the page. “I think I need a drink.”

“Do you really want to start that?” Alex asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I don't drink during work hours,” Alex said.

The door buzzer sounded.

“I'll be right back,” Mink said.

“I'm expecting a courier.”

The moment he left, Ava leaned forward and whispered, “What the hell are we doing? Should we even be here with this guy?”

“I'm telling you, we can trust him.”

“Trust him how? We should get out of here, get moving.”

“Well, what is it you need to do? You went to the bank, didn't you?”

Ava listened. There was someone at the door. Mink had opened it with a creaky steel clatter.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Ava seemed to hesitate between telling and not, between trusting and not. She could also be by herself. But this didn't seem the time for her to be telling stories, creating identities and making up facts for consumption. Alex knew her as Ava Reynolds. David did too. She swore she would be a person this time. There was no Anne voice this time to warn her about the treachery of a one-eye.

“I went to the bank and I picked up another key,” she said.

“Another one?”

She waited. Voices from the hallway. The clatter crash of the door again.

“Yes. And a slip of paper with a number on it.”

“A number. What kind of number? An address, a phone?”

“011493044377983,” she said fast. “What?”

“011493044377983.”

“That's a lot of digits for a phone number.”

“That's all there is, a number and a key. The number on the key is 53.”

“That's not much help either,” Alex said, just as Mink returned. He was ripping open a courier envelope and pulling out a CD-Rom.

“I was waiting for this. Could be my next commission. You wanna see?”

“Sure,” Alex said.

“I'll need your bathroom first,” Ava said.

“No problem. Down that corridor, right behind the wall of glass cinder blocks.”

Alex watched her head down the hallway. Mink was pulling him toward the desk with the computer, but Alex wouldn't budge.

“Hold on,” he said, and he followed after Ava. She stopped when she heard Alex coming from behind.

“What?” she said.

“You're not going to do that, are you?”

“Do what?”

“Disappear. Sneak out. Run. Are you going to do that?”

“No.”

“Because if you are, just do it now. I told Mink not to be worried about you, that you were okay and that he didn't have to worry. No surprises no guns no conks on the head.”

“And you're worried?”

“I'm worried you're going to pull a fast one, yes. That's all I know about you, you come and go. So I'm saying, if you're going to go, just do it now, in front of my face. No cheap tricks, no lies, no stories. Just go, if that's what you want.” There was a strange burning in his chest.

She sighed. “But I didn't even bring my purse. I left it in the living room. With you.” The way Alex was standing in front of her in that narrow corridor, she could not get past him even if she tried.

The painting across from Alex was a series of colorful boxes with keyholes in them. A pile of glittery keys stood at the far end of the canvas. It was called FIFTEEN PUERTO RICANS WHO PRAY FOR RAIN.

“Yeah, okay,” Alex said.

The image of the two brothers on the computer screen seemed almost digital, as if they themselves were some electronic construct. Their faces were similar but their clothes looked different. Jose Romero had a large Fiorrucci flowered shirt with an orange tie, while Julio “Major” Romero was wearing a checkered shirt with a large black tie. (“We have to dress different, or our friends will kill us,” said Jose in TIME OUT.) There were three Mink paintings behind them, paintings Mink remembered they had purchased three years ago. (That was a good year.)

“Estimado Mink,” Jose said on the screen, “we both send big love and in this moment hope you are happy and close to loved ones. My brother and I are embarking on a phenomenal adventure that will change the landscape of the South Bronx forever.”

“The South Bronx, to us, is the whole world,” Julio continued. “It is music, it is fashion, culture, style, grace, passion. It is vision and violence. It is sublime and it is senseless. It is an inspiration and it lives in South Bronx people.”

“To us,” Jose said, “you are the South Bronx. Your work is all those things. It captures in a heartbeat everything we feel about the South Bronx that makes us salsa, makes us merengue, hip-hop, rock. Your work is freedom.”

“We are starting a dance club in the South Bronx. By now you've heard about this. We have the space and are already almost done with it.”

“There is just one thing missing,” Jose went on, “and that is you. The touch of you, the touch of what we feel is the South Bronx. To us both, your work is the one crucial element that will make this place happen.”

“I feel dizzy,” Mink said.

“We feel we must tell you that hanging a painting or two of yours up on the wall will not do it. We want you to cover the entire inside of this magnificent structure with your colors, your dream.”

“Your South Bronx,” Jose added.

“Jesus Christ,” Alex said. He was standing beside Ava, behind Mink, who was sitting at the desk staring at the computer screen like he was hallucinating.

“We've devised this CD-Rom specifically for you, to give you an idea of what we'd like to ask you to do.” Now Julio looked at his brother, then continued: “We assure you that no copyrights have been infringed, neither have we put this CD-Rom or the work herein to any use other than as a special presentation, especially for you.”

“That's right,” Jose said, looking away, his eyes glittery wet. “Because we love you, man.”

“We love you,” Julio picked it up. “And so we hired some amazing graphic specialists to enable us to splatter your work all over this magnificent landscape. Your work IS the landscape, Mink. You can completely navigate the environment, explore the rooms, get a feel for what we were thinking.”

“This graphic tool,” Jose said, dabbing his face with a tissue, “enabled us to splatter your work all over these environments. Sort of like the work you did on our favorite Björk video? Only that was blue screen, honey. This is your work, truly made into walls, rooms. Atmospheres.”

“The lounge on the third floor is your blocks and cubes piece, MU LATA TU LATA. The dance floor is your BACHATA BATATA, and the small lounge on the first floor is your bitter but somehow lyrical RIKERS BY NIGHT. We've used twenty-one of your paintings, some from your book, even on the surface of the roller rink.”

