Mr. Hooligan Read online

  “Whoa, hold on, Turo, slow.” Riley entered the small office and found a corner free of bodies. It was pleasantly frosty in there, a relief from the heat and his frustrations. “Health inspector?”

  “Yes, mahn. Two of them. The main one, I tell him you’re not there, he didn’t care, just walked into the kitchen like he own the joint, you know? And the other one, he went through—”

  “On a Saturday? You sure they were from the health department, Turo?”

  “Yes, mahn. I saw his papers. And the truck said it, too, on the side.”

  Riley said he’d be there real soon and hung up. Didn’t bad news come in threes? Let’s see what would happen next. He approached the counter, working on his positive mood, his charming smile. “Terri,” he said to the heavy woman at the desk. “When are you going to take that trip to San Pedro with me, Terri? Everybody needs a little romance in their lives, Terri.”

  “Listen to you, sugar mouth. Your white woman’s got you under heavy manners so you better fly right.”

  They laughed. He said, “All I need this morning is two kegs, and let me go ahead and pay off the balance on my account,” pulling out his wallet. “Didn’t think I was gonna be here so soon, but that crowd hit us hard last night. I’m not complaining though.”

  Terri heaved her considerable bosom, gripped the side of the desk, and hauled herself to her feet. “Wait one second, Riley. I think Raymond needs to talk to you.” She lumbered over to a small window and slid it back and called for Raymond.

  The office manager came out of one of the doors and shook Riley’s hand. “Yes, Riley J., how’s things,” one hand on Riley’s shoulder. “See you inside my office a minute?”

  Walking in with him, Riley said, “Gertrude didn’t pay the bill last month or something, Ray?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Ray said, closing the door behind them. It was a cramped office, AC vent rattling. Ray dropped into a creaky chair behind his desk. “It’s just … you know, if it’s up to me it would be business as usual, I’d sell you the kegs.”

  “Yeah, but…?”

  “I got a call this morning from my supervisor. I don’t understand it, but he’s telling me to cancel your account.”

  “Cancel my account? The hell you talking about?”

  “No more purchases. The man, I don’t know why, the man said he doesn’t want to sell Lindy’s draft beer anymore.” Ray cleared his throat. “Matter of fact, Tuesday morning I’m supposed to send a truck to your place to pick up the draft machine, kegs, and whatnot. But I could hold off on that for a couple weeks.” Ray shrugged, put up his hands. “I’m sorry, man.”

  Riley sat down. “What the fuck, Ray?”

  “Riley, me and you go way back, but you understand it’s not like I have a choice. I mean, if it was up to me…”

  “I know Ray, I know,” Riley said, getting up suddenly. He opened the door, not wanting to hear anything else.

  Ray stood up. “So this won’t affect things with us?”

  Riley walked out of the office and through the main one, Ray following. Riley opened the door and stood half in the sunlight, half in the air-conditioning. “You know I don’t do business that way, to retaliate. The five sixty you owe got nothing to do with this. Pony up and you’re back at the poker table immediately, Ray. The VIP room is always open to friends.”

  “Five sixty? More like four eighty, I think.”

  Riley said, “Ray.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. I might be miscalculating.” Ray extended a hand. “Sorry again, partner.”

  Riley was getting into the truck when the phone rang again. He took it out, checked the number on the screen. “What now, Turo?”

  “It’s me,” Harvey said.

  “What? Impossible. Harvey Longsworth would never be out of bed at this ungodly hour of midafternoon. You, sir, are a flimsy imposter.”

  “Yeah, well, I wish I was in the mood to fuck around but we got ourselves a little complication here ain’t no joke.”

  Riley sat back. “Hey, don’t mess with me, it’s been a curious kinda morning. Like nobody-wants-to-sell-me-anything kinda morning that makes no sense.”

  “Exactly what I’m telling you. Some people here to see us, you and me. To discuss ‘any obstacles Lindy’s might be encountering.’ I’m looking at them right now out there on the deck. How soon can you get here, Riley?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Harvey’s Honda was parked in a space by the fence. Beside it, near the gate, was a white Range Rover with government plates, angle-parked, occupying two spaces—the work of a driver who didn’t want anyone near his ride, and who was also just plain inconsiderate. A small Belizean flag hung from a pole on the hood. Riley pulled up near the gate, and Turo helped him carry the crates of Cokes inside.

