Read Online Lights Out by Peter Abrahams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Peter Abrahams
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nightclubs—Mongo’s and Voodoo Rock; box on box of time-share villas spreading back from the hotel, up into the hills and halfway across the island; an eighteen-hole championship golf course, tennis courts, two swimming pools; a fleet of boats on the water.
Jack was watching him, waiting for his opinion. Eddie leafed through them once more. “Mongo’s—that’s you.”
“And Fingers. Evelyn came up with the rest.”
Eddie studied an artist’s rendition, not to scale. It showed a pink pavilion cut into the side of the hill. Pastel-dressed white people were dancing to the music of a bare-chested black steel band. Eddie said: “If someone has the money to build all this, why bother doing it?”
Jack put down his beer bottle. “No one uses their own money, Eddie. This is all about leverage. Leverage and operating in a tax haven with no unions and no bullshit. Brad’s going to make a fortune. He’s just lining up one more investor. We could break ground by the end of July, which is pretty quick considering we just got title three months ago.”
Eddie said: “I thought you were in anthropology.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sound like a business major.”
Jack took a long pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fact is,” he said, “I’m not going back.”
“Not going back where?”
“USC. I’m staying here. It’s a chance to get in on the ground floor of something really big.”
“What about your degree?”
“It’s just a stepping stone to something like this. I’m already here.”
“You want to work in a hotel?”
“I want to make money, jerk. You’ll see when you get out there.”
“See what?”
“How some people live.”
A white bird dove out of the sky, splashed on the water, rose with something silver in its beak. “What’s he paying you?” Eddie asked. He himself was supposed to get a hundred dollars a week, plus room and board.
“It’s not what I’m getting now. It’s what I’ll be getting in the future—I’ve got a piece of the action.”
“You bought into his company, or whatever it is?”
“GB Devco. Buying in was out of the question. That takes money, and we don’t have money, you and I. It just hasn’t hit you yet, that’s all.” Jack lowered his voice, although no one was around. “I own seven and a half percent of everything, all legal and binding. At least it will be in a few weeks.”
“How did you manage that?”
Jack glanced around. “It’s all part of the deal. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to work like a son of a bitch.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever it takes. Selling time shares, setting up the waterfront program—you’ll be helping with that—romancing travel agents, busting my ass.”
There was a long silence. The sea shone like beaten gold. Eddie remembered that image from English class, but he couldn’t place it. English was his worst subject. “What about swimming?” he said.
“Four hours a day in the pool? Who’s gonna miss that?” Jack took another drink; his eyes rested on the dancing pastel people. “So: what do you think?”
Eddie didn’t look again at the plans. He swiveled around on his stool. The bar had no walls, just a roof that seemed to be made of nothing but palm fronds. Up in the hills, a red-flowering tree blazed like the start of a forest fire.
“I like it the way it is,” he said.
Jack snorted. “It’s a dump the way it is. The last owner’s selling pencils on the street.”
Eddie looked into his brother’s eyes for some sign that he was joking. All he saw was the shimmering of beaten gold.
Eddie gestured toward the hills. “Does Packer own all that land?”
“Not yet.”
“But he can afford to buy it.”
“Hell, no. I told you. He’s got no money.”
“Then how did he pay for the hotel?”
“Borrowed, except for the five percent that came from Evelyn’s old man. And he got the place for a song.”
“He tells you all this?”
“All
Jack was watching him, waiting for his opinion. Eddie leafed through them once more. “Mongo’s—that’s you.”
“And Fingers. Evelyn came up with the rest.”
Eddie studied an artist’s rendition, not to scale. It showed a pink pavilion cut into the side of the hill. Pastel-dressed white people were dancing to the music of a bare-chested black steel band. Eddie said: “If someone has the money to build all this, why bother doing it?”
Jack put down his beer bottle. “No one uses their own money, Eddie. This is all about leverage. Leverage and operating in a tax haven with no unions and no bullshit. Brad’s going to make a fortune. He’s just lining up one more investor. We could break ground by the end of July, which is pretty quick considering we just got title three months ago.”
Eddie said: “I thought you were in anthropology.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sound like a business major.”
Jack took a long pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fact is,” he said, “I’m not going back.”
“Not going back where?”
“USC. I’m staying here. It’s a chance to get in on the ground floor of something really big.”
“What about your degree?”
“It’s just a stepping stone to something like this. I’m already here.”
“You want to work in a hotel?”
“I want to make money, jerk. You’ll see when you get out there.”
“See what?”
“How some people live.”
A white bird dove out of the sky, splashed on the water, rose with something silver in its beak. “What’s he paying you?” Eddie asked. He himself was supposed to get a hundred dollars a week, plus room and board.
“It’s not what I’m getting now. It’s what I’ll be getting in the future—I’ve got a piece of the action.”
“You bought into his company, or whatever it is?”
“GB Devco. Buying in was out of the question. That takes money, and we don’t have money, you and I. It just hasn’t hit you yet, that’s all.” Jack lowered his voice, although no one was around. “I own seven and a half percent of everything, all legal and binding. At least it will be in a few weeks.”
“How did you manage that?”
Jack glanced around. “It’s all part of the deal. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to work like a son of a bitch.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever it takes. Selling time shares, setting up the waterfront program—you’ll be helping with that—romancing travel agents, busting my ass.”
There was a long silence. The sea shone like beaten gold. Eddie remembered that image from English class, but he couldn’t place it. English was his worst subject. “What about swimming?” he said.
“Four hours a day in the pool? Who’s gonna miss that?” Jack took another drink; his eyes rested on the dancing pastel people. “So: what do you think?”
Eddie didn’t look again at the plans. He swiveled around on his stool. The bar had no walls, just a roof that seemed to be made of nothing but palm fronds. Up in the hills, a red-flowering tree blazed like the start of a forest fire.
“I like it the way it is,” he said.
Jack snorted. “It’s a dump the way it is. The last owner’s selling pencils on the street.”
Eddie looked into his brother’s eyes for some sign that he was joking. All he saw was the shimmering of beaten gold.
Eddie gestured toward the hills. “Does Packer own all that land?”
“Not yet.”
“But he can afford to buy it.”
“Hell, no. I told you. He’s got no money.”
“Then how did he pay for the hotel?”
“Borrowed, except for the five percent that came from Evelyn’s old man. And he got the place for a song.”
“He tells you all this?”
“All
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