Matala (4 page)

I
N THE END, THE HARDEST
part was just the making up of her mind—stepping back into an evil she had abandoned when she rediscovered Will. It was an enterprise she'd sworn off, though it had paid her well for years. And yet, she found, the opportunity was so perfect, so laid out, so irresistible that the decision had already made itself. There was nothing difficult about it after all. The whole thing seemed to have been fated. She barely had to do anything beyond simply setting it in motion.

After the GHB had kicked in and the girl went all vacant, Justine led her to a cot in an empty women's dorm and posted Will in the doorway to make sure it stayed that way.

He said, “What the hell?”

“What the hell what?”

“You had to do this?”

“What're you talking about? You brought her in. You did well, Will. I take it all back, what I said earlier. You are learning. Developing a sense.”

As she spoke, she was already in the wallet. She plucked out a nice fat wad composed mostly of liras and American dollars, with some emergency deutsche marks and francs mixed in. The wallet wad was more than she had even expected.

“You couldn't've just lifted it?” he said. “You had to knock her out?”

“She's not out.”

The girl was looking at them. Just looking. No expression.

When Justine put the wallet back, Will said, “She doesn't have any cards?”

“AmEx, Diners Club, and two Visas.”

“Well?”

“I don't know. I have an idea.”

“Oh, tell. Please.”

“Don't be nasty. Think about it. Fencing plastic is a onetime shot, and a pretty small one at that. No? You've done it enough to know that. Even if you're stupid enough to use the bloody things, you can only do that a couple of quick times.”

“What's your point?”

“Cards are worth much more attached to their rightful owner.”

“What?”

“Besides,” she added, “it's not going to break your heart to have her along for a bit of a ride, is it? You can't bear looking at her for a few more days?”

“Whatever,” he said. “You still didn't need to do this.”

“You like her, don't you?”

“What?”

“You're feeling protective. You care.”

“Justine—”

“Maybe I should slip out and leave you two alone for a little while?”

“What?”

“She won't complain.”

He looked at her a moment, then said, “That's sick.”

“Oh, come on, baby. I understand. It wouldn't mean anything.”

“Justine,” he said, “stop it.”

She undid the girl's blouse and removed it, and slipped off the jeans. Will stepped into the room, closer.

“It's some body she has,” Justine said. She had a sudden image of herself pulling down the bra and squeezing one of those great charlies until it was long and pointed.

“Justine,” said Will.

“So leave,” she told him.

He did not leave.

“You know you're gagging for it.”

“Please stop.”

She looked at him, at the hurt on him, the confusion. Where was the jealous bitchy control freak he'd grown accustomed to? In the past she had spanked him for as much as looking at another woman's behind.

“Well,” she said, “good for you. You not only bring us back some nice pickings but exercise admirable restraint and honor on top of it. I must've raised you right.” She laughed at his scowling and then covered the girl, stood up, and put her hand on his trousers.

“I'm sorry it's been so long,” she said. “This hasn't been the place for it. But I've been remiss. I haven't been myself—”

“Justine—” he said, though he barely had the breath for it.

“Shall we find a private spot somewhere?”

He breathed again and nodded.

W
HEN THE GIRL STUMBLED INTO
the great room, which in the new morning had transformed itself from a rocking club into a plain bland cafeteria, Justine was sitting with Will. Justine leaped up and went over to take the girl's arm and help her sit.

“Poor little pussy,” she said.

After the girl took a few sips of the coffee Will had fetched her, Justine said, “Well, that was some pisser you put on, girlfriend. Bet your head's banging.”

“It isn't,” she said. “I didn't drink that much.”

“Right,” Justine said.

“I really didn't,” she insisted. “Not for something like that to happen.” She drank some more of the thick coffee and then said, “What did happen?”

“You got blitzed,” Will told her.

“You just went over,” said Justine, “like you were bloody knackered. I put you to bed.”

“Thank you.”

“So you feel all right now?”

“I'm okay. I just…Oh, no. Oh,
merde!
”

“What is it?”

“My bus. We're leaving. What time is it?”

“A bit after eight.”

“Oh, my God, you're kidding. You're kidding, right?”

“No, dear. When did you say it leaves?”

“Left,” she said. “Already. The bus was at seven. We had a seven-forty train.”

“Well,” said Justine, “don't get all wobbly. You should call the hotel. I'd guess someone stayed behind. They may even have called in the police. Where did you tell them you were going?”

“I didn't. I snuck out.”

“That's brilliant. But I'm sure they're all waiting for you, worried sick.”

“I don't think so. Mrs. Abignale is always saying, you know, ‘If you can't be on time, you get left behind.'”

“They always say that, don't they? But they never do. Not really.”

“You don't know her.”

“You have the number? The hotel?”

She lifted her purse and had begun to root through it when she made another nasty discovery.

“Oh!” she said again. “My money's gone.”

“It can't be,” Justine said.

“It is. Someone stole it. I had a lot of cash.”

“Lowlifes,” said Will. “You can't believe the trash that hangs out in these kinds of places.”

Justine said, “What're you going to do, dear?”

