by Ron Base
“They didn’t give me my Oscar,” Tree said lamely.
“What?” Rex said.
“Ryde should have presented me with the Oscar. He didn’t do it.”
“You promised me you were going to be great.”
“When they didn’t give me the Oscar, it threw me off,” Tree said.
Rex said, “You were the worst thing in the show.”
Then Ryde was at Tree’s side, grinning that grin, and patting Tree on the back saying, “Hey, buddy, it worked out fine up there.”
“You didn’t give me the Oscar,” Tree said.
Rex said to Ryde, “You were fantastic. That dance with Ginger? Fred himself would have been pleased.”
Ryde grinned some more and gave an aw-shucks shrug that made Tree’s blood boil. Around him, everyone was congratulating one another. Everyone had delivered on stage. Everyone had remembered their lines. The show had gone off without a hitch. The audience loved it. Everyone was delighted.
Everyone but Tree Callister.
Tree Callister had screwed up. He kept replaying the moment he froze on stage. Damn! He wanted to do it over again. He could recall his speech clearly now. He would really wow the audience this time. Rex just had to give him one more chance, that’s all.
“Come on, buddy, it wasn’t that bad,” Ryde said. Once again he patted Tree’s shoulder reassuringly—only it wasn’t reassuring at all.
“I’ve got to talk to you,” Tree said.
“I know. I should have given you the Oscar. My bad.”
“Not about that, Ryde. About what happened to you.”
“What happened to me?” Ryde give him another of the quizzical looks that had become his trademark whenever Tree asked him a question. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You disappeared from the hospital.”
“I didn’t disappear. I checked myself out.”
He put his hand on Tree’s shoulder and seemed to lean against him a moment. He had gone abruptly pale.
“Are you okay?” Tree asked.
“A little pain, that’s all.”
“Because there is a bullet in you.”
He managed a grin. “It only hurts when I breathe.” He leaned harder against Tree. “Listen, buddy, do me a favor will you? Part of the reason I wanted to be here tonight, you’re right, we do need to talk. Walk me out to my car.”
“I should get you back to the hospital,” Tree said.
“Let’s try for the car, first.” The smile was more pained this time.
They moved together through the crowded auditorium, everyone wanting to shake Ryde’s hand and tell him what a great job he had done. Amid the shower of compliments, the rosy glow of a man getting lots of attention replaced Ryde’s paleness. The praise brought him a new energy. No one said anything to Tree, though. He felt sick to his stomach.
They got outside and went down the ramp into the parking lot. Absent the compliments, Ryde had gone pale again, and he leaned even harder against Tree. “Ryde, you need to get to the hospital,” Tree said.
“That’s not such a great idea right now,” Ryde said. “Right now I need you to come with me and not ask a lot of questions.”
“About what?”
“About where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
“There you go asking questions.”
Ryde guided Tree over to his Cadillac Escalade. “Do you mind driving, buddy?”
He slipped into the front passenger seat with a grunt of pain while Tree worked his way behind the wheel of the Cadillac. Ryde handed him the key and Tree started the engine.
“I appreciate this buddy, I really do,” Ryde said.
“I know you don’t want me asking questions like ‘where are we going?’ But, where are we going?”
“There are some people I want you to meet,” Ryde Bodie said.
24
Once the Escalade cleared the causeway, it came along San Carlos Boulevard, Tree careful to keep the vehicle within the speed limit.
“I can’t understand it,” he said.
“Understand what?” Ryde said.
“I knew my lines. I felt very confident, but then I got up there and I completely froze. My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of anything I was supposed to say.”
“Tree,” Ryde said gently.
“What?”
“Right now we have more pressing problems than your performance at the Big Arts Center.”
“Let’s talk about something else, then.”
“Okay,” Ryde said.
“Let’s talk about WGE International.”
Ryde kept his eyes on the road.
“At first I thought it was Wayne Granger Enterprises,” Tree said.
