Chapter Nineteen
The light in Tiffani’s bedroom was on. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, getting some work done on her laptop. A pile of paperwork and her plans for Eros Junction were spread out on the mattress next to her.
Eve knocked on her door. “Oh, thank God you’re not working tonight.”
“I’m working tonight, just not at the Royal Flush.” Tiffani shut her laptop and looked up. “That’s a big backpack you’ve got there. What kind of shenanigans are you up to?”
Eve put the enormous black backpack down on the bed and unzipped it. “Listen, I need your help.”
“Help with what?”
An hour later, Tiffani was driving them down to the beach in her Bentley. It was almost midnight.
“Cynthia got me this address. I’m pretty sure it’s the one you’re looking for. The guy’s name is Mark. He and his gangster buddies throw parties there every few months. They send a fleet of black Tahoe’s with tinted windows over to pick up girls from the club.” Tiffani tapped a long nail nervously against the gearshift. “I still don’t understand why you have to give Madrigal the money yourself. Just give it to Sam and he’ll hand it off tomorrow with the rest of it.”
“Sam would never take my money,” said Eve, looking out the window at the black expanse of the Pacific. “I have to do it this way.”
“What’s to keep Madrigal from saying he never received it from you and going on to demand the full ten grand from Sam? I’m guessing he doesn’t hand out receipts for payments like this.”
“You’re right. It’s a big gamble. But I have to try.”
They were quiet for a long time. Tiffani’s anxiety radiated off her like heat. “So what do you have against banks? Do you always keep your life savings stuffed in a black backpack?”
“My ex-boyfriend hacked my bank account in Japan. Cleaned me out. Now I always work for cash and I stash it in my closet.”
“You’re kind of a shady lady.”
“Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”
“I’m not shady,” said Tiffani with a snort. “Everything about me is aboveboard. I have nothing to hide.”
Eve smiled. “Are your boobs real?”
“Yup. Real expensive.”
Tiffani pulled up to a big glass and metal beach house right on the water. She lowered her window and pressed the intercom next to the gate. A man’s voice answered. Eve leaned over Tiffani and said, “We’re here to see Mark Madrigal. Sam Lamont sent us.”
It was quiet for a long time. “Who are you?”
“Eve Ono and Tiffani Dupree.”
Another long pause. Eve looked at Tiffani, who shrugged.
Then the gate opened slowly, pulled inward on a mechanized chain.
“Here we go.” Tiffani put the car into gear and drove slowly up the long driveway.
At Tiffani’s suggestion, they were dressed as if they were about to go on first dates: fitted jeans, black heels, silk blouses, classy jewelry. She’d done their makeup and hair in a conservative style. The idea was to look cute and not too grown up—to look like someone’s little sister or someone’s eldest daughter, as though what they wore might protect them from a bullet to the head.
“Leave it to you to style me for going to meet a drug dealer,” said Eve, clutching a leather purse under her arm.
“Well, if we’re going to end up at the bottom of the ocean, might as well dress to impress.”
“Impress who? The fish? Tiff, I don’t think they care.”
An enormous man in a suit opened the front door. He had dark circles under his eyes.
“Ladies,” he said. He closed the door. “Put your things on that table. I apologize, but I need to search you.”
He frisked them, politely but thoroughly, his hands riding up their legs and the sides of their bodies.
“Unbutton your blouses, please,” he said. He wasn’t smiling.
“What?” asked Eve.
“Wires.”
They did it. When the man was satisfied, he looked through their purses while they buttoned up. Then he handed back the purses and said, “Follow me.”
Madrigal’s game room was vast. A widescreen TV, a full bar, and a pool table took up most of the space, along with a bank of leather couches and two recliners. It was a man cave to end all man caves. Madrigal sat at the bar talking to some of his men. Another man sat on the couch with two women, playing video games as the women watched with bored expressions.
Madrigal stood up when Eve and Tiffani entered the room. He had dark hair and dark eyes, a slight build, and the lazy expression of a man who was used to giving orders. He was dressed in jeans and a pressed white-cotton guayabera shirt with pleats and embroidery. As Sam had told Eve, he was impeccably groomed.
The enormous man led Eve and Tiffani to the bar. Madrigal shooed the other men away as the women sat down.
“They check out,” said the big man in the suit. Madrigal nodded and the man walked off.
“What can I do for you, ladies?”
Eve cleared her throat. “I know you have some business with Sam Lamont. He’s going to give you the bulk of the payment he owes you tomorrow. But I’m here to give you the rest.”
“You have it on you?”
