by Carl Hiaasen
Albury snorted. “You’re my lawyer, Drake. Try real hard.”
The lawyer would not meet his eyes. “I’m getting you out tomorrow,” he said in a reedy voice.
The jailer opened the door and Boone sidled into the hallway.
“Don’t just get me out,” Albury called, “get me off!”
Through a window, he could see Boone shaking his head disgustedly. “Hey, Breeze, you’re welcome,” the lawyer said acidly through the door. “Think nothing of it.”
Laurie and Ricky showed up at supper time. She wore a pale blue sun dress and sandals; her hair was done back in a lush ponytail. The kid was dressed for baseball practice; he carried his glove and the new cleats. They sat at the same Formica table as Drake Boone. Laurie had brought a carton of Camels, but half of them had been skimmed off by one of the jailers. Albury smoked nervously.
“How are you doing?” Laurie asked tentatively.
“Marvelous,” Albury said. He noticed sadly how Ricky was staring down at the table. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Albury said. “They giving you a rough time?”
“Naw.”
Albury forced a smile. “I had some rough luck with my traps,” he began. “I wasn’t trying to be greedy, I was just tryin’ to get some of it back, you know … it seemed like a decent idea at the time.”
Laurie said, “Ricky understands, Breeze …”
“I’m talking to him, honey.” The words stopped her as surely as if Albury had pointed a gun at her head.
Ricky looked up. “It’s OK, Dad.”
“They set me up!”
Ricky nodded. “I figured that’s what it had to be. You woulda never got caught in a straight race. I figured it was an ambush.”
Albury smiled. “Right. You know, I think I could have got away in the Diamond Cutter. They gave me some old piece-of-shit Marathon boat.”
Albury glanced at Laurie. She started to giggle. Ricky was perking up.
“I heard they shot at you,” he said.
“Over my head is all. A grandstand act,” Albury said. “That fucking Barnett.”
“The paper said you rammed one of the police boats?”
“Just nicked it,” Albury said. “Those kids can’t drive.”
“It wrecked in the mangroves,” Ricky said.
“Really? No shit.” Albury cackled. “That was not necessary.”
“Yeah,” Laurie cut in cheerily. “The driver fell out and busted his collarbone.”
Ricky covered his mouth and laughed. Albury clapped his hands. “Well, damn,” he exclaimed, “I gave ’em a moment or two, right?”
“I guess so,” Ricky said, almost admiringly.
“I’m supposed to get my bond tomorrow. I should be out in time for the game with Tavernier.”
“Good, Dad. I was hoping.”
Albury squeezed Laurie’s hand. “How about you? You OK?”
“Sure. Bobby made a couple remarks at the restaurant. Nothing major. He said he didn’t know you ran a grass boat, too, and I said you didn’t….”
“Stupid fruit.”
“It’s all right, Breeze. He’s on the council. He’s got to talk like that.” She kissed Albury’s knuckles one by one until he pulled his hand away.
“The lawyer’s due in a couple minutes,” Albury lied. “You kids go on home. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” He kissed Laurie hard but not long, then cuffed his son on the shoulder. “Work on that slider tonight, OK?”
SUPPER WAS UNMENTIONABLE. Breeze Albury remembered when he had been a boy. The whole sunbaked Rock seemed to live off the same unvarying diet: grits ‘n grunts. Grits because they were cheap and Key West was a cracker town then. Grunts because they were plentiful and easy enough to catch that any kid could fill a bucket in a couple of hours after school. And every Sunday, Key Lime pie, made from the tangy little yellow limes that grew only in the Keys. Albury shoved the jail slop away in disgust.
“Good evening,” the voice came from outside the bars. Jesus, now who? The door opened and a woman walked in.
“My name is Christine Manning. I’m a special prosecutor with the Governor’s office. I’d like to talk with you a couple of minutes.”
“I’m extremely tired,” Albury replied. She was tallish, about thirty-five, not badly shaped beneath a white blouse and a flared skirt. A light sprinkling of gray, unmolested in a thick black mane, bespoke a certain independence.
