Devils in Exile

Ladder

Maven crouched behind a burlap-wrapped shrub, waiting for a buyer to pull up. He closed his eye when he could, resting it, easing the strain. He was still getting used to the eye patch he had purchased at CVS.

A blue Camaro arrived, and Maven grabbed the guy on the front steps, hair-walking him up to the door, ringing the bell. The homeowner tried to slam it shut when he saw Maven behind the buyer, so Maven used the buyer’s head as a battering ram.

Inside, he held a Glock 19 to the head of the homeowner as the guy worked the combination on a closet safe. He dumped the cash and two guns into Maven’s backpack and pulled out two cellophane-wrapped half-kilo bricks of cocaine.

Maven asked him where the rest was.

The homeowner said there was no more. Maven hit him in the face.

The homeowner showed him a brownie pan in the kitchen refrigerator containing a full kilo wrapped in wax paper.

Maven sat both men at the table where he could see them. He found a roll of aluminum foil and wrapped it around the cocaine, then placed the shiny bundle into the range-top microwave and punched in five minutes on HIGH.

A bout of dizziness made him reach for the counter. He sensed them growing bold, and turned fast, the room listing a bit in his vision. “Where is Royce?”

The homeowner shook his head, staring at his microwave. “I don’t know.”

Maven pressed START. The foil started to crackle and spark.

“Where’s Royce?”

“I don’t know!”

The rotating package glowed, then burst into bright silver flame. White smoke leaked out of the edges of the door.

“Royce!” said Maven.

“I don’t — nobody knows!”

The microwave popped as though bursting, the smoke turning an ominous gray. The homeowner started to get to his feet, but Maven gun-pointed him back into his chair. He couldn’t get anything out of him about Royce and had to settle for information on the homeowner’s supplier — the next highest rung on this interminable ladder.

The smoke detector went shrieking as the microwave door melted and the oven burst into flames, the fire going into the wall. Maven found a kitchen telephone and dialed 911. He said, to the dispatcher who answered, “I am a drug dealer and my house is on fire.” Then he tossed the telephone into the owner’s lap and walked out.

Some nights, parked across the street in the Parisienne, he watched the hopefuls milling around the roped-off entrance to Club Precipice. But Royce never showed.

One morning he drove out to Gridley and knocked on Danielle’s parents’ door, but she had moved out again. They didn’t know where.

Maven sat at the usual round corner table inside the Berkeley Grill, Ricky his only companion. They had a new waiter Maven didn’t recognize. He did the Royce thing, ordering their Budweisers and steaks and a few appetizers, then asked if the headwaiter could come to the table when he had a chance.

Maven looked at Ricky, who had probably never had a good steak in his life. He didn’t know why he had brought him, except that he didn’t want to be sitting at this big table all alone. Ricky picked at the appetizers with his good hand, chewing an asparagus spear, the first vegetable he’d eaten all year.

Sebastian, the headwaiter, with the server in tow, slowed when he recognized Maven. Sebastian covered his surprise with a quick smile and approached the table.

“Mr. Maven,” he said, tanned and tailored as always. “I’m sorry, I didn’t... no one told me you were here.”

Maven nodded, chewing. “This is my friend Ricky.”

Ricky didn’t wear his hat inside the restaurant, his head dent visible for all to see. Ricky waved his Bud bottle. “Hey.”

Sebastian nodded back, the barest minimum of courtesy. “I trust everything is prepared...”

“Perfect as always, Sebastian. I notice you changed the broccoli marinade.”

“In fact we did.”

Maven nodded, eating as he talked. “Business good?”

“Well, the recession, you know. People still appreciate a good meal.”

Maven nodded again, making Sebastian wait. “Tell me, does Mr. Royce still come in?”

“Only occasionally. Not as often as he once did.”

“If you see him before I do, would you give him a message?”

“Certainly.”

Maven worked with his notched tongue at some bit of meat stuck in his teeth. “Tell him I am going to kill him.”

Sebastian went apron white. He stood very still, as though awaiting further instructions. “Very good, then...,” he said finally, begging off, making his way back to the kitchen.

Hector, who went by the street name Hex, was examined by a guy with an audio scanner. Royce entered the foyer wearing dress pants and a sweater of warm yellow cashmere.

The audio guy pulled down his headphones. “He’s okay.”

