Chapter 3 Chapter two

On Monday afternoon, Renee called Max's office and said she needed eight hundred and twenty dollars urgently, and asked him to send a check.She's in her gallery on Garden Drive, Palm Coast Boulevard.It would take Max at least half an hour to drive there. He said, "Leni, even if I wanted to help you, I can't right now. I'm waiting to hear from a guy. I just talked to a judge about him." Yet he had to be patient as she told how she'd been looking for him. "I was in the courthouse just now. I got the message you left in the BB button... I just got back, and I haven't had time yet. . . . Renee, I'm busy, for God's sake." Max There was a pause, the microphone was still held up to his ear, and he couldn't speak anymore.He looked up and saw a black man in a yellow tracksuit standing in his office.The black man had shiny hair and was carrying a Miami "Dolphin" sports bag in his hand.Max said, "Listen to me one more time, Renee, okay? If I don't catch him and send him to jail, I'll put a kid in ten fucking years, but you want me to... Renee?"

Max put down the phone. The nigger said, "Hang up, huh? I bet it's your wife." The guy smiled at him. Max almost blurted out, yes, but you know what she said to me?He really wanted to say that.Unless you tell the guy that he doesn't know the guy calling and has never met him before... but what's the point of that. The black guy spoke again: "There was no one in the front office, so I walked in. I have something urgent." the phone is ringing.Max picked up the microphone, pointed to a chair with his other hand, and said into the microphone, "Bailman's Office."

Ordell listened as he said, "It doesn't matter where you were just now, Reggie, you missed your hearing. Now I have to... Ray, listen to me, okay?" Said in a calmer voice than he had just spoken to his wife.Talking to her sounds kind of annoying.Ordell put his gym bag on an empty table across from Max Cherry's desk and pulled out a citronella. It seemed that this room was not so much a bailman's office as a person's comfort zone.Behind Max Cherry's seat is a whole wall of bookshelves with various books, some carved wood birds, and some beer mugs.For such a humble occupation, the room seemed too tidy and comfortable.He himself was elegant, clean-shaven, with an open blue shirt and no tie, well-cut at the shoulders.He was one of Louis's kind of dark, stocky guy, with black hair too, but balding.He was in his late sixties, maybe Italian, but Ordell had never met a bail bondman who wasn't Jewish.Max was telling the other guy at this time that the judge was going to arraign him on time. "Would you like that, Ray? Ten years rather than half a year or probation? I said, 'Your Excellency, Reggie has always been a dutiful client. I promise to find him right away...'"

Ordell paused as Max paused, and lit his cigarette. "'...just around the corner from his house.'" As he listened, he rose to his feet. "I can void the warrant, Ray... that desperado gave them permission to get you, man. Which means I have to send you." Ordell blew out a puff of smoke and looked around for ashtrays.He saw a no-smoking sign above the door, which looked like a reception room, with a long table and what looked like a refrigerator and a coffee maker. "You're staying at your mother's house until I come to pick you up. You have to go back to the jail. . . . just overnight, that's all. I promise you, you'll be out tomorrow." Ordell looked Max hung up and continued, "He'll have to be home when I get there, or I'll be in $5,000 trouble. Do you have any questions?"

"I couldn't find an ashtray," Ordell said, holding up his cigarette. "Another thing, I need a $10,000 bond." "What do you pledge as collateral?" "I'm ready to pay cash." "Has the money been brought?" "It's in my bag." "Use the coffee cup on the table." Ordell walked around the table, which was clean except for his gym bag, a phone, and a mug with some coffee left.He flicked the cigarette ash, then sat down in the swivel chair facing Max Cherry at the next table. "You've got cash," Max said, "what else do you need from me?"

"Come on," said Ordell, "you know how they do things. First figure out where you can get the money, then deduct a lot and say it's court fees. Going to play with you anyway." Ghost trick." "You're going to spend ten thousand dollars as bail." "I know." "For whom, a relative?" "A dude named Beaumont. They put him in the Gun Club." Max Cherry leaned slightly toward the table, staring up.On his side was a computer, a typewriter, and a stack of files, one of which was open. "Several officers took him Saturday night," Ordell said. "Initially it was for drunk driving, but the police ticket was 'possessed weapons' and he had a pistol on him."

"Ten thousand yuan sounds like a high price tag." "They looked up his name and were surprised to find he'd been in jail before. Or maybe they didn't like him being a Jamaican. You know what I'm gonna say? They were afraid he might get away." "If he does run away, I'll have to chase him to Jamaica, and you'll pay for it." That's interesting."Do you think you can catch him there? Put him on a plane and bring him back?" Ordell said. "I did that. What's his full name?" "Beaumont. That's the only name I know."