Ryde shook his head. “No, that’s not what it stands for.”
“Turns out it’s a guy named Wally Garrison. But you are also involved with WGE.”
“I was associated with the company, yes. The founder is dead. The company has been closed down.”
“It was selling motor vehicle retail installment contracts.”
“The company offered a variety of financial products.”
“Jim Waterhouse seemed to think the company had defrauded him.”
“Waterhouse was a blowhard fool,” Ryde said.
“Who is now dead.”
Ryde threw a glance at Tree. “What? You think I killed Jim Waterhouse?”
“Did you?”
“It looks to me like Waterhouse set my house on fire because he was trying to get back at me and died in the blaze. End of story.”
“What about the federal government?”
“The federal government? What’s the government got to do with anything?”
“The feds are investigating you, aren’t they?”
Ryde said, “I don’t know, Tree. Are they?”
“Does the investigation have to do with your involvement in WGE?”
“I have no idea,” Ryde said.
There was no more to say—well, there was, but neither of them chose to say anything further as they came over the bridge and along Estero Boulevard. Clusters of young people floated between the bars and the restaurants. The porch at Hooters was jammed and noisy, everyone in Fort Myers Beach having a great time—everyone except Tree Callister.
Tree Callister was feeling very sorry for himself tonight.
It wasn’t long before the lights and the crowds began to fade, and the quiet of the Florida night asserted itself. The aging residents slept soundly in the condo towers crowding either side of the boulevard, oblivious to the fact that one of their brethren, the aging Big Arts Center screw-up, Tree Callister, was adrift in the night, once again headed into deep, troubled water.
That water appeared to be located at the place Tree suspected it might be—the marina behind the Santini Plaza. The Cadillac’s headlights lit the iron skeleton on the boat storage units as it bumped onto the roadway above the docks. El Trueno, shimmering in the night, was back in its berth.
Tree exited the Escalade. Ryde was already outside. “Here we are,” Ryde said. He was holding his side again. In the dim light, he looked paler than ever.
“What is this?”
“Just be patient, Tree.”
Tree followed Ryde across the roadway onto the dock. Approaching the yacht, someone stirred on the rear deck and Manuel, the short man who had accompanied Paola at Ryde’s Rabbit Road house, came into view.
He said, “Qué pasa, Ryde?”
To which Ryde replied, “Me duele el corazón, Manuel.”
The short man named Manuel just stared at him.
Diego materialized out of the darkness beside Manuel. He snarled something in Spanish. He did not appear to be happy to see either of them.
They boarded the yacht and then followed Manuel into a spacious, softly-lit cabin. As soon as they got inside, Paola came through an adjacent door. Paola’s forehead was bandaged. The side of her face was a purplish smear from Tommy’s fist. She was dressed
in black jeans and a black formless pullover. Her hatchet face showed no emotion but she rubbed gently at her bruise as she inspected these new arrivals in their formal gear. In guttural Spanish, she addressed Ryde.
He turned to Tree. “What did you do to her?”
“I hit her.”
“You hit Paola? With your fist?”
“No. With a gun.”
“A gun? I thought you didn’t have a gun.”
“I don’t. It was her gun.”
“I see,” Ryde said.
“Before that, someone else hit her with his fist,” Tree said.
“You should not have done that,” Ryde said.
Paola, still nursing the side of her face, once again spoke in Spanish. In any language, she sounded as unhappy as Diego—and she kept glaring at Tree.
Manuel addressed Ryde in English: “This is the man you spoke of? This is the man who will help you?”
For a moment, Tree wasn’t sure who Manuel was talking about.
“That’s correct,” Ryde said.
“Me?” Tree blurted. “How am I supposed to help you?”
Ryde said, “I’m sorry I got you involved in this, buddy.”
Tree was about to say something like “involved in what?” when Paola stepped forward, gesticulating dramatically and speaking rapidly in Spanish. “What’s she saying?” Tree demanded.
