Rafe’s eyes were on Ruby when she reached the door, and he stood to pull her chair back before she reached it. As he seated her he whispered in her ear, “You smell as fresh as a summer sun shower.”
Actually, she smelled like Emporio Armani White, but his remark made her smile. He was trying so hard. He snapped his fingers and the girl came toward the table again. Ruby couldn’t imagine what he wanted now. Bowls of chips and salsa were already on the table, and something else she couldn’t name. Being Ruby, she immediately dipped a chip into it.
“So what’s good here?” Ruby asked, just before shoving the chip into her mouth. “Mmm, and what’s this spicy stuff.”
“Sautéed mussels,” Rafe said. “I wasn’t sure what your favorite dipping was.”
Damn, he had nice eyes. She stared into them for a second before turning to the waitress. She expected a menu, but was not offered one. Instead the girl placed a crock on a nearby table and began mashing and mixing avocados.
“I know I’m going to want some of that fresh guac,” Ruby said. “But I’m ready for some real food. What’s good here?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for both of us,” Rafe said through his dazzling smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”
The waitress placed the crock of guacamole on the table and withdrew. “I’ll tell you when the real food gets here,” Ruby said. “You are too smooth to be just any old businessman, Rafe. You gonna tell me what you really do?”
“Well, that depends, chica,” Rafe said. “I don’t want to bore you with business details. You are an intelligent lady. In fact, too smart to be a simple airport baggage handler. How long have you been doing that?”
Ruby shoved a chip full of green goodness into her mouth, silently cautioning herself to be careful with this man. He was slicker than he let on. “Long enough to know it’s a bullshit job. But I got to help the family, you know? My mama needed help with my nine sisters, so I never made it to college. Took the first job I could find and it’s hard to get unstuck from that groove.” She was happy with that mix of fact and fiction, the only falsehood being her getting stuck in low paying jobs. “Why, you looking to hire me?”
“Women who can be both charming and direct are in short supply,” Rafe said, sampling the salsa. “You could find a place in my business perhaps. But I’d rather have you in my life in a more personal way.”
The talk stayed small until steaming plates arrived. Ruby had to admit that Rafe had read her well. While he had ordered cocoa-spiced grilled chicken mole for himself, he figured Ruby for the simple stuff. So she was delighted to sink her fork into some gooey cheese-stuffed poblano rellenos. Her eyes scrunched up when she tasted the stuffed poblano chilies. They were spiced to perfection and fried up just right, and she considered what a drag it would be to put such a good judge of food in the joint.
“You were going to tell me what you do?” Ruby said between bites. “Now I’m guessing you’re a food critic for the New York Times. How else would you know how good this was?”
“Actually, I’m a placement professional,” Rafe said. “You see, a lot of Colombians want to come to this country, but to get in to stay, you have to have a job. I arrange for them to find employment so they can immigrate.”
“I see,” Ruby said. She took a big sip from her mojito. The mint and lime disguised the rum’s bite, but she still felt it rush to her head. “That’s why you meet so many people at the airport. You take them to interviews and stuff, right?”
“You see, that’s just what I mean. You are very observant for a baggage handler.”
“And you are a sweet talking fool,” Ruby said, letting her compliment float on the soft but bouncing music. “Your momma must be proud of you. Is she here in the States?”
“My mother is actually mayor of our little town in Colombia. Yours?”
“Fortune teller,” Ruby said. “And I grew up in Bed-Stuy, right here in The City. Never seen South America, so saying Colombia to me is just like saying Cuba or Puerto Rico.” While she spoke she mixed beans in with her rice and scooped them up with the poblano rellenos, then shoving the resulting mushy mass of flavors into her mouth.
After dinner, they strolled toward Rafe’s car. Ruby had pulled her coat on, but she enjoyed the cool breeze teasing her face. The few visible stars seemed unusually bright that night, and the breeze brought her the scent of human living, which was sweeter than most nights. Walking slowly, Ruby let Rafe take her arm. She thought she might let him take a bit more, but she had to stay focused on the mission.
