Sullivan's sting

by Lawrence Sanders

  As he sipped his drink, he examined the woman in the mirror behind the bar. If she had been weeping when he first saw her, she certainly wasn't now. In fact, she was puffing on a cigarette, working on a boiler-maker, and chatting animatedly with the bartender. Simon thought her attractive: a gamine with a helmet of short blond hair.

  He waited until the bartender was busy making fresh mai tais. Then he stepped closer to the woman.

  "I beg your pardon," he said, smiling, "but I believe I saw you at Sparco's brokerage, and I wondered if you're a client."

  She looked at him, expressionless. "No," she said, "I'm not a client. I'm Nancy Sparco, the schnorrer's wife."

  "Oh," Simon said, startled. "Sorry to bother you."

  "You're not bothering me. Bring your drink over and talk to me. I hate to booze alone. People will think I'm a lush, which I'm not."

  He took the barstool next to her.

  "You've met my husband?" she said.

  He nodded.

  "A prick," she said. "A cheap, no-good, conniving prick. But that's neither here nor there. What's your name?"

  "Simon Clark."

  "Where you from, Simon?"

  "Chicago."

  "Nice town. Greatest shopping in the world. Married?"

  "Yes," he said, "but I'm not working at it. Neither is my wife."

  "I know exactly what you mean. My marriage isn't the greatest either." "May I buy you a drink?" he asked.

  "Why not. Where are you staying, Simon?"

  "At a hotel on the Gait Ocean Mile."

  "Good," she said. "As long as it's not the YMCA."

  Two hours and two drinks later they were in his hotel room. He thought her the wittiest woman he had ever met: vulgar, raunchy, with a limitless supply of one-liners, some of which went by too fast to catch.

  When she undressed and took off her cork wedgies, she was positively tiny.

  "My God," he said, "this is like going to bed with a Girl Scout."

  "A Brownie," she corrected. "You'll notice my collar and cuffs don't match. But the lungs aren't bad-right? The best silicone money can buy. I'll never drown."

  She showed him how they could manage, with her sitting atop him. He was amenable, but she wouldn't stop talking, and he was laughing so much he was afraid he couldn't perform. Finally he told her to shut up, for five minutes at least.

  "May I groan?" she asked, but then was reasonably quiet while she rode him like a demented jockey.

  When they finished, she took his wrist and lifted his arm into the air. "The winner and new world champion!" she proclaimed. "When's the rematch?"

  "In about twenty minutes," he said. "Shall I call down for drinks?"

  "Please," she said. "A whiskey IV. Mommy needs plasma."

  Later in the afternoon, when they were just lazing around and sipping sour mash bourbon, she said, "Don't go back to Chicago, Simon. Not just yet."

  "It depends," he said.

  "You got any money?" she asked suddenly.

  He wondered if she was a pro, and she caught his expression.

  "Not for fun and games, dummy," she said. "I'm no hooker. I mean real money."

  "I'm not rich, but I get by."

  She sighed. "I've got this great idea for a new business. It would be profitable from Day One. So I go to my dear hubby for start-up cash, and the asshole stiffs me. He's loaded, but it's all for him, none for me."

  "Maybe he wants to keep you dependent on him."

  "Yeah, that's probably it. He knows if I ever had my own income, it'd be goodbye Mort."

  "What's this new business you want to start?"

  "An escort service," she said. "Covering the Miami-Lauderdale area. Listen, next to drugs, tourists are Florida's biggest cash crop. Men and women come down here on vacation and want a good time. But they don't know anyone. They don't know where to go, what to see. I'd provide escorts-young, good-looking guys and dolls-they could hire for an hour, an evening, a day, a week, to show them around, best restaurants and so forth. Keep them from getting lonely. What do you think?"

  "Sex?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "It wouldn't be in the contract, but if the escorts want to make a private deal, it would be up to them. As long as my agency gets its fee. I pay the escorts a percentage and pocket the rest. The escorts can keep the tips, if any."

  "You know," he said, "it just might go."

