Sailor & Lula (33 page)

“We oughta rent it for the VCR.”

“Good idea. Watch it while Bob Lee's at work.”

Pace came up on the porch and sat on the top step. Lance was still busy shooting arrows.

“What we gonna do today, Mama?” Pace asked.

“Thought maybe we'd go swimmin'. You like that idea?”

“I suppose.”

“C'mon, Pace!” Lance shouted. “It's your turn!”

“Comin'!” Pace shouted back. He looked at Beany and said, “Lance ain't a bad kid, but he goes bugshit you leave him alone a minute. You notice that, Aunt Beany?”

Pace got up and resumed playing with Lance.

“That boy is a natural, Lula,” said Beany. “Don't know where you got him.”

“Got him from Sailor is where.”

“He ever hit you?”

“Sail? You jokin'? Sailor Ripley wouldn't raise a hand to me or nobody.”

“Hold it, Lula. He killed a man. Bob Ray Lemon. Remember?”

“That was different. He thought Bob Ray was tryin' to harm me. Imagine it still's eatin' at him, what he done.”

“Bet he misses seein' his boy.”

Lula watched Pace pull back the bowstring and send an arrow into the very heart of the target. Tears burst from her eyes and Beany handed her one of Madonna Kim's spit-up towels.

“He's just so beautiful and precious to me, Beany,” Lula said, wiping her face, “just like Lance and Madonna Kim are to you. But he's really all
I got in the world. If anything bad happened to Pace, I don't know what I'd do. Shoot myself, prob'ly.”

Madonna Kim coughed and knocked the bottle away. Beany put her over her shoulder and patted the baby's back.

“Stop talkin' foolish, Lula. Ain't nothin' but good gonna ride that boy.”

Madonna Kim let out a burp so loud that it startled Beany and Lula, and they laughed.

“Oh, Beany, I'm so glad I come to see you. It really means a lot to me, your takin' us in this way.”

“Hush. Means a lot to me, too.”

They looked at their boys playing on the grass in the morning sun, wrestling now, rolling around and laughing, Pace allowing the weaker, smaller Lance to pin him. They jumped up and ran over to the porch.

“Mama?” said Lance. “Pace says we're goin' swimmin'. Is it time yet?”

“Carmine,
come va
?”

“I am fine, Marcello. I know you are, too.”

“And how is that?”

“The other night I ran into the Calabrese, Jimmie Hunchback, at Broussard's. I asked him about you, and he said,
‘Il vecchio porta bene gli anni.' ”

Papavero heard Santos chuckle at the other end of the line.

“Old man, he calls me,” said Santos. “I should call him up and tell him this old man still knows how
tenere il coltello dalla parte del manico
.”

Poppy laughed. “Nobody will ever doubt that you know how to hold the knife, Marcello, or that you would use it if you had to.
Non ho notizie di te da molto tempo.
What can I do for you?”

“I wanted you to know that I'm coming in two days. The thing with Mona has caused some trouble there I must take care of myself.”

“
La Signora Costatroppo ha fatto parlare di sé.
The lady has caused much talk.”

Santos sighed. “She knows too much, Carmine.
Il passato non si distrugge.
The past cannot be undone, but
non si sa mai quando può succedere una disgrazia
. One never knows when an accident might happen.”

“One would think that after all you've done for her, given her, she would be more respectful.”

“My friend,
a chi tutto, a chi niente.
Who can say what is enough or not enough for anyone?
Non fa niente
, it doesn't matter. I know where she hides and soon I can tell you,
mi sono liberato di un incomodo
.”

“Your life is long, Marcello. There is much to look forward to.”

“Mona was once a morsel to be savored, Carmine, but
un pranzo comprende molte pietanze
. A meal consists of many dishes. Already
la ferita si sta cicatrizzando
. The wound heals as we speak. I have sent
un colpo di vento
, a gust of wind, to blow away the problem.”

“I will be glad to see you, Marcello. I'll be here.”

“
Bene
. I may need your help on a couple of matters. The business goes well with the
tutsuns
?”

“
Molto bene
, better than I expected.”

“You are a smart man, Carmine. You earn my respect.
Ciao
.”

