by Lee Hanson
Rolly made a decision.
One day as he and Ash were leaving the cafeteria in the basement of the hospital, he stopped at a door. “Come in here,” he said to him. “I have to tell you something.”
He never told Ash anything. He’d just locked the door behind them and kissed him on the mouth. There was no protest; Ash was as eager as he was.
In no time, Rolly’s pants were down around his ankles and Ash was kneeling before him, blissfully changing Rolly’s life…and inadvertently improving his art.
•
In the darkness of the Gulf, Rolly smiled, even as the rain began again.
* * * * *
Chapter 48
Julie woke up facing Joe, her head resting on his left shoulder and her left leg draped across him. She carefully extricated herself, trying not to wake him. Lying on her own side, she admired his long, lean body.
The light fuzz of hair on Joe’s tanned skin was blonde from the sun, like the stubble of his beard. In his nakedness, though, Julie could see that his skin was actually much lighter… and his hair darker. He was beautiful.
How did I resist this man for so long?
Joe wore a rugged, stainless steel watch with a brown leather strap. Julie ran her finger lightly over a vein on his forearm, near the watch. He stirred, opened his eyes and then smiled, obviously remembering the night’s activities.
“Morning, Merlin.”
“Morning,” said Julie, kissing around the left nipple on his chest.
“Make bigger circles,” he said.
“Okay, but you can’t move…”
•
They joined David in the kitchen about an hour later.
“Good morning, you two. Did you sleep well?” he asked.
One look at them told the story. “Well…since you don’t smoke…how about some coffee?”
It was still raining. David had turned on the TV to get an update on the storm. The weather picture hadn’t changed much. Tropical storm Carlo was stalled over Cuba, causing widespread flooding. The gusting wind and rain in the Keys was predicted to continue and probably worsen. David was sick of listening to it. He picked up the remote control and changed the channel from the weather to the news.
“There is a new development in the Florida murder case of artist, Marcus Solomon. According to a source in the Key West police department, an APB went out yesterday for Roland Archer, another artist, and a friend of the victim. Roland Archer is now a ‘person of interest’.
“We have learned that the police found Roland Archer’s car in a grocery store parking lot. There is some speculation that the he may have left Florida in his boat, the ‘Miranda,’ which is reported to be missing from a Key West marina…”
“Oh, dear God!” said David. “Rolly’s out there in the boat!”
As one, they all looked out through the rain to the huge white yacht anchored across the canal.
It was pulling its moorings taut…rising and falling as waves pounded the dock.
* * * * *
Chapter 49
Rolly was slumped over in his seat clinging to the wheel, barely able to keep the Miranda’s bow straight atop the swells. He was soaked to the bone, and the windshield was so wet and crusted with salt that he didn’t know it had stopped raining. He was grateful for the meager daylight, though, and amazed that he was still alive to see it.
Somehow the Miranda had stopped fighting the waves and begun riding them. The compass said he was headed north. Rolly no longer cared. He was going to die. He would keep her straight as long as he could, but he was weak and he knew that the next whirlwind would take him under. Dark, threatening clouds stretched overhead. On the horizon, there was a faint, pink smear of sunshine…so far away.
He shivered.
No one could have foreseen all this mess. At least David would never know that Rolly took the money. That was good. It would have hurt him so much, and he was already grieving.
David’s sweet nature reminded him of Ash, and the long-ago love affair that had freed him in so many ways. Marc Solomon had noticed the creative part and suspected the rest.
•
“That’s fabulous, I love it!” said Marc, looking over an oil Rolly was just completing. “The colors are so clear and vibrant. The impasto gives it great depth and power. Good job, Rolly!”
The whole class heard him, including the art teacher. Rolly was thrilled, and he stayed after the class to thank Marc.
“That meant a lot to me, what you said about my work. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s a terrific painting. You’re very talented.”
From that day on, Rolly had seen Marc as a role model rather than an enemy, and they had eventually become friends.
However, Rolly’s childhood had produced a secretive adult. Despite Marc’s urging, Rolly remained “in the closet”. The liberating change came when Marc moved to the Keys and Rolly came to visit.
Key West was a revelation…gays were everywhere! They walked down the street holding hands! Rolly loved it …the artsy, quirky waterfront atmosphere…everything.
After two more vacations, Marc convinced him to move down, to pursue his art in earnest. He even offered to show some of Rolly’s work in the Sandpiper, an art gallery he and his agent had opened. And so, Rolly had moved to Key West.
He’d gotten a job at the Marina, cleaning, scraping, caulking and painting boats. He made creative signs and devoted his free time to his own painting. Rolly was a happy and fulfilled person for the first time in his life.
And he owed it all to Marc Solomon.
Of course, he’d met David, Marc’s partner. He hung around with them, and enjoyed their company. He considered them to be a happy couple, which they were. Time passed, and their mutual friendship deepened.
One day in winter, the three of them were returning from a diving trip. When they got off the boat at the Marina, Rolly took them to see a boat he was working on, the “Miranda”.
“What do think of her?”
“What do I think? I think she’s a wreck,” said Marc.
“Me, too,” said David.
