But if Danny was right, it would go a long ways toward explaining why the local environmentalists who could at times go into a frenzy over something like what kind of mulch the county used, would let something of this magnitude go down.
“Care for something to drink?”
“Oh, no! I just wanted to thank you for everything. I really need to get back. Miss Levita is waiting for me. Said she’d have a big surprise waiting.”
♦
The next morning I woke in my bed after another restless night of bad dreams. At least I’d gotten a little sound sleep on the couch before our late night visitor. Since we’d decided to stick close for a few days, Slip had spent the night on the couch, Consuelo the guest quarters. Just after I’d heard Slip start to snore someone tried my bedroom doorknob. The lock held.
The next morning a somewhat grumpy Consuelo offered to make breakfast and I decided to check out DDT. A search of DDT on the net produced no website or any way to confirm the organization really existed, but plenty of information on insecticides, wresting, and debugging. There were, however, numerous conspiracy sites filled with wild speculation blaming DDT – the unholy alliance of dentists, dermatologists, and teamsters – for everything from bird flu, to rising gasoline prices, to the JFK assassination. There were also pages showing financial estimations and projections for DDT. The figures varied greatly, but most seemed to point to the Florida dermatologists as having the highest revenue and being the real force behind DDT. One blog referred them as ‘A shocking example of excessive greed and the abuse of trust’. Another compared their billing practices to ‘being sexually assaulted with a blowtorch’.
“Nice people, those DDT.” Slip hovered over me looking at the screen.
“Well, at least Danny didn’t make that up.”
Consuelo came in the room and handed me a steaming cup of coffee, then checked the webpage on my laptop. Slip headed for the galley and the coffee. While I took a sip of coffee she reached over my shoulder to click a link and give me a soft spearing in the back of the head.
“Jeez, TB, some great endorsements here. Look at this whistle-blower site: ‘DDT’s revenues make Fort Knox look like a piggy bank.’ and ‘The most ruthless bastards since the Huns vacationed in Rome.’ This from a guy who says he’s a dermatologist who got kicked out for not charging enough. Says he’s in hiding and fears for his life.”
“Well, if Blue Manatee really is backed by DDT, then it sure sounds like the kind of folks who wouldn’t let a small-time politician get in the way.” Or his sister. “After breakfast, why don’t you call our friends down at the police station again, see if they’ve located Julie.”
“‘Kay. Scrambled with green chilies, grits, bacon, ham, sausage links, hash browns, biscuits, red-eye gravy, goat cheese, sliced tomatoes, orange juice, and Key Lime pie sound okay?”
“Scrambled sounds great. But, speaking on behalf of my digestive system, I think I’ll pass on the chilies. Don’t want to overdo it.”
♦
After being on hold for fifteen minutes Consuelo learned from the police they didn’t have any news on Julie. When asked if they’d checked her brother’s house lately they said they couldn’t, so that’s where we went first.
It wasn’t exactly first thing, though, we needed new disguises. Before we left the marina Slip and I borrowed some country-club slacks and sport shirts from Jimmy Redd. Told him we were going to play a joke on someone. Good thing we were all about the same size.
We eased out to the car keeping an eye open for anyone or anything suspicious. So far, so good. First stop the airport for a rental since being tailed the day before.
After the clothes and car, a stop at the hotel. Twenty minutes later she came out as a he, dressed like us and even a pencil-thin mustache. We must have looked pretty shocked. Consuelo said it was a hobby of her sisters.
When we got to JB’s place we found out why the police couldn’t check on the house – it was gone. Just a vacant lot fast becoming part of a causeway going out to what had become a small island of barged sand. Dump trucks, bulldozers, front-end loaders, and road graders all in motion and making a hell of a racket.
The house across the street now a construction office. Most of the foliage stripped away with trucks and heavy equipment parked in the yard. Several workers putting up a chain-link fence around the property. We just stared for a few seconds. Slip broke the silence.
“Holy Jumping Jesus! These people work fast!”
Our driver saw the man first. “Watcher on the back roof of the construction office.”
