Scarface (34 page)

“Go to hell,” she said in a blur, and stumbled away downstairs.

On the way to the airport Tony told Chi-Chi to run by Gina’s shop on Flagler Street. Chi-Chi and Nick and the Shadow waited in the car as Tony went in. The shop was bustling. Gina had a crew of four hairdressers, a manicurist and a shampoo girl, all of them working busily. A thrill of excitement buzzed through the room when Tony entered, for he was both celebrity and godfather here. He nodded and waved to several of the workers, but he saw right away that Gina’s bay was empty. He turned anxiously to Pepe, the star stylist, who nodded toward the office in the rear.

Tony strode to the back and through the beaded curtain, aware that he only had a moment before he had to leave. Gina was standing at the full-length mirror beyond her desk, pinning a cluster of gardenias in her permed and frosted hair. She gasped when she saw it was Tony and almost seemed to cower as she turned to face him, as if he’d caught her doing something wrong.

Tony was too preoccupied to notice. “Hi, princess,” he said, heading for the refrigerator, where he pulled out a bottle of beer. Gina had recovered her balance by the time he turned to face her again. “Real pretty,” said Tony, gesturing at the beige silk dress she wore, with the flounces of lace at the sleeves and collar.

Gina spoke haltingly. “Did we—were we supposed to see each other today?”

“Nah, I’m on my way to the airport. I just wanted to say hi. Long time no see.”

“What’s wrong, Tony?” she said, as he passed a weary hand over his forehead. She’d forgotten her own nervousness now. She stepped up close and smoothed his unruly hair with her hand. “You need a haircut,” she said gently. She was shocked at how tired his eyes were.

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips and lightly kissed her fingertips. As she shyly tugged free of his grip, he said: “Gina, let’s go away, huh?”

“What are you talking about? Go where?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I just need to slow down for a while. I’ll be back from New York tomorrow. We could go to Europe—”

“Tony, I can’t. I’ve got too much to do around here.” She gave a nervous glance at the clock on the wall opposite. “What about Elvira?”

Tony gave a short, harsh laugh. “Things ain’t goin’ too good in that department.”

“Look, don’t you have a plane to catch?”

For the first time he noticed how jittery she was. He felt stupid and awkward all of a sudden. “You got a date or somethin’?”

“Sort of,” said Gina, still trying to be light. She threw her arms about his neck and hugged him close. “Why don’t you call when you get back from New York? There’s some stuff I want to talk about.”

“Who with?” he asked coldly.

“What? Oh, nobody. Just some guy. Don’t worry, he’s real respectable.” She tugged his hand and moved toward the beaded curtain.

“Who?” he asked again, his voice like ice now.

“Oh Tony, don’t start. Please.”

He hated to see the look of exasperation on her face. Why couldn’t she understand it was all for her own good? He had a terrible urge to shake her till she blurted out the name. Why couldn’t she wait? He would keep her safe if she’d only let him. If only he could make her see how dangerous life was. Then they could run away together and hide till all the hurricanes had passed. All he wanted to do was talk gently to her—hold her tight and sing her lullabies.

But his rage and jealousy got the better of him. Hating himself even as he did it, he shook his finger in her face and said: “Soon as I get back we’re gonna have a little talk, you and me. You got that?”

She pulled away and turned her back on him. Her voice was sad and bitter: “Just go, will you?”

He was so frustrated he wanted to cry out. He needed her so much right now. But his pride was too strong, and something in him was afraid to say the words that were in his heart. It would have to wait till tomorrow now, like everything else. He turned and headed back through the beaded curtain, longing to get in the car again so he could do another toot. Nobody said goodbye to him as he barreled out of the shop. Nobody said hello when he slumped back into the limo.

The world seemed to know when to keep its distance.

He was in a grim mood when he boarded the plane, with Nick beside him in first class and the Shadow back in tourist. He’d had a big fight with Manolo earlier in the afternoon. Manolo had quarreled with the setup of the Nashville run from the first. He argued that you couldn’t send a shipment direct from Panama to the hinterlands; it had to pass through Miami first. Miami was part of coke’s brand name, almost as much as Bolivia. So maybe Manolo was right, but the argument got ugly. Manolo had stopped just short of saying that Tony was losing control. Tony had cuffed Manolo on the side of the head and called him a coward and a faggot. They both accused each other of being junkies.