“No, she’s actually seaworthy,” said Rolly. “She just needs a lot of work. I’ve got three thousand dollars I could put down on her, and another thousand for parts and materials. But…I haven’t got any credit history, and I can’t get the other fifteen thousand.”
“Eighteen thousand? That’s pretty cheap for a boat this size,” said Marc.
“Are you sure you can fix her up?”
“Positive.”
Marc contemplated the situation.
“I’ll loan it to you,” he said. “We can fish and dive off her. She’ll hold more gear than our boat.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” said Marc. “After you got caught with my marijuana? I owe you, man.”
Rolly was ecstatic. He bought the Miranda before the week was out, and by summer, she was in the water. He’d only made five payments when Marc came to his apartment.
“Rolly, I need to talk to you about David. He has a crush on you.”
Rolly had known that, but he had hoped that Marc didn’t. He was quick to reassure him. “You don’t need to worry about me, Marc. I would never do that to you.”
“That’s just it, I want you to.”
“To what?”
“To have an affair with David. More than that, Rolly. I hope it develops into much more than that.”
Rolly was stunned.
“What! Why?”
“Because David and I don’t have sex anymore. Because I have AIDS and he doesn’t. Because he’s a sensual person and he can’t go on this way. Because I love him, damn it…and I’m dying!”
Tears streamed down his face.
It took Rolly a while to reply. He couldn’t imagine such a calculated relationship with David.
“No, I can’t do it.”
“Look, he means everything to me, Rolly. Don’t take this the wrong way b
ut - if you do this for me - I’ll cancel the debt on the Miranda. Please, just think about it.”
A few days later, Rolly took the deal.
•
Weakly, Rolly clung to Miranda’s wheel, trying in vain to minimize the old boat’s sickening slide into a trough.
Your plan worked, Marc.
His head dropped at last, and everything went black.
* * * * *
Chapter 50
There was no tactful way to broach the subject. Julie had flat out asked David about his Xanax prescription.
“Marc wouldn’t have taken that because of his anti-HIV drugs. He was careful about his medications.”
“What about oxycodone? Did Marc have a prescription for that?”
“Yes, he did, but he never wanted to take them; too many of his friends had become addicted to their pain meds. For the most part, Marc managed his pain with marijuana. When he did take a pain pill, he’d cut it in half…
“Oh, God, it’s true, isn’t it? Someone murdered him!” He began to cry and grabbed a handful of napkins off the kitchen bar. “But it wasn’t Rolly!” he said. He turned - napkins pressed to his face - and hurried to his room.
Julie was sorry she had triggered his distress. Damn. Now he’s embarrassed; crying like that in front of Joe.
“Poor guy,” said Joe.
“Yeah…well, I could have handled that better,” said Julie.
“No. You have a direct way of asking questions, Merlin. It’s productive. And that’s a professional opinion.”
Joe’s cell phone rang, and he flipped it open.
“Hi, Sherm!” he said, putting the phone on speaker, for Julie’s benefit.
“Joe, listen…I can’t give you details, but it’s in your best interest, as well as the agency, for you to tell me everything you know about Avram Solomon.”
“No problem,” said Joe, eyes wide, looking at Julie. “Julie O’Hara is here with me. I’ve got you on speakerphone, is that okay?”
“Yes. Actually, that’s good. Hi, Julie. In case Joe hasn’t told you, I’m Sherman Dixon, and I’m with the FBI. Joe and I have been friends for a long time, so call me ‘Sherm’, okay?”
“Okay, Sherm,” said Julie.
Joe began filling Sherman in on what he had learned since their initial conversation. He told him about his trip to Castle Cay with Will Sawyer, the evidence of drug traffic in the recent past, how the timing of it seemed to coincide with Avram Solomon’s management, and the impending sale of the island.
“Slow down, Joe, I’m taking notes. Okay, go on.”
Joe continued, telling him their suspicions in regard to Marc’s murder.
“There are a couple of holes, though, Sherm,” he said. “For one thing, Avram was in Boston when his half-brother, Marc, was killed here in Key West. We still think he could have pulled the strings, though. The guy that’s on the run now, Rolly Archer…have you seen that on the news?”
“Yeah. What about him?”
“He’s from Boston, too, Sherm,” said Julie. “Avram Solomon denied knowing him to me, but Avram is a pathological liar, at the very least.”
“The other problem is motive,” said Joe. “We think Avram wanted to prevent Marc Solomon from going to Castle Cay; that he probably didn’t want him to see the altered side of the island. Marc didn’t know anything about that, so it might have caused a glitch in the sale. That looks like a pretty good motive…except that Avram doesn’t profit from the sale! He’s just the trustee. The money ends up with Matthew Castle, Marc and Avram’s uncle,” said Joe, looking at Julie, who was nodding.
“I’ve met Marc’s uncle,” said Julie. “Matt Castle is a good man, Sherm, and wealthy, I suspect. He’s a respected attorney in Boston.”
“Thing is, we can’t figure out why the sale of this island is important to Avram Solomon at all,” said Joe.
“Hm. Julie…I understand that you have friends who work for this guy…or used to. Can you give me their names, so I can contact them?”
