Chapter Twelve

 

          “Hello Mirna.”

          “Hello Father. You told me to phone you today.”

          “Yes. I’ll call you back. Usual number?”

          “No.”

          “Give me the new number.”

          “Page one hundred and nineteen, paragraph two. Line eight, word eight, repeat, line four, word seven, line one, word ten, line twelve, word twelve, line twelve, word eleven, line eight, word eight.”

          “How long?”

          Mirna looked at her watch.

          “Seven minutes.”

          She hung up the phone and left the booth. The corridor on the eleventh floor of the University of California Hospital was quiet. A few people could be seen, moving silently, their minds on their duties. They were all dressed in white. She walked past the nurses’ station and caught the elevator to the fourth floor. Then she took the stairs two more floors down, stopping a few times to listen. At the second floor, she waited in the stairwell a moment, looking at her watch, then stepped into the corridor and strode directly to the pay phone. As she opened the door, it rang.

          “Father?”

          “Yes. Are you alright?”

          “So far, yes.”

          “What has happened?”

          “Nothing definite. But Rimone has noticed some unusual activity.”

          There was silence on the line for a moment.

          “Very well. I have made a few preparations. When will your deliveries for this month be completed?”

          “By the end of this week.”

          “Good. When this is finished, clean the apartment. Toufic’s next shipment will be harmless. He will, of course, be unaware of this. I would prefer if Rimone and the others remain ignorant, as well.”

          “Surely you do not suspect them.”

          “There is no reason for anyone to know this except you and me. With plans of this nature it is simply good policy not to inform anyone who does not need to be informed. It is as much to protect them as myself. You may tell them, but wait until the last possible moment. Then, if something goes wrong, I will have no reason to question their loyalty.”

          “I see. And what about our customers?”

          “If nothing happens, I have arranged for Amar to supply next month’s shipment from LA. If you decide to quit, this will give us a month to arrange a new delivery system for Mr. X, and prevent your customers from being upset and compromising you. If you elect to remain in operation, nothing will be interrupted. Does this all sound feasible?”

          “Completely, Father.”

          “Whatever your decision, I will support it completely. You may consider the others as much as you wish, but make it clear to them that your word is final.”

          “Thank you.”

          “You have not mentioned Botrass, but I suspect he is opposed to these new plans. He is ambitious and would like to run his own operation someday. I do not think he has the temperament required, but that is his problem. Tell him that I have not forgotten the service his father did for me, and will find him new employment in another of my operations if he wishes. If he obstructs your plans in any material way, tell him that I will be highly displeased. Be sure to use those exact words. He will know what they mean.”

          “I am sure that he will.”

          “There is one more thing.”

          “Yes?”

          “I am sending you some support. Two of Amar’s best men will be dispatched from LA to investigate matters. They are very dangerous men. If the situation requires any extreme measures, they will provide them. They know exactly who you are and your safety is their highest priority.”

          “When will they arrive?”

          “Very soon. But they will not contact you directly. If they find it necessary to phone you, they will speak in English and mention the Balthazar Hotel. They will be sure it is you to whom they are speaking if you use the words good reputation. If you see them, you will know them by their clothes. They will be in suits and have ties with pictures of fruit on them. Is this all clear?”

          “Perfectly clear, Father.”

          “Alright. I hope that all of these measures are unnecessary. Call me again by this time next week. If I do not hear from you I will assume the worst.”

          “Very well.”

          “Please make sure my granddaughter is not involved in any of this.”

          “I intend to, of course. I hope that someday she can meet you.”

          “This event is much overdue. I love you both.”

          “I love you too, Father.”

          “Goodbye, Daughter. I will pray for your safety.”

          “Thank you. I will pray for your continued good health. Goodbye.”

 

 

 

          The sun had set in Beirut, but still the temperature exceeded thirty degrees centigrade, and Toufic Baz felt the film of hot sweat covering his body as he completed his evening prayers. He marveled at the beauty of the evening’s sunset colors, knowing that they would be the last he would see here in Beirut, and thinking of the greatness of Allah, as he had all week. His ship would leave tomorrow on another trip to America, the last he would take. For three years now he had made this constant cycle, the two week ocean voyage, the brief stay in San Francisco, and then the plane ride back for ten days in Beirut. Now it would end.

          He locked his apartment and walked a few blocks before catching a taxi, keeping a watchful eye. He had only been to Walid’s house twice in the past, and there was no point in taking any chances on this final visit. As he rode through the streets of the city, he wondered at the workings of fate, that had given him this opportunity.

          He was ushered into Walid’s house by a servant, and served tea on the terrace. After only a few minutes, Walid appeared, in white traditional dress and carrying a book. They embraced briefly and sat down.

          “I have a present for you” said Walid, handing the book to Toufic. It was an ornate, expensive copy of the Koran, bound in leather.

          “Thank you,” said Toufic. “I will keep it close to me and read it on the ship.”

          “How do you feel?” said Walid.