Max Cherry took the papers out of his drawer and looked this way again.This person is undoubtedly thinking, how come you don't even know his name when you pay that sum of money?Ordell took great pleasure from someone who didn't know his details, who—look at him—stopped asking questions.Ordell said, "Some of my people who help me don't even have names, just Sulu, Kuh, or something, and there's one they call him Wa-Wa. Like a street name. You know what they sometimes call me 'White Bread' because of the color of my skin. Sometimes they just call me 'Bread' for short. Well, they don't take me lightly." See what the man thinks.

He didn't speak, picked up the phone. Ordell smoked a cigarette, watched the man dial the number, heard him call the Office of Criminal Records, then asked a man if he had looked through pretrial cards and forcible arrest records for a defendant named Beaumont, and said he believed it was a Last name, but not sure, just check the group of people who came on Saturday night.He had to wait until he had learned what he needed, asked questions, and filled out forms on the table before answering.When he had done all this, he hung up the phone and said, "Beaumont Livingston." "Livingston, huh?"

"Earlier," said Max Cherry, "he was incarcerated for nine months and is currently on four years of probation. For possessing an unregistered machine gun." "You don't have to tell me." "So he violated his probation. Combined with the possession of weapons, he will be considered for ten years." "Man, he didn't like that," Ordell said.He took another drag on his cigarette, then tossed it into his coffee mug. "Beaumont will not be sentenced to prison." Max Cherry stared for another moment before saying, "Have you ever been in prison?"

