“Most people go along because they really don’t know the history of the Civil War,” I commented. “Real history isn’t taught in schools and if a teacher tried, the Teacher’s Union would hang her up on the flag pole in effigy.”
All ears were on me, including those at tables on each side of us. Some were straining, because I was speaking in a normal tone of voice.
“It really wasn’t all about slavery,” I continued. “It was more complex than that, and it had a great deal to do with aggression from the North. When Lincoln was asked why he didn’t just let the South secede, his answer was ‘Who would pay for the government?’ which says a lot about the true motive. He basically sent troops to take over the Maryland Government so that they couldn’t vote to secede as they wanted to. Most children are never taught the truth about the war, just one side. And because of what they’re taught in schools, which is a partial history at best, and a rewritten one at worst, they don’t even realize it was not only the South which had slaves, but the North. Sherman and most Union Generals had slaves all during the war, as did Grant. Sherman had slaves even after the war ended, and Grant didn’t free his until the 13th Amendment of 1865. The North prettied it up, calling it a ‘division of labor’ but it was slavery all the same. Robert E. Lee, on the other hand, freed his slaves, which he had inherited, in 1862, when the South was winning battles left and right. It’s a historical fact that no Confederate Battle Flag was ever flown over a slave ship. A lot of ships which brought slaves to America were from New England, who act like their poop doesn’t stink now. There were Federal, Yankee and Union ships, in addition to other countries bringing in slaves. There were plenty of Dutch, English and Portuguese ships that brought in slaves. Those New Englanders made a fortune delivering slaves but you’d never know it today.” I laughed. “Northern states only outlawed slavery once the war was over, not before. And Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, so heralded in schools as ending slavery, only gave freedom to slaves in the South, not the North. Hell, Delaware rejected the 13th Amendment of 1865 and didn’t even ratify the thing until 1901! Today we know from documents that Lincoln had a plan to colonize the freed slaves elsewhere, like Haiti, Belize, Panama, Central America. They’d been brought here against their will originally, or their ancestors had, and he didn’t want them, so he tried to recolonize them elsewhere.”
I took a bite and drank some Coke. Caroline was also having soda. Harry was the drinker in our family.
“Confederate soldiers were long ago classed as American war veterans, Tricia,” I said in response to her original comment. “To move a grave or a monument is unconscionable, I think. I believe most people feel that way, at least the decent ones with common sense that are left, whose numbers seem to be dwindling. Are liberals going to try to ban the United States flag next? It flew over a nation which had slaves for what, eight-five years? It’s simply a part of our shared history. What cracks me up about those stirring the pot, is many are the same people who supported the Clintons when they were campaigning all over the South with the Southern flag around, even a campaign button for one of them had it on there. So what, they just now became offended by it? What a bunch of hypocrites.”
Even though I’d been speaking in a quiet, conversational tone, between bites, others had heard me. I’d never have gotten by with it if I had not been in the South, and even in Florida, there was a big split. The demographic of Florida had changed a lot over the years, after all. Florida wasn’t Georgia or South Carolina, not anymore.
I lucked out and received a couple of smiles from ladies on either side of us — one of them in her mid-fifties but quite stunning — and one nod from a husband. Had I been in Los Angeles or Boston I probably would have been on the receiving end of scowls and snorts, or worse, had a cacophony of bluster and indignation directed at me by some bleeding heart on the left who simply could not put up with someone citing facts, dates, etc.
But perhaps the positive reaction, or lack of a negative one, was simply a sign that people were finally getting fed up being told what to be outraged about. The left seemed to be outraged about everything from large Cokes to the Southern Flag, but Benghazi, Fast and Furious, the IRS and NSA, the serious stuff, well, they were okay with all that. Their hypocrisy appeared to be boundless. It was beginning to wear on people, and they were waking up. Whether it was too late, was another matter.