She took the small brick of money out of her purse and slid it across the bar. “Here. This is three grand.”
Madrigal lit a cigar and leaned forward. He made no motion to take the money. “You know, part of me was hoping he’d take the deal. I’m looking for someone who knows his way around a boat.” He took a puff and shook out the match. “They say no one’s better than Sam when it comes to the Channel Islands.”
Eve studied his face. “Some say that.”
“Ten grand versus one night of work. Doesn’t make sense to me.”
“No. But Sam’s not that smart.” Blood pounded in Eve’s ears but she forced herself to keep her expression steady. “You know, I can pilot a boat.”
Madrigal raised his eyebrows. “You?”
“I’ve worked on Sam’s crew for a few months now. He’s taught me the ins and outs. Swells. The sea floor. I can read them. What exactly do you need?” Eve looked between Madrigal’s amused face and Tiffani’s shocked expression.
“What do I need?” asked Madrigal. He took another puff. “I need someone to run pangas from the islands to the coast.”
“I’ve done that before.” Eve was lying now, straight through her teeth. “Pangas are fun.”
That garnered an actual smile from Madrigal. “Fun, huh?”
“Last year I was part of an operation in San Clemente. Grass mostly.”
“This ain’t grass, sweetheart.”
Eve smiled. “H?”
Madrigal nodded. Now there was heat in his eyes as he looked at her. “A little heroin, yeah.” He put his cigar down and squinted at her. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Eve. And this is my friend Tiffani.”
“Eve. Eve and Tiffani.” His smile was bleached white and broad like a shark’s, but his dark eyes were dead. “You ladies want a drink?”
Tiffani looked at Eve with a panicked smile. “Do we want a drink?”
Eve stood up. “Not tonight, Mark,” she said, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But listen. You’re not going to get anywhere with Sam. If you need someone for your operation, come to me. I know I’m a girl and maybe you big macho dudes don’t like to put a girl in the driver’s seat. That’s only because you haven’t seen me drive. Leave Sam alone. I’m the driver you want.”
“If you drive like you swing your cojones around, then you are definitely the driver I want,” Madrigal said, grinning. He picked up his cigar again. “Victor, show these ladies out, will you?”
The enormous man came forward again and opened the door of the game room.
As Eve walked past him, Madrigal took her hand and brushed his lips against it. “Nice to meet you.”
She smiled at him, her skin crawling with disgust. “Likewise.”
****
When Eve’s phone rang at eleven in the morning, she was still sound asleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes, grabbed the phone, and dragged it into the darkness under the covers.
“Hello?” she croaked.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said Sam. “I was wondering what happened to you last night.”
Eve sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep,” she lied. “I came home and the bike ride knocked me right out.”
“I’ve got good news for you.” His voice was giddy. “I’m square with Madrigal. I don’t owe him anything and he’s not going to take the Bravado.”
Eve smiled. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I handed over the money and his guy said I was all settled up.”
“Did he explain why?”
“No. Just that I’m done and the boat’s mine again.” He laughed. “I don’t know what happened to change Madrigal’s mind, but I’ll take it.”
“Remember when you said you were afraid the universe was all out of miracles for you?” Eve sat up in her bed. “Guess you were wrong.”
“I’m glad I was wrong. Listen. I want to take you out to celebrate. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” She straightened up. “How about I cook for you instead? Pull out all the stops?”
“Are you going to show me what you can do?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to cook you the best meal of your life.”
“A five-star Michelin meal.”
“Michelin stars only go up to three, Sam.”
“But that’s how good this meal is going to be. It’s going to go up to five.”
“You’re too much.” She glanced at the clock. “Come to the house at seven. We’ll have a feast.”
“I can’t wait, baby. I’m going to help out at the Compass Rose, and then Kyle and I are planning on going out for happy hour. I’ll see you at seven sharp.”
“Until then.”
Tiffani and Eve hit three gourmet markets, a Japanese supermarket, and the fishmonger’s shop at the end of the marina. They unloaded the trunk of the Bentley and put everything in the kitchen. Eve took out her knife roll and checked to see if her blades were sharp.
“Do you always cook enough food for an army?” asked Tiffani, trying to shove a flat of raspberries into the fridge.
“I can’t help myself,” said Eve. “But there will be lots of leftovers, if you’re interested.”
“Oh, I’m interested. If you cooked it, I’m interested.”
The doorbell rang.
“I hope you don’t mind. I asked my friend Ken to come help me out today,” said Eve.
“What on earth are you making that you need more help?” Tiffani asked, popping a few ripe raspberries into her mouth.
