Mr. Clarinet

"I'd love to give you a guided tour," Carver apologized, "but I'm going to be tied up with customers all day. Our head of security—Mr. Codada—will show you around."

He took them back the way he'd come, ushering them through a guarded door and into a cool and long, blue-carpeted corridor that ended, some way down, at an elevator.

They stopped outside the only office in the corridor. Carver rapped twice on the door before opening it brusquely, as if hoping to catch the inhabitant off-guard, in the middle of something embarrassing or forbidden.

Mr. Codada was on the phone, one foot on his desk, laughing loudly and making the tassels on his patent-leather loafers rattle in time with his outbursts of mirth. He looked over his shoulder at the three of them, waved vaguely, and carried on his conversation without changing his posture.

The office was spacious, with one wall dominated by a framed painting of a modern white building overlooking a waterfall, and another traditional painting—also framed—of a street party outside a church. His desk was bare, apart from the telephone, a blotter, and some small, black, wooden figurines.

Codada said, "A bientôt ma chérie," blew a couple of kisses into the receiver, and hung up. He spun his chair around to face his new guests.

Without moving from his spot near the door, Carver talked to him brusquely in Kreyol, motioning to Max with his head as he spoke his name. Codada nodded without saying a word, his face a mixture of professional seriousness and leftover jollity. Max understood the dynamic right away. Codada was Gustav's man and didn't take Allain at all seriously.

Next, Carver addressed Chantale, far more gently, smiling, before turning on the surface charm a little more as he took his leave of Max.

"Enjoy your tour," he said. "We'll talk later."

Maurice Codada stood up and walked around his desk.

Codada air-kissed Chantale on both cheeks and pumped her arms warmly. She introduced him to Max.

"Bienvenu ŕ la Banque Populaire d'Haďti, Monsieur Mainguss," Codada gushed, bowing his head and showing Max an odd-looking freckled, pink, bald spot on his crown, before taking Max's hands and also shaking them vigorously. Although he was a slender little man, shorter and narrower than Max, his grip was strong. Chantale explained that she would have to translate, as Codada didn't speak English.

Codada took them back outside to the main entrance and immediately started showing them around the bank, running a rapid-fire commentary in Kreyol, which seemed to rattle out of his mouth like telex script, as he walked them across the floor.

Chantale packaged up his verbal geysers into one-liners: "The pillars come from Italy"—"The floors too"—"The Haitian flag"—"The counters come from Italy"—"The staff do not, ha, ha, ha."

Codada moved about the line of customers, shaking hands, slapping shoulders, air-kissing the ladies, working the crowd with the gusto of a politician campaigning for office. He even picked up a baby and kissed it.

Codada resembled a lion made up as a circus clown—a cartoon character looking for a comic strip. He had a flat, broad nose, round ginger afro, and redhead's naturally pale complexion pocked with a heavy spray of freckles. His lips were red—the lower one rimmed purple—and permanently moist from where he darted the pink tip of his tongue all around them like a praying mantis chasing and missing a fleet-footed bug. His stare was hooded, roasted-coffee-bean irises peering out from under eyelids crisscrossed with a spaghetti junction of fine veins and arteries.

Max thought Codada lacked virtually every personality trait needed for working in security. People who worked those jobs were introverted, secretive, and above all discreet; they said little, saw everything, thought and moved quick. Codada was the opposite. He liked people or liked their attention. Security personnel blended into the crowd but thought everyone in it a potential threat. Even his clothes were wrong—white duck pants, a navy blue blazer, and a maroon-and-white cravat. Security staff favored dull tones or uniforms, while Codada could have passed himself off as a maître d' on some gay cruise liner.

They took a mirrored elevator up to the next floor, the business division. Codada stood to the left of the door so he could get the full three-dimensional view of Chantale his position allowed. Max had thought he was gay, but Codada spent all of the few seconds the ride lasted tracing the outline of Chantale's bust with his gaze, slurping up the detail. Just before they reached the floor, he must have felt the intensity of Max's stare, because he looked straight at him, then flicked the briefest look at Chantale's bosom, and then went back to Max and nodded to him very slightly, letting him know they'd broached common ground. Chantale didn't seem to notice.