We batted it around a little more and then Caroline got to asking Tricia about LaTina’s and how she had started the business. Irrelevant to talk of women’s clothing, I was able to slip away unnoticed to use the house phone. It had been placed in a small comfortable little room all to itself so I had privacy. Sonny picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, man, I’ve been waiting on you to call. Sanchez just sprung that shit on me an hour ago. Man, I can’t believe Candida’s gone.”
“You got insurance that’ll cover it?”
“Yeah, it should. But it’s Candida, man.” I could hear the regret in his voice. I’d felt the same way about Stella, and I hadn’t even named her after a girl I’d known. Harry had named her for a pretty 1940s actress named Gail Russell who had starred in one of his favorite films, The Uninvited.
“I’m sorry, Sonny. But I think you’ve got bigger problems.”
“That Magnum you asked about?”
“Yeah.” I gave him the rundown on the four murdered men. I hadn’t asked Tammy about it because I didn’t want it to be on her radar or think it might be connected.
“You think they were after Katarina.” Sonny wasn’t asking, he was thinking out loud.
“You need to find out.”
“We don’t usually talk about all that spook stuff. She doesn’t like to and I’d rather not know anyway.”
“This time, you need to know.”
“If they know she’s with me, they’ll know she’s here in Ecuador.”
“That’s the way I figure it. You might as well head back here and get started replacing your boat. Plus, there’s another reason to get back here.”
“What’s that?”
“Vlad’s here, Sonny, or at least I think he is.”
“You think he’s…”
“No,” I cut him off, “I think he’s protecting her. That MP-433 Grach is Vlad’s back-up piece.”
Sonny was thinking the same question which had originally occurred to me.
“Why wouldn’t he just dump the bodies in the Glades somewhere, then?”
“I don’t know what’s going on but I think he wanted them to be found, and he wanted to send a message to someone. He wanted them to know if they come after her, they’re dealing with him as well.”
Sonny was quiet. He finally said, “I’ll find out what’s going on. If she knows.”
I had to be careful how I framed my next question. Sonny and I went back a long way.
“Sonny, if she knows, are you certain she’ll tell you?”
I heard an audible sigh on the other end. “She won’t lie to me. We’re too close.”
“Would she not tell you something if she thought it might put you in danger, though?”
A long silence while he thought about that. Finally he answered, “She’ll tell me.”
I said quietly, “Because she loves you?”
Just as quietly, Sonny responded, “Because I love her.” And then I was left holding a buzzing receiver because Sonny had hung up.
I followed his lead and returned to our table to find the girls laughing. Caroline looked lovely and it was good to see her cheerful after our encounter with Father of the Year, Jerry Carmichael.
We ordered some key lime pie and I noticed another bottle of wine had been finished off between Cassie and Tricia while I was away. They had come with us in the ‘Cuda, leaving their cars at LaTina’s. The plan had been for them to take a cab back for their cars after dinner. Though neither was sloshed, neither was in any condition to drive. They were just a bit too giggly, and both had that my panties are easy to take off look induced
by too much to drink in a town with too much competition.
I leaned over and whispered something in Caroline’s ear. She smiled and kissed me, nodding her approval. I said, “We have a suite with an adjoining room. Why don’t you two take it? You can take a cab to pick up your vehicles in the morning. We’ll be out early but we can leave you the key cards for checkout.”
“Well, I hate dumps like this,” said Cassie, “but if you insist.” Both she and Tricia began laughing and were laughing all the way up the elevator to the luxurious suite. Caroline and I heard a lot of giggling and one whoop when they discovered a Jacuzzi in their room. After that it became quieter on the other side of the door.
Caroline stepped from the bathroom having shed her elegant dress. She walked over to the bed where I was undressing, exhausted from the long day but suddenly refreshed seeing the black lacy stuff she’d been wearing underneath the dress. She said, “Too tired for a roll in the hay with your wife, Mister?”
“The room doesn’t come with hay.”
She pushed me back, laughing, and crawled over me to kiss me. She whispered, “Well make our own.”