“A five-star Michelin meal, I told you. And I’ve only got three hours! I can’t do this alone.”
Ken came into the kitchen. His black hair was tied back and he was wearing a vintage concert tee, sneakers, and shorts. He was carrying his own knife roll and a cup of coffee. “Someone call for a sous chef?”
Tiffani looked up and froze mid-raspberry. She quickly wiped her hand on her shorts and sat up.
“Tiff, Ken. Ken, Tiff,” said Eve, briskly. She was already deboning a lingcod at the kitchen sink, but she didn’t miss the little spark that flared between the two as they shook hands.
While Ken prepped the vegetables, Tiffani took Eve aside. “What is it with you and gorgeous men, sugar? Do you wash your hair in catnip or something?”
Eve smiled. “Maybe it’s time for you to go for a little swim. In the silver bikini.”
Tiffani waggled her eyebrows. “Good idea.”
“Don’t distract him too much, though. I need him to start on the tartare.”
Tiffani gave Ken a sidelong glance and sighed wistfully. “I’ve always had a thing for the young ones. They have stamina.”
“He’d need stamina to keep up with a cougar like you.”
“Hey, I’m too young to be a cougar. You take that back.”
****
At half-past six, Eve took a shower and changed into the dress she’d worn for her first date with Sam. Putting it on always made her feel beautiful—a dress for good luck. As she zipped up and put on some pink lipstick, she wondered how she’d break the news to him: she was ready to start looking for a cooking job again.
This afternoon had only reminded her how much she loved to cook, using fire and knives to make fresh ingredients sing. As much as working on the Bravado had taught her to conquer her fears and anxieties, it was time for her to go. That was Sam’s world. It was time for her to find hers.
As she dried her hair, she wondered how their relationship would take shape over time. A chef’s hours were no party. She’d have to work weekends and holidays. But she and Sam could make it work. Now that this whole business with Madrigal was over, they’d finally have time to breathe.
She changed the sheets on her bed and straightened up her room. She checked herself in the mirror one last time before she went outside.
Ken helped Eve clean up the kitchen. When Tiffani invited him out for a drink, he was all too happy to join her. At seven, the kitchen was spotless and the table on the patio was set. Eve lit candles and sat down with a margarita, feeling like she could conquer the world. She’d faced down a drug dealer. She’d helped out Sam. He never had to find out—her knowing the truth was enough.
At seven thirty, feeling warm from her first margarita, Eve went to sit by the pool. She put her feet in the blue water and took out her cell phone. No calls. It wasn’t until seven forty-five that she bit the bullet and dialed Sam’s number. No answer. Maybe he was on the freeway and couldn’t answer his phone. At eight o’clock she tried again. Still no answer. The tequila was making her head ache.
At eight fifteen she woke up from a snooze on one of the poolside loungers. The candles on the patio table were halfway gone. Ugly wax globs dripped onto the glass and Eve grew a bit ill thinking about the time and effort she’d put into the meal. Five stars, indeed. Silly. Halfway through her second margarita, she called Sam again. Nothing. She wasn’t sure what time it was when she slipped on her sneakers and got on her bike. She was still wearing her pretty black dress, but she’d thrown on her black hoodie to keep warm. She’d made the trip to the marina so many times that her bike knew the way.
Stone-cold sober and running on adrenaline, Eve walked into the Compass Rose at nine. Judith told her that Kyle and Sam had left three hours earlier. She said to check Garrett’s, the trendy new whiskey bar on State Street.
“You need a ride, honey?” asked Judith.
Eve smelled the blueberry vodka on Judith’s breath and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “No, you stay here. I’ll be all right.”
****
“To Slammer!”
Twelve shot glasses clinked against each other, spilling drops of whiskey on the polished dark wood floor. In the weeks since his accident, Sam had stayed away from hard alcohol and now he had zero tolerance. This afternoon, after the second cocktail, he was ready to call it quits. But then Kyle brought him to Garrett’s and everyone wanted to buy him a drink. At this point, he wasn’t quite sure why. Some people said it was because they’d missed seeing him out. Some people said it was because he beat Madrigal. As he sat blinking in one of the booths at the back of the bar, he wasn’t sure how he’d beaten Madrigal. But everyone kept telling him that he had.
Their table sat in the shadow of an enormous deer head. There were girls all around him. He couldn’t remember all their names. One of them refilled his shot glass and smiled at him. She was blonde. Really pretty. He smiled at her and took the shot. She cheered. He wasn’t sure why she was cheering for him.
“Kyle!” he said. “Where the fuck’s Kyle?”
