Mr. Hooligan (25 page)

Roger removed his Cardinals cap and put it in his lap, smiling. “Yes, I know Patricia Pierce very well. We’re longtime friends.”

Riley nodded. “It’s all coming back to me now. So I guess you know who I am?”

“I certainly do. You’re the young man she used to take care of, way, way back. I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to finally meet you.” Roger appraised Riley, like seeing him for the first time. “You’re like a son to her, Riley, one of the anchors of her life, I’ve always thought.”

“And I’m glad to meet
you
. Well. Little did I know the Father Hunter they said used to fight with the rebels is the same priest from those long-ago rumors about Sister Pat.”

“Revelations abound.”

They grinned at each other. Roger brought the wheelchair closer to the bed. “If you think it’s none of my business,” he said, his expression turning somber, “just say so and I’ll shut up. Those two men who just left here—are they your friends?”

The question surprised Riley.

Roger reached out and clutched Riley’s forearm, surprising him even more. “I mean,
real
friends. You know, as in good for you.” His grip was clawlike.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

“Are you in trouble?”

The old man was so close Riley could smell his stale breath. Could smell the talcum on him, see the veins in his eyeballs, the deep blue irises, and Riley felt no need to lie. He said, “You could say that.”

Roger let go of Riley’s arm. “I know those men. Don’t know them to talk to, but I know who they are. I know what they do.” He reversed the wheelchair, folded his hands in his lap and regarded Riley from a distance. “When I lived here, I used to run a youth summer program on the south side. I learned a lot from those boys in the program. Who they respected, who they feared, who was—the Mac Daddy, is that how they used to say it? I’ll tell you something, over the years I heard an awful lot, too much, about the Monsantos. Quite powerful, aren’t they?”

Riley wasn’t sure where Roger was going.

“I’ll just leave you with some information, and you can do with it as you please,” Roger said. “I may know someone who knows someone who may be able to arrange a trip for you with accommodation to a Central American destination.”

Riley said, “Okay,” meaning, go on.

“This place wouldn’t be the Hilton but it would serve as a getaway, if you will, a quiet retreat for someone in—in a spot of bother. An isolated village far from any major city. Cold and colder running water, electricity sometimes, yet there are amenities like a dependable propane stove, a kerosene refrigerator. Mosquito nets, blankets. Books on socialism and Catholic theology for your entertainment. It’s a place not even our dear Lord would find.”

Riley pretended to consider.

Roger said, “Don’t let me presume that you’ve even imagined leaving. But if it’s assistance of this kind you need, only say the word.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” Riley said. “Not immediately anyway.”

Roger picked up his cap and inspected it, turning it around. “If it’s something along the lines of protection you need…”

Riley met the old man’s eyes. There was no joke in them, not a twinkle.

Then he smiled. “As you can see, I’m still very much a fool for adventure.” He sat back and groaned, fanning himself with his cap. “Listen to me…” He trailed off, squinting at the light in the window. “But you know something? I lived in a different world once. So maybe I can understand your problems. There’s this world we live in every day, then there is another world below it,” Roger making chopping motions, “and another below that one. That bottom one, I’m familiar with it. I think you are as well.”

Riley felt like he had nothing to hide. “You’re probably right.”

“I think I can tell you this.” Roger leaned in. “When I was in El Salvador, I knew the gun routes. One from Chalcuapa, or the one from Santa Ana, I knew them well. I drove trucks to transport arms for my friends. It was a thrilling time, scary, oh sure, but worthwhile. Guns would flow through Mexico, sometimes they made a stop right here in Belize. Even till today, I sometimes get word from old traders and former associates that M4s or Glocks or bullets are available down south in some village in Punta Gorda. Can you believe that?” He shook his head. “Different world … Not healthy, but exciting. I wish I could feel that way again, the exhilaration I used to feel when I was younger.”

