Tricky Business (22 page)

On the TV screen, a man was broadcasting from a helicopter. Above him and to the right were big red letters that said NEWSPLEX NINE NEWSCHOPPER HELICAM. He was gesturing out of an open hatchway, pointing toward a scene below him, a residential neighborhood flooded with dark water, a half-dozen police and fire-rescue vehicles down there with their lights flashing. The image was bouncing around.

“What's going on?” said Fay, pointing to the TV.

“I think maybe somebody got hurt,” said Joe, putting drinks on her tray. “I wasn't watching too close.”

The reporter in the helicopter was saying, “. . . can see, these gusting winds are making it very difficult.”

“I'm surprised a helicopter can even fly in this,” said Fay.

“Must be a big story,” said Joe.

Now there was a little window on the lower left of the screen, showing the male and female anchors.

“Clark,” the male anchor said, “can you see from there exactly where the downed lines are?”

“Bill, I. . . hold it,” said the reporter. The helicopter appeared to be gyrating wildly now, the hatchway behind the man showing sky, then ground, then sky. The reporter appeared to be grabbing for something, then he disappeared from sight. A muffled voice said
shit.

“Did somebody just say ‘shit'?” said Fay.

“Sound like,” said Joe.

“Clark?” said the male anchor.

On the screen, there was more gyrating, then, suddenly, blackness.

The female anchor said, “We seem to be having some technical problems with that live feed.”

The male anchor said, “We'll be right back.”

“They're busy tonight,” said Fay.

“Lotta news happening,” said Joe, putting the drinks on Fay's tray. “Here you go. Stoli and diet Coke, man.”

“Thanks, Joe,” said Fay. “Listen, after I deliver these, I'm gonna duck outside and call my mother, so if Manny asks where I am, tell him I went to the ladies' room, OK?”

“OK, but I don't think we see Manny for a while.”

“Why not?”

“You feel that?” said Joe, pointing toward the floor. “We slowing down.”

Fay listened for a moment, then said, “Why?”

“I don't know, but sometimes the boat slows down out here, and when that happens, Manny goes to down there in the back with some guys, and you don't see him again for a while.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“I don't know,” said Joe. “I don't want to know. On this boat, the less you know, the better.”

ON THE FIRST DECK, THE
ABUELAS
WERE IN THEIR usual corner, punching the PLAY buttons on their usual quarter slot machines, complaining in Spanish about their usual bad luck.

Ni agua,
they were saying, mantralike.
Not even water.
But their poor return on investment did not keep them from shoving more quarters into the slots. They did not notice that the boat was slowing, and they barely glanced up as Conrad Conch passed by, a mass of shuffling pinkness, heading toward the stern.

THE INSTANT THAT JOHNNY AND THE CONTUSIONS stopped playing, Connie, the grieving divorcée, reappeared, and before the other band members had put their amps on STANDBY, she and Jock were in a full-body clamp, mouths locked, with major tongue penetration.

“Hey, Jock,” said Ted, to Jock's back. “Your wife asked me to remind you to pick up some Pampers on the way home.”

“For the baby,” said Wally.

“He means the babies,” corrected Ted. “The three little babies you have at home, with your wife.”

“Who you're married to,” said Wally.

Jock unlocked his mouth from Connie's and said to her, “They're just messing with you. I don't have kids.”

“I don't give a shit,” said Connie, locking back on.

“So,” Ted said to Wally, “Johnny and me were gonna go out on deck and try to identify constellations in the subtropical sky.”

“I'll catch up with you,” said Wally. “I'm going downstairs for a little while.”

“Really?” said Ted. “What's downstairs?”

“Nobody,” said Wally.

“With the legs,” said Ted. “Good luck with
that.
How much time you figure we have?”

Wally looked at his watch. The band was supposed to take a fifteen-minute break. “You think we can get away with a half hour?” he said.

“Fine by me,” said Ted. “Question is, can Jock
survive
a half hour?”

Jock unlocked. “I'll be fine,” he said.

“You'll be fine more than once,” said Connie.

“We'll be in the kitchen,” said Jock, heading toward the buffet area, his right hand on Connie's butt, her left hand on his.

“They make a nice couple,” said Ted.

“A lot in common,” said Wally.

“He's gonna do her in Emeril's
kitchen
?” said Johnny.

“That's Jock,” said Wally. “Always with the romantic gesture.”

“Nothing says true love,” said Wally, “like getting nailed on a stainless-steel counter.”

“Twice,” said Ted. “In a half hour.”

“I bet there's roaches in there the size of raccoons,” said Johnny.

