'That's what I mean. What . . .'
'Born like that. Nothing more to say. Except you keep away from her. DJ dotes on her. You so much as look at her the wrong way, DJ'll tear your head off and use it for a piss pot. And I'll look the other way. Special girl, that Michelle. Special girl.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'she seems to be.'
I nodded and turned to walk back to the Bank. I'm sure he watched me all the way, but I didn't turn to check. I was too busy thinking about her dad using my head as a piss pot.
23
Davie woke next morning with a raging hangover and an arm that was dripping pus.
'Jesus,' I said, 'is that sore?'
'Of course it's fucking sore, you moron.'
'It's not meant to be green, is it?' Davie rolled his eyes. 'Now we have to get you to a hospital.'
'We can't, Dan. It's a bullet-wound.'
'So what're you going to do, just hang around till your arm drops off?'
'No.'
I could tell by his face — and indeed his arm — that he was worried, but I also understood why he wouldn't go to a hospital. We were a couple of murderers on the run. We had gotten lucky with the Sheriff, but we couldn't expect that luck to hold. Life wasn't like that. Especially mine.
We eventually agreed on a compromise. Everglades City wasn't much more than a village so it didn't have a hospital. But Sheriff Baines had mentioned getting an award from the local medical centre, so there was at least one doctor. He probably made most of his money from tourists with sunburn and kids with ear infections from the polluted water. We'd concoct some bullshit about an accident and hopefully get at least enough t.l.c. to keep Davie on his feet until we could offload the gold and fly home. If it looked like he was going to turn us in we'd try and buy him off, and if that failed we'd make a run for it. I called EC downstairs and said Davie wasn't well and we needed a doctor.
'Medical Centre's just down the road,' he said, with the same amount of concern he'd show if we were ordering breakfast. I could hear him turning the pages of his newspaper as he spoke. 'It's in the old Rod and Gun Lodge. Won't take you more than five . . .'
'I need the doctor to come here.'
EC sighed. 'Well, just how sick is he?'
'Can we let the doctor decide?'
There was a pause, and then he said: 'I guess. The number is . . .'
'Could you call him? You being local and knowing him and all?'
He hesitated again. 'I guess.'
Forty-five minutes later there was a knock on the door. When I opened it EC was standing there with a woman who looked to be in her early thirties: about my height, auburn hair, well tanned, brown eyes, white shirt, shorts, doctor's bag. 'You'll be the doctor,' I said.
'Kelly Cortez,' she said. She extended her hand. 'You don't look well,' she said.
'It's not me — it's him.' I nodded at Davie, lying on the bed in his shorts with his Hawaiian shirt open to the waist and a small towel wrapped around his arm.
Dr Cortez raised an apologetic eyebrow. 'Well, let's take a look,' she said, and marched into the room. EC tried to follow, but I blocked his way. 'Thanks,' I said; there was no need to add the now piss off. He could tell it by the mean look in my eyes.
I closed the door and turned back to the bed. Davie had already pushed himself upright and was smiling endearingly at the doctor.
'So,' she said, 'there's a sixty dollar call-out fee, with prescription on top of that. Do you have insurance?'
It was probably time to retire the third party fire and theft joke, but I used it anyway. She nodded blankly at me. Davie said we were tourists. 'Well, you pay me when I'm finished, I'll give you a form, you can claim it when you go home. Now then, what seems to be the problem?'
Davie cautiously peeled the towel away. Dr Cortez sat on the bed and took hold of his arm around the elbow, then turned it carefully to get a better look at the wound. Then she made a face.
'We had a fishing accident,' I said.
'Were they shooting at you?'
Davie laughed suddenly, involuntarily, loudly. It was a warm appreciative laugh and it caused the doctor to blush. It was probably what saved us. She was duty-bound to report a gunshot wound, but she was also a laidback Floridian and seemed to share Sheriff Baines's attitude to trouble.
She gave a brief shake of her head, then examined the wound more closely. 'Whatever it was,' she said, 'it seems to have gone clean through. But it beats me why you felt the need to pack it with mud.'
