In Their Blood (12 page)

Irv ignored the still unoccupied tables set for lunch. He continued through the restaurant to the dim oak room, its ornate bar covered with hideous gargoyles ready to spring from their perches.

Irv moved slowly, as though his feet had been cut open by glass. In his wrinkled seersucker suit and crooked bow tie, he looked more like a bum you’d see pushing a cart down Lincoln Road than a partner in one of the top CPA firms in the country. What a pair they made with Jeremy in his sneakers and dusty jeans. Jeremy wondered if the scowling men in the portraits on the walls were disturbed by the downward turn their dignified club had taken.

Jeremy had been to the Osprey Club once before with his mom. It had been a special occasion; he’d been accepted to NYU. He remembered being uneasy, waiting for her to suddenly launch into a dozen reasons why it would be better for him to attend college locally, but she had seemed genuinely pleased. She had worn a red suit, pearl earrings, and a matching necklace. He was aware how the businessmen who walked past their table would slow down and look at her. She didn’t return their gaze.

She had squeezed his hand. “I’m going to miss you, Jeremy. But
I believe there will always be something connecting us, no matter how far apart we are.”

Jeremy felt the sting of the memory. He was relieved Irv had taken a seat at the bar and was engaged with the bartender. Other than the waitstaff and maître d’, Jeremy and Irv were the only people in the bar, though no one seemed surprised to see Irv.

The club had the musty feel of another time and place. The stools were padded with tufted leather held in place by brass-headed nails. But the brass had dulled and the leather reminded Jeremy of saddles at ranches where you’d rent horses by the hour. The air smelled stale— lingering cigar smoke and thirty years of expensive cologne and perfumes clinging to the heavy velvet drapes. The bartender put a glass of amber liquid on the rocks in front of Irv.

“Just ice tea for me, please,” Jeremy said.

The bartender either didn’t hear Jeremy or chose to ignore him and gave him a glass of whatever Irv was having.

“You don’t drink ice tea to toast your mother, young man.” Irv raised his glass and Jeremy did the same. “To one of the most spectacular meteors I’ve ever seen.” Irv threw his head back, finishing most of the liquid.

Jeremy sipped his drink. It was sweet and unfamiliar.

“Drambouie,” Irv said. “Haven’t you ever tasted it? Your mother was practically weaned on it.” He finished what was in his glass and dropped it down hard on the wood bar. “She’d never order ice tea. At least, not when she was your age.” Irv seemed to be searching for something in Jeremy’s face. “She was about your age when she started with the firm.”

The bartender set a second glass in front of Irv. Irv swirled it around. “I once held court up here in the fading dusk of the sultry Miami days. All the innocent, fresh-faced auditors would gather around, hanging on my every word. Like they were drinking my nec
tar. You see, Jeremy, I was a god. And they were frightened, awed, obsequious. All of them.” He sipped his drink. “All but one. Rachel Lazar. That’s right, Jeremy. That was before she and your father were married.”

Irv shifted his glass from hand to hand. His thin skin was covered with hundreds of tiny exploded blood vessels, making him appear perpetually red-faced. But the dull blue eyes were shining.

“Sometimes after the others would leave, Rachel would sit with me. Right here, as you’re doing. Just the two of us. And she would ask me things.” He closed his eyes. “Oh, about everything. She was insatiable. And she’d suck words out of me like a famished leech. I taught her about integrity and honor. I taught her never to compromise.” He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes. “Another Drambouie, Pete. Drink up, Jeremy. Make that two more, Pete.”

A couple of men in suits walked into the oak room, then catching sight of Irv, turned and walked out.

“One night,” Irv said, “we were talking about life. Would you rather live a long, safe life, Rachel, or a brief, magnificent one?” Irv sipped his drink. “What do you think she said?”

“A long one, I suppose.” At least that was what he hoped she had wanted, but he wondered just how well he had known his mother.

Irv took another deep breath. “I was disappointed in her for that response. For her lack of total commitment. If you want greatness, you must commit to greatness,” I told her. “Your quest must be all-encompassing. You cannot compromise. You must not compromise.” Irv was talking to his folded hands now. “I never guessed how deeply my lessons would hit their mark.”

Irv waved his empty glass at the bartender. It was noon and Jeremy’s stomach growled. The liquor was muddling his brain.