  "Can't miss," she said. "I could even arrange boat charters and things like that. And I'd screen the escorts carefully. All clean, tanned kids. South Florida is full of beach bums, male and female. I'd recruit a choice staff who have table manners, know how to dress and talk and dance and show the tourists a good time."

  He poured them more bourbon. "What do you figure your start-up costs would be?"

  "Twenty-five thousand at least. Possibly more. Because I want this to be a class operation. And listen, there are a lot of ways to make an extra buck. Like getting kickbacks from restaurants and nightclubs for steering clients there. Ditto for jewelry stores, hotels, and expensive boutiques. It could be a gold mine. You got twenty-five grand to spare?"

  "I wish I did," he said. "As a matter of fact, I did have it a week ago. But then I met your husband."

  "Mooch!" she jeered. "You can kiss those bucks goodbye. What'd he put you in-penny stocks?"

  "For starters. But those made money."

  "The old come-on. Did you see any of the money he said you made?"

  "Well … no. It was reinvested, plus more."

  "Uh-huh, that sounds like Mort. What are you in now?"

  "Something called the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund."

  "Yeah," she said, "I heard him talking on the phone about that. I don't know what it is, but all his buddies are in on it so it's got to be a scam. I call them Captain Crook and his Merry Crew."

  "Your husband is Captain Crook?"

  "Nah, he's just one of the crew. The Captain is a guy named David Rathbone, a handsome devil who hasn't got a straight bone in his body."

  Clark did some heavy thinking. "Maybe I can get my money back from your husband," he said.

  "Fat chance! Once he's got his paws on your green, it's his, to have and to hold till he croaks."

  "If I could get it back," he persisted, "maybe we could talk some more about your escort service."

  "Hey," she said, "that would be great."

  "Tell me something," he said. "If I could come up with the money you need, would you leave your husband?"

  "Is the Pope Catholic?" she cried. "I'd be gone so fast all he'd see would be palm trees waving in my wind."

  "And move in with me?" Clark asked, staring at her.

  She didn't blink. "I learned a long time ago, you don't get something for nothing in the world. You bankroll my business, and I'll do whatever turns you on."

  "Okay," he said, "then we've got a deal. Give me your home phone number so I can reach you if anything breaks. You can always call me here at the hotel. Leave a message if I'm out."

  She nodded, rose, and began dressing. "How soon do you think it'll be?"

  "It may take weeks," he said. "Even a month. Try to be patient."

  "I'm good at that," she said. "Meanwhile we can be getting to know each other better."

  "It couldn't be much better than this afternoon."

  She left, and he showered and dressed. Then he went downstairs to drive to headquarters. Now he had something to put in his report.

  Something, but not everything.

  30

  They started for Lakeland early in the morning, David driving the Bentley.

  "We should be there by noon," he said, "if the traffic isn't too heavy. My meeting will take an hour or so. Then you and I'll have lunch and do some sightseeing before we head back. We should be home around eight o'clock."

  "Whatever you say, boss," Rita said, yawning. "I think I'll grab a little shut-eye. You didn't let me get much sleep last night. Where did you learn those tricks?"

  "Mommy taught me," he said, laughing.


  "You've never mentioned your parents, David. You did have parents, didn't you? I mean you weren't just found in a cabbage patch?"

  "Oh, I had parents," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Plus two brothers and a sister. All of them so straight they were practically rigid. I was the Ebony Sheep, in trouble since the age of seven when I was caught playing doctor and nurse with the little girl next door. I knew even then I'd cut loose from that family as soon as I could."

  "You ever hear from them?"

  "Hell, no! And that's just the way I want it."

  "Don't you have an urge now and then to write or phone them? After all, they are your family."

  "Go to sleep," he said, and she did.

  It was a hot, hazy day with not much breeze stirring. They drove northward on U.S. Highway 27, through part of the Everglades, around Lake Okeechobee. The scenery kept changing: dense woods, arid patches of scrub pine, condo developments, lakes and canals, swamps, golf courses, somnolent little towns, and roadside diners that advertised alligator steaks. Everyone they saw was moving slowly in the heat. Some of the women carried parasols, and in every patch of shade, no matter how small, a hound lay snoozing.