“I’d like to talk to you about your arrest last night,” she said. “I notice it’s not your first time.”
“What’s your interest?”
“Well, as you may know, the Governor appointed a special task force to investigate drug corruption in Monroe County …”
Albury stopped her with a soft laugh. “That was last year. You still around?”
“The executive order gave us two years,” Christine Manning said defensively.
“Miss Manning, you’re a very attractive lady, but I’m not going to talk to you. Not without my lawyer here.”
“I’m in an odd posture,” she said gently. “I asked around about you today, and in the good Conch tradition …”
Albury grinned. “You said it right. Most folks can’t pronounce it.”
“Conch, rhymes with zonk,” Manning said. “Anyway, in the upstanding tradition of this island, almost no one would say anything. Almost no one. Your ex-wife, however, was helpful.”
“Mother of God,” Albury groaned.
“And your girlfriend.”
“Shit.”
“Wait a minute. She was trying to help. She thought you were in trouble. Anyway they made you seem different. I thought you might be a reasonable man.”
Albury grunted.
“The first time you ran grass.” Manning stopped herself. “The first time you got caught, I should say, had to do with Veronica, didn’t it?”
Albury’s smile dissipated. “That was the first time I ever ran it. I had my reasons.”
“Veronica was ten at the time. To get a cancer at that age is very unusual, I know. The bills piled up, your little girl got sicker … Laurie said there was a hospital in Miami you were going to try.”
“Go away now, Miss Manning.”
“Breeze, you shouldn’t have done any time for that. If only you had let your lawyer tell the judge about Veronica—God, you could have gotten probation, easy. Not eleven months.”
“You don’t hear very well, yourself.” Albury had gone cold at the sound of his daughter’s name. He squinted hard, and again Key West appeared to him as it was thirty years ago. On an afternoon like this he would have taken the skiff all the way out to the reef without a worry. The water would be like glass. You could snorkel for two hours, load the boat with Nassau grouper, and never lay eyes on another human being, much less a starched and undoubtedly dried-up emissary from the Governor’s office. No one came. No one cared. It was marvelous. Now the island behaved like a dog, unpredictable and ugly in its old age, turning and biting again and again, long after the point had been made.
“What made you do it this time, captain?” Christine Manning asked. Her tone made it clear that she expected no answer. “Look, I’m going to be honest. We heard you got squeezed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pinched,” Manning said. “Blackmailed. Whatever term you choose. We heard you were conscripted into that run last night. And if that’s true … well, I took a chance that if that was true, you might be more of a mind to talk. I know you think the task force is a joke and that I’m a joke …”
“Not at all.”
“Good, because I’m not. There’s going to be a grand jury in a few weeks. Do you know what that means?”
“Another big payday for the Holiday Inn.”
“Shit, I am wasting my time,” Christine Manning said. “If something should change your mind and you feel the civic urge to testify about what you know, please call. I have an office at the courthouse.” Albury craned to watch her leave along the linoleum corridor. Her walk was intr
iguing.
“I have a feeling you could be very helpful,” she called, knowing she was being watched.
Albury felt no civic urges.
THE NEXT MORNING, Drake Boone arrived in a different suit and a matching briefcase. Breeze Albury thought it was hilarious, corduroy in the summer. He made up his mind not to laugh. Boone was in a serious mood.
“It’s complicated, Breeze.”
“Why? You gonna post my bond?”
A thin line of sweat glistened above Boone’s black mustache. The fingers of his left hand rubbed anxiously against his palm. His voice crawled up an octave.
“I might as well tell you all of it. I had a chat with Tom. He and Manolo need you.”
Albury’s jaw set.
“They’ve got an important errand. They need a good boat and a good captain.”
“I heard that a couple weeks ago, and look where I am. What kind of shit is this, Drake?” Albury noticed that Boone had not even bothered to open his briefcase.
“You were right. This,” Boone said, motioning abstractly to the room, the jail, the whole screw job, “was no accident, Breeze.”
