The Deadly Kiss-Off Page 26

  I couldn’t believe Stan’s next words.

  “What’s left for us?”

  Santo’s jaw dropped. “You really think I am going to share my woefully reduced take with the authors of that reduction?”

  Stan persisted. “Glen and I were due three million apiece. But since Danssaert and Qiao got to split three mil, we’ll settle for that.”

  “Why don’t you try for a clawback from them? I expect you would get nothing but rude laughter.”

  “Oh, no, they earned it. And so did we. Sure, there was a major fuckup at the end—out of which we all came clean—but we held up our side of the bargain, and you need to hold up yours. Or do you want the whole city to know that Vin Santo welshes on his deals?”

  Santo took another swig of his soda while considering Stan’s words.

  “There’s always the bogs.”

  “Oh, forget that shit! You know we can be useful to you in the future. Why throw away a good thing?”

  “Humph! A ‘good thing.’” More suckling at the straw. Then he said, “I am gifting you each, out of the sheer goodness of my heart, six hundred thousand apiece. Just because I like you both and realize that you are not entirely to blame. And because maybe there is something to what you say about being of future use to me.”

  Once I had resumed breathing, I said, “We appreciate all your hard work, Vin, and we’ll take the money with thanks.”

  “Go now, and never darken my doorstep again—until you got another scam that is a thousand times more foolproof, which I could maybe decide to back.”

  Back outside in Stan’s Jeep—the star-spangled roof was dented in where the explosion lobbed a brick missile onto it—I said, “We could’ve done a lot worse.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes, the thought of lying down in the marshes for a long, restful nap doesn’t seem so bad.”

  The women brushed off the bad financial news as if it didn’t even matter. Which, I kept telling myself, it really didn’t, even as I continued wistfully counting and recounting all the imaginary money I would never see.

  And so here we all were, seated around the table, its surface crowded with steaming dishes, having our belated Thanksgiving with, I must admit, some things to be genuinely thankful for.

  I found myself taking in with fresh appreciation the vivid living presence of all the people around the table, gathered here to celebrate one of the best holidays, to make a new tradition, despite all the troubles and challenges they had faced and surmounted. Stan and I finding our mad, greedy scheme gone kerflooey. Nellie striving to make the most of her heritage and become independent. Sandralene coping with her mother’s old age. Ralph and Suzy taking Mama Lura into their home. No one had quit striving in the face of setbacks and selfish missteps. Lovers had betrayed each other, yielding to the demands of the flesh and wild, impulsive affections. But somehow, after getting bumped out of their orbits, the various sets of twinned planets had returned to the central luminary of love. I wondered what would have happened had I not gone to Cape Verde to get Nellie back. Where would I be sitting today? Thankfully, I didn’t have to face that alternate, doubtless sadder reality. Imperfect as they—as we—all were, unbreakable bonds had been forged that drew us together today. I knew I didn’t really deserve any of these good outcomes, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to turn them down.

  Uncle Ralph, Suzy Lam, Stan, Nellie, Mama Lura, and I looked up when Sandy emerged from the kitchen, carrying a perfectly cooked golden bird on its platter. She brought it to the head of the table, where an empty chair stood with a black sash draped across its back.

  Sandralene set the platter down and looked at us all with a solemn and compelling gaze.

  “I knew Caleb Stinchcombe since we were three years old,” she said. “He was a very good man. He has earned a minute of silence from us, at the very least.”

  Mama Lura began to sniffle, and I felt my own eyes well up. That poor unfortunate bastard Caleb had made us his family, and now we would have to keep his memory alive.

  I looked to Stan. I don’t believe I had ever seen him actually appear reverential before. But I suspected that his feelings were more for the awesome magnificence of his woman than for the departed soul of his erstwhile rival.

  The minute of silence ended, and Sandy picked up the carving knife and fork.

  “Who wants what? And don’t be shy!”