“Yeah? Who were they?”
“They were some of the waiters working there.”
“They give you a medal or anything?”
“They gave me a new fatigue uniform to wear at the dinner, the kind is different colors. They said it was okay to keep it. They gave me the chicken dinner, but I didn’t have to pay five hundred dollars. They gave us ice cream, too.”
“They brought you all the way from Nicaragua for a fund-raising dinner?”
“From Honduras. A man from the CIA brought me on the airline. I was suppose to go back, but I didn’t. I stayed there.” Franklin straightened. He pulled the Beretta out of the waist of his trousers saying, “It hurts, sticks in me when I sit down,” and laid the pistol on the sofa between him and Helene.
Jack watched Helene staring at the bluesteel automatic, either fascinated or afraid to move; it was hard to tell. He liked it there, out in the open, the guy getting comfortable. “Take your coat off if you want.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Guy from the CIA brought you. You mean Wally Scales?”
“No, a different guy.” Franklin’s eyes opened a little wider. “But you know Wally?”
Jack said, “I know him,” giving Franklin a little shitty kind of grin, and left him wondering about it while he went into the bedroom. Jack came back with an aluminum-plastic deck chair he’d bought three years ago for $9.95, poured Franklin another vodka, gave Helene a look as he sat down, and felt her watching him. Helene knew him. He crossed his legs and wiggled his bare toes. He’d bet if he looked over at Helene again she’d roll her eyes.
“So you stayed and went to work for Crispin.”
“He told me don’t go back, he could use a freedom fighter because there was plenty Sandinistas in Miami.”
“I heard one time you shot three guys. Or you were in on it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Wally Scales knew it, didn’t he?” He watched Franklin take a few moments, staring at him.
“Maybe he did. But I think you know more than Wally.”
Jack sipped his vodka and let him think it.
“Crispin told me those guys were Sandinistas. He said we have to kill them or they would kill us. But the police told me, no, those guys were from Colombia and were doing drug business with Crispin a long time. They said he was a criminal.”
“That’s what I heard, too,” Jack said. “But you were never in prison…”
“Never in my life.”
“You shoot people-but that’s what you do in war, huh, if you’re a soldier?”
“Yes, of course. I told you that before. I come here, I want to know why you didn’t kill me that time, but now I understand.”
“I’m not in the war.”
“Yes, like Wally. He can’t shoot nobody either.”
“No, they have you. They give you the shit detail and keep their hands clean. But why didn’t you tell on me? When you caught me in the colonel’s room?”
Franklin looked surprised. “Because you didn’t kill me. See, then I know you’re not Sandinista. If you aren’t, then maybe it’s not my business to think about it.”
“You tell Wally?”
“If it is his business, he would already know it. If it isn’t his business, why would I tell him? I see you more than I see him.”
“And what does that tell you, Franklin?”
“I didn’t know if you are a funeral guy or the police or what you are. But now, well, okay. You don’t work at the same place as Wally but… Well, it’s okay with me, I understand.” He glanced at Helene. “I see her with Colonel Godoy at the hotel I thought she was his friend. But now I see she works for you. Okay, you don’t have to tell me nothing.” Franklin leaned over to push up from the sofa. “I wonder if I can use your toilet.”
“It’s in there.”
Franklin stood up, walked into the bedroom.
Jack looked at the pistol lying on the sofa. Then at Helene as she said, “Jack? You’re scary. You should’ve been an actor.”
“I know it.”
“He trusts you.”
“I’ve got him confused, anyway, I know so much about him. He thinks I must be some kind of secret agent.”
“He even likes you.”
“You serious?”
“Jack, the way those guys treat him, those arrogant little assholes… You’re probably the only person he knows who even talks to him.”
“You think so?”
“They treat him awful.”
“He’s not a bad guy.”
“He seems nice.”
“Yeah, you get to know him.”
“They’re all short, aren’t they?”
“He’s tough though, you can tell.”
“His suit’s way too big for him.”
“They screw up, he takes the fall.”
“The poor guy.”
“They use him and then they’ll throw him away.”
“But you’re not, huh?”
“I’m trying to help him.”
“Hey, Jack…”
“I am.”
“He just flushed the john.”
“Good, I’m glad he knows how to do that.”
“Boy, if anybody should’ve been an actor.”
“You really think so?”
“All the years you wasted, it’s a shame.”
“I’m doing all right.”
When Franklin came back he stopped and looked at his gun lying on the sofa before he sat down. Then looked at Jack and seemed to smile. Jack got up and poured him another vodka.
“Are you a happy guy, Franklin?”
“I feel pretty good.”
“Going home tomorrow, huh?”
The way Franklin grinned Jack knew the vodka was working. Sitting down again Jack said, “Let me ask you something, Franklin. Do you understand what the war’s about, down in Nicaragua?”
“Sure, we fight Sandinistas.”
“Yeah, but do you have a good reason?”
“They the worst kind of people,” Franklin said. “They burn our homes, take our land, they kill some of us, and make us go live where we don’t want to.”
Jack said, “Oh.”
There was a silence, Franklin watching him.
Jack said, “Let me ask you something else. You think the colonel’s gonna get on that banana boat tomorrow? With those bank sacks full of money?”
It caught Franklin with his drink raised, about to take a sip.
“And with his brand-new cream-colored Mercedes? You think it’s possible?”
Franklin kept watching him, but didn’t answer.
“If he can’t take it on the boat, you think he’s gonna drive it all the way to Nicaragua? That sixty-thousand-dollar automobile. He isn’t gonna leave it. Shit, he just bought it yesterday.”
Franklin said, “I thought it might be Crispin’s.”
“You did, huh? Then how come it’s in the colonel’s name? He bought it, Franklin, that means he owns it… What’d Wally say about it?”
“Wally said only to call him if they leave me here.”
Jack had to give that some thought. He said, “Go on, take a drink and I’ll tell you something else.”
He watched Franklin swallow half the vodka in the glass, make a face, squeeze his eyes closed and open them, and wipe his hand across his mouth.
“Wally has your best interest at heart and I’m glad to know that,” Jack said. “You’re a good guy, Franklin. We don’t want to see you get in trouble. But I think it’s best if you don’t wait around.”
Franklin cleared his throat. He said, “Leave here?”
Jack bit on his lower lip. “Damn, I wish I could tell you exactly how I work. I ‘magine it’s confusing to you, all the ins and outs of this kind of game. Hey, I even get a little confused myself sometimes.” He sneaked a glance at Helene, his audience, watching him with her mouth slightly open, not moving a muscle. Jack bit on his lip again. “Franklin, if I tell you something I shouldn’t, will you promise not to repeat it to anybody, not even to Wally?… You’d have to promise me on your honor.”
Franklin was nodding his head.
“Say it.”
“Yes, I promise.”
“On your honor.”
“Yes, on my honor.”
“Okay. First, do you know where the money is?”
“Maybe in that hotel room.”
“You think so?”
“Maybe.”
“Where else could it be? I was thinking maybe the car, but that wouldn’t be as safe as having it in the room, would it?”