Текст книги "Surface Tension"

Автор книги: Christine Kling

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

He flashed those incredibly white teeth of his at me again, and I felt like an idiot grinning back at him. “Tai chi, actually. I like the study of the Taoist philosophy, and it keeps me in shape, teaches me things about the body. I try to come for classes here several times a week.” He pointed a few doors down to a storefront with Chinese characters across the front window and the words Florida Kung Fu and Tai Chi Chuan. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to join me for a late lunch?”

Truth be told, I was starving. My eating habits these last few days would have had Red steaming mad. He was always trying to get me to eat more regularly. He claimed I preferred to graze, eating only when I was hungry. The thing was, though, I needed to get back to the cottage and call Jeannie. I’d promised B.J.

“James, I’m tempted, but I’ve really got to get back. If you’ve got a second, though, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Certainly, Seychelle. How can I help you?”

“I went by Harbor House yesterday.” I decided not to get into his little deception about Sunny/Sonya when I’d first met him on Saturday. “When I was leaving, I heard Minerva on the phone with somebody named Burns. Do you know Hamilton Burns, an attorney?”

“Of course. We’ve been involved in legal matters with Mr. Burns on several occasions. He is very well known in this town.”

“What kind of legal matters?”

“I’m sorry, Seychelle, I really can’t discuss that with you. You realize, of course, that there is a very sensitive side to what I do. Sometimes these runaways come from families that would rather not let it be known that their little darlings ended up on the streets. They want to make any criminal charges go away and whisk them back to their former lives. Burns helps them with that.”

“That’s not right.”

“It’s not a bad thing. What about the ones no one ever misses? Look, are you sure you won’t join me?” he went on. “We could continue this conversation over margaritas over at Carlos and Pepe’s?” He pointed to the restaurant across the parking lot.

I sighed and looked at him and came real close to giving in and going. James Long was damned likable. Some other day, when all this is over I thought, if we are both left standing when the dust clears, I would really like to get to know him better.

XIX

I was about to turn onto my street when I noticed the white unmarked car parked across and a few doors up from the Larsen place. The thunderheads had cast an early dusk over the street, but I could still make out two shadowy figures sitting in the front seat. I just kept driving right into the cul-de-sac, where the street dead-ended at the New River. I parked the Jeep and climbed over the wood fence around the Martinez place. The fences on these riverfront properties, when there were any, ran only to the seawall.

The Larsens’ yard was clear. I didn’t even see B.J. around. I had hoped he might be on the Gorda piecing that head back together, but no such luck. Once inside my cottage, I knew I had to do something about food. It was already past four and I hadn’t eaten a thing since the quick meal I’d grabbed from Burger King the night before. I rummaged through my cupboards, finally coming up with the last dented can of Campbell’s bean-with-bacon soup. While it cooked in the microwave, I tried Jeannie’s number again, and amazingly, she picked up on the second ring.

“Jeannie, it’s Seychelle.”

“Oh, thank God. I was just about ready to call the police and report you as a missing person. Honey, you’ve got to stop worrying me like this. You’ve got to check in

more often. These are not nice people you’re playing around with.”

“This is not something you need to tell me, trust me, Jeannie. I’ll tell you all about that in a bit, but first, have you found out anything sure about the owners yet?”

“Okay, well, here’s the deal. Everywhere I turned, I kept getting the door slammed in my face. Finally, I decided the only way I was going to get through was to use a little deceit. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say I could get disbarred over this one. Anyway, I was right, it’s Benjamin Crystal still . . . he never really sold the boat. Well, I mean, he sold it, but he sold it to himself. The company that owns the boat is located in the Caymans and it goes through subsidiaries of larger corporations, but it all comes back to Mr. Benjamin Crystal.”

“That son of a bitch.”

“He is that.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Neal had known all along. He had to have known, he was captain of the boat. All that bullshit he’d given me about how it would be different once the boat was sold. Lies. All lies. “What does this mean to us, Jeannie? To my salvage claim?”

“Well, it’s not going to be easy. I couldn’t exactly explain to a court of law the way I found out. I think we should continue dealing with Burns. I’ll fire him another counteroffer and let’s keep our knowledge of the real owner as our trump card.”

“Okay, that sounds good.”

Suddenly someone started pounding on the front door. My heart felt like it was trying to leap out of my chest. Abaco began to bark.

“Seychelle, open the goddamn door.”