“So, how’d you get into the job placement business, sugar?”
“My momma wanted me to better myself,” Rafe said in a softer voice than she had heard from him before. “She sent me to the U.S. to help others. I think I did okay. I think she’s kind of proud of me.”
“And all these people coming in, are they grateful?” Ruby asked in her squeaky falsetto as they approached the car. “Do they ever bring you nice gifts or anything like that?”
“Oh, no,” Rafe said. “I expect nothing from them. Besides, they’d have to declare everything they brought in, so the less the better.” His car beeped when he hit the remote device to unlock it, and he opened the passenger door for Ruby. When he settled in the driver’s seat and started the car, she turned toward him with a big smile.
“Look here, sugar, you said you like a woman to be direct.”
“Of course,” Rafe said, pulling away from the curb. “What did you want to tell me, chica?”
“Look, it’s a beautiful night and dinner was lovely. Now I know you’re hoping for a little something-something, but it’s way too soon for me. So you can take me for some dancing and a couple more drinks, or you can just take my ass home.”
Rafe had a warm and genuine laugh. He stopped at a light and turned to look into Ruby’s eyes. “You misjudge me, chica. I was headed for a certain dance spot I know where we can dance to Caribbean music all night. But I have no other plans for this evening beyond that. Now tomorrow, tomorrow I have special plans.”
“Like what?”
“Tomorrow,” Rafe said, “I will pick you up at your place in the morning, yes? And I will take you on a date to a place no man has ever taken you.”
“You think so, huh?”
“If I am right, will you consider leaving tomorrow night to me as well?”
Ruby reached to squeeze Rafe’s shoulder. “If you really do manage to take me someplace in this city nobody’s ever taken me, and if it’s fun, then I think I just might do that.”
The music was too loud for Gunny’s tastes, but maybe that was a good thing. He had closed up the office and left when Gorman did, but never told his boss he had business of his own to attend to. Now he sat in the club waiting for that morning’s mysterious caller.
The place was called S.O.B’s, in SoHo, what the natives call that part of lower Manhattan. Probably all of guidebooks tell you the source of that nickname, that this is the part of the island South of Houston. He also thought the average New Yorker would just stare at you if you asked them. Gunny figured that among Manhattan residents, only he would remember. No, Gorham probably knew. The man knew everything.
Well, he might not know that S.O.B stood for Sound Of Brazil. Gunny thought the band on stage right then sounded a lot like Kid Creole and the Coconuts, and he wondered if that guy was still playing somewhere. Anyway, the announcer had called it Haitian music, so he supposed the Coconuts didn’t play this stuff after all. The dance floor was packed with writhing bodies, moving to a beat that he felt more than heard, even in his remote table in a dark corner. He was pleased to see he wasn’t too out of place in his dark work suit. He saw every imaginable mode of dress in the place, although a healthy number of party folks were in some sort of Latin garb, and a surprising number wore zoot suit based clothing. All Gunny really had to do was open his top button and pull his tie down an inch to fit right in.
He was holding his second dark rum when he spotted the man. Gunny had been scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who could be a hard man, a real tough guy, out on the town. When he spotted his man, he quickly tossed back his drink, feeling the fire trail down his throat. There was still space in the world for surprises.
Did he want everyone to think he was Mafia or something? The big fellow making a beeline for Gunny’s table had gone to Quentin Tarantino for his wardrobe. Black from head to toe with that skinny tie and slick hair people only wear in the movies. And the shades only made it worse.
“Mr. Robinson? Recognized you from your description,” the newcomer said, sitting. When he wasn’t trying to disguise his voice, he had a good rich tone. He could sing a nice baritone under Gunny’s sweet tenor if he ever wanted to join a barbershop quartet.
“Yeah, I’m hard to miss. And you are?”
“The same fellow you spoke to this morning.”
“Come on,” Gunny said. “You know it don’t work that way. You want help, you got to trust somebody. I trusted you by coming here, blind. And you should have warned me it was “Late Night French Caribbean Dance Party” night. Now who the hell are you, and why are we here?”