And for a long time we did, dancing that awkward, beautiful tango of tangled legs and arms and warm flesh, to music composed of sighs and moans and tiny cries of pleasure that remind us all how good it is to be alive.
Sixteen
Boca Raton, or Boca Motto as some like to call it, a little over forty miles from downtown Miami is one of the more affluent areas of Florida, as evidenced by all the celebrities who have homes there. In fact, it has some of the most expensive gated communities in the country. How Boca got its name involved the Spanish, and is so in dispute you’d get a headache hearing about it.
There is a lot of gang activity in Boca but because some Mafia big shots live or operate from there, it doesn’t get all crazy; under the old axiom that you don’t pee in your own bed. A lot of big companies whose names you’d probably recognize and a few that you wouldn’t have their headquarters in the business area of Boca Raton. Downtown Boca Raton still has the bright orange and pastel pinks very much in keeping with the Old World Spanish theme. Most of downtown remains in an Addison Mizner style design, the rich guy who’d helped design Palm Beach and lent a big hand helping Boca Raton flourish in the early 1920s.
We left for Boca bright and early in the ‘Cuda, taking the I-95 to Lauderdale, where I leased a medium size boat for the remainder of the jaunt. We could have driven in towards the water from land but I wasn’t certain how close we could get, and I wasn’t a fan of walking. Laura had mentioned she was more accessible by water. Besides, it was a perfect day for being on the water and I thought Caroline would enjoy the Florida coastline. She did.
On the way, I decided to take the Hillsboro Inlet, between Hillsboro and Pompano, because they’d widened it considerably, and because it was well-marked, which made for a safer approach. The inlet did have a downside, however. Even though they dredge it constantly to keep sand from closing it, there are reefs to the South, and a lot of boat traffic. If you don’t know the area you can run into a reef or some rich guy’s extended jetty. Still, it was the best way in as far as I was concerned. I was in fact glad Laura Garner lived around here. I’ve never liked using the Boca Raton Inlet because of the shoaling at low tide and the size of the swells on the way in. Harry had taught me enough to make the Hillsboro approach a piece of cake.
The inlet was busy this bright Florida morning. The closer we got to Laura Garner’s home the more yachts we began to see lining the shoreline. Boca Raton truly was right on the water, the water table making it impossible to have a basement unless you lived up on 4th Street, or High Street as it had been appropriately named. It was one of the few spots in Boca Raton over twenty feet above the water table.
We didn’t have to do a lot of searching for an address because Laura Garner, easily recognizable, was standing on a wooden pier next to her boat waiting for us. The boat was just that — a boat. Big enough for fun but puny next to the others we’d seen coming in. That same modesty, if you could call living on the shore of Boca Raton a modest lifestyle, was reflected in her home. It was hidden from the mansions on each side of her by big palms and lush verdure. The house looked roomy, yet somehow quaint. A rectangular pool, again of modest size, fronted the house, which was white with a red-tiled roof, giving it a Spanish look. Lots of windows, big ones, faced the water, providing light indoors. Sago palms and some bushes blooming a magenta colored flower gave the front of the house a tropical look. To the far left of the house, I could see the front end of Laura Garner’s orange 1956 T-Bird. She obviously had access from behind her house that led to a street, but for visitors, water was the easier approach.
Laura smiled as I slowed and eased the boat over toward the small dock. She motioned to Caroline to throw her the line which she did. Once moored we stepped onto the dock and I got my first up-close-and-personal look at television star Laura Garner. I tried to find something phony about her and couldn’t. She was exactly as she appeared to be on TV, exactly as she’d been on the phone — nice.
Her sandy blonde hair was full and silky, catching the morning sun, which made it shine. It might have been just a shade lighter than Caroline’s. Her eyes were a light, pretty blue, also much like Caroline’s. Around her neck from a thin gold chain hung a small blue stone almost the color of her eyes. She wasn’t dressed to kill, as some stars like to when meeting visitors, just a pink tank-top and shorts that showed off very pretty legs. The shorts were white denim with tiny little red roses printed on them. The lipstick she’d applied to naturally full lips was a very soft pink color and her nails matched. Across the bridge of her nose, above a friendly smile, were tiny freckles you never saw on camera. She was pretty in a way that made you think of apple pie and mom and wedding rings rather than getting her clothes off.
