by Ron Base
“I want what the two of you want—what Callister here can help us with.”
Nobody sitting at the table answered. The waiter, bug-eyed, arrived with the water. “Is anybody ready to order?” he said in a choked voice.
“Better give us a few more minutes, monsieur,” Johnny Bravo said. “We’ve just started to beat one another up.”
The waiter nodded and went away.
Tree, holding his nose, said, “You want the dog.”
“The tie that binds,” Johnny said. “The glue that sticks us together.”
“Why your men came to my friend’s boat last night,” Tree said.
Johnny Bravo smiled when he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Johnny. Don’t be so shy about it. The Mexican wrestling masks were a nice touch.”
Johnny looked surprised. “They showed up wearing masks?”
“Not that it was hard to figure out who they were.”
Johnny shook his head. “I’ve got to get better help.”
Shay looked sharply at Johnny. “I thought we had an agreement.”
“We do,” Johnny said.
“You weren’t supposed to start with any of your nonsense. That was part of the agreement.”
“I thought I might be able to move things along a little faster.” He added with a shrug: “You can’t blame a boy for trying.”
Shay turned to Tree, training her direct, no-nonsense gaze on him. “What about it, Tree? What about the dog?”
“Supposing I have information that would help you locate what you’re looking for?”
“See?” Johnny said excitedly. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“He’s got the dog,” Melora agreed.
“What about it, Tree?” Shay, pressing.
The waiter was back, looking more gun-shy than ever.
“I want a club sandwich,” Johnny Bravo said.
“Nothing for me,” Shay said, thumping a forefinger against the menu for emphasis.
Melora let out a pained sigh.
Tree just shook his head, sending the dejected waiter away.
“Where were we?” Johnny Bravo said.
“The dog,” Shay answered. She addressed Tree. “What do you want? Name a figure.”
“Half a million dollars,” Tree said promptly. “And an explanation.”
To Tree’s amazement, no one laughed and immediately dismissed such an outrageous demand. Instead, the three busied themselves trading glances. Finally, Shay said, “The money is fine. But at that price, you don’t get an explanation.”
“You mean you would pay half a million dollars for a dog, but you wouldn’t tell me why?”
“Do you want the money or not?”
Tree hesitated before he said, “Yes, but I’ll need some time.”
Johnny’s eyebrows once more rose toward his hairline. “Time? What do you need time for? You’ve got the dog. You know it. I know it.”
“Thanks to you, Johnny, and your visit last night, in fact, I don’t actually have the dog. I need forty-eight hours to get him back.”
“Twenty-four,” Melora said. “You got twenty-four hours. Then all bets are off.”
“In the meantime, everyone stays away from me and my wife,” Tree said. He had his eye on Johnny Bravo when he said this. “No more trashing houses. No more late-night visits.”
Johnny Bravo said, “Perish the thought.”
“Twenty-four hours,” Shay reminded him. “You give up the dog in twenty-four hours.”
35
Tree was no sooner back in the Hellcat than his cellphone sounded on the seat beside him.
“How are you doing?” Sonny Trinchera demanded.
“I’m doing fine, Sonny,” Tree said. “How are you doing?”
“My brother’s killer, did you find her?”
“It’s being taken care of,” Tree said.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means this is nothing we should talk about over the phone,” Tree said.
“Okay. Let’s meet. I gotta get this settled.”
“I need twenty-four hours,” Tree said.
“Twenty-four hours? What do you need twenty-four hours for?”
“Do you want this settled or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then I need some time to put a couple of things together. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m ready.”
“Don’t screw with me, Callister. I’m warning you, the Mortician isn’t someone you mess around with. Understand me?”
“It’s probably not a good idea to threaten me right now,” Tree said.
“I’m not threatening,” Sonny said. “I am making the situation clear to you.”
“Twenty-four hours,” Tree said.
Before Sonny could offer any more objections or threats, Tree ended the call.
Great, he thought. Now I’m in more trouble than ever.
As Tree looked out through the Hellcat’s windshield, Shay Ostler, alone this time, carrying the Daft Punk helmet, swayed into the Biltmore’s parking lot. Her lustrous hair floated around her as she moved. When she reached the Streetfighter, she pulled the helmet over her head, started the engine, and sped away. Tree turned into the street after her.
________
Shay brought the Ducati Streetfighter to a stop outside an Art Deco house on a tree-lined street in South Beach.
Tree parked down the block, watching Shay get off her motorcycle and cross the street. As she approached the house, a figure stepped out. FBI Special Agent Max Hesselgesser embraced her. Shay kissed him hard on the mouth.
The two of them disappeared inside.
Tree pulled out his cellphone and used his forefinger to poke out a number.
Cee Jay Boone came on the line and said, “I hate it when you call me, Tree.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re going to take advantage of things that went on in the past, and ask me to do something I shouldn’t be doing.”
“This time it’s different,” Tree said. “I’m going to get you Edith Goldman’s killer.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about that,” Cee Jay said.
“I didn’t then. Now I do. Are you interested or not?”