“They'll just have to wait their turn,” said Wally. “Jock is only human.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” said Ted. “Anyway, we'll catch you later.”

“Don't get blown off the ship,” said Wally. “Or, if you do, leave the car keys.”

“Seems to me,” said Ted, “you're the one who's gonna get blown off.”

ON THE FIRST DECK, MARA PURVIS WAS ATTEMPTING to explain a point of etiquette to the three dudes wearing ball caps backward.

“What you need to understand,” she was saying, “is that just because you buy a Bud Light from a person, that doesn't mean you can grab that person's ass. Even when you give the person four dollars and say keep the change, which is a tip of a whole fifty cents, that is not the same thing as an agreement between you and me that you have purchased the right to touch any portion of my body, OK?”

“We were just having some fun,” said the first dude.

“But it's not fun for
me,
” said Mara. “Don't you get that?”

“Get what?” said the dude.

Mara sighed. “Let me ask you something,” she said. “Do you have a sister?”

“Yeah,” said the dude.

“Would you want one of these guys grabbing
her
ass?” said Mara.

“I grab his sister's ass all the time,” said the second dude, who then dodged a punch from the first dude.

“His sister is a ho,” said the third dude, dodging a second punch.

“But seriously,” said Mara. “You get my point, right?”

“Yeah,” said the first dude.

“Then tell me what it is,” said Mara.

“If I want to touch your ass,” said the first dude, “I need to give you a bigger tip.” All three dudes cracked up.

“Jesus,” said Mara, shaking her head.

Arnie walked up, trailed by Phil. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he said. “These ruffians giving you any trouble?”

“Not really,” said Mara. “They're just young and stupid. Some day they'll be older. Although probably just as stupid.”

“If we're so stupid, and you're so smart,” said the third dude, “how come we're college students, and you're a cocktail waitress?”

“College students,” said Arnie. “Now THAT'S an achievement. They only let in, what, seventy-eight million people a year?”

“What's this got to do with you, Pops?” said the first dude.

“I ain't your pop,” said Arnie. To Phil, he said, “How come everybody thinks I'm their pop?”

“You got a paternal way about you,” said Phil.

“We'll catch you later, sweets,” said the first dude, to Mara. “When we need more beer.” He faked a grab at Mara's butt, and she flinched.

The dudes drifted off, laughing. Mara watched them for a moment, shook her head, said, “What am I
doing
here?”

“Hey,” said Arnie, touching her shoulder, “you're not taking those idiots seriously, are you?”

“No,” said Mara. “I'm just, I think maybe I'm getting too old for this, you know? Night after night.”

“Hey,” said Arnie, “you're not old.”

“Trust us,” said Phil. “We know from old.”

“You got your whole life ahead of you,” said Arnie.

“I know,” said Mara. “That's the problem. I mean, I look ahead at my whole life, and all I see is more nights like this, and more idiots like that.” She patted Arnie's hand. “Anyway, thanks for the rescue, but I got to get back to work. You guys need anything?”

“No, thanks. We're heading outside, get some air. Getting smoky in here.”

“It's blowing pretty hard out there,” said Mara.

“We're going out the back of the boat,” said Arnie. “Out of the wind.”

“That's supposed to be crew only back there,” said Mara. “They don't even let us go back there. Manny's real strict about that.”

“So if he sees us, he'll tell us to leave,” said Arnie. “That's the beauty of being an old fart. We go wherever we want, but nobody ever gets mad. They just figure we're senile.”

“Which we are,” said Phil.

“Speak for yourself,” said Arnie. “I have all my faculties.”

“You
have
them,” said Phil, “but you don't always bring them
with
you.”

“Anyway,” said Mara, “be careful out there.”

She headed back into the crowd for more drink orders. Arnie and Phil headed toward the stern. They paused by the first-deck bar to look up at the TV set, which showed a male announcer and a female announcer, both looking grim. In the upper right-hand corner of the screen were large red letters spelling out the words KILLER STORM DEATH TOLL MOUNTS, and under that, NEWSCHOPPER NINE CRASHES WITH 3 ABOARD.

“. . . apparent death toll raised to six in this killer storm,” the male was saying, “as, incredibly, the lives of three more members of the NewsPlex Nine news family apparently were claimed just minutes ago in a tragic helicopter crash in Westchester.” He looked at the female anchor.

“We have dispatched the NewsPlex Nine Satellite News Van to the scene,” she said, “and we hope to have a live report from there shortly.” She looked at the male anchor.

“Already,” he said, “tributes have begun flowing in to the NewsPlex Nine NewsCenter in memory of these three courageous . . .”

“Are they saying six people are
dead
?” said Phil.