Abaco stopped barking, and she was wagging her tail. We both recognized that voice. “Honey,” Jeannie said, “what is going on over there?”

“I thought for a second it was the cops, but it’s my brother, Maddy. I’ve got to go, Jeannie. Call Burns and then call me back. Talk to you later.”

Maddy strode in with his face looking like a bruised, overripe peach. One eye was covered with gauze and bandages, his lip was swollen and split with black knotted thread holding the two halves together and the swellings on his cheek and forehead were that greenish purple color of day-old bruises and bottle flies. Metal splints like birdcages surrounded the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He headed straight for the fridge, opened the door, and helped himself to a beer. Popping the top one-handedly, he settled on the low couch with a loud exhale.

“We gotta talk.” He gulped the beer.

“You really look awful. What are you doing out of bed?”

“I’ve got a business to run. Family to support. You don’t look so good yourself.”

I rubbed the bruise on my temple. “Yeah, well, long story.”

“I need the money. Now, Seychelle.”

“Maddy, I’ve got the cops sitting out front watching for me—they’re probably on their way back here right now. I don’t have time for this. You’ve got to get out of here.” Standing over him, I tried to pull him up off the couch.

“I came here to say something and I’m gonna say it. Settle this salvage business and sell the boat. That’s it.”

“Maddy, what the hell is happening with you? You know I’ll fight you any way I can on this—that boat’s my life.”

He lowered his face into his hands. He was still for the longest time.

I sat down next to him and put my arm around him. He shook me off, irritated.

Sinking back into the far corner of the couch, I tried breathing slowly. Stop reacting like a twelve-year-old, I told myself. Calm down, relax. “Maddy,” I said in a soft voice, “can you tell me what this is really all about? What have you got yourself into?”

At first he didn’t say anything. I was tense, poised for flight, not sure what my volatile big brother might burst out with.

“They sent me over here, Sey.” He spoke quietly, his hands on his knees, and then he stuck out his chin, letting me get a good look. “See my face? The people who did this to me—they sent me over here to talk to you. I owe ’em . . . shit, I don’t even want to tell you how much. I know it was stupid, but like every other goddamn sucker out there, I thought I would win.” He shook his head and sighed. “Anyways, they’re threatening to take my boat. I got a family, Seychelle. There ain’t squat I can do besides take assholes out fishing. I know you can always go back to lifeguarding or something. Hell, you’re really smart, you could go back to college and get out of boats for good. You and Pit, you were always the smart ones—you could do anything. Not me. I can’t lose that boat. They told me to make you settle with them—to call in the debt on the Gorda, to put the screws on you so you’d see things their way. They said if you don’t help them out, they’re gonna hurt you, bad.”

“What are you talking about, Maddy? Who are these people you keep referring to as ‘they’?”

“See, that’s just it, Seychelle. You ask too many questions. I’m at the track and I’m losing, and some guy tells me that if I call this other guy, he can loan me some money. I don’t ask for no references. I don’t really want to know who the guy is. The point is, I owe these guys a lot of money. And now they’re sending some dude about as wide as he is tall to play basketball with my head in the track parking lot. He’s saying, ‘Shut your sister up, we want her out of the salvage business for good.’ They beat the crap out of me because I can’t make you cooperate, and they’re going after you next. Only next time it won’t just be a beating.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Maddy. What do loan sharks at the track have to do with what happened on the Top Ten?”

“Like I said, Sey, you ask too many questions. If you want to save both our boats, and butts, then just shut the fuck up, take their money, tell them whatever they want to know, and count yourself lucky.”

Maddy stood and crushed the beer can in his good fist as though to punctuate his sentiments. He walked over to the counter and lifted the photo of me and Neal I had found on the Top Ten. He squinted as though trying to recognize the people in the picture. “What do you reckon happened to Neal?”

“I don’t have any idea, Maddy.” I snatched the photo from his hands and slid it out of sight into the zippered side pocket of my shoulder bag along with the photo of my mother and us kids I’d rescued from my trashed cottage.

“If he was still alive,” he said, “I suppose he’d probably contact you—if he contacted anybody. These guys I’ve been talking about, they’d pay a lot of money to know where Neal is—enough money to get me out of debt for good.”

“I don’t know any more about it than you do.” “Seems Neal was mixed up with these people pretty deep. Wouldn’t make sense for you to protect him, after the way he treated you and all.”