Albury gave no conscious thought to what he did next. The lawyer struggled weakly, like a tired fish, against Albury’s fists. The suit squeaked an objection. Boone’s head lay pressed against the cinder-block wall, his tasseled loafers barely touching the gummy floor. Albury gave another twist to the jacket and leaned so close he almost gagged on the Brut.
“Tell me everything, son,” he demanded.
“You’re hurting me! Let go, damnit. I’m just a fucking messenger boy.”
Albury turned him loose and sat down. He motioned to the other chair and Boone eased himself down, looking over his shoulder for some sign of the jailer. He would not be coming, Boone knew; he had slipped him a few bills to stay away for an hour. Now he wished he hadn’t.
“Just listen,” the lawyer said with a staged urgency. “There’s a dozen Colombians hiding on a stash island off Andros. They’re going to Miami. Somebody’s got to bring them across. You know about the Bahamian Coast Guard? Well, so do they. So do the Cuban captains in Key West. Remember what that Bahamian gunboat did to those crawfishermen a few years back? Manolo can’t find anyone to go fetch these people. Nobody wants to fuck with the Bahamians, Breeze.”
“Since when is Manolo running aliens?” Albury asked.
“He’s not. It’s a favor for a friend down south. A business associate.”
Albury nodded tiredly. “Not a favor, Boone. Repayment of a favor, right?”
Boone shrugged. “I honestly wouldn’t know. Point is, Manolo needed a good captain and a big, fast boat. That would be you, and the Diamond Cutter.”
“So they set me up?”
Boone dropped to a whisper. “They planned to give up one boat, anyway. It was … well, convenient for that boat to be you. Hey, I don’t blame you for being hacked off. I told Tom this was a stupid way to do business.”
“Did he cut my traps?”
Boone screwed up his face. “I don’t know anything about your traps, Breeze. Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.” Albury stood up and stretched. “So they figure I have to make the Andros run now, right? They know I can’t make the bond myself. They know I can’t afford a lawyer, even you, by myself. They got me by the short hairs.”
Boone summoned his best professional voice. “If you agree, I post your bond. All charges against you will be dropped.”
Albury was incredulous. “How? You buying judges now?”
Boone never lost stride. “The charges will be dropped because Chief Barnett and his men have no jurisdiction on Ramrod Key, Breeze. They were twenty miles out of the city limits when they busted you the other night. They had no authority. They didn’t tell the feds and they didn’t tell the sheriff. It’s a rather serious flaw in the case.”
“For that I get off?”
“If I handle it. Don’t you want to know how much Manolo is paying for the Andros thing?”
Albury clasped his hands theatrically. “God, you mean I’m getting paid on top of it? Marvelous. What generous dirtbags you work for, Drake. Yes, tell me about the money.”
“Fifty thousand.”
Albury stopped capering. “Jesus.”
Boone smiled. “Makes a difference, doesn’t it?”
“How far do I have to carry these peasants?”
“Key Largo. Dynamite Docks. You know the spot?”
“Yeah. When?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Boone said. He was still smoothing his suit. “Well?”
Albury was in turmoil. “Why didn’t they just ask me to do it? Why go through all this? Drake, remember last time. I never said a word. I did my time quietly….”
Boone nodded and nodded. “This was an emergency, Breeze. They didn’t think you’d do it without a little pressure. You got a clean reputation on Stock Island. Tom knows that. He didn’t think you’d fool with Colombians. Remember, you’re not talking about the Marine Patrol now. You’re talking about Coast Guard and Customs. Big fucking time if you get caught. I have to warn you.”
“Thanks, counselor.”
“But you won’t get caught,” Boone said smugly. “You’re too damn good.”
“The money?”
Boone cleared his throat. “On delivery.”
“I want half now.”
“You’re in no position to bargain. Manolo says you get paid in Key Largo. That’s all I know. Oh, cash, of course.”
Albury shoved Boone’s briefcase across the table. One corner caught him in the gut, but Boone smothered an embarrassed cough.
“If this one goes bad, too, I intend to kill Winnebago Tom. Would you pass that along?” Albury said evenly.
Boone said, “Certainly. And I wouldn’t blame you. The answer is yes, then?”