  A man and a woman were sitting out on the covered section of the deck. They had drinks full of ice in front of them, and with a cooling breeze off the Caribbean, the woman looking relaxed, Riley could have mistaken them for contented patrons, but he knew from Harvey and Gert’s expressions when he passed by to wash his hands that the pair outside weren’t here for pleasure.

  Riley came out toweling his hands. Gertrude was behind the bar, elbows on the counter, staring at them.

  He said, “Any coffee back there?”

  “No.”

  Riley pitched the hand towel on the bar.

  Gert was glaring. “That’s Eva Burrows. Minister of finance and development. The man is her driver.”

  “Where’s Harvey?”

  Gert’s eyes were flat. “In the kitchen. Slicing a lime. ’Cause the minister requested a slice of lime to garnish her drink, don’t you know.”

  Riley said, “So what’s this all about?”

  Harvey came bustling out of the kitchen with a saucer of lime wedges. “Ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Talk to these people, see what the hell they want.”

  Riley said, “After you,” and followed Harvey onto the deck, Harvey stiff-backed like a waiter, smiling at the man and woman, saying, “Here you go. Sorry that took so long. Wanted to get the pick of the lot for you, Mrs. Burrows.” Acting unusually nice, and getting Riley concerned.

  It wasn’t until introductions were made and Riley shook the man’s hand that he recognized Victor Lopez as the man whose dog Harvey had killed yesterday.

  They all sat down. There was a manila folder on the table next to their drinks.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday, Mr. Lopez,” Harvey said. “Again, I’ll pay for any expenses. Your family wants a new dog, anything like that. I mean it.”

  “I’m not the one,” Lopez said in a slow rumble, “that you should apologize to. Miss Solomon was Minister Burrows’s dog,” and he stretched out a palm, giving her the floor.

  Minister Burrows released a dramatic sigh. She touched the base of her throat and started to speak but nothing came out. She was a slim biracial woman, midfifties, hazel eyes, proud bearing. Waiting for her emotions to settle, or putting on an act—that’s how it struck Riley.

  “I loved that dog so,” she said, shakily, barely more than a whisper. “Had her for five years. My Miss Solomon. Smart as a whip. She was the prettiest pup in the litter. I went up to Tampa, Florida, to get her. The sweetest little Weimaraner pup, just gorgeous. Did you notice her coloring?” The minister’s face turned briefly to Harvey, who shifted in his chair. “Sable, an unusual color in dogs. I almost named her that—Sable. But from she was a pup she had this way about her, strong maternal instinct.” The minister seemed to choke up then, and paused. “She was pregnant, did you know?”

  Harvey shook his head. “Aw, hell, didn’t know that.” Pursed his lips. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s sad. A litter of six pups. She was due in a few weeks.”

  “I mean what I said, Mrs. Burrows. I’ll buy a dog to replace her. I know in your heart she can’t be replaced but if you allow me to make that gesture, I’d like to do t
hat.”

  “You can call me Minister Burrows. I’m not a Mrs.”

  The woman was stern, eyes cold, gazing over Riley’s shoulder at the park, the clouds, or who the hell knows, but Riley was beginning to have suspicions.

  When she refocused, she said to Harvey, “Miss Solomon was AKC registered, from a long line of registered Weimaraners. She can never be replaced.” Then she clasped her hands in her lap, lowered her gaze and seemed to withdraw into herself.

  Riley piped up, “So what can we do to, you know, make this unfortunate incident more bearable, Minister Burrows?”

  The woman didn’t even look at him. “Tell him, Victor.”

  Victor Lopez sat forward. “We came here today to discuss fair compensation.” He put a palm on top of the manila folder. “What we have here is the means by which we can consider some arrangement.”

  Riley looked at the beefy hand on the folder, the expensive gold watch in the coarse arm hairs, and thought: This guy is a straight-up gangster. Running with the Monsantos for twenty years had well attuned him to the type.

