Free Gagliano,Anthony - Straits of Fortune.wps by Unknown Page A

and stuck it in a pocket inside the kayak. I was glad when I didn't have to look at it anymore. I was watching the Tonight show when I heard the Porsche pull up. I peeked through the slats in the venetian blinds in time to see Vivian crossing the street. I listened for her foot- steps, and when they got loud, I opened the door before she could ring. I didn't want to wake Sternfeld. It was a little late for kayaking, and I didn't need any questions. Vivian walked past me, and I closed the door behind her. She was wearing a black, sleeveless, leather dress that showed, I thought, a bit too much leg for the neighbor- hood--not to mention for my better judgment. She went over and looked down at the kayak. Her body was as hard and as dark-bright as a candied apple, and I caught her scent as she went by me, brushing my chest with her shoulder. She 60
    leaned over the kayak and caressed the smoothness of the fiberglass hull as though it were the flank of a racehorse. Both her dress and the kayak had the same shine, like ripe fruit stained by the light. "Did you bring the money?" I asked. "Nick's bringing it. He should be here in a moment." She had seated herself in one of the wicker chairs and was light- ing a cigarette. "Why'd you bother to come?" I asked "Your brother's the one with the cash." "Why do you think I came?" "To wish me bon voyage, I suppose." Vivian looked up at me and shook her head. "You're taking a chance for me. I thought I should be here." "You're forgetting there's a little money involved." The doorbell rang, and I let Nick in. The first thing I no- ticed was that he had dyed his closely cropped hair platinum blond, but the darker roots had already begun to appear at the scalp like a row of fresh quills coming in. He wore a black T-shirt over a pair of black Levi's encircled by a black belt with silver studs, like a gunslinger's livery. He was very tall and thin to the point of emaciation, with the wary face of a fox for whom the hounds will always be just around the last bend and closing fast. There was a Louis Vuitton knapsack on his back. He gave me his usual condescending smile, as though I were a fool for reasons beyond my philis- tine powers of comprehension. Considering the night's main activity, he may have been onto something. In the beginning, when we first met, I'd tried hard to be his friend, but from the start he'd never missed a chance to let me know he considered himself my superior in every realm except the physical. He had attended Columbia, the University of Chicago, and the Sorbonne and had managed to escape from each of those august institutions without a STRAITS OF FORTUNE 61
    degree, but it wasn't because he lacked smarts. On the con- trary, he spoke Spanish, French, a little Italian, and was extremely well read and knowledgeable about art. He just thought that everybody in the world except for himself and a few of his friends was ineffably crass and stupid, including his professors. Nick stripped off his backpack as though it were on fire and threw it on the floor at Vivian's feet. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get fifty thousand dollars in cash at this time of night?" he demanded furi- ously, turning first to me, then Vivian. "Relax, Nick," I said. "It's for a good cause. You want a beer?" He looked at me as though I had offered him a turd. "No, you idiot, I do not want a beer. I don't suppose you have any white wine. That would be too much to expect." He looked around the apartment. "How can you live like this?" he asked. "I keep my eyes closed," I said. I picked up the backpack and opened it. There was a lot of money inside. I closed the bag and held it in the palm of my hand. It was heavy. "That seems about the right weight. You done good, Nick," I said. "Real good. I'm proud of you." I carried the bag into the kitchen and put it in the cabinet under the sink, burying it beneath a hoard of plastic bags from the supermarket. Then I went into the fridge and found half a bottle