“I’m interested if you have information that pertains to an ongoing police investigation,” Cee Jay said in her formal detective voice. “But what I’m not interested in is sticking my neck out and helping you with things I shouldn’t help you with.”
“All I need is some information.”
“What kind of information?”
“I need to know if there is an FBI agent attached to the Miami office by the name of Max Hesselgesser.”
“Then what?”
“I also need information on a woman named Shay Ostler.”
“I don’t understand what I’m going to get out of this.”
“I told you. Edith’s killer.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“I need to know about Hesselgesser and Ostler, and I need it in the next twenty-four hours,” Tree said.
“This guy’s name is Hesselgesser?”
“Max Hesselgesser,” Tree said. “And Shay Ostler.”
“How is she supposed to be connected to this?”
“She was working with André Manteau.”
“The guy they found in your car.”
“That’s correct.”
“Tree, what in God’s name are you involved in?”
“That’s what I need you to help me with,” Tree said.
“I’ll call you back,” Cee Jay said, and hung up.
________
Tree waited and watched as the street grew dark and the lights illuminated the trees lining either side of the roadway.
Cramped and tired, he fought to stay awake. Why did he do this? Madness. Evidence of a wasted detective life.
A single overhead light burned in the entranceway to Hesselgesser’s apartment building, prov
iding shadowy illumination for Shay’s abrupt appearance. She stood on the front step struggling into the Daft Punk helmet before coming down along the walk to the Streetfighter. She sat astride the bike and started the engine. A couple of moments later, she was off down the darkened street.
He almost started after her, but then stayed where he was, wondering about Max Hesselgesser. Why hadn’t he walked her out? He waited for a while and then, driven more by the cramp in his legs than anything, Tree got out and stretched against the side of the car. Blessed relief shot along his thigh. He opened the passenger door and reached into the glove compartment for the Glock.
Jamming it into his pocket, he hobbled across the street. He went up the steps. Green-painted iron bars blocked the way. There were bars in the arched windows flanking the entranceway. A barred gate was ajar. He pushed it open and stepped into a tiled foyer decorated with big potted plants.
He crossed a tree-lined courtyard and went in another door opening into a kitchen. The kitchen led into a dining-living-room area. A guitar was propped against the wall. Tree went through the living room to the single bedroom.
Max Hesselgesser kneeled on the unmade bed. He was naked, wrists handcuffed behind his back. The top of his head had been blown off. Blood soaked the canary yellow bed sheets. Max’s discarded clothing was strewn on the floor near the bed—evidence of his passion to get his pants off for Shay Ostler.
Tree thought about calling the police. He thought about all the ways that would complicate his life right now—the terrible delaying business involved in finding yet another body.
He didn’t have time for that. Amazed to find himself thinking like this, he backed out of the bedroom and went out of the apartment.
The street was empty. He reached the Hellcat and got in and started the engine. As he drove off, he tried not to think of Max Hesselgesser hunched on a bed, his hands bound behind him, pieces of his head scattered across the room, victim of the beautiful, deadly Shay Ostler.
36
Tree called Rex on his cell on the way into Fort Myers.
“Where are you?” Rex demanded.
“Sorry. I got delayed in Miami.”
“I’m at a Kiwanis dinner, so I couldn’t stick around. But Kelly’s got the dog and is waiting for you at the office.”
“Thanks, Rex.”
“Just hurry up and get over there.”
Kelly was waiting in Rex’s office with Clinton when Tree finally reached the Chamber. Kelly wore a white blouse and pink shorts that set off the newly bronzed contours of her body. Island life was agreeing with her. She unhooked the leash so Clinton could jump up excitedly on Tree, who welcomed the attention and enthusiastically rubbed Clinton’s ears.
“Thanks, sorry I’m late,” Tree said.
“Hopefully, you were out there working on our story,” Kelly said.
“Something like that.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Kelly said. “I’m not much of a dog person. But it’s hard not to like this guy—particularly since he seems to be such an important part of our story.”
Tree just looked at her.
“You’ll notice I said our story,” Kelly added.
“I noticed,” Tree said.
“Tree, I don’t like to sound desperate, but I do need this.”
“I know that’s what you’re saying, Kelly. But I think you’re confusing want with need.”
“Please, Tree, don’t make me say things I don’t want to say.” Kelly rose from the chair. “You and I have a deal, so let’s both make sure we live up to it. I think we owe our past lives that much, don’t you?”
“What does the past have to do with any of this?”
“You think it doesn’t?”
“No.”
“You owe me, Tree.”
“For what? Kelly, you left me, remember?”
“I left you because you were a lousy husband who didn’t give a damn about anything except his job and drinking with the guys.”
Tree swallowed the bile he felt rising in his throat and said tightly, “You and I obviously have different perspectives.”
“What are you saying? You weren’t a lousy husband?”
Tree took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the thing. I need the next twenty-four hours to get this resolved.”
Kelly nodded and said, “All right. I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”
She reached down and stroked Clinton’s head. She seemed to be wrestling with what she was going to say next.
