And there were three of them to one of him. But
he came home that night and washed all the blood off himself and went to bed.
Next night, he was right back here, running this place."
"We
can all learn a little something from him," Logan said.
Another
puff, this one accompanied by a smile of satisfaction. "But you see what
I'm saying, right? Just because you put your life on the line to get justice,
that's no reason to get down on the whole thing. No reason to run away. It was
a risk, and you, you had to take it. You had to do what was right."
Logan
fidgeted around his side of the booth. It looked like he wanted to say
something, something really powerful after Mambo got all emotional dredging up
the memory of little Danielita.
Instead,
he said, "I know. But it's more than that, it really is. The whole thing's
been wearing on me for some time now. And this one was … well, really tough.
Maybe it's because I'm not a kid anymore, I don't know."
Mambo's
nod and his eyes showed a glimmer of understanding. "You're a good man,
Logan. But if you really think you have to get out, then do it. I wish you
wouldn't, but you've got to follow your heart."
"Glad
you see it that way."
Mambo
smiled. "No other way to see
it," he said, taking another light puff on his cigar. "You're still
young. You've got a lot of life in front of you. What are you going to
do?"
"I've,
uh, got a line on investing in a landscaping business." He didn't mention
Don Roy Doyle, who was in the back room at that very moment conducting Mambo's
bolita activities.
After
a hearty pull from his beer, Mambo said, "Landscaping? You mean, like
trimming trees?"
"Well,
there's more to it than that, you know, but right now it looks like a pretty
good opportunity for me."
Mambo
nodded in great understanding as he reached across the booth and put his hand on
Logan's forearm. Gave him a couple of easy pats. "I know you're
gonna do good, man. You put your mind to it, you're gonna do all right."
Logan
started to rise from the booth. "I've gotta be going now. I got some …
some errands to run." Mambo still had him by the forearm, gently pulling
him back down.
"Uh,
there's just one last favor I'd like to ask. If you have time, that is."
The
tiniest twitch flicked across Logan's face. A twitch of uncertainty.
"Well, sure, Mambo. Sure. What is it?"
"I
need you to pay a visit to this guy, this guy who owes me money."
"Debt
collection?"
"Right.
Nothing to it. Piece of cake."
"Of
course, sure. Who's the guy?" Logan reached for his empty beer bottle and
peeled back a shred of the label with his thumbnail. Mambo's eyes never left
his.
"Trey
Whitney." He took a major league puff on his cigar, letting the smoke
trail slowly out of his mouth in a thin strip, drifting toward the side of the
booth and out toward the pool table.
Logan's
hand froze just before he could drink from the beer bottle. "Trey Wh —?
Winston's son?"
"That's
right. And he owes me eighty-one large."
"That's
a … a lot of money. But that shouldn't be any problem for him, right? He's a
Whitney. They've got millions."
" Claro. He's a Whitney. And that's
exactly the problem." Mambo started gesturing with his hands. "He
doesn't think he should pay. He lost most of it on the NBA Playoffs, and he's
been trying to recoup it with big baseball bets, but he's been losing his
ass."
"Jeez,
Mambo, I don't know. Can't someone in your family do something? Call Winston
Whitney or something?"
"Win
won't help. Trey's his favorite son, and he thinks the guy can do no wrong, you
know? I go to him with this and he'll brush me off. Ask me to work it out or
give him more time. Fuck that."
"I
— I didn't know your family and the Whitneys ever, uh —"
"Did
business together?" Logan nodded. Mambo called up his most reassuring
voice. "Not very often," he said. "We generally stay out of each
other's way, but every so often, something like this comes up, you know, like
Trey placing bets with me, aaaand … "
Only
now did