Trans Am (2001) by Robert Ryan

Author:Robert Ryan [Ryan, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480477582
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-02-25T21:18:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

Miami, Florida

RICHARD PALADIN WALKED THE two blocks to Hoya, his favourite Cuban restaurant. Just a few hundred feet from the faggot madness of Ocean Drive, Hoya had remained much the same since the days when all the local hotels were flea-ridden low-rent long-term efficiencies, before it got all glammed up, like some overdressed whore. Like some overdressed faggot whore, he reminded himself.

His eyes took a second to adjust to the relative gloom inside the simple room, with its plastic tables and chairs, and pick out Mig, the owner. Paladin sat down at his normal table, ordered the shredded beef, beans and rice and looked at a book of photographs by Diane Arbus, a cheap re-issue he didn’t mind getting the odd splash of gravy on.

It was a good life, he thought. He had a woman, no spring chicken, it was true, but she was good to him, didn’t ask too many questions, and a decent business. Who would’ve thought it? After years of dealing in the most despicable of human acts, now he was in the reproduction business. Bringing a little sunshine into miserable, deprived, empty lives.

His company, LifeForce, apparently acted as a clearing house for information on latest fertility treatments, which hospitals and clinics had the best results, what the local rules and regulations were, who was banning or regulating donors, capping fees, limiting number of cycles, that kind of thing. It also dealt in illegal eggs, those that had been harvested and, ostensibly, destroyed rather than re-implanted. But anything that has a monetary value will always find its way onto the market, Paladin reckoned, and it wasn’t hard to get a steady supply of unfertilised, or even fertilised, ovums for implanting. And for those who couldn’t go down that route, well, there was a range of alternatives.

As always when he was reading he played with the little notch in his left ear, the one where a shotgun had punched a triangular pattern out of the lobe, the event that made him get out of front-line action and into brokerage—selling others’ illegal expertise to the American underworld—before he re-located from the cold north down to the sunnier climes of Florida.

The food arrived just as his cellphone rang. Impatiently he punched the button. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mr Paladin?’ It was a woman’s voice, tight and businesslike.

‘Who’s this?’

‘I got your name from a friend.’

‘Yeah? Yours or mine?’

‘Mine.’

Paladin hesitated. ‘You wanna tell me the name?’

‘No.’

‘I see.’ That was a good sign.

‘They just said you could help.’

‘Did they.’

‘They said you were a specialist.’

‘What part of the country are you in?’ he asked her.

‘Florida.’

‘Close then.’

‘I am now. I flew in this morning.’

‘To call me? What if I won’t see you? You was takin’ a chance.’

‘I came determined not to take no for an answer.’

Something told him she wasn’t just spinning him a line. You got to know these things. He looked down at his plate and felt his stomach contract with hunger. ‘I’m having lunch. You wanna call by the office? It’s on—’

‘I know where it is. I can see it from my car window.

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