I felt my heart speeding up and the idea that Hollis was still roaming around scared me. But I knew there was no way. “Davidson, I can’t help what he says, because of my…” I paused, trying to figure how I was going to tell Davidson what I knew about Hollis without disclosing why I knew so much. “Ah, various contacts. I know for a fact Heyward Hollis is dead. Agents from some super-secret agency came and claimed his body at the morgue. Trust me, he’s dead. I know there is no way Hollis could be alive.” Even as I said this, I did wonder.
“It’s really important we find out the truth,” Davidson said.
It took me a moment to register what he had just said. WE?
HUH?
The one thing that had stood out about Davidson in the past was how much a loner he’d been. Or at least that was the way it was back in the day. His comment alone had my interest.
“And who is we?” I asked. “The David Davidson I knew never had, or wanted a partner. You’ve changed since back in country.”
Silence. When he spoke, it was slowly and softly, “Yeah, well there is a lot of shit you don’t know about from back ‘in country’ and we all change over time.” He asked, “Umm, will you do me a favor and talk to Snooker on the phone?”
I thought about his request for a second and then decided it might not be a bad idea, but I wasn’t wild about a phone call. Not only did I want to see Snooker face to face, but I wanted to know for sure it was Snooker I was talking to. I like to see a man’s face and look into his eyes when they talk to me. When you talk to people, it’s the way things are said and the body language that’s important, if not more so. Sorry, I’ve never been a phone fan. “Yeah, I’m willing to talk to him, but I’d prefer it face to face. Where does he live?”
“Someplace down in Florida. But he was in Portland to see one of his kids and that’s where he saw Hollis.”
This was getting creepy. Why did Florida keep coming up? The Florida connection seemed to me to be more than just a coincidence. Since I had to go to Florida anyway, this would work out well. “Tell ya’ what, David, get an address for me and I’ll go and see him.”
“Can’t you just call him on the phone?” he asked.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust you. Actually, something this important I don’t trust anybody. Just call me weird. I have to go to Florida on business anyway, this works out well.”
When he spoke, it was much softer and less sure of himself. “I’m sorry. As I said, things change. But, I still don’t understand why you can’t talk to Snooker on the phone.” He wasn’t going to give that up without a fight.
“I have no idea what he sounds like, how would I know it’s him? To be honest, I wonder if I’ll even recognize him when I do see him. There’s no way I can know what you might be setting up.” Just talking to him on the phone I was feeling a little bold. “David, you’re a rather scary person, or should I say back in the day you were. I really prefer to keep my distance if you don’t mind. And I can’t tell you what you expect to gain from my conversation with Snook, but like I said, I prefer to keep my distance.”
He didn’t reply. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. If I give you his address, will you go see him?”
I wanted to know what was up with Hollis. “Yeah. I’ll go and see him. Do you text?”
“Sure, why?”
“Text me Snook’s address and phone number. After I chat with him I’ll call you back on this number. Okay?”
“I don’t like it, but yeah.” And the phone when dead. Less than a minute later I had a text with an address and a phone number.
Now I had another great excuse to use John’s plane.
I figured Johnny could call me along the way and give me the chief’s address. Florida, here I come.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I know most of you are aware how much I enjoy flying—not! But flying in John’s jet was nice and somewhere over Kansas I decided if one must fly, a private jet is not a bad way to go. I dozed off for a while and Lois woke me with the announcement we were about twenty minutes from landing in Fort Myers.
One of the first things I noticed as we dipped down towards Fort Myers secondary airport, Page Field, was the flatness of the landscape. Being a Seattle boy, born and raised, I was used to mountains and hills. You know, bumps in the earth! People talk about how flat it is in Florida, but you really have to experience it to totally appreciate what it’s like. Looking out of the window of the plane all I could see was flat.
Totally flat.
Depressingly flat.
I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t heard from John, I mean how long could it take to get the address of someone he knew.