'Wasn't on purpose,' Davie said. 'We really did have an accident. Thought I washed most of it out.'
She lifted her medical bag. 'This,' she said, 'is going to take some time. You should really go to a hospital. But I guess that isn't an option.'
Davie made a little-boy-lost face, and Dr Cortez blushed again. Finally, after forty years, he had discovered a woman who found him charming.
I said, 'I'll go and check on the car.'
Davie winked.
Downstairs in the lobby, EC had his face buried back in the newspaper. I hurried past, but as I reached the door he said, 'Everything okay?' without looking up.
'Fine and dandy,' I said.
The sun was already beating people to death outside. Patricia had once dreamily talked about retiring to somewhere like Florida. I had laughed and said, 'Do you seriously think we're going to make it to that age?'
'You won't,' she had countered, 'but I will. I'll come out here and spend your money.'
Now, standing on the sidewalk, I smiled at the memory, and the irony. My money? The millions in gold bars sitting in the bank? Sure thing. She could have it. But if by some miracle Davie and I did get it home and we were suddenly rich beyond our dreams, the last place we would ever show our faces again would be Florida. Too hot, and in more than one way.
I stayed in the shadows as much as I could as I walked up to JJ's Auto-shop. It was a bit of closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but at least it was something.
JJ's Auto-shop was all closed up, although there was an Open sign still hanging on the front door. I stepped back and looked up. It was a two-storey wooden frame building. 'Ramshackle' was the word that came to mind. The top left window was half-open and a pair of jeans had been laid out to dry over the sill. So he lived over the shop. I banged on the door again, and kept it up until eventually JJ appeared, rubbing at his face and yawning as he approached the door in his underpants ― not that there was a door in his underpants. He was already, or still, wearing his baseball cap. His hair did not look any more attractive for having been slept on. It veered to the side, like Marge Simpson's.
'Yo,' JJ said through the glass, without any of the enthusiasm the word requires.
'Just checking on our ve-hicle,' I said as he wearily opened the door. He was wearing too-small boxers and an odour straight out of the fish-market.
'Oh yeah.' He scratched at his stubble again. He looked behind him, as if the ve-hicle might be sitting on a shelf ready for collection. 'The Land Cruiser, right?'
I nodded.
'Be ready this afternoon.'
'You said this morning.'
'This afternoon. You must have misheard.'
'We really could do with it this morning.'
'Man, give me a break. This afternoon, all right?'
He closed the door and locked it. He stood looking at me for a moment through the glass. If Davie had been with me he'd probably have smashed his hand through the pane, grabbed JJ by the throat and dragged him out and down to the shop to work on our car. But he wasn't, so I contented myself with giving him my disappointed look. It was like my normal look, but more disappointed.
JJ tramped away, probably back to bed, and I returned to the shadows.
Dr Cortez was gone when I got back to the room. Davie was just settling back down into bed. 'Think she's gone to get the cops?' I asked.
Davie smiled. 'I think she's gone to get all dolled up for lunch.'
'She's what?'
'Well, she's rea
lly nice, so I asked her out to lunch.'
'And she agreed?'
'On the condition that I get a couple of hours' sleep first. So that's what I'm going to do.'
'Davie . . .'
'What harm can it do?'
'Davie . . .'
'I'm following doctor's orders. That's what you wanted. She's given me an antibiotic, I'm to rest, I shouldn't be travelling.'
'We have to get out of here. We can't afford to hang about socialising.'
'So the car's ready?'
I sighed. 'Not quite.' I told him about JJ.
'Then what's the problem? Relax, Dan. The Sheriff's cool. Kelly . . . Dr Cortez is cool. Our car's getting fixed. We'll leave tomorrow.'
Tomorrow? What happened to this afternoon?'
'Well, depending on how lunch goes. I mean, if it goes well, what's the harm in . . .'
'Davie!'
'Okay — all right. This afternoon. Later. C'mon, Dan. She's nice. I haven't met a woman who laughs at my jokes in twenty years.'
I shook my head. 'Davie . . .' I began. And then thought, What's the point? I can whine all day, he'll still do exactly what he wants. 'Right. Great, Okay. This afternoon. But that's it. We have to get moving. So, get some sleep, hornball.'