          “Ready. It is a bold move that we are making.”

          “Yes. But necessary. To fail to take advantage of the system that Konstantine has created, his connections with the shipping firm, his man in the San Francisco customs office, et cetera, would be entirely stupid. And this is the proper moment.”

          Toufic nodded, saying nothing. They sipped tea for a while. Finally Walid spoke.

          “An interesting development has occurred.”

          “What development?”

          “Botrass has called from San Francisco to tell me that Konstantine has become suspicious of you.”

          “Really.”

          “Yes. The man is uncanny with his intuitive powers. It is what has kept him ahead of me all these years. He is my last functioning rival, and I must say, I respect him for that.”

          “Was Botrass any more specific?”

          “Botrass is not a very specific man, as I quickly realized after he contacted me last year. He is guided by emotion. It was anger over the supposed mistreatment of his father by Konstantine that spurred him to his current traitorous behavior.”

          “I suspected his resentment towards Konstantine, but he was careful never to speak of it directly.”

          “A man who does what you are about to do deserves to know everything. Actually, Konstantine was more than generous. Botrass’ father was somewhat like his son, although of better character and highly loyal. But he had the same hotheaded streak, which kept Konstantine from ever offering him the authority and position that Botrass thinks he deserved. His father held no such resentment, but realized his own shortcomings and was grateful to Konstantine for the employment he received.”

          “I see. What are we to do?”

          “I think I can predict how Konstantine will handle the situation. He will protect himself against betrayal to the authorities by giving you a harmless shipment. There is no cause for worry, I feel. You will come here again tomorrow before boarding your ship. We will switch the cases and proceed as before.”

          “Nothing is changed, then.”

          “No. Our previous plan can proceed without alteration.”

Toufic sighed and sat back in his chair, looking out at the night lights of the city before he spoke.

          “I think that Botrass would have been a legacy to your organization, in fact. That he would never consider this possibility is a symptom of it.”

          “Yes. He thinks that, should the American police fail to do their job properly, I will send my assassins to eliminate the others, leaving him as king.”

          Toufic sighed again.

          “A position that he will not live to enjoy.”

          They both sipped tea for a while in silence. Finally Toufic spoke.

          “I appreciate your hospitality here on my last night in Beirut, Walid. But I should leave you now and sleep. My ship departs early, and my timing must be correct if I am to stop here on my way to the docks.”

          They stood up.

          “Fate has put a great opportunity in your way, Toufic,” said Walid, embracing him again. “From the moment Botrass called me with his selfish desires and traitorous suggestions you became the central, critical figure in this plan. I give thanks to Allah that he put such a competent man before me. I only wish you had been part of my organization in the past.”

          “Thank you. I will try to be worthy of your trust.”

          “I am sure you will be.”

          They walked to the door together.

          “Allah Akbar,” said Walid, bowing and putting his hand to his heart.

          “Allah Akbar.”

 

 

 

          Andrey sat in his private booth by the bar sipping Scotch, listening to Tony’s group working on his newest piece, Tryin’ to Cry’. This was his favorite night of the week, Monday, when the club was closed or, sometimes, when he’d booked in a private party, like tonight. There were two reasons for this. One was that he didn’t feel like he had to keep watch over the action, for aggressive pimps and drug dealers, hoodlums, rowdy serial drinkers, or any other kind of the usual trouble that night clubs are prone to, and he could allow himself the luxury of getting a little drunk. The other, more important reason, was that this was the night, or afternoon, in this case, when Tony rehearsed the band. He liked seeing the pieces come together, to hear them in their rawest form, and watch the process of shaping and polishing that finally produced a perfect musical jewel, ready for the audience.

          It was clear to him, trying to just be a fly on the rehearsal wall, that the bigger the group became the more critical that process would become. With Serena and now Julius added, it was less like a jam session and more like a kind of free-flowing task of arrangement, with more structure needed to keep everybody out of each other’s way.

          “Terrence,” Tony was saying now, “don’t double those triplets in the ‘hearts never lie’ part. ‘Whole fuckin’ song is just a bunch ‘a triplets, actually. You dig? Give me some kind ‘o counterpoint, ‘da-du-DA-DA....du-DA,’ you know what I’m talkin’ about?”

          Terrence nodded and gave him that look that Andrey called the “patient drummer look” he saw on drummers’ faces every time anyone else in the band talked about any kind of rhythm technicalities.

          “Yeah, baby,” said Tony. “I know you know what I’m sayin’.” He lifted his horn. “Alright, let’s try it again. Julius, I go an octave up in the unison horn part in the second chorus, right? Don’t follow me, baby. OK, on one ....two, three, ....”

          The band swung into the piece again, for the fourth or fifth time, and Andrey sat quietly, listening to it gel together. He was sure that one day, maybe soon, Tony’s pieces were going to get the recognition he felt they deserved, right up there with the old standards, and the Jungle was going to be known as one of those places where legends were born, like the Old Blackhawk and the Jazz Workshop, as one of the musical shrines of jazz.