“But I was her mentor. Did you know that, Jeremy? She was
Galatea to my Pygmalion. I shaped her, and she learned my lessons well. Too well, perhaps? Do you think she remembered it was I who taught her everything of value?”

Irv took a long drink from a fresh glass. “And what of her mentor, I’m sure you’re wondering? What became of the principled man whose life was ruled by the highest code of integrity?

“I, who held the purest view of an honorable world? Who dreamed of disintegrating in glory as I spun toward the sun? I sit here— a useless old man no one wants to listen to anymore. And your mother, Jeremy. Your mother became the meteor.”

Tears the size of giant raindrops ran down Irv’s flat cheeks, over the burst red capillaries. “What the fuck are you staring at?” he said. “Why the fuck have you come here?”

Jeremy slid off the barstool. The maître d’ and another man were coming toward them.

“Did she send you? Did she?”

The maître d’ stepped in between them. A hand squeezed

Jeremy’s shoulder. “Come on, son,” a soft southern voice said.

Jeremy followed Bud McNally out of the bar, into the restaurant. He could still hear Irv shouting. “Did she?”

Bud led Jeremy to a window table some distance from the bar. Jeremy’s legs were shaking. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the unexpected attack by Irv. Bud handed him the bread basket. “Eat this.”

Jeremy felt as though he’d done something to unleash Irv. He stared out at the dark, filmed windows of an adjacent office tower.

“I’m sorry about that, Jeremy.” Bud tore off a piece of a pumpernickel roll and buttered it. “Irv can get a little emotional.” He smiled at the waiter. “You have fried oysters today, Simon?”

“For you, of course, Mr. McNally.”

“You like oysters, Jeremy? The chef here makes the best ones
I’ve ever tasted. And I’m a cracker. I know about such things. Make that two fried oysters, Simon.” He slipped the bread into his mouth. “So aside from awkward barroom encounters, what have you been up to, Jeremy?”

“Boxing up old files for Mr. Luria.”

“That’s right. And how’s that going? Almost done?”

Jeremy caught Bud glancing at his cut hands.

“Irv’s an unhappy man, Jeremy. I think your mother’s death affected him more than he lets on.”

“I’d hate to see him when he is letting on.”

Bud laughed. “You’re all right, son.”

“Was he on bad terms with my mother?”

The smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“He seems bitter toward her.”

“Irv’s a bitter man.”

“But was there something going on between him and my mother?”

“Irv’s not capable of hurting a fly, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m just wondering why he seems so angry at her.”

Bud signaled to the waiter. “Bring me a Grey Goose, Simon. Thanks.” He tapped his thick fingers against the linen tablecloth. “Your mother was concerned Irv’s drinking may have been impairing his effectiveness.”

“She wanted to fire him?”

“We don’t fire partners, Jeremy.”

“Retire, then. She wanted him to retire?”

The waiter placed Bud’s drink on the table. “Let’s just say, she was concerned.” Bud sipped his drink. “And Irv was hurt. That’s all. Hurt that your mother could even contemplate such a thing.”

“Because he’d once been her mentor.”

Bud raised his eyebrow. “That’s right.”

“So is he going to retire?”

“Certainly not. It was just talk. Not anything any of us were seriously considering.”

The waiter set two platters of fried oysters on the table. The heavy oil and pungent smell turned Jeremy’s stomach.

“Now, don’t these look great?” Bud jabbed a big one with his fork. He licked his lips after he’d chewed it. “But perhaps it would be best if you moved on from the filing project, Jeremy. Tomorrow, get back into one of those sharp suits of yours, and we’ll get you out on a real audit.” He speared another oyster. “Now, how’s that sound?”

Chapter 14

Jeremy hadn’t returned to the file room after lunch. Bud had shooed him out of the building, telling him to take the rest of the day off, then report to Castillo Enterprises the next morning. So things were looking up. At least Jeremy would have a chance to talk with some of the other auditors, perhaps pick up if anyone besides Irv held a grudge against his mother.

Jeremy had a few hours to kill before his six thirty class. He considered calling Elise, but she was probably in class. It seemed to him she was doing better, though she was still occasionally sleepwalking. They had their late night dinners together, watched TV, then she went to bed while he went for a run.

