But wait a second. It was the middle of a sunny day and I was standing naked in my bright blue swimming pool. What the hell was I doing, worrying about ambushes and guns, getting myself all jumpy? How had I let things go so far that images of wounds and mortal struggles were poisoning my mind?
Well, however far they'd gone, I could stop them here and now. I knew how. I'd learned the one sure, simple way of avoiding ambushes of all descriptions: Mind your own business and stay the hell at home. That's all it took, and that's what I would do. I just wouldn't go to the address on Lefty's daughter's note. Not at the time she specified, not ever. Done.
As if to lock in my fresh resolve, I took a big deep breath and drifted once again toward the peaceful void at the bottom of the pool. I felt the soft hum of the water, and watched the glinting light, and told myself I wouldn't go, I wouldn't go.
PART TWO
12
I went.
Of course I went. At 7:00 p.m., exactly as instructed. And with my gun still locked up in the wall safe.
I left my house around twenty of. The sun had just set, and layers of pink cloud were stacked up amid slabs of lavender. Heat throbbed off parked cars as the air began slowly to cool. I climbed onto my bike and turned it toward the ocean.
The address on the note was 2000 Atlantic Boulevard. This was Key West's biggest condo, a low waterfront fortress that well-off Conchs just loved. Typical, I guess. Relative newcomers like me were seduced by the charm of the old Conch houses—the grainy, pitted wood; the sloping floors; the bowed, eccentric door frames. Whereas the Conchs themselves couldn't wait to get out of those mildewed, termite-eaten wrecks. If they made a little dough, they blissfully moved to the cinder-block boxes of New Town, or into generic condos that might have been in Fort Myers or Fort Lauderdale. They'd had enough authenticity to last a lifetime. Now they wanted drywall, Formica, enough amps to run the microwave. Above all, central air-conditioning. They set the thermostat at fifty-five, moved the recliner over by a vent, and sat there basking in the glow of getting over.
It was just before the hour when I reached the complex, and the truth is, I was pretty nervous. Felt it behind my knees. I took a quick detour to look at the water. It was dead flat, as it usually gets at dusk. It still looked milky green but it was near the moment when it turned to purple for the night. This happens with nothing in between, and it happens in a second. If you blink, you miss it.
The water failed to calm me and I didn't see that I could stall much longer. I pedaled back toward the condo. I didn't go directly to the entrance but approached in a series of concentric, leaning arcs while I sort of scoped it out. What did I expect to see? Men in Ray-Bans hiding in the oleander bushes? No, if they were going to jump me, they'd wait until I got inside. I locked my bike and walked up to the board of names and doorbells. Ortega, L. was in 4E. I raised my thumb to ring. I hesitated. Odd-looking thing, a thumb. I thought about withdrawing it and fleeing, no harm done. The thumb jabbed forward and rang the bell.
In a few seconds the buzzer buzzed. I pushed through the door and walked under an ugly chandelier throwing bad light on a cheesy mosaic. I went to the elevator and rode to the top floor. Ascending, I pictured Lefty being cranked up toward his crypt. The image wasn't comforting.
The doors slid open on an endless hallway. Silent. Lit by Deco sconces throwing yellow scallops that folded onto the ceiling. I did the alphabet until I found 4E. I stalled for just a second more, then realized I should look jaunty and assertive, in case I was being examined through the little peephole. So I knocked before I was really ready. I was still clearing my throat and shuffling my feet when the door swung open and Lefty's daughter stood before me.
I sure wasn't ready for the way she looked. She was wearing black silk slacks and a white satin blouse that was open a long way down. There was lace at the edges of her breasts, and a small, embroidered pale blue flower in between them on her bra. Her hair was pinned up, though more loosely than it had been before. Wisps of it escaped at her temples and thinned out into barely visible strands along her jaw-line. Her eyes were made up, deep-set, and they still seemed somehow veiled. In a musky voice with an edge that might have been ironic, she said, "I wondered if you'd come."
I couldn't immediately get my mouth to work or my eyeballs to stay still. They wanted to look down her shirt but also wanted to check behind the door for people waiting to hurt me. Finally I managed to say, "Why wouldn't I?"
To that she only shrugged. The lace and the little blue flower moved as she did so. She stepped to one side and motioned me into the apartment. My shoulders hunched as I leaned through the doorway. I was ready to be hit or grabbed. Nothing hit me except her perfume. It was too sweet and floral for my taste, but I liked that it was there.