Kyle appeared on the other side of the table. “I’m right here, buddy. What’s going on? What do you need?”
“I gotta get out of here, man. I gotta meet Eve.”
“No, man,” Kyle smiled and winked at the blonde. “You’ve got plenty of time yet. Don’t worry. We’ll get you over there in time.”
“Really? How much time have I got?” Sam checked his pockets for his phone. He couldn’t find it. I shouldn’t be this drunk. What’s happening?
“At least an hour, man. Relax. We just got here.” Sam tried to stand up. Three pairs of pretty manicured hands grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down. Kyle started giggling. “They don’t want you to go, Slammer. See how much you’ve been missed? Do you see? I kept telling you. You wouldn’t believe me.”
A waitress with dark curly hair brought over another bottle and a stack of glasses. “Big man today, huh, Sam?” she said with a wink.
He searched his foggy consciousness. She’d told him her name. What was it? “Emily!”
She smiled. “That’s right.” Her voice dropped. “And if you play your cards right you’ll be yelling it later tonight.”
It took a minute for him to process that. He pointed at her and laughed. “Good one.”
More shots were followed by an old-fashioned with a big ball of ice in it. The girls had pickpocketed his phone out of his jacket and programmed their numbers into it. Sam tried to get it back, but they passed it down the bar out of his reach. He tried to get up again and they pulled him back down. He spilled his drink on his jeans.
“Kyle!” he called. “Kyle, you motherfucker—I have to go. I’m serious.”
Kyle sat down at the table again. “One more, dude. One more and then we’ll go.”
****
Eve looked with dismay at the long line in front of Garrett’s. Without Tiffani or Sam to usher her in, she’d have to wait with the rest of the mere mortals. She took off her hoodie and hung it on her bike. She ran her fingers through her windblown hair and put on a fresh coat of lip gloss. There was nothing to be done about the tattered sneakers. Maybe people would think she was making some kind of fashion statement.
Halfway through the line, she tried Sam’s phone one more time. This time her call went straight to voicemail. Seething, she hung up, stuck the phone in her bra, and wondered why she didn’t just turn around, get back on her bike, and go home. Sam wasn’t her boyfriend. They had technically never even promised to be exclusive. Why did she care if he wanted to blow her off and go to some dumb bar instead?
Eve folded her arms and fought to keep her emotions in check.
She came to the conclusion that she wasn’t in fact a crazy, obsessed woman who just so happened to have spent three hours making a meal for a man who wasn’t her boyfriend. She was in fact a good and loyal friend. Sam was never irresponsible like this. He wasn’t answering his phone. She wanted to make sure he was all right.
It was nearly ten-thirty by the time the bouncer checked her ID and let her in. She pushed her way through the crowd, looking for Sam or the path of gaga women he usually left in his wake. Passing the dance floor and the speakers pumping music, she made her way to the back of the bar where a bank of semi-private booths were bursting with people. Sam, handsome as always, sat in the last booth, laughing. There were so many women in the booth they were hanging out of it, sitting on the table and on his lap and on any horizontal surface that could support a butt cheek. Kyle was sitting opposite him, refilling everyone’s shot glasses from a huge bottle of vodka.
“After this, body shots!” he yelled. They all clinked glasses and knocked back the shots.
Eve took a deep breath and stepped up to the table.
“Oh, my God, look who’s here,” Kyle said, putting the bottle down. “Hey, nice shoes.”
Sixteen pairs of eyes shot down to her sneakers. She frowned.
“Thanks. Nice face,” she said to Kyle. “I’m just looking for Sam.”
“Man of the evening. You’ve found him. He’s right here.” Kyle pointed to Sam, who looked up at Eve. He blinked slowly. Finally, he flashed her a brilliant smile. Relief washed over her and she smiled back.
“Eve! Jesus Christ, am I late?” His words were slurred. “What time is it? Where’s my phone? Excuse me, sweetheart, I’ve gotta get out of here—”
Sam tried to slide out of the booth. The girls on the end moved reluctantly out of the way until Kyle’s hand shot out and pinned them in place. “Now, hold on,” Kyle said. The tone of his voice sharpened. “You ladies stay right where you are.”
“Cut it out, Kyle. I just want to talk to Eve,” said Sam. He tried to get around the girls, but the space was too narrow.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I can’t hold it in any more, bro.”
“Hold what in?” asked Sam. He was still smiling.
“Aren’t you having a good night, Sam? Don’t you miss being out like this?” asked Kyle.
Sam shrugged. “Of course. It’s just that I—”
“You belong here. With us. Not with her.”