He smiled. 'Thanks, mate.' I turned for the door. 'Where are you off to?'
I shrugged. 'Walk.'
'Dan?'
I stopped.
'Watch out for the sun, you'll get burned.'
'Thanks, Grandma,' I said.
So I wandered back downstairs and out into the sun. I bought a baseball cap that said Everglades City — Florida's Last Frontier from a giftshop. I sat for a while in the Mountain View Bar and Grill and ate breakfast. Possibly I was hoping for another look at Michelle, possibly I was just hungry. But she wasn't around anyway. I stayed off the beer. I read a newspaper and studied some tourist leaflets. I learned that Everglades City was a frontier outpost until 1923 when Barron Collier made it the seat of Collier County and a supply depot for the construction of the Tamiami Trail. Prior to this it had been Florida's last outpost for fur-trappers, plumage-hunters, Cuban fishermen and people with a disdain for modern civilisation. It was fascinating, and I didn't care if I never learned another fact about Everglades City in particular or Florida in general for the rest of my life. I wanted to go home. I could hear Patricia calling me. She was calling: 'Dan, where the fuck are you?' Yet home seemed as remote a prospect as ever. Davie, at the least opportune moment in history, had chosen to start dating again. He was a cop — he would probably malinger his wounded arm out for several more days until he saw where the course of true love or lust led him. That still left us with having to get to Miami and finding someone dense enough to fence the gold bars for us. Going home wasn't getting any closer. If anything, it was receding.
I finished breakfast, then walked around a few more stores. I was offered tours of the Everglades, a trip to an alligator farm, a circus and a flea-market. None of them interested me. A free trip to the moon probably wouldn't have gotten me going either. I wandered out along the beach. The sea was blue and calm and the sweat was soon cascading down my back and I cursed myself for not wearing my trunks. I couldn't swim, but I could dunk. I took my flip-flops off and walked along the edge of the water. There were only five or six other people on the beach. Maybe the Sheriff had a point about tourism being slow. I kept walking. The further I went, the less manicured the beach became; the tourists didn't venture this far along. The sand gave way to a heavy shingle then rocks heavily covered in coarse weeds. I sat down on a rock and stared out across the water. What if I just walked back into town and caught a bus? Caught a flight home. Left Davie and his gold behind. Up until now he had managed to dictate my every move. But our business was finished. The Colonel was dead. There was no law that said I had to stick with him; the gold was madness — just let it go, go home.
No — I couldn't just walk.
I would tell him I'd had enough. He would understand. And even if he didn't, what was he going to do? Besides, it probably made more sense to travel separately. And to dump the Land Cruiser. Yes. Good. Tell him. Tell him now while he's in a good mood about his date with Dr Cortez. I stood up and was just starting to climb down from the rock when I noticed a dolphin bobbing in the water a hundred yards away.
Aww, I thought, you don't often see them this close to land.
And then I saw that it wasn't a dolphin, but a human, and not just a human, but a human woman without arms.
Michelle.
Michelle.
She seemed to be looking right at me. I raised a hand and waved. She raised a flipper. She began to move back towards the beach. Her flippers were moving, but they were so tiny they didn't make much impression on the water; it was her legs that were driving her at remarkable speed through the water.
I walked down to the edge to meet her.
'Hiya,' I said.
'Hiya, Dan Starkey.' I blushed. She remembered my name. And then I blushed again as she stood up. She was naked.
I mean, completely naked.
She smiled. My heart galloped. She was like a blonde white Halle Berry but with fewer arms.
'What's wrong?' she purred. 'Haven't you seen a naked woman before?'
'No,' I said. And then: 'Yes.'