“
Ciao
, Marcello.
Buon viaggio
.”

The air seemed cooler in Audubon Park. Lula and Beany, who was carrying Madonna Kim in a pouch strapped to her chest, strolled slowly beneath the magnolia trees as Pace and Lance ran ahead, playing tag. Lula and the boys had swum most of the morning, and then they had all gone to the Camellia Grill and eaten a large, wonderful lunch which they were now walking—in the boys' case, running—off.

“I can't believe how safe and fine I feel,” said Lula, “just bein' here. It ain't nearly so hot as I thought it'd be.”

“Wish you lived nearby, Lula. It'd be great to be able to hang out together like this whenever we wanted to. And the kids are gettin' along so good.”

Lula watched the boys circle a tree and take off at breakneck speed toward the lake, Lance chasing the fleeter Pace.

“Pace!” she shouted. “You take care Lance don't fall in!”

“I will, Mama!” Pace yelled, just before he and his pursuer disappeared behind a boathouse.

“I gotta admit, Beany, Sailor been on my mind a whole lot lately, more than I'm comfortable about. I mean, he ain't never been off it entire since we met when I was sixteen. It's amazin', but that's almost half my life.”

“No point in fightin' it either, sweetie. Some things just meant to be. Guess it was destiny you and him'd be matched. But you don't even know where he might be, huh?”

Lula shook her head no, reached back with her right hand and wiped the sweat off the back of her neck.

“Don't know that I even want to see Sailor, really,” she said. “Truth is, though, no guy I been out with before or since ever thrilled me like Sailor. I mean, really
thrilled
me, Beany, you know?”

“Not sure I do, Lula.”

“Like I would always,
always,
get excited that Sailor was comin' to get me, or I was goin' to meet him. Even when things between us wasn't so smooth. Didn't ever seem to matter what kinda problems we were havin', or what else was goin' on, I'd get a actual
thrill
thinkin' about him. That
never's happened with another man, Beany, not like that. There's been moments I been happy, of course, and thought I was doin' all right. But I made love enough with other boys to know there can't never be anyone but him makes a difference in my soul.”

Lula stopped walking and Beany stopped, too. Lula put her forehead against the back of Beany's right shoulder and let the tears come. She was shaking, and Beany started to turn around, but Lula held her still.

“Wait, Beany, just let me rest my head on you like this. I'll be fine in a minute and I don't want you to look at me until I am.”

Beany didn't move.

“There,” Lula said, raising her head and smiling, giving her hair a shake, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, “I'm better. Guess that's what they mean, havin' a shoulder to cry on,” she laughed. “Never took it for real quite the same way before.”

Beany looked into her friend's red, watery, large gray eyes.

“You always got me to cry on, Lula,” she said, “just like I hope I always got you.”

Lula hugged Beany, being careful not to squeeze too tightly and crush Madonna Kim between them.

“You got me, Miss Beany, forever.”

They disengaged and began walking again. Madonna Kim snoozed peacefully.

“Hey, where'd them boys go?” said Lula.

“Prob'ly runnin' around the lake. We'll find 'em. Lance been here lots of times. They won't get lost.”

Just then Lance appeared from behind the opposite side of the boathouse and ran over to Beany and Lula.

“I can't find Pace,” he said. “He must be hidin' on me.”

Lula shivered. “Where'd you see him last?” she asked.

“I tagged him and run on ahead, and when he didn't catch up I turned around and Pace wasn't nowhere. Mama, can I get a ice cream?”

Lula took off running toward the lake. She followed the path around the water but did not see Pace. She stopped to rest and think, and Lance came running up behind her.

“Aunt Lula, Mama says come quick. A lady saw Pace go off with some man.”

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” Lula kept saying, as she and Lance ran back toward Beany.

Beany and a thin, gray-haired woman of about fifty, wearing yellow shorts, a red tank top and green Nike running shoes, with a Sony Walkman headset radio hanging around her neck, were standing next to the boathouse.

“Lula, listen,” said Beany. “This woman says she saw a boy looked like Pace walk away with a man.”

“The boy was about ten or eleven, with black hair,” the woman said.