Eve stood up straight. “Wait a second—”
Kyle ignored her. “Sam, you told me. Point blank. You’re not interested in having another girlfriend. Isn’t that what you said? After that last train wreck? ‘Kyle, if I ever get the idea to jump into another relationship again, stop me. If you consider yourself my friend in any capacity, punch me in the face and remind me that relationships are not for me.’ As God is my witness, Slammer, didn’t you tell me that?”
Sam’s smile faded. “For Chrissakes, Kyle, quit fucking around.”
“She’s got her hooks in you. You know she does.”
“Don’t.”
“Look at her face. She came in here ready to rip you a new one. You’re not even together. Is this what you want?”
“Mind your own goddamn business, Kyle,” said Eve.
He turned on her. “Sam is my goddamn business. In a way you would never understand because as much as you pretend not to be, you’re an outsider here. You don’t belong here. Look around.”
For the first time, Eve looked at the faces of the women sitting in their booth. Each one was a stunning, statuesque beauty. They looked back at her with varying degrees of pity and fascination.
“Sam doesn’t want a girlfriend,” said Kyle. “Why would he? Look at what he can get.”
The implication couldn’t have been clearer: If this is what he can get, why would he want you?
Eve shook off her self-doubt and let her anger take over. “Not that it’s any of your business, Kyle, but I happen to like Sam. And I care about him. So when he goes missing, I like to know he’s all right and not face down in some ditch because some drug dealer you introduced him to put two slugs in his head.”
The women sat back and looked at Kyle in shock.
“Whatever. You’re just pissed because the truth hurts. Sam’s not interested in having a girlfriend. He isn’t interested in anything long-term with you. You just think he is because he was your captive audience while he was recovering. He likes to be out and about. Not stuck in bed while you spoon-feed him and coo at him.”
Sam stood up where he was, but swayed on his feet. “Shit.” He put his hand flat against the wall for balance. “Both of you, cut it out.”
The fire blazed hungrily in Eve’s gut. She was close to losing control with Kyle. “Why are you so possessive of him? What, he can’t talk for himself? Oh. I understand. Sam has the looks, the business, the charm, and the friends. You can’t stand that he might actually have a voice of his own, too.”
Now Sam looked at her. “Eve, please. Stop.”
Kyle grinned. “If he had the balls to use his voice right now, he’d tell you to fuck off. So I’ll do it for him: fuck off, Eve.”
“Hey!” said Sam. “Enough!”
“I’m looking forward to more of these fights with you, Brautigan,” she said, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Get ready. Because I’m going to be in your face for a long, long time.”
“How long?” asked Kyle. He turned to Sam. “Hey, buddy, how long does yellow fever usually last, anyway?”
When her vision went red, all Eve could hear was the girls screaming and the glasses crashing to the floor. She’d been in two or three fights before, back in Japan when someone at her high school called her a gaijin behind her back—a dirty foreigner. This time was hauntingly similar. Kyle’s dreads were easy to grab onto. All she had to do was take two handfuls, knock his head against the wall, and the fight was on. He was so startled all he could do was put his hands up to protect his face.
She could’ve easily kept going had it not been for the three security guards and two bouncers who picked her up and lifted her off the floor, screaming and scratching like a cat. They carried her out the front door and set her down on the sidewalk. Her dress had gone sideways. She pulled it back. It was torn.
Sam came stumbling out of Garrett’s, his entourage of statuesque women in tow. Kyle was right behind him, a purple shiner beginning to bloom under his eye. The fucker was smiling. She smiled back and made a fist.
“You want more?” she asked.
Sam put his big hand on her bare shoulder. “Calm down,” he said softly. “You need to stop. Now.”
His touch had always had a calming effect on her. This time it sapped away her anger and left behind only an aching sense of shame—she’d let Kyle get under her skin, and in doing so, helped him to prove a point. She looked helplessly up at Sam, barely registering the big crowd of people gathered around them to watch the train wreck.
She had only one question. “Was he telling the truth?”
Sam let go of her and took an unsteady step back. He looked at himself and then he looked at her. His expression was grim. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”
“Answer me. Was he telling the truth?”
“You know I’m a mess, baby.”
“What does that mean?”
Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “That he was telling the truth. More or less.”
The pain that hit her was so sharp she exhaled as though she’d taken a punch to the gut. She couldn’t meet Sam’s gaze out of fear of bursting into tears. So she looked down at her torn dress and tattered sneakers and wondered if her bike had turned into a broken pumpkin, too.
“Okay. Well. Bye, Sam.”
She turned around, got on her bike, and pedaled away, leaving the crowd of staring patrons behind her.