He never was very subtle, my brother but I had always at least thought he would honor family loyalty. It appeared he had sold out loyalty to anybody but himself a long time ago.

“That’s it. Just shut up and get out of here, Maddy. I’m going to take care of it. If they ask again, you tell your ‘friends’ that I don’t know anything about Neal. In the meantime, I am going to come up with some way to get us all out of this. I can’t get you out of debt—that’s your problem—but I am not going to let anybody else get beat up or killed.” With that I shoved him out the door and shut it in his face.

I wished I could believe what I’d just said.

Through the closed door I heard him say, “Leave it be, Seychelle. Listen to me. Don’t fuck with them.”

It occurred to me I had heard almost those exact words from someone else. Burns. He, too, had told me that these were not people to anger.

I took my lukewarm soup out of the microwave and turned on the TV to catch the news. Suddenly, I was aware of the overpowering sensation of being watched. I glanced around at all three windows, thinking I might see the same glimpse of a head as I had that night with James.

I stood upright, opened the front door and scanned the grounds. Stepping outside into the sunshine, I listened. Mockingbirds singing, insects humming, no noises to trigger this sense that someone was out there.

The cops had seen Maddy come in here. They might even have been able to hear him shouting my name.

The back door to the Larsens’ swung open. I started to jump back inside when I recognized B.J. He waved at me.

“Hey, you fugitive, you.”

“What?” I crossed the yard to speak to him.

“You’re a wanted woman. A couple of police officers just came to the front door. I hadn’t worked on the library here in over a week, and I’d just started back to work when they began beating on the door. They’ve got a warrant for your arrest on burglary and evidence-tampering, and the only good thing is, they think you live in the big house—evidently these guys don’t know about the cottage.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“But they did say they saw a man come back here.”

“That was Maddy. He just left.”

B.J. nodded. “Okay, I told them you weren’t home. I didn’t think you were until I saw you out the window just now.”

“I saw their car out there when I started to turn down the street, so I parked Lightnin’ on the cul-de-sac and walked down the seawall.”

He nodded. “Well, they’re still out there sitting in their car. You need to call Jeannie and deal with this, Seychelle, or you’re going to jail.”

“I’ve already talked to her, and I’m not going to jail, B.J. I didn’t do anything wrong—well, except a little breaking and entering, maybe.” I shrugged.

He shook his head and turned back into the main house.

The soup worked its magic as comfort food, and I felt myself growing drowsy. More than anything, I wanted to crawl under the covers and just sleep—probably not a good idea with the cops parked out front. As I washed my bowl in the sink, I figured I’d better call Jeannie back to let her know about the actual warrant and ask her what to do next.

Suddenly, the face on the TV screen looked familiar. I hadn’t been listening, so I didn’t really know what the story was about. The reporter was interviewing a man leaving a building, and I had seen that face somewhere just recently.

The reporter holding one finger to her ear, turned to face the camera. “Rick, Benjamin Crystal is refusing to answer any reporters’ questions about his arrest or release here at the Dade County Courthouse this evening. The prosecutor’s office has planned a press conference for later this evening, and we will be here to bring it to you live.” The camera panned back to the man climbing into the backseat of a large, dark-windowed car.

I snapped off the TV when the news anchor started in on a human-interest story about kittens. I remembered where I had seen that face. Harbor House. The photo on the wall with the three couples—Benjamin Crystal was the Hispanic man in that photo, standing next to James Long. Some things were starting to make sense.

I scooped up the papers I had found inside my copy of Bowditch, along with the coordinates from the Top Ten’s GPS, and walked out to Gorda. The alarm beeped when I punched in the code, and I slid the door to the wheelhouse open. The offshore chart for the coast from Palm Beach to lower Biscayne Bay was the best scale I could find in the chart table. My only large-scale charts were of the Intracoastal Waterway. Still, I’d be able to get an idea if I was right. I located the Hillsboro inlet on the chart. The Top Ten had been anchored south of there. Finally, I broke out the dividers and the parallel rulers and plotted the position of BAB. Latitude 26°09.52’N. I drew a pencil line. Longitude 80°04.75’W. Another line. I drew a dot on the chart where the two pencil lines intersected and chewed on the pencil eraser as I stared at it. I eyeballed the distance north of Port Everglades, and it looked just about right. I’d seen Esposito and Big Guy out there diving on what must be the Bahama Belle. The coordinates of the location of the sunken freighter were public knowledge. They knew where the boat was, so what was it that they still thought Neal could tell them?