“I don't have any idea. I'm so screwed. I'm in so much trouble.”

“What trouble? It's
your
bloody trip. It's not like you're a schoolgirl or something.”

The girl looked at her then, and Justine could see it dawn on her that this was so. She was as free as any other adult.

“Of course,” Justine continued, “the thing to do really is call. Let them know so they can collect you. Unless…”

She let it hang there between them until the girl said, “What?”

“I don't know. It's—I'm sure they'll want to just pick you up or something.”

“Unless what?”

“Well, we could ride you up.”

“You have a car?”

“No. Afraid not. I meant by train. We're checking out today anyway. Heading north. Getting on with things.”

“You're going to Florence?”

“Well, we could do. We're sort of headed in that direction. The problem is we don't actually have enough money for tickets quite yet. There's a place we can give blood plasma, which should be enough.”

“That's disgusting.”

“No. It's all right.”

“But what were you saying? About me?”

Justine shrugged. “We know our way 'round pretty well. We could just take you there, make sure you meet up with your group, find the hotel and all that. We could leave this morning except, well, we're all three of us flipping potless, aren't we?”

The girl looked at her, not understanding at first. Then the bulb went on. “No,” she said. “Oh, no. I can get it. God. It's not that.”

“I'm afraid you'd have to buy all three tickets.”

“I don't care.”

“I don't know. I'm sure they'll want to send someone round.”

“‘They' being whom?”

Who Justine thought, and glanced at Will. “I'm sure I wouldn't know.”

The girl said, “I'd rather just go with you guys.”

“Rock 'n' roll,” said Will.

“First,” Justine said, “you really will have to call someone. Let them know you're alive. I don't want the police coming after us for kidnapping or something. And then you'll have to go round and collect your luggage. You'll—We'll need a taxi.”

“First,” the girl said, “I have to find an American Express.”

“Ah. Right. Well, believe it or not, I know where one is. Not far from here, really.”

“Will you take me?”

“Will can. You know where it is?”

He said, “Sure.”

“I really must finish my own packing.”

“We'll get a cab then and come back for you,” the girl said.

“Wonderful,” said Justine. “That sounds really perfect.”

In the end, after Darcy had wadded up again courtesy of AmEx, and after a wine-soaked lunch (on that same lovely gold card), and after getting her packed up and out of the hotel (where, Justine discovered, someone from the tour had in fact been waiting until Darcy called), and a few last-minute errands that mostly involved seeing some people and settling some things, it took the entire day to finally get to the station, and then they had to hustle. This was, of course, by design. They had made sure they arrived moments before the train was to leave. So they ran, the girl between them, explaining to her that they didn't have to buy tickets in the station. They could just pay the conductor when he came around. They made the platform just as the doors were beginning to close. Darcy tried to stop and ask a question, but they hurried her on board, somehow found an empty set of facing seats, and collapsed into them.

They were half an hour out of Rome when the announcements came over the tinny speaker. Justine could see the girl listening. It was hard to make out, but she did because she looked at them and said, “We're on the wrong train.”

“What?”

“We're going to Venice.”

“No,” Justine said. “Florence. I'm sure of it.”

“We got on the wrong stupid train.”

“You're mistaken.”

“I am not.”

She put on a good rich-girl look of pissiness and aggravation then, a look of “What have you cock-ups done now?” But when she turned toward the window to watch the last light fading on the ancient hills with their ancient vines, Justine could have sworn she saw a thrill in the girl's face, a smile she tried to hide. Like when you feel that little tingle on a fast lift as the floor drops away and you hang there, just for an instant, in midair.

S
O NOW IT WAS
La Serenissima,
city of canals, on the morning after they walked over the bridge from the Santa Lucia Station into a fog so dense they could hardly see one another, and so late that nothing was open. They stood, stupidly looking around, as figures emerged and vanished again around them. They would have slept shivering on benches except that Justine knew where to go, a nice place where she had stayed once. Small and quiet. Locanda Apostoli. Not someplace she could afford anymore, but she knew the girl was good for it. She'd had it in mind that they would get two rooms, one for her and Will, but the girl surprised her by flat-out refusing. Justine said nothing. She wasn't even angry, just a bit gobsmacked. The girl had refused nothing up to that point. But it was late by then, and she was whacked and cranky. She said one room was enough for them just to crash in, and so they did. They fell onto the bed in their clothes and slept that way, touching, Justine to Will, and Will to her.

Justine was up early because she had business—real business at last. The two children still slept.

She watched as a cross on the top of a low white church across a canal began to blush and shine, as if it were giving off its own light, as if it were a holy rapturous thing. She watched the rooftops become orange and alive. The water of that place began to twinkle as the new light made its way into the shadows.

She had to see Maurice, much as she hated the thought, much as it made her stomach twist and ache. She had begun this job, or it had fallen to her like some gift, some low fruit waiting to be plucked. And it would solve their problems—that was the real point. That was what she had to keep in mind. It would make them flush again, even more than flush. And they owed Maurice so much besides. A couple of thousand. It would wash that all away. There was nothing for it now but that. Him.