Gold Coast

“What reasons?”

“I told you you weren’t going to get much of a story. I don’t know why you insisted.”

“Because something’s going on,” Tina said, “and I think if you had just a little more confidence in me you might tell what it is.”

“It has nothing to do with confidence.”

“All right, trust. I promise I won’t write anything you don’t want revealed.”

“Revealed,” Karen said. “That’s exactly the kind of word I don’t want to see. Karen DiCilia’s Secret Revealed.”

“I don’t know why I used it,” Tina said, sitting forward in her chair, feeling close to something and forgetting her casual-reporter pose. “It’s a written word, but it’s really not the kind I use. I’m interested in your point of view, how you feel about things, rather than your effect on me. If you know what I mean.”

“Which is what? How do you see me?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I mean I haven’t made any judgments. Right away I think of those words again. Karen DiCilia’s Secret Not Revealed. A very smashing looking woman who keeps to herself, has a gun-”

“Don’t mention that.”

“Isn’t exactly hiding but seems watchful, guarded, quietly aware of something going on she won’t talk about. You must realize you’ve got everybody wondering about you.”

Karen didn’t say anything. She sat with her legs crossed, one slender hand touching the side of her sunglasses.

“All right, if I do a Karen Hill rather than a Karen DiCilia,” Tina said, “do you have any early pictures of yourself?”

“I may have,” Karen said. “I’d have to look.”

A woman by the name of Epifania Cruz, forty-two, had given her daughter and son-in-law a wooden chair that was over two hundred years old and originally from Andalucia. The chair and baby Alicia, her daughter, were brought to Miami from Cuba the night of April 27, 1961, following the defeat at the Bay of Pigs.

It was a low straight chair, more like a three-legged stool with a back support. Epifania gave it to Alicia and her son-in-law with apprehension because he was one of those who dressed like a disco dancer and spent his time at the Centro Español even though he never had a job. Epifania was in Abbey Hospital because of a problem with her colon, when she learned Alicia and her son-in-law, the pimp, had moved away quickly, getting out before they were taken to court, and had left much of what they owned in their rented home on Monegro Avenue.

Nearly a month had passed; but maybe the chair was still in the house. Epifania was told no one else had moved into it. Maybe she’d be lucky.

She went there at night. If she found the chair and carried it away, she didn’t want people to see her even though she considered the chair her own property. She brought with her a large kitchen knife to use to pry open the door, but found she didn’t have to. The door was unlocked.

With the street light shining in the window, Epifania could see well enough. The chair wasn’t in the living room. It wasn’t in the kitchen. She opened the door to the bedroom and stood in the opening. It was too dark back there to see anything. She raised her hand holding the kitchen knife, reaching for the light switch. There was an explosion and Epifania was blown back into the hall, almost to the kitchen.

Roland came out of the bedroom with the 12-gauge pump-action shotgun under his arm, reached into the kitchen to turn on the light and looked down at the woman.

He said, “Shit. You ain’t Vivian.”

23

MAGUIRE SAID TO LESLEY, “Just tell him I’m whacked out, probably coming down with something.”

“I don’t wonder,” Lesley said. “The three of you get it on at one time, or you and the guy take turns? Hey, is he Andre?”

“Yeah, it’s Andre,” Maguire said, “and his wife. We haven’t seen each other in awhile, so I want to take the day off, spend some time with ’em.”

“He just loaned you his car a week ago, didn’t he?”

“Hey, Lesley,” Maguire said, “you’re go

“Brad’s pissed at you anyway for not coming back yesterday. He’s go

Maguire reached the end right there. He said, “Tell him whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

“Ca-al!”

She never called him Cal. Did she? What difference did it make? He went into his apartment, leaving Lesley standing by her yellow Honda. (The Mercedes was parked two blocks away.)

Jesus, hunched in front of the television set, adjusting the picture, said, “Look, the house on Monegro.” A covered human form on an ambulance stretcher was being carried down the front steps as the voice-over newscaster described the mysterious shooting, the murder of a woman named Epifania Cruz. The newscaster said the police were now looking for the woman’s daughter and son-in-law, the last tenants of the house.

Vivian Arzola, holding a coffeepot, watched from the stove. She said, “You know what it’s like?” Neither Maguire nor Jesus looked at her, watching the woman’s body being lifted into the van now. “Like in a movie, the people run out of the house, they reach safety just in time and the house blows up.”

They were looking at a commercial now. When Maguire realized it he turned off the television set. Next thing they’d be watching Dinah Shore and Merv Griffin. He said, “We got to do it tonight. Figure out how and set it up-”

“If we’re sure we’re go

They had gotten Vivian out of the house on Monegro yesterday. They weren’t going to sit around here or take her from place to place. Vivian had said she wanted to get far away from here. It wasn’t worth it, looking over her shoulder all the time. She had to go someplace else.

“It’s how we do it, not if,” Maguire said. “It’s got to be at the DiCilia house.”

“Why?” Jesus said.

“Because the police were there already”-Maguire speaking quietly, wanting Jesus to relax and listen-“when Roland tried to grab your sister. Okay, he comes to try again, armed, huh? Only this time we’re there. You’re defending your sister, you shoot him.”

“Me? I thought you were go

“One or the other,” Maguire said. “You know how to fire a gun, don’t you?”

“Sure, I know that. But I never shot at anybody.”

“Let’s talk about-first, how do we get him there?” Maguire said. “He comes because he thinks Vivian’s in the house.”

“You’re crazy you think I’m going there,” Vivian said.

“You don’t have to go there. I’m saying he thinks you’re there because we get him to believe it. Like, say I call you from there later. I say, ‘Okay, Vivian, it’s all set. We’ll pick you up, you spend the night here and take you to the police first thing in the morning.’ You say something, he hears your voice, he knows it’s you.”

“I don’t understand,” Vivian said, then began to nod. “Yeah, the tap on the phone. I can’t even think straight.”

“What if he don’t?” Jesus said. “If he’s busy looking for Vivian and he don’t listen to it?”

“I don’t know,” Maguire said, wondering if he had to tell Karen about it and not wanting to. Though if they had to wait around a few days until Roland picked up the tape-it might turn out he’d have to tell her. But he didn’t want to bring her into it. He wanted to get it done and present her with it. There, the guy’s off your back. Making it look, not easy exactly, but not too hard either. There. You have any other problems?

He said to Jesus, “What’s the guy’s name working for him?”

“Lionel Oliva.”

“Okay, you tell Lionel you know where Vivian is. You say you found out Vivian’s go

“What if he asks why I’m telling him?” Jesus said. “He knows I won’t do any favor for Roland.”

“Tell him-what if you tell him you’re setting Roland up for somebody?”