The newcomer took in a deep breath and let it slowly out his nose. Then he pulled off his sunglasses revealing eyes as black as two chunks of coal, but Gunny could see that under enough pressure they would become as hard as diamonds.
“My name is Lorenzo Lucania and we’re here because I know you help cops in trouble.” He looked around to make sure that no one was listening in, but it was early in the evening still and the tables around them were empty.
“Lucania. Good name,” Gunny said. “That was Lucky Luciano’s real name. Any relation?”
“Actually, yes, but nobody in my family brags about it anymore,” he said. He held a hand out.
Gunny took his hand and shook it firmly. “Call me Gunny. From my days in the Corps.”
“That’s what I heard. That’s one reason I figured I could trust you. I spent a few years in too.”
A woman ghosted past, and Gunny waved her in. He ordered two more rums, and Lorenzo called for scotch, neat. When she was out of earshot, Gunny said. “So, what you been doing since the military? At first I thought you were a crook.”
Nah, when I got out, I just traded my cammies for a blue uniform. And this outfit in this place is no worse than any other costume. Everybody will think I’m playing at being a criminal.”
“Which you are, right?” Gunny asked as their drinks arrived.
“Yeah, but it’s every day. I’m undercover for the NYPD.”
Gunny hadn’t expected it to just come hitting him in the face like that. This guy was taking a big risk being so up front. Either that or he’d researched Beyond Blue Investigations a lot better than most ever could. If he had reached the point of being careless, Gunny had to know.
“How long you been under, Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo’s eyes wandered, but Gunny knew he was only pretending to watch the beautiful blonde writhing on the dance floor. “I’ve been with the Lacata machine for almost six years now. I’m a made man. And I’m finally getting pretty close to Anthony Lacata. It took longer than expected.”
“Six years?” Gunny looked at Lorenzo in disbelief. “Six years a long time to be somebody else.”
“Six years to get to be running their rackets on the East Side,” Lorenzo said, with something that sounded a lot like pride. “I’m telling you, I’m living it every day. Every day. But I got to tell you, Robinson…”
“Gunny.”
“Gunny, I can’t do this no more.” Lorenzo’s brows had fallen together under the weight of that admission. Gunny looked into Lorenzo’s eyes and he knew it was true. Something in there was fading away, withering, about to go dead. It could be something as hard to weigh as the man’s soul. He swallowed half his drink.
“Then you got to go to your control and tell him you’re through,” Gunny said. “I don’t care where you are in your investigation. I’m telling you from experience, buddy. By the time you think you’ve been under too long, you’re already way past it. There’s no shame in admitting that, not after six years as a hood.”
“I ain’t afraid to admit it,” Lorenzo said, tipping Scotch down his throat. “I’m ready to come in. They just won’t let me.”
“What?” Gunny asked, louder than he intended.
“I’m so close to the brass ring that City Hall wants me to stick it out. That’s the trouble I’m in. I’m trapped on the wrong side of the door. Do you think you can help me open it?”
Gunny was rock solid sure that this man should be a client of BBI, and the solution looked pretty simple. They just had to find the right guy to lean on. “Who’s your control?” he asked.
“Name’s Vic Warner,” Lorenzo said, sliding a card across the table to Gunny. “He’s head of a special citywide task force against organized crime. Thinks he’s Elliott Ness or somebody, but the truth is, he got lucky when he met me. And now he wants to ride me right into the mayor’s office with the total breakup of the Lacata machine.”
Gunny handed Lorenzo a card in return. “I know you already got our number at the office, but here’s mine at home, just in case. We’re going to take your case and we’re going to get you out from under before you go nuts.” Lorenzo responded with a sad smile, shaking his head just a bit. “What?” Gunny asked. “You don’t believe me?”
“This task force is pretty high profile, high priority for the current mayor. I mean, he follows its progress very closely. Your guys got that kind of juice?”
Gunny grinned. “You don’t know Paul Gorman, do you?”