CHAPTER 19

C.J. KEPT THE GROWING feeling of euphoria until he entered the door of his house and walked into the living room and saw Sarah sitting in his favorite possession, his leather chair. That was something he was going to miss. He wondered what the furniture stores would be like in Belize. Maybe he’d have to order from the States to get what he wanted. He saw there was someone else in the room with her. A policeman. In full uniform, sitting in a chair in the corner, hat on his knee.

“Hello, Sarah,” he began. “What’s...listen, I’m sorry I’m late. I got tied up in a--”

Her voice was permafrost.

“I don’t care where you were, Clifford. Fucking your little tramp I would imagine.”

“I--” He started to speak, but she waved an imperious hand.

“It doesn’t matter. You can see her all you want. In fact, I’d suggest you go to her right away. You see, you don’t have a bed in this house any longer. I want you to leave immediately. You can have ten minutes to pick up your pathetic little personal belongings and I want you out of here. For good. If you don’t do as I say, this gentleman will arrest you.”

His face drained. What was going on? He tried to collect his thoughts, figure out what to say. God! What else could go wrong? This was a disaster!

“You’re no longer needed at the bank. As of five o’clock this afternoon you’ve been relieved of your duties. Mr. Arnoldt is in charge now. Your desk has been cleaned out and all your possessions will be sent to you as soon as we’ve determined what is yours and what belongs to the bank.”

The whole time she talked she kept her eyes locked with his.

“I’d tell you to turn in your keys, but that won’t be necessary. All the locks have been changed. Keep them as a souvenir. You’ll be served with the proper papers tomorrow. Give me an address to send them to. Or would your little hideaway on Burthe be satisfactory? Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? There’s a lot I know, Clifford. That’s it, no discussion, no arguing, no pleading, no nothing. I want you out. Immediately. To save you some breath, there’s nothing in your name. Not the house, not your bank accounts, not your car. Amend that. I’m going to let you have your car. Temporarily. You might think about making arrangements to apply for credit for a new one. Only don’t apply at my bank. What I’m doing, Clifford, is leaving you the same way I found you. Although,” her voice dripped with sarcasm, “I don’t doubt that with your charm you’ll find another meal ticket. I wouldn’t look for her in Louisiana, however. The word is being put out about you. I shouldn’t imagine you’ll find much future in New Orleans.”

Sarah stood up, turned her back and began walking toward the dining room. She spoke, not turning around, “Oh, and tell your little whore she’s fired as well. She can pick up her check on Friday.” Sarah left the room.

He saw her fists were clenched. “Sarah,” he said, in a little voice. He started after her disappearing figure but the policeman stood up, walked over to block his path.

What was this!

“Sorry, sir. I can’t let you go in there. If you want something from the master bedroom and she approves, I’ll escort you to get it. Otherwise, you’ll have to leave.”

“What the hell is this! I’ll call the chief! I’ll have your--”

“Sir, I’m here on personal orders from the chief. Will you leave quietly?”

***

Upstairs in the master bedroom, he went over to the walk-in closet and peered in, considering briefly about packing at least his suits. Fuck it, he thought; I’ll get all new clothes. Clothes that won’t have the stench of her money on them. He did go over to his dresser and open the bottom drawer. Far in the back he felt beneath a pile of sweaters until his fingers touched the full plastic bag he was after. He hefted the five full grams of cocaine in his hand lovingly and thrust it into his trouser pocket. That was all he took. He wanted to smash everything in sight and glanced once at the dresser she bought in France and shipped over ten years ago. He picked up a paperweight and stared at the dresser mirror, but one look at the beefy cop who had escorted him upstairs and was standing in the hallway, changed his mind.

At the last minute, he changed his mind, grabbed a suitcase and packed a couple changes of clothes. Just until I get new ones, he thought.

As he walked to his car, all he could think about was what he was going to do about Friday. The fucking cunt! Her grandfather was behind this, he realized. Problem, C.J. Big fucking problem. Solve it, big boy. You can do it. Don’t panic; think! In his Lincoln he took out the packet from his pocket, rolled a dollar bill up into a tight roll and snuffled back a big hit, not much caring whether the policeman inside the house saw him or not. He thought about his next move.