“Of course,” Jose rounded it up, “this CD-Rom is completely between us. If we have in any way offended or displeased you, just chuck it in the can and forget about it. Our respect for you and what you represent is such that we would not, could not, carry on with this project without you.”

“We spent five thousand dollars making this CD-Rom for you, and even if you say no, it will still be the happiest five thousand we ever spent. I suppose we'll try to do the space without you if you should say no—”

“Not me,” Jose interrupted. “I told you!”

“I heard you, stop!”

“Well, just don't lie! Don't play the suave businessman! It's life or death!”

“You be cool, just lemme finish it.” Julio composed himself. “We'll call your agent again to talk about the money part, but it would be even better if we heard from you, Mink.”

“We can only offer you $500,000,” Jose said abruptly.

“Will you not talk money on the CD-Rom please?”

Mink pressed
stop
.

Alex put a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, man. Did you hear that?”

Mink turned, looking at both of them. His eyes were wet. “And that wasn't even the nicest part,” he said. “I just don't know.”

“But Mink,” Alex said, “it's a huge commission. You got to at least look at it.”

“It's a big space,” Mink said, getting up from the computer like he was hypnotized. “It's a lot of work.”

“It's a half a million dollars,” Ava said.

He looked at her like she was a small child.

“They want blocks and cubes,” he said, and left the room, heading down the slim corridor and out of sight.

“Well, there's one guy making money,”

Ava said. “He doesn't want to do it,” Alex said.

Ava sank into a cushy love seat nearby that was covered in throw pillows. “I don't either,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don't know where I'm going. I have nothing to go back to.”

Alex sank beside her and said nothing.

“Alan is not going to give up, unless someone stops or derails him. That morning I socked you, I went to somebody about that. I just don't know if it worked. I don't think there's any way I'll ever know.”

“And you came back,” Alex said.

“Yes, I came back.”

For that moment, sinking into pillows, her head fell against his arm, almost as if she could sleep there.

“Maybe you have to keep moving,” he suggested.

She stared up at him. That strange burning in her chest was back. He was moving closer or he was moving away. A clock was ticking and she was thinking of Alan again. Alan on the rebound after her parting gift, the cellular in a train-seat trick. She smiled vaguely, thinking she had to tell Alex the story sometime. There were all kinds of stories she wanted to tell someone. Moving closer or moving away.

“Let's try that number,” Alex said, pulling out his cell phone.

She gave him the number slowly so he could enter it right. Took a few tries before he pressed
send
. The phone got busy but there was no connection. He was trying it again when Mink came in.

“I mean, it's an honor and all that,” Mink said, as if continuing something he had already started, “but blocks and cubes? I mean, did it have to be those fucking blocks and cubes? And I'm thinking I should talk to Monk, but he's holed up and not picking up his phone, and besides, maybe it's a bad idea to ask him. He might take it badly, you know, a big commission for me, and him, well, just the idea … that I'm doing better than him, you know. I mean, you already know that he's the one with the ego.”

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“Who you calling? Monk?”

“Nah. This number.” Alex handed him the phone. “We can't get it on my cell.”

“011? That's an international call,” he said. “Cell phones are weird about that sometimes. Let's use this one.”

There was a phone right by the computer. He hit the speaker button and a dial tone sounded. He punched in the long series of numbers and waited. A series of clicks. The ring was not at all like the American bell ringing sound. It was more like a long toot.
“Toot.”
And then someone picked it up.

“Service Point, Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten,” the woman's voice said.

“That's German,” Mink said.

“German?” Alex was wide-eyed. “That can't be right.”

“Hello,” Ava said, stepping up to the phone. “Can you speak English? We are calling from America. United States. Hello?”

“Yes, please,” the woman said haltingly, as if rearranging her brain. “How can I help to you?”

“What is this number,” Ava asked, “this place you are?”

“This is train station Zoologischer Garten, Berlin,” she said.

“A train station?”

“Yes.”

“A train station in Berlin,” Alex said. “Why would it be—?”

“Thank you very much,” Ava said.

“Bitte schon,”
the woman said.

Ava clicked off.

“That's Berlin, Germany,” Mink said. “You know someone in Berlin?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I have to go over there.”

Mink looked at her again as if she were a small child. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. And right away,” she added, glancing at Alex, who seemed startled. His face was ashy, something confused in his eyes. He looked at Mink and shook his head.

“She has to go to Berlin,” he said.

Mink peered at both of them, one to the other. A vague smile played on his face.

“Are the police really after you?”

She hadn't expected the question, coming cold and sharp like that. Mink nailed her with a penetrating look that he saved for emergencies.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “You give me a minute. I'll be right back.”

He stepped out of the room, back down the corridor.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Ava asked, springing up from the desk.

“Take it easy. I told you you can trust him.”

“No you didn't. How do I know he's not calling the cops?”

Alex laughed. It was an actual laugh, something she had never heard before. He was laughing at her fear, her terror, her panic as she reached for her purse to feel the security of a gun nearby, ready to correct mistakes.

“Mink would never call cops,” Alex said, still laughing. “He's got twelve skunk plants up on the roof in the little greenhouse. You should relax.”

“I can't relax.” She was pacing. “I have to get to Berlin and I probably don't have enough money for a ticket. That bastard put a slash on my account. The ATM I tried to use this morning confiscated my debit card! … What's so fucking funny?”

“I'll lend you some money, calm down.”

“No, I won't calm down.”

“You should. Everything happens for a reason.”

“Oh yeah? Is that your attitude, Mr. Blackout?”

Alex nodded slowly. His silence created an empty space, left her desperate for words, a fight, something. There was nothing. He was just looking at her, and she was looking at him, when Mink returned. He was holding a dingy plastic bag and an envelope.