“She wants to know what you did with the children,” Ryde said, an unaccustomed edge of uncertainty in his voice. “You have Joshua and Madison?”
“I know where they are,” Tree said. “They’re safe.”
Ryde looked at him, and for the first time there was something like amazement on his face. “But you have Madison and Joshua?”
“What? You would rather she has them?”
“That was part of the deal, yeah.”
“You’re kidding,” Tree said.
“No, Tree, I’m not.”
“What kind of deal was that?”
Instead of answering, Ryde turned to Paola and once again addressed her in a burst of Spanish. When he finished, she moved closer to Tree, baring her teeth in the same savage snarl she had produced back in Everglades City. Not a pleasant sight. It sent a cold chill down his spine. This hatchet-faced little woman was genuinely scary. She spoke to him in English, the words coming out in a breathless hiss: “I don’t like you.”
That brought Manuel into play. “You should not have hit her,” he said to Tree, also in English.
“She had a gun,” Tree said.
“You should not have hit her with her gun.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Tree said.
“But you will make amends,” he said, “by giving us the money.”
“What money?” Tree said. Every word out of his mouth since he met Ryde Bodie seemed to have a question mark attached to it.
Paola, studying Tree the way she might study a dead animal at the side of the road, sputtered away in Spanish, spitting out the words between her clenched teeth.
Manuel helpfully translated: “She says the money you will pay us for the life of your friend and his children. The money you keep hidden and will not miss because you cannot spend it, anyway.”
Tree looked at Ryde in horror. “What the hell money is that?”
Manuel answered: “The nine million dollars.”
The look of horror turned to astonishment. Tree opened his mouth to announce loudly that he did not have nine million dollars, but something inside him, a warning voice, cautioned against such a vehement protest, a protest that could only place him in more danger—if he did not have nine million dollars, what was the point of him?
So he said nothing.
Manuel actually managed a smile, his eyes filling with admiration. “You are one of us, as it turns out. A man who appears to be the one thing, but who is actually the other, secret thing. That kind of man, he takes what he wants. So you will give us the money, because we know you now, and what you give us, you will surely take from someone else, so no one loses.”
Yes, they certainly know me, Tree thought. Good old crooked Tree. He never guessed he was so transparent.
Paola held up four fingers and muttered words in Spanish.
“She give you four days,” Manuel said. “You return in four days. Bring the money in cash, and the debt is paid.”
Ryde’s smile was uneasy, its wattage greatly reduced. “Really appreciate this, buddy.”
Paola’s eyes flashed again and thin lips yawned open, spitting out more angry Spanish. Tree looked at Manuel, who shrugged helplessly. “Yes, yes. Paola says that if you do not have the money by then, not only will we kill this man beside you and his children, we will also kill you and your wife.”
25
Dimly, Tree was aware of Diego steering them back along the dock to the roadway and the waiting Escalade. All he could think of was Paola’s animal-like snarl, and Manuel’s offhand threat to kill not only him but Freddie, too. This could not be possible, he thought. He could not have once again put Freddie’s life in danger. He could not possibly get into messes like this over and over again.
Except he could.
When they arrived at the Escalade, Diego swung around to Ryde, pushing his face very close. “They may be willing to let you off, but I am not,” he declared through clenched teeth. Ryde appeared to have a knack for encouraging everyone to speak to him with their teeth clenched.
“You find your own way back,” he grunted before marching away to the Escalade.
He climbed inside, started the engine, and a moment later drove off. Ryde shook his head. “Can you believe that guy?” He had his cellphone out, tapping at the keys on its glass surface. He looked up at Tree. “You all right there, buddy?”
“Ryde, I’m not your buddy, and I’m not all right. What’s wrong with Diego? Why is he so pissed off?”
“He’s got the wrong idea about Rodrigo.”
“Rodrigo? Who’s Rodrigo?”