24
Michelle had a T-shirt, shorts and a towel secreted behind some rocks just a few yards further along from where I'd been sitting. She sat down beside the T-shirt then lifted it with her toes. She leaned forward and pulled the T-shirt effortlessly over her head. It was, I thought, an amazing feat of physical dexterity and I nodded with the kind of appreciation I normally reserve for people who can change light bulbs or wire a plug. She probably did similar things a hundred times a day. She was probably used to clots like me giving her patronising looks. Although possibly she confused my patronising look for the one I adopt when looking at wet breasts through a white T-shirt. Sometimes only an expert can tell the difference. It was a baggy T-shirt. She didn't feel the need to put her shorts on. Not yet. Perhaps that feat of amazing physical dexterity would have entailed her revealing more of herself to me than she intended. Or maybe she wanted to sit there with her pants off. Either way, it was somewhat disconcerting.
I sat beside her on another rock.
She said, 'Are you married, Dan Starkey?'
'No,' I said. 'Are you?'
'What do you think?'
'I don't know what I think. You don't look old enough.'
She smiled. 'Married twice, divorced twice, and I'll be twenty-one next month.'
'Happy birthday,' I said. 'What went wrong?'
'What do you think?'
'It's a lovely day, Michelle, and you're asking me to do an awful lot of thinking.' I made a show of sitting like The Thinker. She giggled. It was a nice giggle. Like soft waves on a moonlit beach. Although the sun was out.
'I hardly know you,' I went on. 'You're probably expecting me to say they left you because they couldn't cope with your arms. Or lack of therein. But I think part of the reason you asked is because the answer isn't the obvious one. I therefore advance the theory that the reason why you have two ex-husbands is that you chucked them out because they were dead boring. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if you were married to MJ, J J, CJ, LJ or any of the other alpha-betties that hang about in your daddy's bar.' I raised my eyebrows. 'How'd I do?'
'You did good.'
'Just good?'
'You did one hundred per cent good.'
I shrugged modestly. 'Par for the course.'
She gave me a long, searching look, while I stared out to sea. 'You're very perceptive,' she said.
I shrugged again. I was normally about as perceptive as the Normandy Germans on the eve of D-Day. I was just applying man logic. Those eejits probably never left the bar. Michelle was the only woman they ever saw on a regular basis. And DJ was so protective of his daughter he probably never let her venture much beyond the bar. So he looked kindly on his cronies
paying attention to her. He thought, Who else is going to marry a girl with no arms? This way his daughter got a shot at married life, plus he keeps her close at hand. Except she wouldn't stick with them. She was a bright girl, but you could see that she was looking for something else. She just wasn't sure how to get it. The long and short of it was, she probably fancied a bit of freckle.
I shifted uncomfortably. Although, not too uncomfortably. I was still looking out to sea, but I was aware of her watching me. She was admiring my chiselled features, the strong cut of my shoulders, the fine line of my backbone which suggested strength yet compassion. I had a lot of other wanky thoughts about how lush I was, but she was actually looking at the skin peeling off my forehead.
'You should get some cream for that,' she said.
'It's only sunburn,' I replied. 'What harm can it do?'
She smiled, and kept looking at me. 'If you had to ask me anything, what would it be?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean — I have no arms. You're probably thinking about what it must be like to have no arms. There must be something you'd love to ask, but you'd never dare. But you can ask me anything. I really don't mind. About anything at all.'
She leaned forward enough for her breasts to press hard against the damp material of her T-shirt.
'Well,' I said, trying to do the gentlemanly thing and keep my eyes above her shoulders. 'How do you pick your nose?'
She nodded thoughtfully, savouring the question. 'You won't tell?'
'Not unless I'm tortured. Or asked.'
'I use a straw from the bar.' She moved a flipper and bent forward as if to pick something up. The end of the flipper curled inwards, grasped something invisible and then moved back towards her face. 'If I'm feeling mean I sometimes put the straw back in the jug.'
I made a face and laughed.
'Go on then, something else.'
She moved a little closer to me. I was facing the sea and she now was half-turned towards me. Just enough so that her breast was resting against my arm through her T-shirt. This obviously wasn't going to affect me at all, because I'd felt breasts against my arm before. Patricia's, for one. Or two. And clearly, once you've felt one breast against your arm, you've felt them all. Sort of. Kind of. I wasn't sure any more if it was skin peeling off my forehead, or just my blush giving up the ghost because of overwork.
Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) Page 19