  “First matter to discuss,” Lopez said. “Miss Solomon. You know how much a dog like Miss Solomon costs? She was the offspring of a show dog. The minister paid one thousand dollars U.S. for her. Those six pups, God rest their little souls, were also the offspring of a show dog from Naples, Florida, called Big Un, a champion in his class. The minister had to pay for that mating. And those six pups?” He shook his head. “It was tragic seeing that. You could understand, the necropsy. The vet lifting those small pink bodies out of Miss Solomon.” He mimed it, hands together, picking the puppies up and setting them on the table. “One, two, three … My heart was breaking, man. Couldn’t save any of them.”

  Minister Burrows’s chair scraped the floor and she shot to her feet. “I can’t listen to this, I can’t.” She was near tears. “Where’s your facilities, please?”

  Harvey stood up. “It’s toward the bar and hang a left. I’ll show you.”

  “Sit. I’ll find it.” She said to Lopez, “Let’s hasten matters, okay?” and she hurried away.

  “So sad,” Lopez said, watching her leave. “You know, each one of those pups was worth a thousand. That was gonna be the asking price. Six thousand dollars. Dead. Not a lot of money, but still, you know. It’s money.”

  He turned to the folder. “Let’s see here now,” flicking it open. “Mr. James, you bought this—” He looked up. “That’s a curious name, uh? James, Riley James, like two last names or could be two first names, whatever pleases. You wouldn’t happen to be related to Otto James?”

  Riley nodded slightly.

  A smile crept across Lopez’s face. “Ahh, thought as much. You must be his son. Yes? Sure, who doesn’t know about Otto James. Your father, boy,” wagging a fat finger, “he was a character, I’m telling you. Salty exploits, run-ins with the law. Somebody ought to write a book.”

  Riley jerked his chin at the folder. “You were saying?”

  “Ah, yes.” Lopez scissored a page out with his fat fingers and shook it, produced small black-framed reading glasses and slipped them on. “Now, Mr. James, you bought this bar three years ago from one Mr. Paul Gillette. Says here … for one eighty grand—that’s a good price, prime seafront property like this, walking distance from the Princess Hotel down the street there.… So what else?” He squinted at the page, slapped it down, found another. “You made renovations to the place, expanded. Business picked up.” He peered over the top of his glasses at Riley. “Your subsequent divorce from Mr. Gillette’s daughter didn’t appear to damage the deal any.” He leaned in. “Or was that part of the deal?”

  Grinning, thinking he was funny.

  Riley said, “Go ahead.”

  “Well, yes, let’s see here.” Lopez frowned, all business again. “You built a back room, it appears. Remodeled the kitchen, what else, added a deck.” He lowered the paper. “This one right here?”

  Riley nodded.

  “Handsome deck. Fine work in the back. Before you came I took a little tour of the place. I knew you wouldn’t mind. The place is much improved. Mean to say, judging from what I used to hear about it, how run-down it was getting and so.” Lopez adjusted his glasses and made a face, inspecting the paper. “The only problem I see here…” Tilting his head back, making big eyes. “No permit. For that work, thousands of dollars’ worth of work I got to assume, and not one permit pulled with the city? Not good. No permits and therefore no inspectors for all that electrical work among other things you had done in the kitchen.” He sucked in air, raised his eyebrows. “Not good,” and slapped the page on the table. “Dangerous, Mr. James.”

  “Mr. Lopez,” Harvey said, scooting forward, “it was minor, minor stuff in that kitchen, we simply—”

  Riley put up a hand and said, “Wait, let’s hear what the man has to say.” Throwing Harvey a look. Be quiet, please.

  Lopez had another paper in hand. “There was a health inspection this morning. The results here, not good at all. Says here, ‘Roaches found in mop room and under utility sink area.’ ‘Garbage bin outside back door left uncovered.’ ‘Cutting utensils improperly cleaned.’ ” He waved the paper, glancing from Riley to Harvey. “Long list. I could go on if you want.”

  “No,” Riley said. “I think I’m understanding your point.” Meaning he had picked up the unmistakable scent of a shakedown.

  “Already, your establishment is facing a hefty fine.”