Hex said, “You think I’d come here wired?”

Royce said, “Maybe without your knowledge.”

Hex followed Royce into a solarium overlooking a backyard sloping to trees. Another of Royce’s guys was out there, walking under a black umbrella in the rain. Termino muted the television.

Royce said, “So you saw him.”

Hex said, “I saw him.”

“How’d you get away without saying anything?”

“I was there to pick up a payment. He thought I was just another buyer. My guy didn’t dime me out because he knows what’s good for him. But, Christ, he put him through the wringer. Set his fucking house on fire.”

“He took money that was yours. And therefore partly mine. And you let him.”

Hex smiled away the attempted insult. “He had the drop on me. I know when I’m beat. This guy’s on a mission.”

“Who’s he working with?”

“I didn’t see anyone. All by his lonesome.”

“Not for Lockerty, then.”

“I think that last gambit at the Flower Exchange chewed up the rest of Lockerty’s beaten ass.”

“No. He’s out there waiting. Watching. Hoping Maven can succeed where he failed.”

“Who the fuck is this Maven, anyway?”

Royce looked out at the rain. “Trouble.”

“Well, he’s got armor now. He was wearing a Kevlar vest.”

Royce sighed.

“He scotched the product and took the money and guns, but what he really wanted was you.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t tell him anything?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I did. He would.”

Royce accepted that.

Hex said, “What the hell did you do to this guy?”

“I stole his money, killed his girlfriend, and tried to kill him. Twice.”

Termino said, “I’m sick of sitting here talking about this. I say we flush him out. Get him to stick out his neck a bit, so we can cut his throat and end this fucking thing once and for all.”

Royce had his haunts and habits, and Maven knew that if he worked hard enough, their paths would once again cross.

Maven was watching Sonsie — the site of his and Royce’s first sit-down — from a shoe store on Newbury Street when a black SUV pulled up at the valet station. The vehicle obstructed Maven’s view of the first two people entering the restaurant, but two other occupants emerged, large guys in bulky North Face parkas, remaining out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant’s front windows.

One of them was Termino. Maven started right out of the store, stopping once he reached the sidewalk. Too many civilians. By the time he fought his way inside past Termino and friend, Royce would be gone.

Two beat cops came along the sidewalk on foot patrol. Maven took a chance, sliding the Beretta from the back of his waist into a curbside trash container, then approaching the cops.

“Hey, excuse me. Yeah, it’s none of my business, but those two guys over there, who just got out of that SUV? I saw them zip up, and they’re both carrying guns.”

The cops thanked Maven and started across the street. They approached Termino and the other guy, starting an inquiry. Maven walked around them toward the entrance to Sonsie. Termino saw him coming and lunged — the cops grabbing Termino and shoving him hard up against the glass.

Maven walked inside, right past the hostess, straight at Royce’s corner table. Royce saw him and stiffened, looking to the front windows.

Termino was being frisked by the cops in plain sight of everyone inside the restaurant.

Maven stopped before the table. Royce sported a tan wool blazer over an open-collared shirt, Maven wearing a work shirt of lined flannel, carpenter pants, black Timberland boots.

The silence between them was like a battle of wills, until Royce’s server appeared. “Another for lunch?” she asked.

Maven pulled out a chair and sat down. His eyes never left Royce. “Mr. Royce will start with the iced market oysters.”

The server departed. Royce again checked on the shakedown at the front windows. He knew he was on his own here. He looked back at Maven and said, “You must feel very clever.”

Maven said nothing.

Royce relaxed a bit when he saw that Maven wasn’t going to come right at him over the table. “Iced market oysters. We first sat here, you couldn’t even read a fucking menu.”

“You taught me a lot.”

“Congratulations on being such a nuisance. Using my own game against me. I didn’t think you believed in karma.”

“I do when it carries a gun.”

Royce checked Maven’s hands, both of them resting on the table. Royce’s were just out of sight, in his lap.

Maven said, “I’m not interested in any big explanation of your master plan. You can save that tale for the suckers working for you now. I just want to know — why?”

“Why?”

“Me and Milkshake and Suarez. Why lead us along so much? Why fuck around with us and make us believe, if you were going to off us in the end anyway? Why make it so fucking personal?”

Royce grinned as though it were the simplest question in the world. “To keep you loyal.”

