The Wind Is Rising 1

by Daniel Steele

  She looked at me with a trace of amusement and something else. I think there was a serious edge there.

  “I think men are always looking for someone else.”

  I walked toward her before she could back away and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her to me and kissing her hard.

  “But not tonight.”

  As I took the elevator downstairs I thought about what I’d just seen and heard. We were fuck buddies. Friends. No romantic entanglements. And yet, I could have sworn that was jealousy I’d just seen flash in her. Which made no sense. You’re not supposed to be jealous of friends, even friends you’re fucking.

  Why in the hell wasn’t I still married? Where I could forget about all this teenage angst and just be an oblivious husband? Because I’d screwed up and Debbie had screwed up and here I was floundering back in the dating pool.

  I came out at the front of the complex and walked around to the back. I had to unlatch a gate, but they didn’t keep it locked. There were guard shacks with real guards with real guns at the only two entrances and exits to the complex so once you were in they were fairly casual, although if one of the roving patrols came by I’d get some questions.

  I had a momentary thought about what these units cost. They weren’t normal singles condos. These had to be lived in by people with serious money – at least serious money for Jacksonville and the South. From what I’d learned about Myra, she didn’t come from money. And I knew the finances of the State Attorney’s Office. No way could someone making SA wages – even at the upper level – afford a place like this. Without eating dog food and driving a used '78 beater of some kind. I knew Myra drove a Cherry Red 2005 Lexus ES 330 Sedan.

  The attorney in me couldn’t help wondering how she could afford this. How she could live like this and look like this on the wages of a glorified secretary or executive assistant. I wasn’t a fashionista, by many miles, but I knew enough from having been married to a woman who’d had to dress up for fashionable dances and conferences and social events to recognize that what Myra wore away from the office didn’t come from Wal-Mart, or K-Mart.

  High end clothing, high end wheels, high end living quarters. But I had to step on that entire line of thought. I knew virtually nothing about Myra, except, if she was telling me the truth and I thought she was, that she’d come from a tragic and traumatic and poverty-stricken childhood. I had no idea what her life had been like after South Florida. Had there been men in her life with serious money? Had she been married? Divorced? Was she a pre-nup divorcee? God knows she could have married very, very well.

  The bottom line was, I knew nothing about her. And I WAS NOT, WAS NOT, WAS NOT, WAS NOT going to lose what I’d just enjoyed because I couldn’t keep my curiosity in check.

  “OHHHHHHH SHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT.”

  I jogged to the back but nobody was dying, at least not right now. A head topped with a mass of jet black curls popped up out of the ice pool, as I knew it was called.

  “JESUS CHRIIIIIIIISTTTTTTTTT!”

  As I approached she lifted herself up on the edge of the pool and the higher she rose the more obvious her femininity became.’

  “Oh, God!”

  I handed her the thick, red and black towel that sat on a chair near the circular polar pool.

  She looked up between violent shivering and lifted one slim hand. I leaned over, grabbed and pulled her out in one motion. The weight training had made a difference. As she stood on the concrete I stepped behind her and wrapped the towel around her. We were almost the same height.

  “This is kind of a silly question, but why are you diving into an ice pool when the air temperature is about 45?”

  She rubbed herself, then wrapped it around the thick black curls and vigorously dried, which moved the towel so that the slim arms, small breasts, nipples hard as pebbles, and slender body flashed me.

  “You never saw a naked woman before?”

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to stare. You caught me by surprise. The question stands, though.”

  “It’s a rush. Greatest feeling in the world when the cold hits you and your whole body jerks and it feels like your heart is stopping, and then a second later you’re alive again. I even love the cold you feel after you come out.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve done this?”

  The look that she gave me said it all and I couldn’t help smiling.

  ”I wasn’t always old.”

  She kept drying careless of what she was showing. She pointed toward a pair of slacks and a sweater on a nearby chair. There were panties, but no bra. She dressed and I started to turn away.