They sat and listened to the sounds in the hallway. Riley poured two cups of water from the ice bucket and they sipped and talked some more, the conversation turning to St. John’s, the other place they had in common. But it had changed, Riley said. The Jesuits had put up new buildings on campus, broad walkways from the high school to the junior college.

In a little while, Roger Hunter’s eyelids drooped, and a minute later when his chin sank to his chest, Riley reached over and took the cup before it spilled, and he sat watching the old man, who had reminisced so much about excitement, dozing peacefully in the quiet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Three hours later Riley received his third visitor of the day. Miles Young stood at the door with his handsome smile and said, “You ready?”

Riley took the pen and notepad he’d asked Miles to bring. He scribbled a note to Dr. Gonz, explaining why he couldn’t stay (because he had better things to do than stare at hospital walls, and thanks for the special attention and why didn’t Gonz come on over to Lindy’s one night, to the cigar/poker room, which was officially closed but could be unofficially opened for certain VIPs?)

Riley left the note on his pillow and slipped out the door with Miles.

Two hours later, Riley was sitting behind the wheel of Miles’s old Camry, alone, observing a tall concrete stilt house on the other side of an unpaved street. All the windows were down, but he mopped sweat off his face and neck yet again, and yawned, thankful that at least he wasn’t on any pain meds stronger than Advil or he’d be taking a siesta here in this heat.

A truck rumbled by, dust billowing. The truck rattled and bumped through potholes and disappeared around a curve. The stilt house with the turret on the roof was three lots south of the curve, and from where he sat, he could see the iron scrollwork gate closed and the carport empty and a glimpse of the canal shimmering behind the backyard.

No cars passed for the longest time, then an SUV drove by and immediately after that came the green Honda Civic he was waiting for, Gert at the wheel. Riley slid lower in his seat.

Gert turned right and stopped at the gate. She got out, opened it. As she was returning to the car, a head popped out from the backseat—Harvey—then went down. Gert drove into the yard. Seconds later, she closed the gate, and Riley saw a swatch of Harvey’s shirt disappearing into the downstairs entrance, then everything was still again.

Riley waited five minutes to see if there was anybody tailing Harvey. Satisfied there wasn’t, he drove across the street and parked in front of the gate. He opened the gate quietly and went to stand at the downstairs door. He could hear murmuring coming from a window facing the backyard and the canal. He pressed the doorbell; the murmuring stopped. He pressed again and heard the bell loud and distinct, but no other sounds.

He went around to the back window. Gert’s big cat, Sir Belly, was on the sill and meowed thickly at him when he peeked in. “Harvey, it’s me, Riley. Open the door.” The cat pawed at the screen, purring.

Riley returned to the door, it opened and Gert stood there, solemn. She didn’t say a word when he walked in, didn’t fake a smile or cut her eyes or do anything Gertlike.

“Where’s Harvey?”

She pointed her chin at the computer room down the dark corridor. He headed toward the open door. There were two suitcases at the foot of the stairs to the bedrooms and he paused to check them out, knowing Gert was watching him.

Harvey was sitting behind his desk looking scared. He had thick stubble and glasses on, no time for a shave and contact lenses. There was a loose pile of cash on the desk, U.S. currency. He pushed his chair away from the desk and started to get up. “Riley, I guess I owe you an explanation.”

Riley said, “Sit down,” and walked around the desk to see what was on the computer monitor. A schedule of rates and flights from Orbitz—flights to where? Riley leaned closer. Miami to New York. Riley said, “Hmm,” nodding.

Harvey was shrinking back, like a man expecting to be hit.

Riley picked up a handful of the U.S. bills, old and thin—who knows how long Harvey had them—let them fall from his hands like dry leaves. “Who’s been minding the bar, Harvey?”

“It’s—we closed it temporarily.”

“I’ve been in the hospital almost two days,” Riley said, “and I didn’t hear a peep from you.” He examined the room, casually, boxes on the floor, filing cabinets open, a satchel stuffed to overflowing with papers up on the shelf of a bookcase. Riley said, “How you been keeping, Harvey?”