  They stopped once to gas up and gulp a cold Coke. Then they pushed on and were in Lakeland a little after noon. It looked like any other whitewashed Florida city with elderly tourists rocking on the verandas of ancient hotels. But there were a lot of out-of-state cars, and the souvenir shops were doing a brisk business in carved coconut masks, shell picture frames, and necklaces of shark teeth.

  "What do the people who live here do besides clip the tourists?" Rita asked. "I mean, how do they make a living?"

  "Probably take in each other's laundry," Rathbone said. "I hope I remember the directions. Yep, here's the street, and there's the church. Now I make a right, go five blocks and hang a left. We dead-end at a park."

  "You're going to have a meeting in a parkV

  "That's the way the printer wanted it," David said. "I wasn't about to argue. Ah, here we are."

  He pulled into a turnaround and stopped the car. Ahead lay a broad spread of flat lawn, nicely manicured, and trimmed palm trees surrounding a stretch of clear water, more pond than lake. There were meandering walkways, benches, clumps of scarlet hibiscus. Lovers were strolling, a family was picnicking on the grass, two small boys were trying to get a kite aloft on a windless day. It was a painted scene, artfully composed, gleaming with sunlight.

  "Nice place for a do-or-die meeting," David said. "I'll wander around, and my guys will see me or I'll see them. You take the car, drive downtown, do some shopping, have a drink. Just remember to be back here in an hour. Don't forget me."

  "I won't forget you," Rita said. "Maybe I'll look for a place where we can have a decent lunch."

  "Good idea," he said. He took a manila envelope from the glove compartment, and she recognized it as the same one that had contained the Crescent Bank money. He kissed her cheek and got out of the car.

  "Don't talk to any sailors," he warned.

  "In the middle of Florida?" she said, laughing. "That would be some trick."

  She drove away without looking back. It took her less than twenty minutes to find a reasonably modern hotel. At least it was air-conditioned and had a public phone in the lobby. She called Anthony Harker in Lauderdale, collect.

  "What the hell are you doing in Lakeland?" he asked. "No ocean there."

  "He's got a meeting in a public park, if you can believe that."

  "Oh? With whom?"

  "Beats me. But he talks of 'guys,' so it must be more than one. He took the envelope of cash I got from the Crescent Bank in Boca. And he let something slip. I asked him how come he was having a meeting in a park, and he said that's the way the printer wanted it."

  "The printer?" Tony said, voice excited. "You sure he said printer?"

  "That's what he said."

  "Beautiful. The first good lead we've had on that phony check. No way you can get a look at the printer?"

  "Nope. Not without risking my cover."

  "Then play it cozy. I'll take it from here. How many first-class counterfeiters can there be in Lakeland? I'll find him. Nice work, Rita. When am I going to see you?"

  "I'll try to finagle something. An afternoon or evening."

  "Try," he urged. "I went to the beach over the weekend."

  "You did? Great! Did you get a tan?"

  "No," he said, "I got a red. But at least I didn't break out or peel."

  "Good for you," she said. "Now go for the bronze."

  She hung up and wandered about the hotel. She found a little restaurant and bar tucked into one corner. It was decorated in Key West style, with overhead fans and planked tables scrubbed white. Not a soul in the place except for the bartender, who looked to be one year younger than God and was reading a romance paperback titled Brazen Virgin.

  Rita ordered a frozen daiquiri and it turned out to be excellent, not too tart, not too sweet.

  "Kitchen open?" she asked him, looking around at the empty room.

  "I can open it," he offered.

  "You're the chef?"

  "And bartender. And waiter."

  "I'd like to bring a friend back for lunch in about an hour," she said. "Could I see a menu, please."

  "I'm also the menu," he said. "Today I can fix you some eggs, any style; a hamburger I wouldn't recommend for a nice lady like you; or homemade lentil soup."