“The answer is what I told you.”
Albury led Drake Boone to the door. Down the hall, Archie the drunk was singing again.
“Fifty grand will buy a ton of traps,” the lawyer said with such counterfeit friendliness that Albury felt like twisting Boone’s neck until his greasy, fragrant head popped off. It was only after Albury was alone for an hour that the anger receded. He tried to imagine what the Colombians looked like, smelled like, after baking in the withering Bahamian sun. He had forgotten to ask Boone if any of them spoke English.
Chapter 6
LAURIE HAD NEVER seen a man so mad. She brought a red table napkin for Bobby Freed’s bleeding hand. He had put his fist right through the plasterboard at the back of the restaurant.
“Easy, Bobby, easy,” she implored. She wrapped the knuckles and gave her boss a hug. “The doctor says it’s not that serious an operation.”
“I know,” Freed said. “But it’s so disgusting the way it happened… a cop standing right there and doing nothing.” Twenty-four hours later, he was still livid.
“It is disgusting,” Laurie agreed. “Did Neal see his badge number?”
Freed shook his head. “He’s still in shock.” He took a couple of deep breaths. Laurie cleared some tables and waited. Freed popped two Valiums and poured himself a cup of hot tea. Two friends stopped by the table and told him how sorry they were; they had stories of their own.
“I will promise you this,” Freed was saying when Laurie returned, “this tidy little alliance we have maintained with Barnett and with the city fathers who indulge that fat pig is finished. The violence against innocent people will stop, and I will put it on the council’s agenda every single week if I have to, until it does.”
“You’ll get the same bullshit,” said one of the other gays. He wore a tank top that exposed firm tan biceps, thick as bread loaves. He smoked harsh Turkish cigarettes.
Freed fixed his friend with a stare. “You’re right, Lee. That’s why we’re going to get rid of Barnett.”
“Bobby, the council will never fire him. He’s got dirt on everybody, their wives, their daughters …”
Freed said,
“I don’t care. He’s through. I’ll think of something.”
He thought of all the “donations” he had made to the Key West police local; he remembered what he had been told by the bloated old Conch foot patrolman about all the catastrophic things that could befall a man’s place of business without “constant, diligent police protection.” A payoff, pure and simple. As a New Yorker, Freed had laughed at the quaint pretenses extended by the solicitor. A hundred bucks a month to make sure no local punks vandalized the Cowrie seemed prudent. Freed wondered how many other gay businessmen were getting shaken, while Huge Barnett got rich. He had wanted to believe the muggings were the work of teenage thugs, random and undirected, but the assault on Neal Beeker stank of malice.
“I think Barnett knows who’s doing these things,” he said to Laurie. “I think he knows who beat up Neal.”
The Valium had taken an edge off his fury. “Laurie, don’t you remember how pissed off Barnett was after the last council meeting? He thought I made him look foolish when I asked about the smuggling arrests. He doesn’t like to look foolish in front of the locals, especially with the Governor’s people sitting in the audience taking notes. I think he was mad enough to get revenge.”
Laurie objected. “Surely you don’t think Barnett arranged for Neal to get mugged, just because he knows …”
“Everybody knows Neal and I are lovers,” Freed said. “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence, Laurie. That’s all I’m going to say. I have enough friends with enough money to make the council think very hard about how dearly they value their venerable old police chief.”
ALBURY NOTICED JIMMY’S limp as soon as the boy entered the trailer. The mate’s right foot was wrapped in dirty gauze.
“Jesus, did I do that?” Albury asked, stooping over to take a look.
“Naw. I cut it on a coral head when I went ashore,” Jimmy said with a shrug.
Albury tossed him a beer and sat down on the sofa near the television. The Astros were blowing a three-run lead in the seventh.
Jimmy leafed through one of Ricky’s sports magazines. Albury could tell he was trying to think of how to say it.
“I’m sorry I chucked you off the boat.”
“Aw, hell,” Jimmy said. “I know what you were doin’, and I appreciate it. I woulda been sitting in that jail, too, if it weren’t for you, Breeze. Kathy woulda left me.”