  “Uh…nice to have…met you Miss. I think someone’s probably waiting at the front for me.

  “You don’t live here, do you?”

  “No.”

  She raised the sweater over her head, her breasts rising with the motion, the hard pink nubs jiggling.

  She saw me looking and said, “The only nice thing about an ‘a’ cup is that you don’t need a bra unless you really want one.”

  She looked behind me and an unfriendly expression flashed across her face.

  “Don’t tell me, you’re with her.”

  I looked back and saw Myra. She wore some of coat that came down to mid-thigh and belted at the waist. It was the color of caramel candy and looked as soft as it probably felt. I thought it was probably Armani. It looked like one I’d bought for Debbie for her 30th birthday.

  “Yes.”

  She looked at me differently then.

  “You don’t look like one of the guys she usually has here. So you must have money. You a millionaire?”

  “Just a guy.”

  She looked at her feet, then without raising her eyes to me she said softly, “Don’t get serious about her.”

  Myra was close to us then and I looked back. The expression she gave the dark haired girl wasn’t unfriendly, but not that friendly either.

  “Cassandra? I thought you’d be out with your boyfriend on a Friday night. One of them, anyway.”

  “He decided he’d rather go out drinking with his buds, Ms. Martinez. So I said, ‘fuck you,’ and decided to spend a quiet evening at home.”

  Myra looked at me and this time the signals were crystal clear.

  “I couldn’t find you out front, Bill so I come back here and here you are. It’s kind of cold for a dip tonight, isn’t it. Although Cassandra is young enough to enjoy braving the elements.”

  “It’s fun to do something wild sometimes. And your – friend, Bill – was nice enough to hand me my clothing. I forgot just how cold it gets when you come up. Especially if you’re not wearing anything.”

  Myra smiled broadly, although it was one of those female smiles.

  “Bill is a real gentleman. And he was probably concerned that you didn’t catch your death of cold. He has a daughter about your age.”

  I decided this was a good time to clear out.

  “Well, Myra, it’s getting close to 8. The Landing will be getting packed We need to get going. And Cassandra, it was a pleasure meeting you. You really do need to get inside and get warm. The ice pool is nice on a hot day, but you need to get indoors and get something warm inside you.”

  Myra smiled that smile again.

  “You’re right. We need to get going. And don’t worry about Cassandra. I’m sure she’ll get something – warm – inside her before the night’s over.”

  Cassandra just smiled back but as I turned to go she reached out to touch my shoulder and as I glanced back at her, she said, “Don’t forget what I said, Bill.” And then she was gone.

  I turned Myra around and walked her to the front with my hand at the small of her back. The ground was uneven enough to warrant it. But it also made it harder for her to stare at me.

  As we walked, she said, “Poor girl. She is so damned jealous of me. She could get implants, but…And her condo is a revolving door for guys, sometimes in packs. Her daddy is worth megabucks. Something in Holl
ywood. I made the mistake of introducing myself to him on one of the rare occasions he came to check on her and he smiled at me. She’s never forgiven me for that.”

  I kept my mouth tightly shut.

  As she placed her shapely ass on the passenger seat of my caddy and then swung those shapely legs in nylon in, she reached out and grabbed my arm.

  “I’m sorry, Bill.”

  “For what?”

  “For acting like such a jealous bitch back there, toward a teeny bopper. I know it was nothing. And I knew it was nothing. And I just got through lecturing you about keeping – things light. But-“

  I didn’t say anything. I had no idea what to say.

  “What I said. The rules. Keeping it light. We’re only friends. That’s for me, as well as you. You’re a romantic guy. I know that now. But, it would be so easy to- Never mind that. If I start acting stupid like that again, please, please tell me to get my head out of my ass. I want you to be my friend.”

  “I am, Myra. I am.”

  THREAD FOUR

  November 12, 2005

  Friday, 9 P.M.