I reached for Neal’s drawings. They reminded me a little of the reams of drawings I’d inherited from when Red built the Gorda. He’d had her designed by a professional naval architect, but Red sat in on every step of the process, bringing his twenty years of experience on navy ships to the task. He had saved all the drawings, which actually made things easier for me now when I needed to make repairs.

Neal’s drawing appeared to be of a compartment of some kind. Actually, there were two views, one overhead and one from the side. It could be a compartment in the bow of a ship. I could make out the bulkheads, the backbone that ran right up to the bow. In most ships, this part of the bow was where they stowed the anchor chain. But why hadn’t they found whatever it was they were looking for when they sank the the old rust bucket? It’s not like an anchor chain locker is a great hiding place.

I reached up and switched on the VHF radio hanging above the steering station. Taking the microphone, I waited for a break in the constant traffic and then called, “Outta the Blue, Outta the Blue, this is Gorda.”

Only a few seconds passed before he replied, “Gorda, this is Outta the Blue. Wanna switch to zero six?”

Once we were on the working channel, I asked Mike where he was. I could hear voices in the background.

“I’m just off Pompano headed south on a broad reach. I’ve got a charter of six legal secretaries celebrating one gal’s birthday. They wanted to know if it was okay with me if they sunbathed topless.” He held the transmit button long enough for me to hear his laugh.

“It’s a tough life you got, Mike. Listen, I hate to get serious on you, but I need to talk to you—but not on this open channel. Have you got a cell phone on board?”

“That’s a roger Captain Sullivan.”

“Could you call me at my place in about ten minutes?”

“Will do. This is Outta the Blue, clear and going back to channel sixteen.”

When I finally left the tug and started across the yard toward the cottage, the sound of the phone ringing caused me to trot. Just as I was about to pick it up, I thought that it could just as well be the cops calling from a phone out front. My hand froze for a moment, suspended over the phone. But I really needed to talk to Mike.

The machine clicked on and my recorded message told the caller to call back or leave a message. The machine beeped, and a young girl’s voice came on.

“Seychelle? Are you there? Please pick up if you are.” I recognized the voice, and she sounded nervous.

I snatched up the phone. “Sunny, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Like, you told me I could call you if I needed something, right? Well, I’m at the Top Ten Club, and ... I’m kinda scared. Could you come over here?”

“Sure, but what’s going on? What are you afraid of?”

“I just really want to leave. I need a ride. Please?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t tell you right now. Uh, shit, he’s coming back....”

“Hey, listen up.” There was no question about whose deep voice was speaking. “I like this girl. Mmm . . .” He laughed with that deep, throaty chuckle that made me want to reach through the phone lines and strangle him. “You want to see her? Hey, maybe you the kind likes to watch.” He laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “You don’t want me to hurt Blondie here, now, do you? Then come to the club. Alone. No friends. No cops.” The phone clicked and went dead.

Cesar sounded like he had been watching too many movies. In my mind, I went over all the reasons why it would be really stupid for me to dash off and go over there alone. The phone rang again, startling me, and I grabbed it without thinking this time.

“Hello, this is your local mid-Gulf Stream substation of the retired Fort Lauderdale Police Department. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Can you talk?”

“These ladies have had enough Outta the Blue special Pusser’s Rum punch. They won’t remember much of anything tomorrow. I’m countin’ on it. What’s up, Seychelle?”

“It’s not looking real good about now. The cops are looking for me. They’ve got a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Shit, Seychelle. How can I help?”

“What do you know about Benjamin Crystal?”

“His name does seem to keep popping up today.”

“You heard the news, huh?”

“Yep, on the radio at lunchtime. How’re you mixed up with that scumbag?”

I thought about my mother and Neal and Elysia, and how in the end I hadn’t been able to save a one. And now there was Sunny.

“I can’t tell you all about it right now, Mike. I’m not really in trouble yet, but I could be later. Listen, keep your VHF and your phone open for me all night. If you haven’t heard from me by daybreak, break out the cavalry and come looking, okay?”

“Sey, you can’t be messing around with these guys—” I slowly lowered the receiver into its cradle.

Maybe this would be my one chance to get it right, I thought as I gathered up my Jeep keys and shoulder bag and headed out the door.