I sent Carmen into the ladies’ john to see what she could find and began to tour the stags. Most of them were in bunches, talking, arguing, drinking and all the while thinking they were having a good time. I went all around the room without seeing anyone I’d tag as Lias, then I stopped for a Coke again. Carmen had been gone quite a while and I searched for her in the crowd, trying to pick her out of the mess. The guy with the apron full of money said, “You lose your gorl, señor?”
Without thinking I said, “No... my friend. Alfredo Lias. He’s off the Gastry.”
“’Fredo? He was just here. He walk right behind you with that Maria.” He stood on his toes and craned his neck, then shot his finger out. “See him, there he is, señor!”
I pretended to look, missing the direction. The guy said, “There, señor, the grey suit, by the empty soda boxes.”
“I see him. Thanks.”
“Sure, señor.”
I crossed the floor, picking my way through the couples who were applauding the band. I looked at the sax man taking a bow and Carmen grabbed my arm. I pushed her ahead of me weaving through the groups.
“Ryan... he’s here! A girl said he’s with Maria and...”
“I know it, kid. There he is right there.” I pointed to him and just then the band started another cha-cha-cha. I folded her into my arms and danced toward the one called ’Fredo. Before I reached him he stepped out onto the floor with the pretty black-haired girl and began to lose himself in the maze.
But he didn’t lose me. I steered Carmen closer and then there he was, looking down at the girl Maria without really seeing her at all. His face was a mask that hid another face that was pure terror.
We moved in close until I was standing beside him. I said, “’Fredo...” and the white of fear blanched the tan of his face and when his eyes met mine they were sick to death.
I made with a laugh, old friends meeting again, forced a handshake on him and herded us all outside the dance square. I told Carmen to take Maria and powder their noses while we said hello and when they left put my arm around the guy and for everyone’s benefit who wanted to look did a palsy bit that went over all the way.
But not with Alfredo Lias. His eyes came up to mine, deep and black. For some time now he had been living with this and now he thought it was here.
“You will keel me now, señor?”
I talked through a laugh and motionless lips. He was the only one who heard it. “I want you out of this mess, mister. I’m the only chance you got to get out, understand?”
He didn’t but he said, “Si!”
“First we got to talk. You been here before?”
“Si. Often we come here.”
“Anything out back? We have to talk somewhere.”
His hand was like a talon around my forearm, hope giving him new life again. “By the corner is a door. Out back is where the garbage is put. Señor, they will kill me, no?”
“I hope not, kiddo. You go back there. I’ll tell the girls to stay put and cruise on out.”
“Si! I go. I tell you anything.”
He walked away and angled across the dance floor. I waited beside the Johns until Carmen and Maria came out then told them to hang on. Neither asked any questions. They seemed glad to talk.
I cut across in front of the bandstand where they started the next number. Halfway across I stopped and stared at the guy dancing with the tall, raven-haired doll. I said, “Hi, kid.”
Jake McGaffney looked at me and said, “What’re you doing here, Irish?”
“What about you?”
He grinned at the doll. “Hell, ask Bets here. She drags me to all these damn native affairs.”
The doll smiled, said something to me in Spanish and danced off with Jake.
I got across to the other side, behind two kids wheeling out cardboard containers of refuse. The first one pulled at the door and while it was all the way open the night was split apart by the slamming reverberations of three close shots and right behind it every girl in the place began to scream her lungs out.
There was one mad rush for the front exits and curses spit out in a dozen different languages. Up front they clawed their way to the street over one another, knowing full well what those blasts meant. The two kids had jumped off like startled rabbits leaving the container wedged in the doorway and I had to climb over it to get outside.
My hand was tight around the butt of the .45 and I sucked myself into the shadows. I waited a full minute, but it didn’t matter at all. Whoever fired the shots had gone.
But I wasn’t alone. The small sound came from behind the stacked soda crates and I saw the dull grey of his suit and the contrasting brown of his face. He was almost white now. He had one hand across his stomach and he had no reason to be alive at all.
I knelt beside him, the gun still in my hand. He saw it, but I shook my head. “I didn’t do it, ’Fredo.”
His voice was a harsh whisper. “I know... señor.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. He was... behind me. I thought... it was you.”
“Look, I’ll get you a doctor...”
His hand touched my arm. “Señor... please, no. It is too late. I get bad. Now I pay. Like Tom. I pay. It is better.”
I didn’t argue with him. I said, “You know what you took from the ship?”
He nodded, his eyes half closed.
“What was it, ’Fredo?”
A hiccup caught at his chest and I knew there were only seconds left. “Eight... kilos... señor,” he whispered.
Then I knew what it was all about. I wanted one last confirmation. “’Fredo... listen. Juan talked you into selling to Billings?” His nod was weak and his eyes closed. “Somehow you heard about Lodo. All of you knew about Lodo?”
I put my ear close to his mouth. “We... are all... dead men... señor.”
“Billings had the eight kilos last then?”
Another whisper. “Si.”
“’Fredo... who is Lodo?”
There was nothing more he could say.
From outside you could hear the sirens and the voices, and more sirens and more voices. They were getting louder and I couldn’t wait. I went over the fence the way the killer had gone and like the way a city-bred animal can, found my way back to the open street and the safety of the night and the rain.
I had to show the cabbie the money before he’d take me back. He let me off where I asked and I found Pete-the-Dog selling his papers on the ginmill beat. I took him outside, bought all of his sheets for a couple minutes talk and got what I wanted. Some unknowns had brought action into the block. Somebody shilled Golden into popping off and he was dead. Holmes was in an emergency ward with a couple of slugs in his chest and not expected to live. Steckler was picked up on an assault charge against Razztazz and to top it a Sullivan Act violation which kicked his parole out and he was due in the big house for the rest of his stretch. Razz was okay. A little beat, but okay. I gave Pete his papers back and started back to the house.
The womb.
The familiar pattern, I thought. That’s all a hood had was his house. His womb. You die in sleep. Each awakening was a birth. It was something precious, something you couldn’t take away.
There hadn’t been time to find Carmen, but I knew, somehow, that she’d be all right. Tomorrow I’d see her. Tomorrow.
I walked down the street paying no attention to the rain at all. It slashed down at me, the wind giving it a sharp bite. I held my head up and let it lick at my face. The stinging sensation had a cleansing, astringent effect and I thought over all the things that had happened. Not just tonight. All the other nights. There didn’t have to be any more looking because I knew I had all the pieces. They were there. They would just take a little sorting out in the morning and I’d have the whole picture. Then the money. Then Carmen. Then life.