Since it appeared I had some time before I heard from John and I could get to work on trying to contact Ilox and finding Melissa, I decided to see if I could find Snooker. At least I had his address and I could enter it into my car’s Garmin.
Lois had already arranged a car for me and it was sitting next to the plane as I stepped down the stairs. I could get really used to having a person like Lois to arrange things and move around the country in my own private jet.
The Garmin showed me a map and driving directions and I thought how amazing things were. There are devices that can do away with the old folded paper maps and get you directions to any place you can think of to to go in just minutes. Shucky Darn. Ain’t things wonderful.
The Garmin told me to head out to the freeway and which way to go to get to North Fort Myers. When I crossed over the Caloosahatchee River Bridge I realized I was perhaps on the tallest point for miles around. I took the next exit after the bridge and then headed west. Within three miles of leaving the freeway I was instructed to turn south and I headed back towards the river. Just before the river I found a small enclave of condominiums with a small boat basin in the middle. The canal running the length of the little marina emptied into the river and I knew from there it was possible to eventually get out to the Gulf of Mexico. The units were older, but extremely well maintained. I located the building and the unit I wanted and parked in a visitor’s parking space.
The unit I was seeking was upstairs and after climbing the stairs, I knocked on the screen door. A minute or so passed and then the door behind the screen was opened by a plump Hispanic woman in her late forties or early fifties. “May I heped you?” she asked.
“Good afternoon, I’m looking for a Mr. Frost. Thomas Frost.”
The woman smiled at me and motioned for me to enter. “He here. You come!” I walked down the short entry hall and then stepped into a nicely furnished living room. The far wall of the room was all sliding doors that looked out onto a lanai and then onto the waterway servicing the small boat basin.
Sitting on the lanai in an old woven planter’s chair under a slow turning ceiling fan with his feet on a wicker ottoman, was an older man with a round pleasant face and a fluffy white ring of hair. The top of his head was bald, but tan. He was wearing tan slacks, a laundered dress shirt with the collar open and even though the day was warm, he was wearing a dark blue blazer. On his feet he was wearing a pair of slippers. I asked if he was Tom Frost and he smiled at me and agreed. He motioned towards an empty chair across from him. “Please sit,” he requested. “May I offer you a drink?”
As I sat, I said, “No thanks. I’m fine for now.” I looked at him and I thought I could detect the younger man I’d known as Snooker, but time had altered both his appearance and my recollections. I wasn’t totally sure.
The old man smiled at me as he folded his hands in his lap. “Thank you for visiting me. I don’t get many visitors nowadays. What can I do for you young man?” He continued smiling at me.
I liked his remark about addressing me as young man. “Do you remember me?” I asked.
“I think you look familiar, but I couldn’t tell you your name or when or where we met.
My guess is we met in Viet Nam. There are parts of the old brain that seem like Swiss cheese now.”
I laughed at that. I knew he was somewhere in his eighties and he looked in good condition. His eyes were bright and when I shook his hand, he had a firm handshake. I could see no reason to play games with him and I thought it was better to get to the point of my visit. “Sir, my name is Matt Preston. We never actually formally met when we were in Viet Nam, but we knew one another by sight. I saw you play pool a couple of times and it was truly impressive. I understand your nickname is Snooker, or should I say was? Is that correct?”
The old man had a nice laugh. He seemed to like my question. “Yeah, but that was a long, long time ago. That was when I could actually wield a stick, when I could really shoot a game of pool. Nowadays I can’t even bend over for very long. I try and take a shot and then when I have to stand up? Well, let’s just say there’s a lot of pain and it isn’t worth the effort. May I ask why you’re asking?”
“Do you know a man named Davidson? David Davidson?”
The elderly man carefully crossed his legs and straightened the crease on his pants. From the look on his face, I could see I had brought up an unpleasant subject. “Why are you asking me about him? That’s really a part of my life I prefer not to dwell on. But,” Snooker gave a deep sigh, “to answer your question, yes I know Davidson. I take it you’re the person he called me about? The one who wanted to talk to me about Heyward Hollis?”