I motioned for her to turn the car around.
“Good call, Consuelo. He’s probably a spotter for the dispatcher and security. We look too interested he’ll have someone on us.” As we left another car full of eyes came down the street to take our place.
A drive by on the new park proved interesting enough for a closer look. Got lucky with a metered spot right on the boulevard a couple hundred yards down from the park. I put in some coins.
“Might be wise to split up this time. You got your phone?” Consuelo held up a pink flip-phone. “Slip, why don’t you two give me a minute or so. Let me take point.” The little guy standing next to Slip started to protest, but settled for a frown.
I made my way along the sidewalk through the strollers, skaters, and joggers. An occupied blue pickup parked up ahead looked like a good reason to take the scenic route along the beach for a ways.
The big signs in the park were all painted solid green – the reason we wanted a closer look. Behind me, Slip coming the same way along the beach. Consuelo walking down the sidewalk so she could get a look at the pickup truck.
The signs painted over were about the only difference. Another good crowd to hide in and another speaker in the gazebo. Politician going on about the great things going on here – jobs, affordable housing. No Grizzel this time.
I thought about what Danny had said. If DDT would spend years planting their people in the environmental groups, they’d most likely be doing the same thing with the politicians. I couldn’t begin to imagine what several acres of raw land in Key West was worth, but there was only so much shallow in that area they could fill before the bottom dropped off. Seemed like a lot of trouble. Maybe the DDT planned to build a big hotel and convention center just for dentists and dermatologists. I could imagine why they joined with the teamsters, an outfit with a troubled financial past but capable of a lot of heavy lifting. There were several big stereotypical examples of teamsters lurking again today, watching the crowd. I tried to hide behind my Panama hat as much as I could.
“New in town, big fella?” Consuelo playing gay guy, waving a cigarette, needing a light.
“Yeah, first time.” I patted my pockets, looking around the park. “I’m looking for my wife.” Came up with a lighter.
“I bet you are.” Holding my wrist as the cigarette lit. “Maybe we should look for her together.”
Slip had a conversation going with a big woman in an orange floral dress close to the gazebo. I pointed at the barges and equipment out beyond the palms.
“These people have got this down to the last detail. Hard to believe it’s tooth pullers and skin carvers put this together. Amazing what enough money will do.”
Consuelo wasn’t paying attention. Instead, holding her cigarette with her arm cocked and giving one of the big green signs a close appraisal. “It’s just not as good as his earlier work, don’t you agree, darling? I mean, it’s green, but-”
A blast of loud music as a four-piece band took over for the politician. Slip looked away from the woman and nodded to let us know he had what we’d come to find out. A man with a big box started walking through the crowd handing out t-shirts and cozies. Some shoving. Time to go. Consuelo waited for Slip, and I started back to the car. I took about two steps and someone bumped me and forced something into my hand. Just saw the back of his head going through the crowd. I looked for Slip. He was going toward the little guy with the cigarette, giving me a
questioning glance. I started for the car again, taking a peek at the handwritten note, ‘Scorpion Pit – 9 tonight bring your friend – JB is okay’.
♦
“So JB is feeling better? After being dead and decomposing in the gulf for a few days before we found him?”
Slip seemed most upset about the note when I read it aloud back in the car. Consuelo again driving smooth as silk, gave her report.
“I couldn’t get much of a look in the truck – tinted windows. Had the engine running with the a/c on. Looked like one big guy, probably one of the security creeps.” Checking the mirror again.
“I’d sure like to know who passed me this note.” I hate surprises. “Slip, what did you find out about those signs?”
“That was Miss Agnes, lady I talked to before at the courthouse. She’s about the only one I got much help from. I think she kind of likes me.” I turned around to look at Slip lying in the backseat with his feet propped up, smiling. “She used to be a kindergarten teacher in Marathon, you know.”
“The signs?”