  Tangerine, Satsuma County

  He stood in front of the plain wooden door with the insignia “Satsuma Sheriff’s Office” fading against the weathered wood grain. He kept the pose for 30 seconds, then made one full turn and leaned forward against the door. He placed his right hand on the heavy metal door knob and held the fingers steady. He focused his gaze focused on the “O” in office.

  The door swung open and he stepped in.

  “I’m home, honey.”

  Buddy Joe, one of the two deputies manning the security and communications desk at the front counter looked up from the Penthouse he was perusing. An empty coffee cup sat nearby. Overnight deputies went through a lot of coffee. Nobody wanted to be the guy caught by Blud sleeping on duty.

  “The conquering hero returns. You gonna wanna run by the emergency room to get stitched up. The way I heard it, some shrimp lawyer beat the shit out of you.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. But I think you might need someone to look at that hand of yours.”

  As Buddy instinctively looked down at his hands, Deacon grabbed the empty ceramic coffee cup with the Orange Satsuma logo on it and brought it down on the sitting deputy’s left hand resting on the desk.

  Pieces of ceramic from the heavy cup shattered. Buddy Joe staggered backward, screaming, “What the fuck? You bastard, you cock-sucking-“

  As the fat deputy reached down with his free hand for the Glock in a holster at his hip. Deacon centered the barrel of the .45 on his face.

  Without looking behind him he knew Harley was standing behind him with his shotgun half raised to firing position.

  “Stay out of this, Harley, and you’ll live longer.”

  Buddy Joe kept his good hand away from the Glock and instead gingerly cradled his smashed left hand, moaning as he did so.

  “Why the fuck did you do that, Deacon? I was just joking. You broke my fucking hand. God damn it hurts.”

  “I don’t like people laughing at me, Buddy Joe. You should know that. And Harley, if I turn around and you got that shotgun pointed anywhere close to my direction, we’re going to have some problems.”

  As he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Harley lowering the shotgun, stepping back toward the alcove that was invisible to anyone coming inside. He raised his hand in a ‘no harm, no foul gesture,” and Deacon turned back to Buddy Joe.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. It hurts. I got to go to the ER. But-“

  “Call Smith in off patrol. I think the county will be safe for a few hours while you go get that looked at.”

  Buddy Joe jerked at the soft, low voice coming from behind him, from behind the front counter. There was only a soft, low-watt light from behind the figure, casting it in shadow. The office was deliberately situated so the lights from the front were aimed away from the doorway.

  “Yessir,” Buddy Joe said quickly, “I’ll call him right now.”

  David Bludwurth stared at his chief deputy and that look would have chilled most of the men and occasional women who came through the front doors.

  “He started it, Blud.”

  They locked eyes for a moment and finally Bludwurth just shook his head and stepped back into his office, gesturing to Deacon to follow. As Deacon came through, Bludwurth was stepping back behind the washed oak desk with the nameplate reading “Sheriff David Bludwurth” atop it.

  As he sat down, he said, “We’ve talked about this before. You have to control that temper. I ought to dock your pay for his medical expenses.”

  Deacon sat down in the comfortably upholstered chair directly facing his boss and said, “In the first place, there isn’t going to be any medical bill. No damned doctor is going to be stupid enough to bill the department. In the second place, bill me. I’m good for it.”

  Bludwurth leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. Deacon thought again that he didn’t look like a nearly 60-year-old man. His hair, while thinning, was still jet back. The eyes were deep set and a strange shade of flecked green. He could understand that some women had described the Sheriff as a handsome man. And David Bludwurth with his power and money could have blazed a pretty wide trail through the pussy available in this small county, if his tastes had been inclined in that direction.

  “I know it wouldn’t mean anything to you to make you pay the bill, Tommy. Of course, I could just have you killed. That temper makes you careless, and that makes you dangerous.”

  Deacon took a deep breath. In a way, it was part of the fun of the game. It was like sitting in a room with a uncaged lion. The lion could take his life in an instant, if he decided he wanted to. Which was why you could never show fear.