"A long time ago, I spent a few days squatting in Ohio when I was young. Not a big deal, stealing cars." "I need your name, too, and your address." Ordell told him his name was Ordell Robbie, spelled it for him as the man asked, and told him where he lived. "It's a Jamaican name, isn't it?" "Hey, do I have a Jamaican accent too? Have you ever heard them speak that island dialect? It's like a foreign language. No... man, I'm African American. I'm black, Called a nigger, but now I'm African-American. What are you, Jew, huh?" "You're African-American, I think I'm French-American," Max Cherry said. "Probably some blood of French descent from New Orleans, if you go ahead." He was looking through the papers on his desk now, trying to find the man he was looking for. "You'll have to fill out an application for a court bond, an indemnity agreement, a backup promissory note . "Beaumont wasn't going anywhere," Ordell said. "You'll have to figure out some other way to scrape the skin. It's more than ten per cent of yours. I wonder you don't want to try to double the price. He's a Jamaican. . . . " "It's against the law." "Yeah, but someone did it, huh? You guys have your way. Like not refunding the bail money." Ordell got up, took his sports bag from the airport souvenir shop, and walked over to the man He took out a bundle of money from his bag at the desk, old banknotes held together with a rubber band. "One hundred dollars times one hundred," Ordell said, "and ten more for your commission. You see it all, huh? What I want to know is, before I get it back, did you put Where is my money, in your drawer?" "First Union across the street," Max Cherry said, taking the bills and removing the rubber bands. "Deposit on credit." "So you're going to make another profit from interest, huh? I understand." The man was noncommittal, and was busy counting hundreds of yuan bills.After he counted and Ordell signed various documents, the man asked him if he wanted to go to the prison with him.Ordell straightened up, thought about it, and then shook his head. "If I don't have to, I'm not going. Tell Beaumont I'll keep in touch." Ordell buttoned up his double-breasted blazer, which he wore over a black T-shirt this afternoon. Wear this pale yellow sweatshirt with black silk trousers.He wanted to see how tall this Max Cherry was.So he said, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," and at the same time put his hand out of reach of the other's hand.Max Cherry stood up. He was over six feet tall, a little taller than Ordell.He held out a big hand to Ordell, and Ordell squeezed it and let go.The man nodded, then stood and waited for him to leave. Ordell said, "You know why I'm here and not somewhere else? I heard a friend of mine does something for you." "You mean Winston?" "Another guy—Luis Gallas. He's a white friend of mine," Ordell said, smiling. Max Cherry didn't smile."I haven't seen him today," he said. "Yeah, well, I'll run into him sometime." Ordell picked up his bag and was about to walk towards the door.He stopped again and looked back. "I have one more question. I was just thinking, what if Beaumont gets hit by a car or something and dies before court day? I get the money back, don't I?" Max knew that what he meant was that he would get the money back.This is one of those cool-headed guys who can't wait to brag to you.This Ordell knew the rules, knew that the biggest county jail was called the Gun Club Jail, and it was just down the road.He knew Luis Gallas, had served time, and drove off in a Mercedes convertible.What else do you know?Odell Robbie - Max was surprised he hadn't heard of him at all.He turned away from the street window and went back to his office to type out the bail form. The first table: "Powers of Attorney".Max paused after rolling the form into the typewriter, staring at his question.Whenever he filled out the forms that had Graze Mutual Accident Insurance stamped on the frieze, it always hurt his eyes. The powers of attorney identify Max Cherry, who here, in the case of Beaumont Livingston, represents the insurance company's licensed surety.According to the prevailing method, the insurance company shall take one-third of the ten per cent return and invest one-third in the accumulation fund to cover the penalty. If Max wrote $50,000 worth of bail bonds a week, he would net $5,000, net of expenses and a third of that to Graze Mutual in Miami.It's a middle-of-the-road exploit, but not bad for the money, if you factor in the time. The problem was that after nineteen years of gratuitously representing Graze, the company was now in the hands of a new governing body, run by the criminal gang.Max knows all about this.They even installed a former crook, Ordell Robbie's friend Louis Gallas, in his office. "Do me a favor," said a thug from Graze Mutual, a guy who knew nothing about business. "Let him follow the tips of some big drug lords." "What those guys do," Max told the guy, "is run off as soon as they get bail." The guy said, "So what? We're getting paid anyway." "I don't vouch for people who I know will affect our reputation." "If they don't want to show up in court, that's their business," the guy said. "But it's my business who to write the guarantee for," Max told him. The guy from the Grays said, "There's something wrong with your attitude," and put this Louis in his office to hang out, a bank robber just out of jail. Just as Max was preparing the form, Winston came in.Winston Willie Powell was a licensed bailman, formerly a middleweight boxer with a record of thirty-nine wins and ten losses, and retired as a light heavyweight.He was short and stubby, with a black face with a beard, so dark that it was difficult to distinguish his appearance.Max stared at him, who was sitting at another table now, unlocked the right-hand drawer and took out a .38 short-barreled pistol before looking up. "You need to find that puerto rican kid who broke down and robbed and thought he was Sulo. Does he have a sword on the wall? This kid made a rumor about his warden that she was violent on him. We bailed him out and he didn't end up in court Show up. I called the Del Ray Police Department and said I might need some support, depending on how it goes. They said to me, 'He's your bag, man.' They don't want to mess with the women who live there Together. Touch Sulo and they'll gouge out your eyeballs." "Do you need help? Go to Louis." "I'd rather do it myself," said Winston, tucking his pistol in his belt and pulling his ribbed jersey T-shirt over it, flattening it. "Who are you writing the vouch for?" "A guy with a stash of weapons. Ten thousand dollars." "too expensive." "Not expensive for Beaumont Livingston. They caught him carrying a machine gun once." "Beaumont—he's a Jamaican, and he's gone." "The African-American man who pulled out the cash said that's not the case." "Do