Chapter fourteen
The next morning, Tania jammed celery, carrots, and beets into the juicer behind the bar’s service window at the Good Karma Cafe; she glanced through the opening and spotted two cops talking to Blanche. Tania turned off the machine, opened its top, and grabbed the basket to stop the motor from whirring. She strained to hear Blanche’s conversation as juice continued to flow into a glass beneath the spout.
“No, I don’t know when he’ll be in. You never know with Jack. It could be five minutes; it could be five hours,” said Blanche.
“We’ll wait,” said one of the cops.
“Got any coffee?” asked the other.
Blanche called to Tania through the window.
“Hey, Tania, can somebody get these guys some coffee?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
The cops sat down at a table in the bar. Tania stuck her head through the window.
“Do you take cream? We don’t serve sugar; it’s as addictive as heroin, you know. I do have honey.”
“Just black will be fine,” said the older cop.
“You’re not here to arrest anyone, are you?” asked Tania.
“That all depends, little lady. Has anyone here committed a crime?”
Tania surveyed the bar.
“Not that I can see.”
Just then, Jack strutted in.
Who’s that behind him? thought Tania.
He tipped his hat to her; she blew him a kiss, picked up the glass of juice, and went to get coffee for the cops.
Wait a minute! Was that Holly and her mother? What are they doing here? Did Mommy’s broomstick break down? Jack must be letting her use the phone to call Triple A.
Spotting the cops, Jack raised his hands in surrender.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. “I was with my lady all night.”
He turned to Holly’s mother.
“You can ask her.”
“That won’t be necessary, Jack,” said the younger cop.
The older one continued, “We brought the lawn signs over from the campaign office; they’re in the squad.”
“You can bring ’em in after you guys have breakfast . . . on me.”
Jack grabbed menus and handed them to the cops; he sat Holly and her mother at a cocktail table.
Jack swaggered into the dining room. Tania crossed paths with him; he stopped her.
“There are some cops in the bar.”
Tania held up two mugs.
“Yeah, these are their coffees.”
“Get ’em breakfast, too, and my lady’s in there with her kid. Bring ’em some silverware.”
Jack continued on his way then called out over his shoulder.
“. . . and napkins.”
Tania’s body went limp. Coffee spilled onto the floor. She zombie-walked through the puddle and into the bar.
Tania set the half-filled mugs on the cops’ table.
The older one said, “I think we’re ready to order.”
“Order what?” asked Tania.
Tania hung the cops’ check on the line and ran into the dish room waving two sets of silverware and a couple of napkins in the air.
“Esta cosas,” said Tania to Jose. “Por favor, Jose, esta cosas to the mujer and the chiquita in the cantina.”
“Okay, Tania, but your Spanish stinks; you talk like a baby.”
Tania went back to the service window and peeked into the bar. Jack dropped off a sandwich and salad for Holly and her mother. Then he headed to his office.
Tania rushed to the pay phone next to the kitchen. She dialed a number and waited. She sighed and closed her eyes. Tania spoke into the receiver.
“Oh, Christopher, I wish you were home. I’m freaking out. Jack came into the restaurant with Holly’s mother. He said she was his lady and told me to get her silverware . . . and napkins.”
Ten minutes later, Jack closed the safe in his office, pressed his nostril with his thumb, and sniffed. Randy rushed in.
“I met this guy; he works for a big law firm downtown. His dealer moved to Maui. He’s willing to pay $1,400 an ounce.”
After Randy left the office, Jack picked up the telephone receiver, dialed a number, and waited.
“Ray, it’s Jack. I’ve got to talk to you . . . in person; it’s urgent.”
Rawson listened.
“I know it’s Sunday,” said Jack.
He listened.
“I could be there in twenty minutes.”
Tania came into the bar with two plates; she set them in front of the cops. Jack brushed by her and addressed Holly and her mother.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
Mother and daughter looked up from their food.
“NOW,” said Jack.
Rawson hurried to the front door. Holly’s mother snatched up the child’s sandwich, wrapped it in a napkin, and put it in her purse. She grabbed Holly’s hand and dragged her from the table. Tania followed them with her eyes. The trio piled into the front seat of the hearse and sped away.
“Miss,” said the younger cop. “I ordered pancakes, not eggs.”
“I can’t believe it!” said Tania.
“No, it’s true,” said the older cop. “He never eats eggs . . . says they’re slimy.”
“Slimy? That’s putting it mildly,” said Tania.
Twenty-five minutes later, Ray sat with his feet on his desk clipping his fingernails in his office at the Paradise Lounge. Across from him, Jack snorted a line of coke through a drinking straw. Ray brushed his nail parings onto the floor.
“I never front that much to anybody,” said Ray.
Jack licked the end of the straw and looked up.
“I’m telling you it’s a sure thing.”
“How do I know this Randy isn’t going to fuck us over?” asked Ray.
“He’s my guy. He’s not going to fuck me over.”
“Okay, run it by me again.”
Ray looked at his watch.
“Make it quick; I can’t be late for church. It’s my week to usher.”
“Randy knows this guy; he works for a big-time law firm downtown. His dealer moved to Maui. He’s willing to pay $1,400 an ounce for ten ounces.”
Tania made it through her shift and went home. She sat in her living room smoking a joint; Jimmy the cat licked the tears off her face. She smoked another joint. Finally, Tania got up and took a quarter from her wallet. She closed her eyes and threw the coin in the air.
“Heads, I stay. Tails, I go,” called out Tania.
The quarter landed tails up on the floor.
I could do two out of three.
She answered herself aloud, “You know that’s bullshit.”
Tania went to the phone and called Ellen at the cafe.
“I don’t want to work at the restaurant anymore.”
