Here and Gone(39)

At his parents’ apartment, people milled between the tables laden with finger food and glasses of sparkling wine. Audra watched the bubbles, imagined the feel of them on her tongue, the sweetness of the swallow. She and Patrick sat at a table in the center of the room, Sean in a highchair, Jacinta feeding him a piece of cake.

Patrick Senior sat quiet in a corner, his hands quivering in his lap, the dementia by now evident for all to see. The guests ignored him, as did his son and wife. From the other side of the room, his distant eyes met Audra’s, focused, only for a moment, but long enough for her to wonder if the old man saw her. Did he recognize her, the way she recognized him, each lost and alone in a room full of people?

Margaret came to sit with Audra and Patrick Junior. Father Malloy – the priest who had christened their son – followed behind, smiling. Margaret took Patrick’s hand in hers.

‘Now, you two,’ she said, ‘isn’t it time you gave me another grandchild? We can’t have Sean growing up an only child, like Patrick.’

Patrick blushed and smiled as Margaret squeezed his knee. And Audra caught a glimpse of her function in the marriage, then. She shivered and counted the minutes until she could go home and retreat to the haze.





19


DANNY STEERED THE rental car out of the lot at Phoenix Sky Harbor, followed the GPS directions for the Ak-Chin Pavilion to the west of the city. A Mexican eatery near there, with a bar, popular with the locals, he’d been told.

This goddamn heat. Christ, he was used to the cool of San Francisco, never too hot, never too cold. Not like this. The goddamn air cooked the inside of his throat. He’d made the mistake of putting his hand on the hood of the Chevrolet when he collected the car, and it recoiled as if he’d stuck it on an electric burner.

The journey took twenty minutes along the highway, then only a handful of turns until the sprawling grounds of the amphitheater came into view. He headed west for two blocks and found the restaurant. A hand-painted sign over the door, big red letters, green cacti wearing sombreros. Plenty of space at the curb this time of day, he pulled in.

Danny put his fingers to the door handle and braced himself. The car’s AC had barely begun to cool it down, and sweat pooled in the small of his back, in the crack of his ass. He opened the door, and the heat roared at him.

A few paces took him to the restaurant door. Inside, ice-cold air gushed down from an AC unit over the threshold. He stayed there for a moment, savored the feel of it on his body. A young Hispanic woman approached, took a menu from the table by the sign that said PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED.

‘For one?’ she asked, a broad smile on her face.

Danny returned the smile. ‘Hey, how are you? I’m here to see George. I think he’s expecting me.’

Her smile disappeared. ‘Wait right here,’ she said and dashed over to the bar to speak with a large man. His black hair was greased back, his arms sleeved with tattoos. He glanced over at Danny as the girl spoke. He lifted a telephone receiver, spoke a few words, listened, then hung up before saying something to the girl.

She came back to Danny, nervous now, and said, ‘This way, please.’

He followed her to the restaurant’s dim interior, weaving through the tables and the scattering of afternoon diners. A doorway veiled by stringed beads, the sign above reading PRIVATE DINING. The girl slipped a hand between the beads, pulled them back to allow Danny to step through. On the other side, the beads rattled and whispered across his back as she let them go.

The room held one large circular table. Big enough to seat a dozen comfortably, more if patrons were willing to touch elbows. It had been set for a gathering, a clean white cloth, sparkling cutlery and glasses. At one of the chairs, George Lin.

‘Long time, Danny Doe Jai,’ George said.

‘Ten years,’ Danny said.

‘I was sorry to hear about your wife and your little girl. No man should have to deal with that shit. Come, sit down.’

Danny walked around the table, took a chair two away from George’s. A little more than arm’s length. He wasn’t afraid of George Lin, but that didn’t mean he trusted him.

Danny cast his eyes around the room. ‘Mexican?’

‘When in Arizona,’ George said.

‘How can you stand this heat?’

‘What, you don’t like it? It’s always wet and cold in San Fran. Here, it’s summer all year long. Why do you think I moved out here? I got a pool in my yard and everything.’

Danny shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could take it. Drive me crazy after a while.’

George smiled. ‘Man, just chill out and eat some ice cream, drink some water, you’ll be fine. Anyway, you ain’t here to talk about the weather.’

He reached under the tablecloth for something on the seat to the far side of him. A large padded envelope, creased and torn. He set it on the table, a weighty clunk from within.

‘Here you go,’ George said as he sat back, one hand waving at the envelope. ‘Check it out, see if it fits.’

Danny pulled the envelope toward himself, parted the opening with his fingers, peered inside. He tipped it up and a Smith & Wesson Model 60 tumbled out, followed by three boxes of ammunition and a speedloader.

George tapped each box in turn. ‘Hollow point .357, FMJ .357, and FMJ .38 Special. Unless you’re thinking of starting a war out here, I figure that should cover you.’