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“What’s up?” Denise said.
“I don’t know,” Ray said. “You stay here. I’ll figure it out.”
Ray pushed through the door. There were three other Hispanic stadium guys with the pudgy one. They were all staring at him funny. They were tense, Ray noticed. Like him, they were big, meaty guys, and they were watching him closely, like they were bouncers and Ray was going to give them trouble. Something was wrong.
“What’s up?” Ray said, squinting at them.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we were wondering if we could start clearing the buffet,” said the one who had knocked on the door.
Ray stared at the guy in pissed-off shock. He’d paid twelve grand to have some privacy for himself and his friends, not to have his chops busted by busboys while Dodger history was being made out there on the diamond.
“No,” Ray said testily. “Come back when—I don’t know, the game’s actually over. Give me a goddamn break.”
That’s when the figure stepped out of the suite’s private bathroom.
“Sorry, Ray,” the man said, “but giving you a break is the one thing we can no longer do.”
Ray, looking at the man’s face, felt suddenly dizzy. Inside, at the center of himself, something slowly began to wobble like a coin spun on a tabletop.
It was Perrine. Divine Mother of God, Ray thought. It was Manuel Perrine.
Ray took a step back, raising his balled fists. One of the thugs pulled something out of the Dodger messenger bag he was holding. Ray saw oiled black metal. It was a Heckler and Koch submachine gun.
Manuel Perrine stepped over to him and put an arm over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry to interrupt the festivities, but it’s been a while, my friend.” Manuel grinned widely. There was a dreamy quality to his smile, a dreamy quality to everything.
“What the fuck is this?” Ray whispered.
“Come with us, Ray,” Perrine said, lifting a hot wing from the buffet beside them. He sniffed it and tossed it back on the pile. “And we’ll talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax. Of cabbages and kings. Or we can take care of matters here, if you wish to involve your friends.”
Ray swallowed.
“No, no, Manuel. I’ll go with you. Whatever you want. Just let me say good-bye.”
“Yes, of course,” Manuel said. “But no monkey business now.”
Ray went back out onto the patio. He stared at the flashing scoreboard. The crowd. His wife.
“What is it?” Denise said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Something about my credit card. I’ll be back in a second. I love you, OK?”
He kissed her hard, his lips burning, his fingers tracing her belly, and then somehow peeled himself away.
CHAPTER 62
THEY LED HIM OUT and into another suite down the hallway, which had its privacy blinds pulled down. Inside the door, one of the thugs slammed his head off the concrete wall hard enough to split the skin and began frisking him.
“Nothing,” the thug said.
“That’s quite unfortunate for you to go about unarmed, Raymond,” Perrine said, sitting and swiveling around in a Dodger lounge chair. “Considering how vulnerable a man you are.”
Ray stood there, blinking. He had met Perrine a few years back at one of his clubs. They quickly went into business and had become fast friends. He’d actually visited Perrine’s villa in Mexico. Manuel had been like a mentor to him, taught him how to move drugs, how to keep an eye on the cops.
“I’m out of it, Manny,” Ray said. “I don’t know what you heard, but I’m out of it. The whole thing. I gave it to Roger.”
“That’s precisely the problem,” Perrine said. “Roger is a DEA informant. What am I saying? That’s wrong. What I meant to say is, Roger was a DEA informant. Your recommendation of Roger lost me at least fifteen million, Raymond. In fact, during the seizure, my brother-in-law was popped. To add insult to injury, my brother-in-law was then killed about six months into his sentence by one of my rivals. My sister, still to this day, continues to make my life unpleasant