She listened.
“Why? That is why.”
Tania hung up the phone and lit another joint.
Toward evening, Tania rounded up her Good Karma Cafe menus and pay stubs. Jimmy watched her rip them up and put them in his litter box.
“Could you tinkle on these, please? A shit would be even better, but a pee will do.”
The doorbell rang; Tania went to answer it. Jimmy sniffed the papers and stepped into the box.
Tania pressed a button on the security console in her apartment. She cupped her hand behind her ear.
“Is that scratching I hear?” called out Tania. “Good boy, Jimmy; I really appreciate it.”
Tania opened the door to her apartment; Christopher came up the stairs.
“Thanks for coming over,” said Tania.
“You’d do the same for me,” said Christopher.
A half hour later, Tania and Christopher were standing in front of a trash can in Mueller Park. Tania took her Good Karma Cafe apron out of a backpack. Christopher struck a match, and Tania held the cloth to the flame. It didn’t ignite; they tried again.
“I wish I had a can of gasoline,” said Tania.
She handed an apron tie to Christopher.
“You take this end, and I’ll take the other.”
They wound the ties around their hands and pulled in opposite directions. Nothing happened.
“Wait, I brought scissors,” said Tania.
She cut up the apron and threw the pieces in the can. Christopher ripped Tania’s guest check folder in half and added it to the pile. He threw in some Karma Cafe beer lists and specials sheets. Tania tossed Jack’s business card on top. They added some twigs, and Christopher lit the papers. Tania watched an edge of the business card catch on fire.
“I thought I’d feel better but I don’t,” said Tania.
“You will . . . someday,” said Christopher.
In Jack’s apartment, Randy stuffed plastic-wrapped, golf-ball-size ounces of cocaine into to-go cups; Rawson paced back and forth.
“I’ve got a lot riding on this deal,” said Jack.
“So do I,” said Randy.
Randy put the to-go cups into a paper bag. Jack walked over to his front window, picked up a pack of cigarettes from the sill, and lit one. He glanced into Mueller Park.
“Hey, there’s a fire,” said Jack.
“Why don’t you call 911?” suggested Randy.
Randy and Jack took the back stairs to the parking lot behind Rawson’s building. Jack held the hearse’s driver-side door open, and Randy got behind the wheel.
“Call me as soon as you get the money,” said Jack.
Randy nodded and turned on the ignition. He backed the hearse out of its parking space and drove through the lot to the entrance. He pulled onto the street and zoomed away.
Jack walked over to the site of the fire in Mueller Park and picked up the charred corner of a beer list from the ground. He looked inside the garbage can and pulled out a piece of cloth with GOOD KARMA stamped on it.
Back at Tania’s apartment, Christopher warmed up a takeout order of egg foo young, and Tania rolled a joint.
“It should be ready soon,” said Christopher.
Tania responded, “Tell me how long will I have to wait? Oh, won’t you tell me now? Why do you hesitate?”
She lit the joint and inhaled. She held her breath then exhaled.
“I hate that goddamn song,” said Tania.
Randy arrived at Peggy Potter’s house a little while later; she answered the door.
Randy said, “I’m blowin’ town . . . heading west. You can come along if you suck my dick all the way to South Dakota.”
Down in the basement, John Potter was masturbating to the “Elizabeth, we’re going to play a little game” scene from 9 1/2 Weeks. On his TV screen, Kim Basinger crawled across the floor in slow motion picking up cash. John shoved his erect penis into a plastic sandwich bag filled with petroleum jelly; Peggy opened the basement door.
“I’m going out and might not be back,” called down Peggy.
John stuffed his gooey, baggy-covered dick into his boxer shorts.
“What about the campaign?” asked John.
“Fuck the campaign,” answered Peggy.
She closed the door and locked John in the basement.
Randy pulled up to the Paradise Lounge around 9 p.m. He brought in the paper bag with the to-go cups inside. Ray got up from a stool at the bar and led Randy into his office. Randy set the bag on Ray’s desk.
“Here’s your order, Boss, and Bozo Jack doesn’t suspect a thing,” said Randy.
Ray reached into the sack and pulled out the to-go cups. He opened their lids, unwrapped an ounce, licked his finger, and sampled the contents.
“Nice job from start to finish, kid. Thanks for coming to town and helping me out.”
Ray offered the ounce to Randy.
“Want some blow as a little bonus?” asked Ray.
“No thanks; I’ll just take my final payment and hit the road. I may be a prick, but I’m not a loser.”
Randy stuffed thirty hundred-dollar bills in the tops of his cowboy boots.
“I’d never let you be a loser. You’re my sister’s kid; you’re family,” said Ray.
Meanwhile, Jack lay sprawled on the floor of his apartment with his telephone beside him. The light from his TV bathed the darkened room. He held a remote in the air and flipped from station to station. The phone rang. Jack lunged at the receiver.
“Where the hell have you been? Have you got the money? Oh, it’s you, Ray.”
Jack collapsed onto his back and shut his eyes.
“I don’t know where your money is, Ray. My guy was supposed to call me.”
Early the next day, Randy was driving the hearse on I-90 heading west. Peggy raised her head from his lap.
“I’ve gotta take a leak,” she said.
Randy pulled off the interstate at Stagebarn Canyon Road near Rapid City, South Dakota. Peggy got out. She held onto the taillight and squatted. Randy whizzed away. Peggy tumbled forward with her jeans and underwear around her ankles.
“COME BACK!” she screamed.
Randy jammed on the brakes. Peggy wobbled toward the hearse. Randy reached behind him for Peggy’s purse and stuffed a couple hundred bucks inside. He stepped down on the accelerator and flung the purse out the driver’s window.