          “Alright,” said Tony when the piece ended, “let’s take a break. Play these tunes over too many times they start to smell like yesterday’s fish fry. Oh, and hey, we are not, repeat, NOT playin’ our gig out in the valley a week early, like we planned. We will be there the week after, that’s the ninth, tenth, and eleventh, just as usual. The second is election night. Horace decided he doesn’t want to compete with CNN and neither do I. He told Budweiser they can have their wet T-shirt contest someplace else. He is takin’ a pass and goin’ for class, you dig?”

          “Hell,” said Julius, smiling, “I was planin’ on checkin’ that out.”

          “The hell you were,” said Serena, turning around and slapping him on the ass. God, she thought, That was just like my Mom.

          “Shit,” said Terrence with a laugh, “this band’s gettin’ to be like the Jefferson’s, or somethin’. Maybe we ought to make it into one of those reality TV shows.”

          He went behind the bar and opened the cooler, while the rest of the rhythm section, Larry and Stan, went out on the street for some air. Tony sat down with Andrey to talk business. Julius and Serena were at the musicians’ table, not talking, just taking a rest, when Terrence came over, holding three beers. He pulled up a chair. They all touched bottles.

          “Hey,” said Terrence, “I know it’s terrible to say this, but – ” he smiled and looked around before continuing, “- it is awfully good to have some goddamned black people in this band.” They all laughed and touched bottles again. “I was beginning to feel like a fuckin’ Oreo.”

          “A what?” said Serena.

          “An Oreo. You know, black on the outside, and white on the inside.” He turned to Julius. “Hey, this girl not as black as she looks, is she?”

          “She’s in training,” said Julius, winking. “She’ll catch up.”

          They saw Tony grab a beer behind the bar and start over their way. Terrence bent forward and said in a whisper, “Now here comes a dude been lookin’ for the back o’ the bus his entire life.”

          “What’s shakin’,” said Tony. “You brothers plannin’ a revolution over here, or what?”

          “Somethin’ like that,” said Terrence. “You be good, we might let you in on it.”

          They made another toast.

          “Serena,” said Tony, becoming businesslike, “what happened to those changes you did on Saturday? I liked that. Today was different.”

          Serena made a face.

          “Tony, this is embarrassing, but I forgot what I did on Saturday. It wasn’t the same as I wrote out when I was planning it.” She threw a glance at Terrence. “I got distracted, to tell the truth. That lady, Carlotta, I didn’t know about her, and she kept just staring. It kind of rattled me.”

          Tony got a serious look on his face. He glanced over at Terrence.

          “You told her about Carly, huh?”

          Terrence nodded.

          “Yeah, I should have told you myself. She just looks at you and sees herself, the way she was, the way she could be now.”

          “Well,” said Serena, “what’s stopping her? She can still sing, can’t she?”

          “Maybe she could,” said Tony, sighing, “if she put in the work. Her voice got pretty shot, though. Main problem is, she’s still a junkie. Never could kick the habit. Got it under control pretty well, you can do that. But she kind of just lives in the past, I think. And she knows I’d never take her back in the band unless she got completely clean, I don’t care if she sang like Billy Holiday.”

          “Well,” said Serena, “I’m going to talk to her the next time she comes in. Terrence said she was good friends with my Dad, and I’d like to hear about it.”

          Tony looked over at Terrence.

          “Honey, you can talk to anybody you want, but seriously, you might want to stay away from Carly, from anybody who’s involved with heroin. They’re dangerous friends to have. They can get low on money and start to take advantage of you. And knowing them can get you really depressed. It’s bad stuff. It’s ruined a lot of lives, killed a lot of people. It’s a whole world you should try to stay out of, if you can.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s evil.”

          They all sat in silence for a moment, appreciating the depth of Tony’s convictions on the matter.

          “And there’s something else, too,” Tony said finally, like he’d been thinking it over. “I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but maybe I should warn you. If you talk to Carly, you might hear some things about your Dad you’d rather not.”

          “You’re not saying Dad was taking heroin, are you?”

          “No, honey, your Dad was as clean as they come. You grew up with him, you should know that. He didn’t even smoke pot. But it’s just that he and Carly, they were, well, more than just friends, if you know what I mean.”

          “Oh,” said Serena. Nobody spoke for a minute.

          “Look,” said Tony finally, in a breezy tone. “I didn’t want to get heavy on you, baby. That was all a long time ago. Let’s get back into the music. See if we can remember those changes you were –” His cell phone suddenly started ringing, a horrible tiny parody of Night in Tunisia. “Excuse me a second.” He pulled out his phone. “Hello.”

          They all sat without moving, still trying to shake off the heavy feeling that had descended with Tony’s revelations.

          “No,” said Tony. “You must have the wrong number.”

          He listened for a moment.

          “Sorry,” he said, giving the rest of them a little wink. “I can’t help you.”

          There was another pause.

          “No problem. Goodbye.”