“Yes sir. Davidson told me you thought you’d seen Heyward Hollis recently, out in Portland. Is that true?”
I thought I saw a momentary look of fear flicker across his face. He uncrossed his legs and then re-crossed them. He kept his hands folded in his lap and looked down at them. When he looked up at me the fear in his eyes was more prevalent. “Again, why are you asking these questions? Davidson was unclear why he wanted the information.”
I’d thought this through on the plane and since there was really nothing the old fellow could do to me, I could see no reason to lie to him. “Well sir, about two and a half or three years ago I shot and killed Heyward Hollis.
“When I shot him, I saw the bullet hit him square on and I saw the light go out of his eyes as he fell over. Sorry to be so graphic, but there was no way he could have lived. There was no way you could have seen Heyward Hollis a couple of months ago.”
Frost sat there thinking for a moment. The smile had left his face and I could detect the intelligence in his eyes. He spoke slowly, “Let me get this straight. You say you and Hollis were in a gunfight and he shot at you and missed?” Any smile that had been on his face was completely gone and his look was now almost hostile. In a cold level voice, he told me, “Then you, my friend, are a damn liar.” His eyes were frosty.
Eventually he cleared his throat and continued. “If Heyward Hollis shot at you, he would have hit you. If he aimed to kill you, you’d be dead. He would have killed you as surely as I’m sitting here, he would not have missed.” His voice was so matter of face it was chilling.
I countered, “Mr. Frost, I don’t believe I said we were in a gunfight, and I don’t know who would have told you that but we’d been shooting at each other and I’d already shot him in the shoulder and the leg. He was in a lot of pain when he shot at me and missed.”
“I’m sorry son, but you’re still a liar. There is no way he would have missed. How about you do an old man a favor, have a drink and then tell me the truth?” He opened his arms and held his hands out, inviting me to tell him what really happened.
I sat for a long time just staring at the old fellow sitting before me. I heard a timer go off somewhere in the back of the condominium. Obviously, the old fellow heard it too and he asked me to excuse him for a moment.
Mr. Frost carefully stood up and by the way he moved, he was in obvious pain the first few steps he took. He hobbled his way over to a small table at the edge of the lanai. On the table was a large conch shell. He looked at a clock above my head and waited a moment. From deep inside of the condo I heard a clock start to strike the five o’clock hour.
The old man put the shell to his lips and looking down the waterway towards the river, he blew on the shell, producing a long, mournful, somewhat lonely sound. The old fella had great lungs for a man his age because the whispers of tone lasted for a long time. He took another deep breath and putting the shell again to his lips, once more blew into the shell and again it emitted its somber tone. After the third time, he put the shell back from where he had picked it up. He turned and then returned to his seat. When he saw the puzzled look on my face, he smiled. “Curious?” he asked
I thought it was a stupid question. “Yes sir, very.”
He asked, “A story if I may?” I nodded my head. “I’ve lived here in this complex for many, many years. Back in the beginning there were a lot of us who liked to party together. Every evening we used to either honk a horn, or ring a bell or blow on a shell or a whistle to signify it was five o’clock. The bar was open.” I noticed the old man had a tear running down his face. “Now they’re all gone… everyone. All gone. It’s just me, son. I’m the last one and none of the new people know a damn thing about what went on before. They don’t know and they don’t care. So, every night I can I blow on the shell to help me remember.”
Mr. Frost sat quietly for a moment and then looked out across the waterway. He continued, “One reason I blow the shell is to let the community know it’s five. As I said, I’m the only one who does it nowadays. And the other reason is in memory of all my friends who are gone.” The old fellow took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. I was touched he would share that with me. This was a very personal thing and the man known as Snooker back in country had been one very nasty son of a bitch. Perhaps it’s true, age does mellow a person.