“Hi, I’m Laura,” she said, holding out her hand for Caroline to shake. Caroline took it. “I’m Caroline, and this is my husband, Seth.”
“Yes, we’ve spoken. It’s nice to meet you, Caroline. Your husband implied on the phone that you were his better half.” Laura glanced at me and winked. Her smile was bright and there was not a pretentious bone in her body. She and Caroline could have been sisters, Laura being the older sister by a few years.
“I’ll just be a few more minutes. Then we’ll have breakfast and talk. I thought we’d eat out here if it’s alright? It’s really nice out this morning.”
“Can I help?” asked Caroline.
“Actually, that’d be great. The cook’s day off, and all.” She stared a minute and then laughed. “A joke. I don’t have servants.” She laughed some more; it was a laugh that went perfectly with her personality — warm, friendly and unpretentious. She squinted into the morning sun and pointed out towards the water. “Is that your friend, Jeanette?”
It was. She was sitting in her chair at the bow holding onto the railing as the boat turned to port and headed for us. I assumed Jeanette had chartered a boat. She threw up her hand and waved. I told Laura I’d help her get moored and she smiled and nodded. Caroline followed her inside the house to help with breakfast.
Jeanette had been a paraplegic for about twenty-five years. It happened in her youth when a boat cut across her path while she was waterskiing. A caring high school counselor had pulled her from the emotional abyss which ensued, and Jeanette had been repaying that act of kindness her entire life. She did a lot of work with Vets and teenagers, mostly trauma of one kind or another, but obviously she had other patients as well if Laura’s information was correct.
Jeanette paid close attention to her appearance because she felt that it would distract people from simply focusing on the wheelchair, which she didn’t want to define her. Today she’d worn a very bright and dressy yellow blouse and a white pleated skirt just long enough to dip past her knees. Her legs still looked nice because she had someone come in every day for therapy in order to retain the muscle tone. She would never be beautiful, but sh
e lived on that border between handsome and pretty.
The helmsman waved as I jumped aboard after securing the boat to the dock. He was in his mid-forties, around Jeanette’s age, with a bit of a gut beginning to show. He was laughing and gave the general impression of being jolly. Sort of like the Skipper in Gilligan’s Island if Alan Hale, Jr. had been about fifteen pounds lighter and had sported dark, wavy hair. He even wore one of those white caps like him. Apparently Jeanette knew him very well.
“I’m perfectly capable of wheeling myself down the ramp, Larry.”
“Oh, hush. Pretty women are supposed to be waited on hand and foot, so if you don’t like it, stop dolling up.”
Well, this was new, I thought. I glanced at Jeanette. She smiled thinly before turning away. She almost, honest-to-god, blushed. It was about time someone noticed how fabulous she was, and I couldn’t have been happier for her. If first impressions meant anything, he was alright.
Once on the dock, he held out his hand. I shook it. “Larry Banks.”
“Seth Halliday.”
“Jeanette’s told me a lot about you. You’re one of her few friends. She mostly has her head stuck in a book. Nice to finally meet you.” Jeanette was giving him a perturbed look that confirmed they were a couple. Well, well.
“I wish I could say the same, but then I’ve been in South America quite a while. Otherwise I’m certain we would have met by now.”
“Oh, maybe not,” he said, winking where she could see it. “She’s sort of the shy, retiring type. She’s probably embarrassed to have a sailor for a boyfriend.”
Jeanette swung her arm out at both of us but we sidestepped her aim and laughed. Larry’s movement had been more of a shuffle, and very quick. It caused me to give him a second look. I saw that his nose had been broken before and then put it all together.
“Lightning Banks?”
The Long Gray Goodbye: A Seth Halliday Novel Page 10