“Rodrigo Ramos. Diego’s twin brother. A much nicer guy than Diego, I have to say. They’re Paola’s cousins.” Ryde concentrated on his cellphone.
“This is the guy who washed up on Captiva Island?”
“That’s him.”
“You killed him?”
“Diego thinks I killed him.”
“What did you tell them about me?”
Ryde was still poking at his cellphone. “Look, I’m sorry, but that whole deal at the house changed the equation. Paola thinks that hit man was hired by one of her rivals to kill all of us at the dinner party, so suddenly I’m radioactive.”
“What’s any of this got to do with me?”
“I told them you stole nine million dollars.”
“Are you crazy? Why did you tell them that?”
Ryde stopped working his cellphone. “Because that’s what you did.”
Tree stared at Ryde in shocked disbelief. “What makes you think so?”
“Come on, buddy. You’re sitting on the nine million.”
“How would you know?”
“Let’s move,” Ryde said. He started away, walking toward the shopping center, holding his side once again.
Tree hurried after him. “You didn’t answer me,” he called. “Who told you I had nine million?”
They crossed the Santini Marina Plaza parking lot and Ryde came to a stop at the edge of Estero Boulevard. Across the street, a 7-Eleven shone through the night, the only sign of life. Ryde took a deep breath and grimaced.
“You need to get some help,” Tree said.
“You keep saying that, buddy, and I’m gonna start to believe you.”
“And who exactly are these people—Diego and Manuel, and my favorite, Paola?”
Ryde shrugged. “Business associates. They think I owe them money.”
“They think you owe them money?”
“I don’t, of course. It’s this WGE thing we talked about earlier. They don’t seem to understand that some investments pay off and others don’t. But with these people
, better to pay them than argue. Paola will take the nine million and call it even.”
“And supposing I didn’t steal nine million, Ryde? Supposing what you heard about me isn’t true? Then what?”
“Then we’re in trouble, buddy.” Ryde was looking at his watch. “But you’ve got the money,” he added confidently. “I’m counting on you.”
Abruptly, they were bathed in the light of an approaching car. Tree thought it would pass, but instead the car, a red Lexus, slowed and pulled into the 7-Eleven.
“Look, I’ve gotta split,” Ryde said.
“You’ve got to what?” Once again Tree found himself shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’ve got your cellphone, right? Freddie will pick you up.”
Tree looked across the way at the Lexus. Bonnie was behind the wheel. She waved at them and suddenly Tree realized who she was.
“Bonnie is Wally Garrison’s wife, isn’t she?”
“Bonnie and Wally were married, yeah,” Ryde acknowledged. “But Wally’s gone now, and Bonnie’s all alone. I’ll see you later, Tree.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Come on, buddy, don’t be like that. You said it yourself. I’ve gotta get some help.”
“You’re not walking away from this.”
“I’m not walking away, I’m being driven. I don’t want to keep Bonnie waiting. I’ll be in touch.”
Tree moved to block him. “You’re not leaving,” he said.
Ryde looked exasperated. “Don’t play the tough guy, Tree. The part doesn’t fit. I don’t want to go into a lot of detail, but I’m a former Green Beret, and they trained me to kill people and a lot of other ugly stuff that I really don’t want to bore you with. The point being, you can’t stop me, and you’re only going to get yourself hurt if you try.”
“You know, Ryde,” Tree replied, “I’m getting tired of all your lies and evasions. You stay right here with me until we figure out what to do about all this.”
Tree wasn’t sure in retrospect what Ryde did, but the next thing he found himself down on the pavement, gasping for breath. Ryde stood over him, saying, “Sorry, buddy. I really didn’t want to do that.”
Then he loped across the road and got into the Lexus. Bonnie gunned the vehicle back along Estero.
Tree got uncertainly to his feet, holding his stomach, fighting to maintain his balance against a sea breeze rising, the silence of the night descending.
