Cooper glanced at the Chinese men near the white van. They were edging closer, like they wanted to approach but were waiting for instructions. Bo Pan looked furious.
Cooper thought of pointing out that they could have unloaded themselves, and therefore didn’t need to hire help — union or otherwise — but Steve looked more than on edge … he looked afraid.
Steve was the one in charge, wasn’t he? Or had this all been some kind of strange sham all along? Was Bo Pan the one who called the shots? And if so, just how much trouble was Steve in?
“Steve is right,” Cooper said, following an instant instinct to protect the kid. “If you hire labor to unload, Bo Pan, they’ve got be union. This is Chicago, my friend.”
Bo Pan’s bony hands clutched into fists. Anger smoldered in his wrinkled eyes. He looked to the dock.
“I see,” he said. “And the limousine? And those women, standing there, watching us … are they union, too?”
“Steve gave us a bonus,” Cooper said. “In fact, Mister Stanton, why don’t you wait in the limo? We’ll be off-loaded in just a moment.”
Steve shook his head. “Uh … I’d rather stay on the ship with you and Jeff until everything is finished.”
That line made Bo Pan even angrier. He coughed up a wad of phlegm, spat it onto the deck, then started climbing out of the slightly moving boat onto the pier. Two of the Chinese men ran over to help him. One took the duffel bag. The man handled the bag delicately, reverently.
Bo Pan and the men got in the van, which quietly drove down the dock toward the pier gate.
Cooper turned to Steve.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?”
Steve shook his head. “No. I do not.” The kid looked like he might puke at any moment. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a banded stack of hundred-dollar bills and handed it to Cooper.
“Another part of your bonus.”
Cooper looked at it, dumbfounded. Another mad stack, another ten grand, just like that.
Steve started climbing out of the boat. Cooper had to help him, thanks to two computer bags, one of which was stuffed with two laptops.
As Steve walked to the limo, Cooper wondered what had just happened. He’d try to get it out of Steve later, if, indeed, Steve was really going to hang out.
Cooper turned, waved to José. The Filipino came running over.
“Yes, Jefe?”
“Big surprise,” Cooper said. “We’re all staying in the Trump Tower for the next two nights. All free, big guy.”
José’s smile faded. “A tower?”
“A hotel,” Cooper said. “Big one. Fancy as h.e.l.l, from what I hear. Steve paid for it. We even get a limo ride.” He nodded toward the long, black car, the shivering girls.
José coughed, then sneezed. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Bless you,” Cooper said. “You okay?”
José shrugged. “Coming down with something. I think I’ll just go home. I miss my family.”
Cooper wanted to talk him into coming but could see there was no point. José missed his family, true, but he was also always paranoid of anything that involved giving ID or being around lots of strangers. The man was so hardworking, so at home on the boat; it was easy to forget that once on land, he didn’t have the same rights and privileges that Cooper and Jeff enjoyed.
“Okay,” Cooper said. “You need a ride anywhere?”
José shook his head. “My cousin is coming to get me. It’s just a two-hour drive to Benton Harbor, no problem.”
He coughed again, much harder this time. His eyes watered.
“d.a.m.n, dude,” Cooper said. “Maybe you should swing by a hospital and get that checked out.”
José cleared his throat, shook his head and smiled; he thought Cooper was joking.
Cooper felt like an idiot for the second time in as many minutes — José was as afraid of hospitals as he was of hotels. He probably feared that a trip to the hospital might turn into a visit with the INS. A ridiculous fear, Cooper knew, but then again he never had to deal with such concerns.
Cooper peeled off twenty one-hundred-dollar bills from the stack, handed them to José.
“Tell your cousin not to drive like a G.o.dd.a.m.n illegal, will ya?”
José’s face lit up in surprise. He put the money in his pocket. “Sometimes, Jefe Cooper, you’re a good guy — for a racist a.s.shole, I mean. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Cooper said. “Great work. Now help get Steve’s c.r.a.p off the boat, okay?”
José jogged over to join Jeff and the two dockworkers, who were already unloading Steve’s crate.
A tickle flared up in Cooper’s windpipe, a tickle that quickly turned into a small cough. He cleared his throat … felt a little scratchy.
Well, he wouldn’t let a little cold stop him from having one grade-A b.i.t.c.h of a good time.
Windy City? Here we come.
FREQUENT FLIERS
Bo Pan put a bottle of water and a tin of Sucrets on the counter.
The cashier grabbed it, ran it across the scanner, spoke to him without looking up.
“h.e.l.lo, sir,” she said. “How are you today?” Her name tag said Madha. She held out her hand. “That will be seven fifty-five.”
Bo Pan adjusted the strap of his carry-on bag so he could get at his wallet, then handed over the money. When he did, his hand touched hers.