“Yeah. Vandals wrote on ‘em with spray paint last night. ‘LIES!’ and ‘MURDERS!’ stuff like that. Someone trying to get the word out, I guess. The security people painted over the graffiti right away this morning. I seen some artists setting up when we were leaving. Bet the signs are back like they were by tomorrow.”
I wouldn’t doubt it. I also doubted Blue Manatee would leave the park another night without a watchman. At least there didn’t seem to be much doubt about who took out JB and why.
“Between JB’s plan to shut down Blue Manatee if he got elected mayor and him owning a key piece of real estate for the road to the new development, I’d say it’s a lock DDT was the ones did him in. All we have to do is find the proof and turn it over to the cops.”
The looks I got there in the convertible pretty much confirmed my own suspicions that finding the proof wouldn’t be easy. We’d just have to keep our eyes open and come up with some kind of plan.
“Hey, Taco! Miss Agnes told me something else. She said one of the Martys in town wrote a song about Blue Manatee ruining Key West with that development. Supposed to be a pretty good song, maybe good enough to get on the radio.”
“Good. Bet Blue Manatee wasn’t expecting that.” Our driver gave a thumbs-up to show she agreed. “Consuelo, stop by the grocery so we can pick up a few things. We can go back to my place, hole up there for a few hours. Then we’ll go by the Scorpion Pit if a safer and saner idea doesn’t present itself.”
∨ Key Manatee ∧
Seventeen
I was nodding by the time we got to the marina. We almost didn’t see the blue pickup parked behind an RV. Our sharp-eyed driver picked out the two guys sitting there in the middle of the parking lot, reading a newspaper like it’s the most common thing in the world for two guys to do in the tropics. That woke me up.
“They’ve got a clear view of the Sandy Bottom all right. May as well just ignore them, stroll on inside. See what.”
I grabbed a bag of groceries and my cohorts followed with the rest, whispering to each other. We dropped the groceries in the galley and watched the two men watching us for a while. I finally went in and started putting things away. Slip stayed on surveillance, Consuelo came and shooed me out of the galley.
“Let me do that, you take a nap. I’ll get a stew going so it’ll be ready when you wake up.”
It’s always been hard for me to argue with any kind of sound logic that involves sleep and food.
♦
I was in a huge room. In the middle of the room, a bed, surrounded by some kind of guards. The foggy haze of the room mixing with a strong feeling of danger. I woke when the phone rang.
Mary Ann wanted to know what I was doing. I was having some trouble waking up and realized Slip and Consuelo were gone. I started a quick look through the houseboat but only found some stew simmering on the stove. I asked Mary Ann if I could call her right back and she asked why so I told her. She started in on my friends again just as the boat moved and a second later they came strolling in wearing their regular clothes – big innocent smiles as soon as they saw me. I took the phone back in the bedroom for some privacy. I could hear activity in the kitchen and Slip saying something to Consuelo about being careful.
Mary Ann sounded different. I asked if there was something wrong and she said no, then, well, yes. The love of my life told me she didn’t think this long distance relationship was working out and anyway she’d been kind of seeing this guy from work. I’d like him. I told her I kinda doubted it under the circumstances. She said something about my friends and her friends. I asked her if we could just step back and think about this a little and I could call her back and she said it would be better if I didn’t and hung up. After a minute or so of listening to the dial tone I put the phone down and went in the bathroom and washed my face. At least the stew smelled good.
“What happened to you?”
Slip and Consuelo were in the kitchen, Slip holding his hand over the sink for Consuelo to bandage. All happy smiles again as soon as they saw me.
“Nothing. Fell on the gravel. They don’t call me Slip for nothing!”
Both laughing, glancing to see if I was buying it.
“That pickup still out there?”
Slip had to think about it a second. “Uh, no. As a matter of fact, I think they left.”
Consuelo kind of shrugging and nodding, done with nurse work and stirring the stew.
“Did you happen to talk to them before they left?” Conspirital looks at each other and more shrugging. “You two want to go ahead and tell me what happened so we can eat?” I looked at my watch.
“Well, it was Blondie’s idea – ” A hard look from the cook. “And mine.”