Nick was all excited about going to New York. He hadn’t been there in twenty years, not since he wasted a Mafia don and went into hiding, only to surface in Florida five years later and a hundred pounds heavier. He took two of everything the stewardess served, and he finished most of Tony’s meal as well, since Tony wasn’t hungry. Tony snorted coke from a bullet inhaler all through the trip, making no attempt to hide it. He had maybe five grams on him, another ten in his suitcase. He almost seemed to be daring someone to stop him, except it was all unconscious, and anyway no one did.

“Hey boss,” said Nick, “we gonna have time to get laid? I ain’t had any New York pussy since I was a kid.”

“It’s all the same,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s over in five minutes.”

“Come on, boss, it ain’t as bad as that. You been spendin’ too much time with a princess.”

“Yeah, real princess,” Tony said laconically, doing a toot in either nostril.

“Never could understand it,” Nick observed with a shake of his head. “Guy gets hooked up with an angel—gorgeous, lotta class, like Elvira. Hey, that’s terrific. I can hear the violins, ya know? But what’s it got to do with gettin’ laid? A guy still needs to get laid, boss. You get too serious about it, you’ll never get it up. Like Manolo.”

“What about Manolo?”

“Aw, he’s all fucked up. Real touchy, ya know? I think he’s porkin’ a married lady or somethin’. It’s all a big secret. Pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

Tony looked out the window at the glittering lights of New York. They were coming in on a perfect night, crisp and aching clear, with a harvest moon. Tony felt a twinge of melancholy as he said: “It’s the first I heard about it.”

“Yeah, well he was a lot more fun when he was fuckin’ hookers and trash, I’ll tell ya that.”

All of a sudden his melancholy turned to paranoia. If Manolo was having a secret affair with a married woman, could it possibly be Elvira? Tony would kill them both, he realized, if he ever found that out. The whole idea was patently absurd. Elvira had passed beyond the reach of sex these days, and Manolo was shy as a baby brother in her presence. But Tony was beginning to lose his feel for the absurd. Real was no longer the border of his world, not in any direction. Even if Manolo wasn’t fucking Elvira, he was still keeping secrets. What else wasn’t he telling? What deals was he making on the side?

When they landed they stayed clear of the Shadow, in case they were being watched. They retrieved Alberto’s one deadly suitcase at baggage claim. Then they rented a car and picked him up at the pre-arranged spot, beneath an underpass about five hundred yards from the terminal. As Nick slowed the car, Alberto emerged from the darkness, his eyes as mad for blood as ever. Once again Tony had the feeling that he was escorting more than a simple murderer. It was Death itself climbing into his car. Tony snorted the last of a gram vial and tossed it out the window.

They drove to Manhattan in silence. So urgent was the need to get the bomb in place, they did not go first to the hotel but made straight for the east eighties. The brownstone where Gutierrez lived was on a quiet, tree-shaded street between Madison and Park. The moon shone through the chestnut leaves, and the only people who seemed to be out were evening strollers—walking their dogs, hand in hand with their autumn lovers. Several lights were on in Gutierrez’s house, but they knew he was out giving a speech. They parked just down the street from the house and waited, figuring he’d be home by midnight.

They’d been waiting about a half hour, each of them lost in his own thoughts. The only sounds were Nick eating a bag of potato chips and Tony snorting. The Shadow in the back seat was completely silent. They couldn’t even hear him breathe. Nick said: “So who
is
this guy? Why’s he so important?”

Tony shrugged. “He talks a lot. Lotta people listen. He’s some kinda symbol.”

“Simble, huh?” Nick poured the last crumbs of the chips in his mouth and paused to mull this over. At last he said: “Is that some gang or somethin’?”

Tony shook his head. “No, it’s like when you die your life meant somethin’ to somebody, ya know? It wasn’t like you just lived it for yourself.”

“Yeah?” Nick seemed confused, or at best uninterested.

“Yeah.” Tony snorted another line. “Me, I wanna die fast. With my name written in lights all over the sky. Tony Montana—he died doin’ it.” He chuckled with pleasure, as if the turn of phrase delighted him. “That’s what they oughta write on my gravestone, huh? He died doin’ it.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” retorted Nick impatiently. “You ain’t gonna die. You’re too important.”