  "How about a salad?"

  He thought a moment. "Would you settle for canned shrimp? I got all the greens; they're fresh. And I make my own dressing."

  "You've got a deal," she said. "How about some white wine to go with it?"

  He rummaged in a cupboard and dragged out a dusty bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse. "Here's some pooly-foos," he said. "Will that do?"

  "Just fine. Put it on ice to chill. Okay?"

  "I think I got a corkscrew," he muttered. "Somewhere."

  She had a second daiquiri, then drove back to pick up David. When she reached the turnaround, she saw him out on the lawn with the two boys, trying to launch their kite. He was running like a maniac, but the kite just kept bumping along the ground behind him. Then he saw the Bentley, waved, handed the string to one of the kids.

  He came over to the car, grinning. He really was a beautiful man, she decided: blond hair tousled, flashing smile, everything about him alert and active, taut body bursting with energy. The golden boy at play.

  "I couldn't get it up," he said.

  "That's the first time you've had that problem. How did the meeting go?"

  He made the A-OK sign. "Couldn't have been better. We're going to be rich rich."

  "Good," she said. "That's better than poor poor. Let's go eat."

  On the drive back to the hotel, she told him about the ancient bartender-chef-waiter-menu, and the lunch they were going to have.

  He laughed. "I love that pooly-foos," he said. "But who cares what he calls it as long as it's cold. I could drink the whole bottle myself."

  "My God, you're wired," she said. "That meeting was a real upper."

  "It went great," he said. "One little drawback, but I know how to get around that."

  They were the only diners in the restaurant, and the old man fussed about them anxiously. He poured their wine with a trembling hand and beamed at their approval. He brought the salad in a big wooden bowl, enough for four, and let them help themselves. The shrimp were undeniably canned, but there were a lot of them, and everything else was fresh and crisp.

  "You picked a winner," Rathbone said to Rita. "I wonder why this place isn't mobbed."

  "No chrome, no plastic, no chili dogs or french fries. By the way, he also makes the world's best frozen daiquiri."

  "For dessert," David said.

  They sat sprawled for almost an hour after they had finished lunch and the table had been cleared.

  It was getting close to three o'clock, and the bartender had disappeared into the kitchen. There were occasional muted sounds
from the lobby and outdoors, but quiet engulfed the room, and they spoke in hushed voices, not wanting to shatter the spell.

  "About our being rich," David said, "I meant it. I have two deals in the works that are shaping up as winners, plus my investment service. I figure to give it another year and cash in."

  "And then?"

  "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder."

  "Both of us?"

  He lifted her hand, kissed her fingertips. "Yes," he said. "Both of us."

  "You won't have to hustle anymore?"

  "Not if the payoff is as big as I figure. I don't mean we'll be able to light our cigarettes with hundred-dollar bills, but we'll be able to live very comfortably indeed. We won't have to count pennies."

  "You'll really take me with you?"

  He kissed the palm of her hand. "You remember the morning after our first night together?"

  "When you told me to move in?"

  "Right. I said it was love at first sight. You thought I was conning you, and maybe I was. Then. But I'm not conning you now. I love you, Rita. More than that, I need you. You're the most important thing in my life."

  "That's heavy," she said.

  "It's the truth. It's why I'm getting into these new deals. To make enough for both of us to have the good life. You like all the perks that money can buy. So do I. Neither of us wants to live like a peasant."

  She looked down at their linked hands. "You're right," she said in a low voice. "I've never had as much as you've given me. Have I ever said, Thank you'? I'll say it now: Thank you."

  "You don't have to thank me. I don't want your gratitude; I want your love. And besides, you've paid me back just by being there when I need you. Did I tell you I'm addicted to you? Well, I am. But what about you? I've never really asked if you'd be willing to spend the rest of your life with me. It would mean leaving the country and probably never coming back. Could you do that?"

  She gave him a twisted smile. "I don't know. When you talked before about cashing in and taking off, I thought that's all it was-talk. But now you're serious, aren't you?"