  “Yeah, boss, you could have me killed. But how many other guys do you have working for you with half a brain. Guys that are loyal to you and have proved it over the years.”

  Bludwurth was silent for a moment. Even knowing how the game was going to end, you couldn’t sit through that silence with thinking about some of the things that had happened in this room over the years.

  “Not many, Tommy, not many. And I know you control that temper except when you know you can enjoy it, like you did out there. But truly, you overreacted. Buddy Joe will probably not be able to use that hand for weeks, or months.”

  “He’ll be fine. His fat ass is best used in here on the desk anyway.”

  “You drove straight through back from Jacksonville. You didn’t stop to eat?”

  “I wanted to get back here. I need a bottle and Meri Lou from the Waffle House. She’ll have me feeling a lot better in an hour or two. The whole thing was a cluster fuck.”

  “Tell me again what happened?”

  When Deacon had finished, Bludwurth just sat rocking gently back and forth.

  “Not your fault, Tommy.”

  “I know that. Who the hell could have guessed that fucking asshole Maitland would pick that one day to take a fucking heart patient who was liable to keel over at any time out into the fresh air? If the old man hadn’t been out there by the river, he’d be dead tonight.”

  “Yeah. You can’t plan for every possible glitch. What was your impression of Maitland.”

  “The luckiest little shit on this planet.”

  Under Bludwurth’s cold stare, Deacon added, “Cool customer. I don’t think he rattles easy. He didn’t believe a word of the warrant. And he’s not a bad boxer. I don’t think he’d be much as a brawler, but somebody’s taught him a little about boxing.”

  “Well, we’ll have to think about another way to get rid of Bell. But it can’t be anything that can be traced back to us.”

  “Why?”

  Deacon was up and pacing.

  “Why keep trying, and if you’re going to kill the old cocksucker, why worry about anybody thinking we did it?”

  Bludwurth tapped the desk over the left side, where bribes and illegal money was kept in the old old days.

  “Because we have been paid $100,00
0 by Mrs. Sutton to get her baby boy out of jail. A matter of pride.”

  Deacon knew it was stupid, but couldn’t help stopping and leaning forward on the desk.

  “I have never understood that. What the fuck is $100,000 to us? To you? You have so much damned drug money, and gambling, and prostitution, and more drug money running through here. Why go to so much trouble for penny ante cash from the old bitch. I’d have been really pissed if I’d gotten my head blown off by those Jacksonville cunts for pocket change.”

  “Since when is $100,000 pocket change?”

  “You can’t be that damned cheap. I don’t know anything, but I know or I have a feel for how much money you’re sitting on. A hundred grand is pocket change, Blud. It is.”

  Bludwurth stopped the rocking motion and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk.

  “How much money do you have in those accounts in the Bahamas, Tommy? Four-five million, right? At least that’s close.”

  Deacon stopped pacing. It almost chilled him to realize how much Bludwurth knew about everything.

  “Pretty close.”

  “Think about it, Tommy. If you weren’t here, working for me, how much money do you think you’d be worth? A million? A hundred thousand? Ten thousand. Or would you be working as a bouncer in some bar or leg breaker for some shark. Where could a guy like you, around here, ever make this kind of money?”

  “Probably nowhere.”

  “Yeah, nowhere. I’m just making the point that you’re worth that kind of money, enough money to let you retire someday a long way away from here, to let you raise Bobby’s boy to maybe get an education and have a good life, because of me and my family. And I can tell you one thing that Bludwurths have ALWAYS known. Money is money. There are no small payoffs and bribes and hauls from jobs.

  “Sure, we make a lot more money now from drugs than from gambling or whores or killing people. But things change. You can’t ever be sure the money will keep flowing in. So when somebody offers me $100,000 for a few hours work by my deputies and a few hundred dollars in gas, you’re damned right I’m going to take it.