Harvey had pushed his chair back to the wall and said, “Jesus Christ,” and he buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t expect any of this to happen.” He started to sob.

Riley looked down his shoulder at him. “You heard what happened to me?”

“I heard, I heard it. Gert told me it must be thunder but I knew it sounded different, I knew it was gunshots, but I was scared, Riley … I was too scared to go out there and check.” Harvey pulled off his glasses and tugged the front of his T-shirt over his face, sniffling into it. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry…”

Riley wanted to hit him. Seeing a friend in pain had always depressed him, but he believed he could punch Harvey with full force in the temple right this second and feel satisfied. He said, “They shot me, Harvey, but don’t you worry, I’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry, man, I’m so—”

“Shut up,” Riley swinging around and pointing at him. He waited until he had Harvey’s eyes before he said, “I’ll be okay, but Julius and Rose Robinson, they can’t say the same. In fact, they can’t say anything, they’re fucking
dead
.”

Harvey put his palms to his face and threw back his head, letting out a groan.

Riley wasn’t impressed. “Two other men died that night that I could give a shit about. Only thing I care about now, where are the buckets and who the hell is McCoy?”

Harvey dropped his hands to his side and shook his head. He put on his glasses, shaking his head, eyes brimming. “There’s … there’s nobody named McCoy.”

“Don’t do that. Do not lie to me.”

“Riley,” Harvey whined, “there’s no McCoy.”

Riley slapped him, Harvey’s glasses bouncing against the wall and onto the floor. Harvey’s short arm went up in case Riley swung again. Riley watched Harvey roll the chair back and pick up the glasses, averting his eyes. Riley said, breathing harder, “Who is McCoy?”

Harvey ran a palm down his face and put on his glasses. He swallowed hard. “It’s just a name I made up.”

“You? Why?”

“I just thought it’d be cool, you know? Tell them to meet—” He exhaled through his mouth, looking down at the floor. “Tell them to meet McCoy if they want their coke back, like the Real McCoy.”

“That’s real cute. You dumb ass.”

“Stupid, stupid, I know, okay? But we didn’t want to sit on all that amount of coke we didn’t have anywhere to sell so fast, so we thought it sounded good if we arranged to sell some back to them.”

“Who’s
we
?”

Harvey shook his head. “Riley, believe me, I wouldn’t’ve done this if I didn’t have to, he pressured me.”

“Who’s
we
?”

“It’s Lopez, who else?”

“The minister’s driver?”

“Yes, yes,” Harvey spluttered. “He pressured me, Riley. Was
his
idea,
his
plan.”

Riley straightened up, nodding. “And you had nothing to do with it.”

“Listen, all right. Lopez came to me after we already paid him off for that dog and he told me he knew everything about you. Said he had a stack of files this high on you and the Monsantos and did I have any info that might help with any investigation or some shit like that.”

“And you said, Why, certainly, I’d be happy to help.”

“No no no, I told him no way, I didn’t know nothing about nothing but he kept pressuring, pressuring. Telling me it’s in my best interest, he could see to it that the government seizes my business, things like that. So he offers me a deal, okay? I tell him something I know, he’ll funnel some of the dollars my way, and Riley, forgive me, man, please, but I’m thinking you’re getting married soon, you’ll be leaving the bar, but that’s all I got, man, that’s
all
I got. If I didn’t do this, he’d take it away, somehow. You’ve seen how he is. He’s got a fucking government minister behind him, Riley.”

“So you went in with him. You and Julius.”

“I
had
to. Once I told Lopez about the shipment, he did the planning. He was the one reached out to Julius and Miss Rose, like he already knew about them. He went out there to see them, made them an offer. They had no choice. He could’ve tried to work it so the government seized their property. For aiding and abetting drug traffickers, that’s what Julius told me.”