But Tony wasn’t listening. He was smiling cheerfully as he spun out the thought. If Manolo or Elvira had been there, they might have said it was the first time he’d looked happy in weeks. “So I’ll end up in a coffin,” said Tony jovially. “So what else is new? The cockroach who fires the bullet is gonna end up in a coffin too. All I know is, I got further than anybody else from the alleys.”

“What alleys?”

“Havana,” said Tony. “There’s all these alleys fulla garbage. People live like animals.” He reached for the handle and made as if to get out of the car.

“Where ya goin’, boss?”

“I gotta call Manolo,” he said. It was a sudden impulse; he scarcely understood it himself. But if he didn’t get hold of Manolo right away and make peace, he was sure they were going to drift further and further apart. There were things that only Manolo understood. Things he knew about Tony that even Tony didn’t.

“Sit down, he’s coming!” barked the Shadow.

Tony was already halfway out of the car, but he obeyed. He slumped back into the seat and shut the door, momentarily dazed. He tasted blood in his mouth. Gutierrez was just driving up in his modest, grimed Chevette. He drew up to the curb in front of the brownstone, across the street from Tony’s car, and idled the engine as his wife got out. He waited till she climbed the steps and unlocked the door and disappeared inside before he nosed the car into the street again and glided off.

“He’s gonna park it,” said Nick.

“Hurry up, follow him!” commanded the Shadow, and Nick started up the car and did a fast U-turn. Nobody said a word about the fact that Tony had not been the one to give the orders.

They followed at a cautious distance, turning onto Madison when Gutierrez did, then left onto 81st. A space became free as a panel truck lurched away into traffic. Gutierrez stopped, put the car in reverse, and angled into the parking place. Nick kept driving by, and as the car cruised past Gutierrez happened to glance their way and for one brief instant looked into Tony’s eyes. Of course there was no recognition.

Nick parked half a block down, just off Fifth. He watched in the rearview mirror till Gutierrez had left his car and disappeared around the corner onto Madison, heading home. Then the three men got out of the car. Nick stayed at the corner to watch for cops. Tony and the Shadow headed back to the Chevette. As soon as they reached it the Shadow ducked to the pavement with his attaché, scooted under the car, and began to work.

Tony was feeling alert again, perhaps because they’d finally gone into action. As he stood looking up the street toward Nick, now and then crouching down to watch the Shadow wind the black tape around the axle, he recalled how terrorists’ bombs were always going off at the wrong time. For some reason this made Tony feel light-headed and playful. He fished his vial of coke from his pocket and tapped some out on the back of his hand. Two cars drove past as he snorted. He didn’t care who saw him any more, especially now with a game of Russian roulette going on under the car beside him.

It must have been a good half-minute since he’d checked on Nick at the end of the street. He hadn’t seen Nick’s frantic wave, nor his sudden disappearance into a basement doorway. By the time Tony pocketed his vial and looked up with a vacant grin, the cop car was only twenty feet away, already slowing down to check him out. He just had time to kick the tire of Gutierrez’s car and hiss the one word “Cops!” when the cruiser drew up next to him. Tony didn’t dare glance down to see if Alberto had doused the flashlight.

The cop who was driving rolled his window down, and Tony bent over with a worried frown. “Hey, officer,” he said, “have you seen a little white poodle? He’s around here somewhere. Jesus, my kids’re gonna go nuts if I have to tell ’em I lost him. Can you help me?”

The cop’s face glazed over with boredom. In a patronizing tone he said: “Why don’t you check the SPCA in the morning? They handle that kinda stuff.”

Tony gasped. “Jesus, that’s not the place where they chop the dogs up, is it? What’ll I tell my kids?”

Already the cop was rolling up his window. “Look it up in the yellow pages, pal,” he said, and the cruiser glided away.

When it had safely turned the corner, Tony grinned and whirled around once more to the Chevette. He banged on the hood three times and said: “Hey jerkoff, come on outa there! You’re under arrest!”

The Shadow slid out from under the car, his gun drawn, the hate in his face so huge he could have opened fire in a schoolyard. His face was drenched in sweat from the tension of the work. He too seemed to understand that a lot of bombs went off before their time. Tony’s joke about being arrested wasn’t funny to him at all. His eyes blazed with loathing and contempt.