  Harvey said to Riley, “The paperwork’s in the office. Haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

  Riley shrugged, said to Lopez, “So you finished, now?”

  “In addition,” and Lopez raised a finger, “last but not least, as they say. That back room. A legal question. I have it from good sources that if I was to enter there, say, on a Friday or Saturday night looking for, oh, maybe some poker action, I hear tell I just might find it. I hear that Lindy’s has a VIP room. Don’t know how true but being a gambling man I’d like to find out.” Lopez sat forward, smiling. “In other words, Mr. James, I would like in on the game. If you know what I’m saying.”

  Riley let a moment pass—a car rolled by, Harvey was rubbing his forehead—before Riley forced a smile, becoming serene. “So like I asked your boss. What can we do to make this incident more bearable? Why don’t you go ahead and name your price?”

  Lopez shook his head emphatically. “It’s not just a matter of price. This is about principle.”

  Riley said, “Name your price, please,” and fixed the man with a stare.

  Lopez sat back. Folded his arms across his chest. “Sixty percent ownership.”

  Riley squinted at him. “Ownership? Of what?”

  Lopez pointed at the floor. “This place right here.”

  And Harvey said, “What?” gesturing and knocking over the minister’s drink, glass tumbling onto the deck, water spreading across the table.

  Lopez picked up the folder and shook off the water that had touched the corners. Harvey jumped to his feet and said, “Shit. Turo, Gert, somebody get me a towel.” He flapped the legs of his shorts, the front wet. “You must be out of your fucking mind,” he said to Lopez and stalked away.

  Arms folded, Lopez sat there, looking amused. Watching Harvey leave, he said to Riley, “No need to get emotional about this.”

  Riley turned in his chair so that he was facing the road. In the park across the way, palm tree fronds were fluttering in the breeze. Soft sunlight on the water out there under low-lying clouds. “You have no idea—”

  “Who I’m messing with?”

  “Not what I was going to say, but anyway…”

  “Believe me, I know who you are. Police records might not show any convictions but your name is known. Everybody knows you’re involved with Israel and Carlo Monsanto, and everybody knows how they acquired their money and it ain’t from no dusty downstairs dry goods store. Many years ago, two men were assaulted out on Manatee Road, middle of the day. Your name came up. Don’t think I know that? I�
��m very aware of who you are. Now let me tell you what you’re up against. Besides the health department, the building codes department,” he said, raising the folder. “Consider where you buy your goods and services. Think about what happened this morning and imagine how much worse it could get. Electricity bills high? Who knows, soon they might become exorbitant, unaffordable, the faulty meters, you know? You might have a faulty meter back there, something like that. City water. Sure you paid your bills on time? Wouldn’t want to get your services cut off, would you? Mr. James, you consider how easy things like this could happen and you’ll come to understand you’re up against the whole government. Which is why I’m telling you, this is not just about a dog.”

  Riley repositioned himself in the chair, leaned elbows on knees, invading Lopez’s space. “Now you know I ain’t just gonna hand over half my business to you or anyone else, so we want to keep on talking, give me a figure, man.”

  For a moment, Lopez hesitated. He sort of sighed, nodded, and pulled a paper from the folder. Set the paper on the dry side of the table, slid it to Riley.

  Harvey returned with a rag, started blotting up the water. Riley held the paper against his chest, waiting for Harvey to finish. Harvey looked at the paper and said, “What’s that?”

  Riley held the paper out at a distance and read. It was a column of figures, a tally of health and permit fines, the cost of Miss Solomon and her six pups, the estimated legal fees “should a lawsuit be deemed necessary” and the bottom line, the sum required for all these problems to vanish. Using spectacular effort to maintain composure, Riley put the bullshit piece of paper on the table, spun it around for Harvey to scrutinize.

  Harvey leaned forward, narrowed his eyes at Lopez. “You are fucking insane. For a dog?”

  “For a business, my friend.”

  “I’m not your fucking friend.”

  Riley lifted a hand. “Easy now, let’s settle down.” He canted his head, smiled tightly at Lopez. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement, the terms of which will be satisfactory to both parties.”