Trouble in Paradise

Six

Macklin sat with Faye on the deck outside the Gray Gull Restaurant overlooking the harbor. They were drinking cosmopolitans. Faye had hers straight up in a big martini glass. Macklin was drinking his on the rocks. The late afternoon sun had gotten low enough behind the buildings to throw elongated shadows of the wharf office and the sail loft out onto the water.

“Faye,” Macklin said, “you look more like the wife of a WASP millionaire than any of the real ones I’ve ever known.”

“So maybe that means I don’t,” Faye said. “And exactly how many WASP millionaires’ wives have you known?”

“If I knew one, she’d look like you,” Macklin said.

He had loosened his tie and taken off his coat. He sat now with his legs out in front of him, leaning back in his chair. There was a breeze off the water.

“You told that woman we were from Concord,” Faye said.

“Sure,” Macklin said. “I lived there for a couple years.”

“In Concord?”

Macklin grinned. “MCI Concord,” he said. “The prison.”

Faye laughed. “Jimmy, you’re crazy.”

“Can’t get too solemn about this shit,” Macklin said.

A waitress went by. Macklin gestured at her for a refill.

“And maybe, whaddya got. Some fried clams? Give us an order of fried clams,” he said. “But bring the drinks first. Don’t wait for the clams.”

“Yes sir.”

Macklin watched her as she walked away. Nice butt. Young. Probably some college kid working for the summer.

“So what did we learn about Stiles Island today?” Faye said.

“Three quarters of a mile long,” Macklin said, gazing out across the harbor at the near end of it. “About a quarter of a mile wide. Fifty estates so far. Room to build another fifty. Cheapest one is eight hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Adults only. No children. No dogs.”

“Most people can afford eight-hundred-seventy-five-thousand-dollar houses are too old to have children anyway,” Faye said.

Macklin nodded.

“Only access is across that bridge,” he said. “All the power lines are under the bridge, all the phone lines, even the water pipes are incorporated into the bridge understructure.”

The waitress brought them two more cosmopolitans. The pink drinks looked just right, Macklin thought, out here on the deck of the weathered shingle restaurant with the harbor below them. Macklin liked things to be right.

“There’s a branch of Paradise Bank,” he said. “With safe deposit boxes. There’s a private boat club on the harbor end of the island, only place on the island where you can land a boat. There’s a health club with a drug store and beauty salon and a restaurant with a big plate glass picture window looking out on the ocean side. And there’s a private security patrol, a man on the bridge twenty-four hours, and a two-man cruiser patrolling the island twenty-four hours. Everybody got a radio that connects to the security headquarters in the other side of the real estate office and to the Paradise Police.”

Faye held her glass with the fingertips of both hands. She was watching him over the rim of it as he talked. When he finished she whistled very softly. “And I thought all you were doing was watching Mrs. Campbell’s ass,” she said.

Macklin grinned. “Attention to detail,” he said.

A gull coasted down, sat on the fence railing about five feet away, and waited. The waitress brought flatware wrapped in napkins, and an order of fried clams in a small paper napkin — lined wicker basket. She put the clams on the table between them and placed two small paper cups of tartar sauce beside the basket.

“Catsup?” she said.

“No, thank you very much,” Macklin said.

The gull fixed its opaque stare on the clams. Macklin unwrapped his flatware and tucked the napkin in under his chin. He picked up the knife and made a fencer’s pose at the gull.

“One move at the clams, bird, and you die,” Macklin said.

Faye picked up a clam with her fingers, dabbed it in the tartar sauce, and popped it in her mouth. She wiped her fingertips carefully with her napkin while she chewed her clam.

When she swallowed it, she said, “So what is your plan?”

“Well,” Macklin said, “I thought I might give Mrs. Campbell a ringy dingy...”

“Like hell,” Faye said. “Looking is one thing. You’re a man, and you can’t help it. But you start following up, and I will cut off your balls.”

“Faye, would I cheat on you?”

“Like I say, you’re a man.”

“Cynical,” Macklin said.

“Experienced,” Faye said. “Besides, you know what I meant. What is your plan for doing business on the island?”

“Well I’m going to get a good map,” Macklin said. “And I’m going to start putting together a crew.”

“What are we going to do for money in the meantime?”

“I’ll get some,” Macklin said.

“I hope so. You got people in mind for this crew?”

“Yeah. It’s one of the best things about going to jail a few times,” Macklin said. “You get a chance to network.”

“You going to hit the bank?”

“Sweet cakes,” Macklin said, “I’m going to hit the whole island.”