we know him?" "Ordell Robbie," Max said, waiting. Winston shook his head. "Where does he live?" "Thirty-first Street near Greenwood. Do you know that part? It's the same old way. People put iron bars on the windows." "I'll find him out if you need it." "He knew Louis. They were old friends." "Then you know this Ordell Robbie is not clean," said Winston. "Where does Beaumont live?" "Riviera. He's employed by Mr. Robbie, but he's worth ten thousand to Mr. Robbie." "This Robbie wants to get his guys out and deal with the police before he gets pressured. I can get Sulo out when I get him." "I'm going over there anyway. I have to see Reggie off." "He didn't show up for the hearing again? They're pretty damned, aren't they?" "He said it was his mum's birthday and he forgot." "Even you believe that bullshit. I bet you sometimes act like these people." "I'm glad we had this conversation," Max said. "Yeah, the way you do things makes me worry about you," said Winston. "You'd better be smarter than me. Act like nothing bothers you. Don't even bother Mr. Luis Galla. Just ignore him." Let him waste your time, let him smoke his cigarettes with you." "No, I can't let Louis bother me," Max said. "Then kick the fuck out and lock the door. Then call that crappy insurance company and tell them you're done with them. Or they'll eat you or mess you up in the state Get into the trouble of the investigation team, you know that." "Good." Max said.He turned to his typewriter. "Listen to me. You just stop writing them bail." "You mean to wash your hands and quit." "Pause for a while. What's wrong with that?" "You may not have looked at the account book recently." Max said, "We have almost a million dollars in the account that we have not yet settled." "I mean you get out of it. Live in peace for a while. Understand; when the money is all wiped out of the account, you start over from the beginning." "I have bills to pay like everyone else." "Yeah, you can do it if you like, there's a way. I think you're tired of the business." "You're right again," Max said, not wanting to talk about it any more. "But you can't escape, so you have to pretend that you don't have any troubles." Max doesn't argue with him.Having worked together for nine years, Winston knew him well.They were silent for a while, then Winston said: "How is Renee?" coming from the other side as he spoke. "Is she still the same?" "You want to know if I still pay her bills?" "Don't tell me what you don't want to tell me." "Well, last time," Max said.He looked up from the typewriter. "I just got back from seeing the judge about Reggie, and as soon as I got in the house, she called." He paused for a moment, while Winston sat down, propped his arms on the table, hunched over, stared at him, and waited for the next word. "She's at the Boulevard. She's ordered something, three olive jars, cash on delivery, and she's anxious for eight hundred and twenty dollars. Eight hundred and twenty dollars." "What is an olive-shaped jar?" "How do I know? All she needs of me is to send her a check right away, no matter what I'm doing." Winston sat staring at him, his head sunk in his thick arched shoulders. "To pay for the olive jar." "I said, 'Rani, I'm busy. I'm trying to keep a young man from going to prison for ten years, and I'm waiting for his call.' I tried to talk to her about it nicely. Clear. Guess what she said? She said, 'Yeah, I'm busy too.'” Winston seemed to be laughing.It's hard to tell.He said, "I was there once. Renee didn't look like she saw me, but I was the only one in the room." "That's what I meant," Max said. "She says she's busy—for what? You never see any customers unless she brings out the wine and cheese. You know what I mean? The food and drink are for exhibitions. And then there's those Freelancers. You see those guys, they look like people who live in a cardboard box under the highway, eat everything and drink alcohol.. Do you know who they are? Artists and them The gang. I even recognized the guy in the gang that I wrote the bail letter. Renee was talking in it like she was Peter Pan and she cut her hair really short so those The assholes are all those down-and-out kids. When the whole room was gone, she didn't even sell a damn painting." "Then what you are going to tell me is," said Winston, "that you are still supporting her habit." "She's got a Cuban guy now, David, or David, and she says she's going to unravel it, make it big, any day. That guy's the handyman at Chuck and Harold's .” "I said, what I don't understand," said Winston, "is that you're letting a woman who weighs less than a hundred pounds get you ripped off. It's the same with these nasty assholes we're dealing with. They throw all kinds of shit on you, and you keep walking down with it. If I see, you catch a runaway guy, a fucking drunk, you handcuff him, no Problem, just bring him. You see what I mean? Why don't you tell that woman to pay her own bills, or that you're going to divorce her? Or just divorce her. You guys And they don't live together. What good is it for you to be married? Not at all. Am I right? Unless you're going to sleep with her." "After the separation," Max said, "you won't do that. You don't want to." "Yeah, I thought you were good with women. But where's she going to find her boyfriend but the artists? Where's this Cuban handyman Davide? It'd be all right if she slept with him." A reason to divorce her. Catch her when she does something wrong to you." "You're getting a little involved in my private affairs right now," Max said. Winston looked surprised. "Man, we have nothing but private affairs. Your personal affairs are messing up your life, one problem is another problem. Renee got your balls, you don't have the strength to put that insurance The company is off your back and puts all the money in her gallery and pays her bills. You can close this place, eat some money, and start over with another insurance Corporate cooperation. You know I'm right, so I'm not going to say another word." "Okay," Max said.He turned again to the powers of attorney form on his typewriter. "Did you give her the check she asked for?" "I didn't give it." "She called again?" "not yet." "She was crying and crying, endlessly, like before?" "She hung up the phone," Max said. "Look, I gotta get this done and walk away." "Don't let me disturb you." Max started typing again. He heard Winston say: "Well, stinky shit—" and he looked up to see him standing by the table with his coffee cup. "Damn Louis, you know what he did? Throwing his cigarette butt in here. I'm going to punch him in the mouth where he smokes." Max went back to the form, and the Graze Mutual Accident Insurance Company was imposingly printed on the form's lintel."I know what you think," he said. "But when you take down a crook who's already had three misses, they say you should just kill him."