They talked less frequently about the investigation and perversely, this had the effect of making Jeremy think about it more. But what could he say to his sister? That he was trying but there just wasn’t enough opportunity?

You make your own opportunity
, he could hear his father say.

He pulled into the parking lot at MIU, but found no available spaces. The campus in the early afternoon was completely different from when he came here for his evening classes. The paths and grassy areas were teeming with blue-jeaned students carrying backpacks.

Cars were parked along the curb that surrounded the campus. The “No Parking” sign and warning that your car will be towed didn’t
seem to faze the other drivers, so Jeremy slipped into one of the last remaining illegal spots.

He headed toward his father’s building. Maybe Winter wouldn’t be around. Maybe Marina would. A group of students in brown tee shirts were milling about like hornets around a damaged nest. One was loping toward him, but Jeremy didn’t slow his pace.

“Hey. You’re D.C.’s son, right?” The kid was panting. He had greasy hair and sunken cheeks covered with acne. Written on his brown tee shirt in white letters was Café j. The other eight or ten students gathered around Jeremy, as well.

“You shaved your beard,” said a short, plump girl with wild, black curls. She must have seen him after the funeral at the Castillos’ house. “Are you here for the meeting?”

“Why would he be here for the meeting, Liddy?” the greasy kid said.

“I don’t know, Queso.” She looked up at Jeremy. “Are you?” He didn’t have a chance to answer. “Well, it doesn’t matter. That prick Winter cancelled it,” Liddy said. “Locked the door to the room we always use, and when we went to ask the secretary, she said, ‘I’m sorry, the economics department facilities are only available for sanctioned clubs.’”

“What club?” Jeremy asked.

“You know.” She pointed at her shirt. “Café j. It stands for Cuban-Americans for Economic Justice. Your father started it.”

“Winter’s been trying to shut us down for years,” someone else said. “He never had the balls while your dad was alive.”

“But why would he want to shut you down?” Jeremy said.

Liddy rolled her eyes. “Funding, probably. Some of the rich Cubans who give the school money weren’t too happy with your father’s politics.”

“It wasn’t sweet enough for them,” Queso said, punching another kid in the arm.

“That’s good, Queso. Sweet. Not sweet enough for SWEET.”

And everyone laughed as though at an inside joke.

A slight figure weighed down by a satchel was hurrying along the path toward the economics building.

“Excuse me,” Jeremy said. “I need to go.”

Liddy followed his eyes. “Marina Champlain? You know her?”

“Not really.” He didn’t know why Liddy made him feel defensive, but he didn’t have time to analyze her tone or his reaction. Marina had disappeared behind a crowd of students. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

When Jeremy reached the door to the building, there was no sign of Marina. He sprinted up the stairs to the third floor, but came to an abrupt stop as he stepped out of the stairwell. At the opposite end of the hallway stood a tall, bald man in a navy blazer. Winter. Jeremy slipped behind a corner and peered out. Winter was talking to a large blonde woman who was dressed in high heels and one of those sheer floral outfits he’d occasionally notice the rich women on Lotus Island wearing. Definitely not a student. In fact, he was pretty sure he recognized the deep, raspy laugh of Mrs. Castillo. But why was she talking to the dean?

A couple of students came up the stairs, giving Jeremy a funny look. When he glanced back down the hall, Winter and the woman were gone.

“You’re here early today, Jeremy,” said a soft, accented voice near his ear. “Have you quit your job?” Marina asked. Where had she come from? “Too many paper cuts?”

She was wearing a tight, camouflage tee shirt and oversized khaki pants that hung low on her hips. A couple of inches of pale muscled midriff were exposed and a tiny belly-button ring in the shape of a serpent’s head with red-jeweled eyes stared up at Jeremy.

“I got the afternoon off,” he said.

“Good.” She handed him her satchel. “I was hoping to see you. I have something for you.”

He felt an inexplicable rush as he followed her out of the building. Her hair was piled high on her head and loose curls surrounded her long, thin neck. He could make out a tattoo at the base of her hairline. Something with wings: a butterfly? a bird? a bat?

They were out in the open now, walking toward the parking lot. His own car was still where he’d left it illegally parked. They passed two of the café j students, Liddy and Queso. Jeremy gave them a half-smile. They didn’t return it.