“Ya’ know what the worst thing about gettin’ old is?” I shook my head. “Watching all of your friends die. They’re all gone; it’s just me. I’m ready to die. I want to die. Everybody I cared about is gone.” He took a breath and it sounded like a sob. “Shit, I can’t even shoot a game of pool anymore. What’s the point of all this?” He waved his hand and wiped a tear from his eye. We sat for a moment, each of us deep in our own thoughts. Without any warning, the old man hollered, “Martha! Martha! Bring us each a Scotch.”
The Hispanic woman came bustling from the back and stared in. “Oh no, Mr. Tom, you know doctors say you not drink Scotch. Is not good for you—”
Frost interrupted her, “Martha, I am eighty-three years old. It doesn’t matter anymore. Fuck the doctors! Now please my dear, bring us the Scotch.”
As she headed to the back of the condo I listened to his housekeeper muttering to herself, “God know how hard I trying keep Mr. Tom alive. That man he do all he can undo my efforts. Dios Mio, Mr. Tom not listen.”
Mr. Frost smiled at me as he whispered, “She means well. I need her, but in ways she is worse than a wife!” I smiled at his comment. Eventually she brought us two large glasses full of ice and what looked like two powerful drinks. I took a sip and I was correct about the strength, and the Scotch was an excellent brand. Martha may keep ol’ Tom on a short leash drink wise, but when she let him stray, she let him have very good stuff.
We both took deep sips from our drinks and after he placed his on the side table, he asked, “Okay, now are you ready to tell me the truth Mr. Preston?”
I thought about it and decided there really was no reason not to level with the old fellow. I told him the whole story. When I told him how Price had bolted when I surprised him I noticed Snooker raised his eyebrows. I understood how he felt. In the past, the Price we knew would never have run.
When I got to the part how Hollis had blamed me because his lover had fallen and broken his leg on dog shit left by my dog, Frost stopped me. “Are you telling me that Price and Hollis were homosexuals?” I smiled and Frost exclaimed. “Bullshit! But, it’s your story. Continue.�
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I went on with my story and when I finished Snooker sat with his eyes closed. Eventually he opened his eyes, took a deep swallow of his drink and smiled at me. “Thank you for telling me the truth, what really happened. I do believe what you just told me. My guess is Hollis must have been in a lot of pain to miss you when you exchanged gunfire. You should consider yourself very lucky to be alive. When Hollis shot at you, by all rights, you should be dead Mr. Preston!” I know firsthand how incredibly good Hollis was with any kind of weapon, so I could appreciate why Snooker had been reluctant to believe my story at first.
“But we seem to have a few problems, Mr. Preston. I would swear on my dead mother’s grave I saw Heyward Hollis in Portland. From the story you just told me, I believe you also shot and killed somebody named Heyward Hollis This is most strange.
“What also bothers me is you say ah… let’s call him ‘your Hollis’ was a homosexual?” We sipped our Scotch. At one point, he leaned forward and told me, “I regret that I can’t offer you a solution to your dilemma. You know what you saw and did that day in the lighthouse and I know what I saw in Portland. It would seem that one of us is somehow in error. I’ll make some calls, but I don’t hold much hope for a solution. As I told you earlier, the older I get the more people I used to know have left us. But I’ll try and see if there is an answer to our, well, I guess conundrum is the best word.”
I finished my drink and as I set the empty glass down and stood, he made another little grunt and struggled to stand again. As he extended his hand I helped him stand. He smiled at me and said, “Thank you. I’m thrilled you would take the trouble to come here and chat with me.” I started to speak and he held up his hand. “As I said, I have some phone calls to make and I’m sure you want to go and check some things as well. I’ve enjoyed our chat.”
I in turn took his frail hand in both of mine and I also told him how gratified I was that he had taken the time to see me. As I was turning to leave, I looked back and asked, “By the way, what did…” I stopped and thought for moment and then chuckled, “well, let’s call him, ‘your Hollis’, what did he look like?”
The Gypsy Queen: A Matt Preston Novel (Matt Preston Series Book 3) Page 14
