Trouble in Paradise

Fifteen

Macklin was eating fried chicken and mashed potatoes with a cracker named JD Harter at the Horse Radish Grill on Powers Ferry Road in the Buckhead section of Atlanta.

“How big is big money?” JD said.

He was small and slim with thick black hair worn long enough to cover his ears and slicked straight back. He had a pointed nose and wore rose-tinted black-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a powder blue jogging suit with dark maroon trim and a satin finish. On his feet were woven leather loafers and no socks.

“Everybody gets at least a million,” Macklin said.

JD raised his eyebrows.

“Large,” he said. “How much you get?”

“More than anybody else,” Macklin said.

“Figures,” JD said. “How much more?”

“Long as you get yours, what do you care?” Macklin said.

JD shrugged. “I expect to get fucked,” he said. “Just like to know how bad.”

Macklin grinned.

“Chicken’s great, isn’t it?” JD said. He was drinking Coca-Cola with his bourbon.

“It is,” Macklin said.

“What happens if I sign up, and after it’s over I don’t get no million?” JD said. “What kinda recourse I got?”

“You can try to kill me,” Macklin said.

JD was silent for a moment. During the silence he drank more bourbon and chased it with more Coke. Then he said, “That’d be recourse, all right.”

“You in?” Macklin said.

“Exactly what kinda electrical work you need done?” JD said.

“Alarms, phones, time locks, power lines, can’t say for sure yet, partly because I need you to tell me.”

JD nodded. “Who else you got?”

“Faye’s with me.”

“I’ll be damned,” JD said.

“And Crow,” Macklin said.

“The Indian?”

“Yes.”

“Well, by God, you are serious, ain’t you.”

“Nothing but the best,” Macklin said. “Why I’m down here talking to you.”

“Shi-it,” JD said. “You going to toss anything but the bank?”

“Toss everything out there,” Macklin said. “Bank, yacht club, health club, restaurant, real estate office, every house.”

“For crissake, we going to move out there for the winter?”

“We’ll make ourselves some time,” Macklin said.

“I guess,” JD said.

“So, you in?”

“I got any time to think about it?”

“No.”

“I get to know where this island is?”

“Not until you need to.”

“I need to now,” JD said.

Macklin grinned at him again.

“I said it wrong, I meant not until I think you need to.”

“You never going to get in trouble by blabbing, are you?” JD said.

“Probably not,” Macklin said.

“Got to decide tonight, don’t I?” JD said.

“You’re not in by the time I leave the restaurant,” Macklin said, “I cross you off and go see the next guy.”

“I the first wire guy you asked?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s next?”

Macklin shook his head. JD took a drink of Wild Turkey and held it in his mouth for a time before he swallowed. He chased it with Coca-Cola.

“What’s your problem, JD?” Macklin said. “I’m giving you a shot at easy street the rest of your life. What’s holding you up?”

The waitress came and cleared the table and gave them dessert menus. JD scanned his.

“Peach pie,” he said. “That’s for me.”

Macklin glanced at his menu and put it down and, with his elbows on the table, rested his chin on his folded hands. He let his gaze rest on JD. And he waited.

“You want the peach pie?” JD said. “It’s great here.”

“Sure,” Macklin said.

The waitress took their dessert order and went away.

“We’re leveling with each other here. Right, Jimmy?”

Macklin said, “Sure.”

“I mean no disrespect here, but you’ve always cut things very sharp, you know?”

“Sharp?” Macklin said.

“I mean nobody ever quite knows what you’re thinking, and you never quite say, and nothing’s ever quite the way it looks like it is when you start.”

“Faye knows what I’m thinking,” Macklin said.

“Well that’s nice, Jimmy. I’m glad she does. I really am. But nobody else does.”

“You don’t trust me,” Macklin said.

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Jimmy, but, no. I don’t.”

“Well, JD,” Macklin said, his chin still resting on his folded hands, “that’s your problem.”

“I know. I know you don’t care. Man, it’s part of what worries me. You don’t care about nothing.”

JD paused thinking about what he’d said.

“Except Faye,” JD said.

Macklin waited. The waitress brought the dessert. When she left, JD stared at the pie for a moment and then sat back in his chair.

“Here’s how it looks to me, Jimmy. I get into this with you, and I might get rich or I might get fucked. I don’t get into this with you, I won’t get rich, and, being as how I’m a crook, I may get fucked anyway.”

Macklin waited. JD ate a forkful of pie.

“So I’m in,” JD said.

“Good. How’s the pie?”

“Excellent,” JD said.