“Oh.” Julie paused, biting her lip. “I don’t know if I can do that, Sherm. One of my friends works for him right now. That could put his job in jeopardy, and he has a family.”
“Julie, I wish I could be more specific but, believe me, your friend is better off establishing some distance between himself and this man, Solomon. Cooperating with the FBI…now…is a good way to do that. If nothing comes of it, you have my word that any information he gives us will be kept confidential.
“Can you call him…now…and tell him about me and this conversation? Can you do that?”
“Yes, okay. I guess I could do that.”
“Great. Thank you, Julie. Then call me right back. Joe? You still there? Do you have my cell number?”
Joe said he did, and they hung up.
Julie leaned forward, her head in her hands. “Oh, God, Joe; what have I gotten Pete and Joan into?”
* * * * *
Chapter 51
Pete Soldano replaced the phone in its base. He had told Julie that he’d call her back, right after he talked it over with Joan. Now he sat in his living room, staring out a pair of arched windows that flanked the brick fireplace. His wife had gone out to their front yard to rake some leaves. It was chilly, and she had bundled up as if she were going out to shovel snow. He had teased her about it.
Pete could see her standing at the end of the driveway chatting with their neighbor, Anita. She was laughing…happy.
He knew he was about to ruin her day.
Joan nodded to the neighbor, turned and walked back into the house through the garage, into the kitchen.
“Pete? Have you seen the paper? I want to do the crossword.”
“It’s out here,” he said.
Joan walked into the room, smiling. Her cheeks were rosy.
“You want to take a crack at it before I do?” she said.
“Not right now,” said Pete. “Julie just called.”
“Oh? Why didn’t you call me?” she said, plopping down in the chair next to him.
“Joan. Julie wants us to do somethin’. I thought we ought to talk it over.”
“So talk,” she said, leaning back, her legs crossed and her foot wiggling.
“She wants us to speak with an FBI agent about Avram Solomon.”
Both feet hit the floor and she stiffened.
“What?”
“Yeah, I know, I know. That’s a little more than we bargained for,” said Pete.
“I guess! You can’t do that…you’ll get fired!”
“Well, let me explain what else she said…”
“Forget it, Pete!” she said, standing up now and pacing. “I know you want to help Julie, and so do I…but you don’t know that Avram had anything to do with Marc’s death!”
“Sit down, and listen to me,” said Pete. “This isn’t just about Marc. Avram is already in trouble with the FBI, accordin’ to Julie. And you know we’ve been thinkin’ he’s crooked for a long time! She said that the FBI guy is a friend. His name is Sherman Dixon. She says we can trust him.”
Joan started to object again, but he put his hand on her arm. “Listen, Joannie,” he said. “This agent said I should ‘distance myself from Solomon’. Think about it; if Avram’s doing anything illegal with the dealerships…well, I’m a General Manager, for chrissakes! I don’t want to be accused of anything! And Dixon promised to keep us out of it, if nothin’ developed.”
“Ohmigod,” said Joan.
They sat there in their matching wing chairs, staring into the cold fireplace. Neither of them spoke, as they considered the possible fall-out from all this.
“I think we should do this,” said Pete, at last.
“Yes. I guess we better…”
* * * * *
Chapter 52
Sherman Dixon walked briskly through the terminal at Logan International Airport in Boston, glancing at his watch. It was Monday, September 24th, ten past two in the afternoon, which meant he was ten minutes late. His c
arry-on bag was slung over his shoulder. He would have preferred a bag with wheels, but he was too tall and he walked too fast. They never made the telescoping handles long enough or stable enough. The big, black man looked more like a professional athlete than an FBI agent as his long strides covered the distance between the gate and the baggage area.
He was wondering how in hell he was supposed to recognize special agent Robert Branson, who was picking him up. Branson had described himself as “an average-looking guy with brown hair, driving a gray Ford Taurus”. But as it turned out, it didn’t matter.
Shortly after Sherm walked through the glass doors and crossed the street, Branson pulled up in the Taurus. It seemed to be the only car, being passed and honked at by various car-rental shuttle buses. The window slid down.
“Are you Sherman Dixon?”
“Yes.”
“Bob Branson. Hop in!”
“Welcome to Boston,” he said after Sherm got in. “How was your flight?”
“Good. No problems,” said Sherm. “Thanks for picking me up. Your timing was great.”
“Not really. That was my fourth time circling around,” he said, laughing.
“Got to keep the Homeland safe from airport bombers,” said Sherm.
“Yeah,” said Branson.
Neither of them laughed, too aware of the truth of Sherm’s remark.
“I booked you a room at a Quality Inn close to our headquarters,” said Branson. “You can check in anytime. You eat yet?”
“Yeah,” said Sherm. “I got one of those bagged lunches.”
“Good. I need to get you up to speed as fast as possible, Dixon. Plus, if you’ve got any info for me, I need it yesterday. You want to drop off your bag and go right to the office, or what?”
“Yeah. Let’s get that out of the way, as long as it’s close,” said Sherm.
They left Sherm’s carry-on in his room and headed for the field office. Branson wasted no time filling Sherm in.
“You know Silvio Tambini?”
“By reputation,” said Sherm.
