Shoot the Moon

Chapter Twenty-Two - The Chairman of the Board

"Uh, that's unlikely to happen." That said, she marched toward the limo. I hurried to catch her. 

"Echo, this will be a lot easier for me if I know you're safe." 

"Will you please stop treating me like the girlfriend? I'm not like these dips in movies today. I'm the Bette Davis type. I'm you're wife...for the time being. We're equal. Got it? Now. I want to see a gangster."  

I sidled up to the open door and bent down to peek into the car as if I expected a lion to jump out. The limo hadn't appeared that big but it seemed to have a small living room tucked inside of it. The seats were plush and the panels of the doors were gleaming with real polished wood. There was a jump seat opened up from the partition and beyond that a small built-in cabinet with a miniature bar. The interior of the car glowed like butterscotch and aged bourbon. On the maroon carpet a pair of Bally slip-ons peeked from the sharp creased cuffs of navy trousers with a faint hint of a pinstripe. The upper half of the man was enfolded in shadow. A large white hand appeared out of the darkness and I heard him say, "Get in. We'll take a ride." 

"I don't like the sound of that," I said. 

"There's nothing to fear. Come on," the hand beckoned again, "You like sports?" 

"It depends." 

"We'll take in the fights. There's been a lot of misunderstanding. Let's talk. Keep the gun if you want. You can be perfectly safe. You have my word." 

"Jack," Echo whispered, "what are you doing with that thing!" 

I pulled her aside and said quietly, "I'm going to shoot this guy if he acts up. Now please don't meddle with my resolve. Okay?" 

"Jack, please don't shoot anybody!" 

"Oh brother." 

I moved toward the door of the car. Another light snapped on inside and I had my first look at Buddy Cruz. My idea of a Colombian drug lord was a fat guy covered in gold chains and a Guyabera shirt open to his ankles. That wasn't Cruz. He must have been wearing ten thousand bucks worth of impeccable good taste. No jewelry except for a wedding band and a wafer thin gold watch on his left wrist. Check the estimate: That watch alone cost ten thou. 

He was handsome, in his forties, oozing with well being and confidence. He looked like Keith Hernandez without the mustache posing for the cover of GQ. His haircut, for instance, was perfect.  

I still hesitated to get in. You can dress a panther in a tux, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea to stick your head in its mouth at feeding time. I looked over at The Ghost waiting with his hand on the door. He would stand there until you and all your kind got tired. Or until you died. His line went back to an ancient Aztec idol carved out of rock. He could wait a thousand years. 

I turned to Echo and said, "I have to talk with this guy. You go on home." 

"I don't think so," she said, and got into the car.  

I looked to the sky and the sky was no help, so I followed her. It was a comfort to have the .38 in my sweaty, jittering palm.  

The Ghost got back into the car and sat on the jump seat one hand looped through the strap hanging from the doorframe. There was room to spare for all of us. Cruz was acting the gracious host asking Echo what she wanted to drink. There was an unopened bottle of Vieuve Cliquot in a bucket of ice on the floor. 

"Champagne, thank you," said Echo. 

"Why not," I said, "It's a special occasion." Your last night on earth has to qualify.