I went into the lounge and took a careful look outside. The truck was indeed gone. Consuelo came out and plopped in a chair.
“We just wanted to have a little talk. Find out why they were watching us. See if they knew anything about someone getting in here before.”
I sat on the couch and Slip came in and paced. “That’s right, she’s the one with the questions, I just wanted to say hi.” Consuelo snorted, then picked it up.
“Yeah, we walked up to the truck and said hi to one of the meatballs. The guy tells us to piss off and flips a lit cigarette at me. Bounced off my shorts. Chuck Norris here picks the butt up and goes over to the guy and says, ‘You drop this?’. Then starts punching the shit out of the guy. The other one jumps out and runs around like he’s going to start in on Slip so I tripped him a little.” I don’t think she realized she was rubbing her callused knuckles while talking. “Slip drags the first one out of the truck onto the ground, still punching him in the face. I kind of kicked the other guy some so he’d stay put. I didn’t want him to get in the way and get hurt while Slip continued to get to know the first one.”
“Yeah, I asked him what the fuck a few times until he finally got tired of my fist on his face and said they were just supposed to keep an eye on the houseboat and call in any activity.” Consuelo let loose a little girl laugh.
“Yeah, Rambo asks the guy, ‘You mean this kind of activity?’ and starts kicking the hell out of the other guy asking him what else. I got to admit, Slip had me about to bust a gut laughing.”
All I could think was hopefully no one saw somebody beating the tar out of two big goons with a little blond standing there laughing.
“The guy finally got tired of my boot in his ribs and said they only did surveillance and thought maybe an enforcement crew would stop by later. We still had a few more questions, but some tourists were coming down the walk, so we helped the boys back in their truck. I guess they decided to call it a day.”
More shrugs and innocent smiles.
“Enforcement, huh? Sounds like fun. I guess that’ll give us something to look forward to later on after our visit to the Scorpion Pit.”
♦
On the way over I was still a bit in shock about Mary
Ann. I just hadn’t seen it coming. A lot of questions popped up in my mind, most of them concerned the guy she’d been seeing from work. They were not pretty thoughts.
We had to pull off the narrow road going into the Scorpion Pit for a cop car coming out followed by an ambulance with its lights flashing. You could hear the place before you could see it. Actually, it wasn’t the loud music and loud voices coming from the bar, all that was drowned out by the droning of dozens of big motorcycles jamming the parking lot. I remembered seeing in the paper it was Bike Week, one of several each year. This one called Dirty Bike Week, an event with a history of appealing mostly to the lower crust of the biker barrel.
Parking back a ways with the car pointed toward the exit seemed like a good idea. The evening’s wardrobe: construction-worker clothes and boots for the three of us. We walked to the building trying not to seem too curious about any of the murmurings, grunts, or shrieks going on in and around the parked cars and trucks in the dark lot.
“Maybe we should kind of hang outside a minute or two, see if our note man makes an appearance.”
My partners agreed. We slowed our pace toward the front door. One streetlight shone over rows of bikes parked close, more bikes chugging through the lot making noise.
Two big scooter trash with shaved heads and bloody faces were trading punches at the edge of the light. Looked like they’d been at it awhile and were tiring, having trouble standing. No one paying any attention to them.
Closer to the door, three hot young women in biker gear stood together, smoking cigarettes, looking bored, and practicing their hard looks on us.
“Hey! Hey, over here!” A little round guy in the shadows waving us over. We spread out some, eased his way. “You’re Taco Bob, right?” Young guy with a full head of dark hair wearing new cargo shorts and a knit shirt looking out of place but not particularly nervous.
“And you are?” He seemed to be alone.
“Shawn Pooch. Can we talk?” He looked behind me. “Alone?”
“Under the circumstances, I think we’ll all just stay close.” He shrugged and took a couple steps further back in the shadows, all of us looking around. The walls of the bar close, vibrating from the music inside. Rumbling motorcycles around us, yells and laughter from the roof.
Key Weird 04; Key Manatee Page 10