Tree said, “Okay, what am I missing?”
“Something I should tell you,” she said. “Or maybe it’s what I shouldn’t tell you.”
“What is it, Kelly?”
“It’s Rex. He doesn’t want me to say anything. He says it’s no big deal.”
“What’s no big deal?”
“The surgery.”
Tree felt his stomach drop. “What kind of surgery?”
“He’s been complaining about being tired. He said he was feeling tightness in his chest. I went through the same thing with my second husband, so I pushed him into the car and drove him to his doctor. Turns out he needs a heart bypass. Sooner rather than later.”
“Thanks for telling me, Kelly—and thanks for making him go to the doctor. He probably wouldn’t have done it, if you weren’t here.”
“Now he’s procrastinating about the surgery, and he shouldn’t. The sooner they operate on him, obviously, the better.”
“Should I talk to him?”
“He doesn’t want you to know.”
“Well, now I know,” Tree said.
“He’s not going to be very happy with me.”
“Rex is like most men, willing to forgive you anything.”
She tried on a wry smile. “Does that include you, Tree?”
“Hey, I was the lousy husband, remember?”
“Talk to him,” Kelly said. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
37
What to tell Freddie when he arrived home? Hi, honey. I found another dead body, but this time I didn’t phone the police because it would disrupt the ridiculous plan I have hatched. That story certainly would not fly. But in failing to tell it, Tree was once again lying by omission—a specialty of his, honed since becoming a private detective.
He and Freddie spent a several hours returning their disrupted house to some semblance of order, Clinton trailing around after them, endlessly curious about what they were up to, making sure he was never left alone. They were just thinking of turning in for the night when Cee Jay Boone called.
“Max Hesselgesser was assigned to the Miami office of the FBI. He’s been there for the past six years. However, a couple of weeks ago, he retired,” she said.
“So he’s not an agent any longer,” Tree said.
“No, and I gather he left under a cloud.”
“What kind of cloud?”
“No one would talk over the phone, but something happened.”
“What about Shay Ostler?”
“Nothing about her. Sure that’s her real name?”
“I’m not sure of anything. Thanks, Cee Jay.”
“Hold on. Tell me how Max Hesselgesser fits into Edith Goldman’s murder.”
“I’ll know more about that tomorrow,” Tree said.
“Don’t jerk me around, Tree.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Tree said.
Tree ended the call before turning to the unhappy Freddie. “What are you up to?” she demanded.
Tree gazed down at Clinton, who looked back, turning his head as though to ask, “What’s up?”
“What about it, Clinton? What should I do next?”
“I should have known,” Freddie said, sounding unhappier than ever.
Clinton padded over to Tree and leaned against his leg, lowering his head to make it easier for Tree to pet him. He made small sounds of contentment.
“Maybe we’ve been looking at this the wrong way,” Tree said.
“What do you mean?”
>
“Something Crimson said to me. He said it wasn’t the dog everyone was after.”
“Then why is everyone after the dog?”
Tree undid Clinton’s collar and held it up.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s got to be the collar,” Tree said.
“We’ve looked and looked at that fool collar,” Freddie said. “How can we be missing anything?”
Instead of answering, Tree went into the garage, returning with a screwdriver.
“What are you doing?” Freddie asked.
Tree positioned the collar on the kitchen counter, and began to dig the flat edge of the screwdriver into one of the metal flowers. He finally pried one loose. It flipped away, revealing a hollow metal cylinder. There was nothing inside the hollow.
Tree did the same thing with a second flower and then a third. Three quarters of an hour later, he had pried off all the flowers, colored metal pieces littering the countertop. There was nothing inside any of the hollows.
“What did you think was going to be in there?” Freddie said.
“I don’t know,” Tree said. He looked at her and shrugged. “Diamonds,” he said sheepishly.
“Diamonds? You thought the dog was carrying around a collar full of diamonds?”
“I may have been grasping at straws.”
Clinton nuzzled his leg. Tree reattached the collar. Freddie got to her feet and yawned. “I’m going to bed,” she announced. “Are you coming?”
“In a while.”
“Tree, you’re not going to solve this tonight.”
“I know that, but tomorrow I’m going to have to either give up Clinton to three people who don’t have his best interests at heart, or phone the police, who will take him away.”
“I wish I could think of something, my love,” Freddie said. “But right now I can hardly keep my eyes open.” She came over and planted a kiss on his lips. “Don’t stay up all night.”
“No,” he said distractedly.
Freddie slipped away. Tree drifted onto the terrace. Clinton followed and lay on his side beside Tree’s chair, his shallow breathing the only sound in the night.
Tree sat thinking. But thinking about what? How stupid he was to leave Max Hesselgesser lying dead on a bed in Miami? How ill-equipped he was to deal with any of this? Yes, something like that. He forced himself to concentrate on Clinton. He reached down and petted Clinton’s torso. The dog lifted his head appreciatively, stretched his long legs, and then lay still again.
