'You know something, Tamargo? You're part of a detestable solution. A detestable solution, in an infernal recurrence of guilt and transgression. Those are not my words, but those of a great French philosopher. If you had a shred of fuckin' intelligence you would know that your very accusation implies the failure of the very same institution you represent. It's your kind of prejudice that's the single most important factor in recidivism. Maybe you don't know, but that's what they call it when a con commits another crime. Recidivism. The best thing you could do on behalf of the whole detestable corrections system? Drive on, and shut your fuckin' mouth.'
The light turned green. Dave revved the engine hard and slipped the clutch.
Tamargo stamped on his own gas pedal, hoping to keep sight of Dave Delano long enough to read his license plate. Instead the little sports car just disappeared, and the prison guard was more than fifty yards up the road before he realized that Dave had reversed away from the traffic light. Tamargo braked hard and twisting his bulk around in his car seat, searched the rear window for the ex-con in the convertible. But Dave was gone.
After that Dave thought he could not change his appearance a moment too soon. He was heading for Bal Harbor on Miami Beach where Figaro had told him there was an excellent shopping mall opposite a classy Sheraton, with the sea view he had stipulated. Finding a different route onto Biscayne Boulevard, and Route 41, he was soon driving across McArthur Causeway and over the intercoastal waterway with the cruise port and ship docks of Miami on his right. The sight of a couple of big passenger liners pointed toward the ocean gave him a little thrill, for he knew that if things worked out as planned, he would soon be taking a sea voyage himself. Right now he was arriving on South Beach, driving up Collins and through the so-called historic district. That just meant art deco. But that was all the history there was going in Miami, which was one of the reasons why Dave couldn't wait to leave the place. Even so, it felt good to be driving along through the gaudy pastels and flashy neon of Collins again; with all the people around, it was like rejoining the human race.
Ten minutes up Collins he pulled into the Bal Harbor shopping mall, parked the car, and still carrying the bag full of money, went in search of his new look. Straightaway he knew he was in the right place. Ralph Lauren, Giorgio Armani, Donna Karan, Brooks Brothers. Jimmy Figaro could hardly have recommended a better place for what Dave had in mind. There was even a beauty parlor offering a $200 special: a massage, a haircut, a manicure, a facial. Maybe a facial could include a shave. Dave walked inside.
The place was empty. A girl reading People magazine stood up from behind the counter and smiled politely.
'Can I help you?'
Dave smiled back, his best feature.
'I hope so. I just got off a ship. I've been at sea for several months and, well, you can see the problem. I must look like Robinson Crusoe.'
The girl chuckled lightly. 'You do look kind of grungy,' she said.
'Tell me, have you seen that movie Trading Places} You know, with Eddie Murphy.'
'Yeah. He was good in that one. But not since.'
'That's what I want. An Eddie Murphy makeover. Shave, haircut, facial, manicure, massage, the whole $200 deal.'
One of the girl's colleagues, wearing a clinical white dress and a name tag that said JANINE, had come over and was regarding Dave through narrowed eyes, the way he himself had looked at the Mazda before buying it.
'We're more Pretty Woman than Trading Places in here, honey,' said Janine. 'But we are kind of quiet right now. So I reckon we can fix you up. Make you look like a regular choirboy, if you want. Only it's been a while since I shaved a man.'
Janine turned to look at her receptionist.
'Martin. My ex, right? I used to shave him. No, really. I used to enjoy it. Naturally if I had a razor near his throat today it'd be a different story. I'd murder the son of a bitch.'
But then she smiled as if the idea of shaving Dave suddenly appealed to her.
'Well, what do you say, honey? How are you with female empowerment?'
Dave threw down his bag.
'Janine? I'm willing to take the risk if you are.'
Chapter FOUR
'So Jimmy. Whaddya think? Can I trust Delano to keep his fuckin' mouth shut?'
Figaro looked up from his soft-shell crab salad, and into the large blue-tinted glasses worn by the man sitting opposite. Tony Nudelli was around fifty, with a face that had as many creases as his beige linen suit. They were lunching in the Normandy Shores Country Club, just a few minutes north of Bal Harbor. Through the arched windows of the restaurant's Mizner-style layout, you could just about see Cher's 86 million mansion over the bay on La Gorce Island.
'Sure you can trust him. He spent the last five years keeping his mouth shut, didn't he? Why the hell should he rat now?'
