said, his eyes on the road. “But yeah, that’s generally what I do.” A Porsche rushed past them in a whine, doing ninety maybe, maybe more.
“Some car,” Deal said. The Porsche had already disappeared, but you could still hear the engine somewhere up ahead.
“You got enough money, you do anything you want,” Homer said. They were over the river now, descending the same bridge where Deal had had his earlier adventure in driving. Across the dividers, Deal saw a crane lifting some of the debris. They’d had to close a lane for the work and the eastbound traffic was snarled.
“Look at that,” Homer said. “I’ll have to take the streets coming back.”
Deal nodded. “I would, if I were you.”
“This town’s got crazy,” Homer said.
“It’s the big city, all right.” Deal checked his watch. If he’d missed the inspector, he might be down another week.
“It’s more than that,” Homer said, guiding them toward their exit. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then swung onto the ramp. “What’s your company’s name, anyhow?”
When Deal told him, Homer turned in surprise. “DealCo,” he repeated. “Who are you shittin’. That’s the big time. They built the Grove Hotel, all that stuff along the bay.”
“Used to be,” Deal told him. “That was my old man. I’m the small time, now.”
Homer turned back to his driving. They were on Twenty-seventh Avenue, now, the lanes heavy with afternoon traffic. “So your old man was John Deal, huh?” Homer thought about it before he continued. “He used to come into the Carneses’ all the time.”
“He wouldn’t go anywhere else,” Deal said. The Carnes brothers were men of his father’s generation. They’d owned Surf Motors from the days when it was the only Seville dealership in south Florida. His father had always traded there, even after the Carneses had long since decamped from the show room to diversify their interests. Deal had serviced The Hog there solely out of habit.
“You’re the kid that played baseball,” Homer said.
Deal shook his head. Ten years, maybe, since anybody’d brought it up. Now, twice in the same day. “In high school,” he said grudgingly.
“Yeah?” Homer screwed up his face, trying to remember. “I thought you got a scholarship, something like that.”
Deal shrugged. “A couple years in college. That’s about it.”
Homer gave him a look. He was just trying to pass the time, wasn’t going to press it.
Deal could imagine his old man booming around the dealership the day he got the call, telling the Carneses and anybody else within earshot about it, “Yeah, the boy has him a full ride with the Seminoles. Next stop, Yankee Stadium.” And on and on. Easy for him to dream. He had never tried to hit a curve ball. Deal glanced at Homer. He wondered if they were going to talk about getting a team down here, now.
“Your old man threw some dice with the bosses now and then,” Homer said. Not bad, Deal thought. Set him up with a fast ball, then the change of pace. The little man glanced over to see how Deal was taking it. “I’d hold the money. Watch the door, in case somebody got a stupid idea.”
Deal nodded. He’d tried to forget about that too. He had a fair suspicion how much of DealCo had skittered away on the craps table.
“So what’s your old man doing?”
“He’s dead,” Deal said. And probably throwing dice with the devil, he thought.
Homer stared at him, then had to swerve around a step-van clogging the middle lane. “Fuckhead,” Homer grumbled. He shot a bird in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry to hear about that,” he said, easing back into the center lane. “I won’t ask you what happened to
your
business,” he said, finally. “I been at Surf thirty years. I saw how the Carneses got screwed.” He made a thoughtful hissing sound between his teeth. “Ain’t the same with them gone.”
Deal turned to him, surprised. “The Carneses sold out?” he asked.
Homer pulled to a
“Some car,” Deal said. The Porsche had already disappeared, but you could still hear the engine somewhere up ahead.
“You got enough money, you do anything you want,” Homer said. They were over the river now, descending the same bridge where Deal had had his earlier adventure in driving. Across the dividers, Deal saw a crane lifting some of the debris. They’d had to close a lane for the work and the eastbound traffic was snarled.
“Look at that,” Homer said. “I’ll have to take the streets coming back.”
Deal nodded. “I would, if I were you.”
“This town’s got crazy,” Homer said.
“It’s the big city, all right.” Deal checked his watch. If he’d missed the inspector, he might be down another week.
“It’s more than that,” Homer said, guiding them toward their exit. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then swung onto the ramp. “What’s your company’s name, anyhow?”
When Deal told him, Homer turned in surprise. “DealCo,” he repeated. “Who are you shittin’. That’s the big time. They built the Grove Hotel, all that stuff along the bay.”
“Used to be,” Deal told him. “That was my old man. I’m the small time, now.”
Homer turned back to his driving. They were on Twenty-seventh Avenue, now, the lanes heavy with afternoon traffic. “So your old man was John Deal, huh?” Homer thought about it before he continued. “He used to come into the Carneses’ all the time.”
“He wouldn’t go anywhere else,” Deal said. The Carnes brothers were men of his father’s generation. They’d owned Surf Motors from the days when it was the only Seville dealership in south Florida. His father had always traded there, even after the Carneses had long since decamped from the show room to diversify their interests. Deal had serviced The Hog there solely out of habit.
“You’re the kid that played baseball,” Homer said.
Deal shook his head. Ten years, maybe, since anybody’d brought it up. Now, twice in the same day. “In high school,” he said grudgingly.
“Yeah?” Homer screwed up his face, trying to remember. “I thought you got a scholarship, something like that.”
Deal shrugged. “A couple years in college. That’s about it.”
Homer gave him a look. He was just trying to pass the time, wasn’t going to press it.
Deal could imagine his old man booming around the dealership the day he got the call, telling the Carneses and anybody else within earshot about it, “Yeah, the boy has him a full ride with the Seminoles. Next stop, Yankee Stadium.” And on and on. Easy for him to dream. He had never tried to hit a curve ball. Deal glanced at Homer. He wondered if they were going to talk about getting a team down here, now.
“Your old man threw some dice with the bosses now and then,” Homer said. Not bad, Deal thought. Set him up with a fast ball, then the change of pace. The little man glanced over to see how Deal was taking it. “I’d hold the money. Watch the door, in case somebody got a stupid idea.”
Deal nodded. He’d tried to forget about that too. He had a fair suspicion how much of DealCo had skittered away on the craps table.
“So what’s your old man doing?”
“He’s dead,” Deal said. And probably throwing dice with the devil, he thought.
Homer stared at him, then had to swerve around a step-van clogging the middle lane. “Fuckhead,” Homer grumbled. He shot a bird in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry to hear about that,” he said, easing back into the center lane. “I won’t ask you what happened to
your
business,” he said, finally. “I been at Surf thirty years. I saw how the Carneses got screwed.” He made a thoughtful hissing sound between his teeth. “Ain’t the same with them gone.”
Deal turned to him, surprised. “The Carneses sold out?” he asked.
Homer pulled to a