Fat Tuesday(32)

As she moved away, the bodyguard fell into step with her, his eyes sweeping right and left. Burke thanked the onion vendor but declined to buy any. Instead he ambled across the street, past the stand that sold African artifacts and clothing, toward the kiosk coffee bar where Mrs. Duvall had taken a chair at one of the small, round tables. She opened the brown paper sack and began to peel one of the oranges, her long fingernails digging into the flesh of the fruit.

At the bar, Burke ordered a banana smoothie. He stood elbow to elbow with the bodyguard. The guy's forearm was bigger around than Burke's neck. He picked up Mrs. Duvall's cappuccino with his beefy hand and carried it to her. He returned to the bar only long enough to get his own cup of coffee, but he didn't return to Mrs. Duvall's table. He stationed himself at another one nearby, while she sat alone, eating her orange section by section and sipping her cappuccino.

The banana smoothie was even more obnoxious than Burke had imagined, but he drank it slowly and with feigned, drawn-out pleasure as he watched Mrs. Duvall's reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

She attracted attention from passersby, but she didn't make eye contact with anyone and spoke to no one. For a woman with her looks, a rich husband, a mansion, and a chauffeur-driven limousine, she seemed to make an event out of something as simple as eating an orange. She chewed each section slowly, and waited several minutes before consuming another.

Burke began to wonder if she was waiting for someone to join her.

Could Duvall be using her as a courier for his extracurricular activities? But no one came near her, and the guard didn't appear on edge. His head was buried in a tabloid newspaper.

The banana smoothie had melted into a syrupy slush that smelled like suntan lotion before Remy Duvall finished her orange and Wrapped the peel in a paper napkin. When she stood to dispose of it in a trash can, the chauffeur closed his tabloid and rushed over to assist. Together, they began making their way back toward the illegally parked car.

"Hey, lady!" Burke cursed himself for acting impulsively, but at that point he was committed. Both Mrs. Duvall and her guard dog had turned back and were looking at him.

The brown paper sack with the extra orange in it was still sitting on the table. He picked it up and jogged toward her."You forgot this."

It was the chauffeur who snatched the sack from him."Thanks."

Burke, ignoring him, addressed her."No problem."

He was close enough to smell an expensive floral fragrance and the essence of orange. For her hair to be so dark, her eyes were an incredibly light shade of blue, almost clear. The red lipstick had been eaten off, but her lips were rouged from the orange's acid sting.

She said to him, "Thank you."

Then the bodyguard stepped between them, blocking her from Burke's view. Although wanting to watch her walk away, Burke turned and ambled off in the opposite direction. He waited until the limo was out of sight before returning to his car, where he sat for a long time, motionless, but breathing as though he'd sprinted a mile.

"And that's it?"

Errol the chauffeur was sweating under the incisive glare that Pinkie used on clients he knew were lying."That's it, Mr. Duvall. I swear.

I drove her to the school. Then she asked me to take her to the market.

She bought a couple of oranges and had some coffee at that little cafe across the street there. I took her to church. She was in there for half an hour, same as always. Then I brought her home."

"You didn't take her anywhere else?"

"No, sir."

"She was within your sight the entire time?"

"Except when she was inside the school, yes, sir."

Pinkie steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips, while keeping the nervous bodyguard beneath his baleful stare."If Mrs. Duvall asked you to take her somewhere, somewhere that I hadn't okayed first, you would refuse to take her and then you'd tell me, right?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Duvall."

"If she went somewhere that wasn't scheduled, if she kept an appointment that I didn't know about, you'd report it to me right away, correct?"

"Right, sir. I don't understand"

"Because I'd hate to discover that your loyalty had shifted from me to my wife, Errol. She's a beautiful woman. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Jeer, Mr. Duvall, I'd have to be " "My wife could twist any man around her finger. She could get a man to do something for her that she knows would not meet with my approval."

"Swear to God, sir," the chauffeur exclaimed, swallowing hard.

"No, sir, that would never happen. Not with me. You're the boss.

Nobody else."

Pinkie reprieved him with a wide smile."Good. I'm glad to hear you say that, Errol. You can go now."

Baffled and looking downcast, Errol slunk from the office. Pinkie watched him go, thinking that he had come down on him a little harder than necessary, but that's how a man in his position instilled and maintained fear in the people who worked for him.

Look at Sachel. He was now a guest of the state at Angola and would be for a while. Was fear a powerful motivator, or what? Pinkie had enjoyed several private chuckles over how quickly Sachel had capitulated when his son's football aspirations were threatened.

Tonight, however, he didn't feel like laughing. Something was going on with Remy, but damned if he could figure out what it was.