“He was wearin' blue jeans and a blue tee shirt said ‘Tarheels' on it in white block letters.”

“Oh, shit,” said Lula. “That's him, that's Pace!”

“Well, when I saw him I was joggin' into the park on the north path there, and this boy was holdin' hands with a young man not much more than a boy himself, maybe eighteen, nineteen. Was an odd-lookin' young man, too. Real slight build, wearin' overalls and a kind of railroad engineer's cap, with long, dirty-blond-lookin' curly hair hangin' down under it.”

“Pace wouldn't just go off with some stranger!” Lula said.

“Are you sure this guy in the overalls wasn't pullin' Pace along with him?” Beany asked the woman.

“He mighta been, I don't know. I just ran past 'em, goin' kinda slow, of course, so I got a good look at 'em both.”

Lula ran to the north path and followed it out of the park to the street. She stood there, breathing hard, looking each way, but there was nobody else around. Lula ran down the street to where it intersected a main thoroughfare. Cars whizzed by in both directions.

Lula grabbed a young black woman who was walking by and yelled at her, “Did you see my son? He's ten years old and has black hair and he's wearin' a Carolina Tarheels tee shirt. A white man wearin' overalls just kidnapped him!”

“No, lady,” said the young woman, “I ain't seen him.”

Lula let go and fell to her knees.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” she cried. “Sailor, Sailor, I need you now!”

Mona Costatroppo looked out the window of her room in the Drake Hotel in Chicago. Lake Michigan, she thought, staring at it, was as big as an ocean.

“What's the name again, this beach here?” she asked Federal Agents Sandy Sandusky and Morton Martin, both of whom were seated on the couch under a hideous oil painting of a tropical sunset.

“Oak Street,” Sandusky said. “That's Oak Street beach.”

“About a billion bodies on it,” said Mona, “look like flies on dogshit.”

She turned away from the window.

“So, you'll guarantee if I tell you all I know about Santos's organization you'll set me up someplace with a new identity?”

“Federal Witness Protection Program,” said Martin. “Even Europe, you want to go there.”

Mona nodded. “Okay, you bums get outta here now, let me think this over.”

The agents rose together and Sandusky said, “We'll be here tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, Ms. Costatroppo.”

“Never figured anybody'd be callin' me Miz, 'less slavery got legal again. You be here what time you want. But now, get out.”

The agents left and Mona poured a healthy dose of Bombay Sapphire into a glass and drank it fast. She poured some more into the glass, emptying the fifth she'd bought that morning, and was about to swallow it when there was a knock at the door.

“Who's there?” she asked.

“Valet. I have your laundry.”

Mona walked over, the glass in her left hand, and turned the door-knob with her right.

“Put it on the bed,” she said, walking toward the window, not bothering to see who it was coming through the door.

As Mona lifted the glass to her lips and opened her mouth, she heard a loud pop. She dropped the glass and started to turn around, but before she could there was another loud pop, which she did not hear. Mona sat
down suddenly on the floor, her head banging hard against the window that overlooked Oak Street beach and Lake Michigan, but she didn't feel a thing.

Sailor was awakened in his room at the Hotel Brazil by a series of shrieks coming from the hallway. He jumped out of bed and stubbed the big toe on his left foot on the leg of the table next to the door, opened the door and limped into the hall. Two women of indeterminate age, one blond, one red-haired, were rolling on the carpet in front of the staircase attempting to mutilate each other in any way possible. They were screaming and cursing at the top of their voices. Sailor stood by the door to his room rubbing his sore toe and watching the women wrestle. He looked at his watch: it was a couple of ticks shy of six A.M. The more heavyset of the women, the blonde, stood and grabbed the redhead and dragged her to her feet, then ran her into the wall, knocking the red-haired wrestler stupid and busting her nose. Blood spurted on the wall, the floor and the blond bruiser, further infuriating her. She yelled, “You cunt!” and practically picked up the bleeder and threw her down the stairs. The blonde stood in the hallway panting hard, wiped her face with her meaty right forearm, and spotted Sailor standing there in his underwear with his left leg resting on his right knee, holding his toe.