“It was all bullshit, then. All those hours spent together. All the jobs, all the talk. All the steaks and the late nights.”

“Not all of it. Part of it was me feeling you out. The other two — they were good soldiers, period. You were the only one with any real ability. But no cold-bloodedness. The military had infected you with this thing known as ‘honor.’”

“So you’re just a sociopath.”

“When did that become such a bad word? People use that term like it’s a disease. Think about it. It brings me no harm. Only power. That’s not a disease, that’s a gift.”

The shock of seeing Maven had worn off, Royce getting some of his bravado back.

“You think this is it for me? Kingpin of this shitty town — you think this is the top? This is just the beginning, Maven. I have ambition like you can’t even fathom. Kings in exile — remember? You’ll always be a peasant. A dangerous peasant, but a peasant nonetheless.”

Royce’s voice fell away as Maven picked up the knife at his table setting. Maven turned it point-down against the table, the end of the handle against his open palm, slowly rotating his flat hand, cutting a tiny hole in the table linen.

Maven said, “I figured I’d end up getting screwed by the army. The government — I expected that. But never by a fellow vet.”

Royce glanced again at the front window. “You try anything here, you’ll be dead before you reach the door.

“Not as dead as you’ll be.”

As Maven pressed down harder on the knife handle, linen threads snapped, widening the cut. It was going to happen — right here, right now. Nothing could stop it. Maven realized, for the first time, that nothing existed beyond this moment. His life had no meaning beyond this final act of vengeance. He was looking at a big door marked EXIT with nothing — nothing — beyond.

A woman appeared at the table near Royce. Maven thought it was the server and did not look up at first, his eyes staying hard on Royce. When nothing was said, and no food was set down on the table, Maven glanced up at the interloper.

Danielle stood there in a loose top and jeans, carrying a clutch, back from a long trip to the bathroom. Maven did not need to look into her eyes to know that she was high — but look into her eyes he did.

Danielle appeared run-down, shrunken. The spark had gone out of her attractiveness. She could have been anyone now.

Her stare back at him was one of horror.

“This must come as a surprise to you,” said Royce. He stood, aping gentlemanly manners, pulling Danielle down into her chair. “When she called me to dime you out, I guess I realized how much I missed her. How valuable she is to me.”

Seated, she continued to stare at Maven, his eye patch, his one good eye.

Maven thought he had died all of his deaths already. He was wrong.

Royce continued, “This is a reunion I never thought I’d see. Anyone feel like champagne?”

The oysters arrived on a platter with an artful assortment of condiments. The knife was still under Maven’s hand, and he gripped the handle, slipping the blade point inside the oyster shell, twisting until he heard the pop. He slid the oyster into his mouth and swallowed, tasting nothing.

In this way he was no different from Danielle. All the flavor had gone out of their lives. They were both dead inside.

Royce said, “And here I thought you two would have more to say to each other.”

Maven said to her, “Why?”

Her gaze fell to the table.

“You knew what he would do.”

She could not look at him.

“Between you and me, Maven” — Royce sipped his Pellegrino — “I think she’s smoking it now.”

Danielle’s eyes flashed up at Maven. Trying to tell him something. Admitting she was in the grip of a thing she hated. Drugs, or Royce. Both.

“The weak exist to be exploited, Maven.” Royce sat back, one arm firmly on Danielle’s leg. “And what with you running all around town, opening fire hydrants, acting recklessly — I figure she’s safest with me for now. I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. Not like that other girl...”

A killer calm spread through Maven. Royce had pushed him to the edge. To a place beyond insult. Where the only recourse was direct action.

For the first time since leaving the military, Maven saw that his mission was evident and clear. He was a soldier again.

At the front windows, the cops appeared satisfied with Termino and the other gunman, their licenses and permits. Maven wished he hadn’t dumped his Beretta.

He swiped his lips with his napkin, dropping it onto his plate. Royce kept Danielle close as Maven got to his feet, standing over the table. Pain seared in his missing eye, but the rest of him was at peace. Maven took one last look at both of them — Danielle looking away, unable to meet his one good eye — then turned and started out of the restaurant.

“Now don’t go away angry,” said Royce to his back.

Maven reached the sidewalk as the cops were starting away. He made certain Termino saw him, the direction in which he was headed, then he walked the short distance to the Parisienne.