Part 17 (2/2)

She said, ”I ain't giving you nothing.”

I walked around the counter and stood in front of her. She sat on one of the cooler's two chrome doors. I opened the other one and found a cold Coors. Julie looked furious but didn't move to stop me. I asked, ”What did I do to you?”

”You come close to getting Willie killed tonight for one thing.”

”What's the other thing?”

”Huh?”

”What else have I done to get you so mad?”

”You done enough. You mess with one of us down here and you messed with all of us.”

”Is Captain Billy one of you? Is Peety Boy?”

Julie's face flushed. She looked at the floor and muttered, ”You messed with Sonny.” Now, she had my full attention. ”Made him look bad to his boss. We ain't gonna put up with that.”

”What's Sonny to you?” Julie didn't answer. I said, ”He's on his way here, isn't he?”

Now she smiled. Sonny was coming to kill me.

chapter twenty-three.

”I know you want me to stick around and get dismembered by Sonny, but I'm leaving. Sorry.” As I spoke, Julie put her right foot against the counter, blocking my path by creating a bridge with her leg between the red cooler and the Formica counter. I said, ”You've got to be kidding,” and turned to put my left b.u.t.tock on the counter to swivel my legs over and leave.

But Julie really had not been kidding. I glimpsed an amber flash just in time to dodge an unopened bottle of Budweiser swung hard at my left ear. A violent breeze swept the tip of my nose as I jerked my head back and pivoted over the counter. Julie seemed to feel deeply about not wanting me to leave. I, on the other hand, felt just as deeply that rolling around the floor trading punches with a female fishmonger would irreparably damage my self-imagea”particularly if she won. So, as soon as my bare feet hit floorboards, I sprinted through the open front door and into the night. Julie's longneck exploded against the door frame behind me, but I was gone. Not only did Julie decline to chase me, which would have been undignified for both of us, but she also confounded expectations by failing to pelt my winds.h.i.+eld with bottled beverages as my rented Pontiac spun around the front corner of the shack and screeched onto the road. I could only guess that she was busy calling Sonny or maybe looking for one of Captain Billy's old shotguns.

This, I thought, is not why I went to law school.

A mile or two west of the causeway to St. George, a speeding Apalachicola Sheriff's Department cruiser met me on Highway 98, going, I suspected, where I had come from. I couldn't tell for sure whether the uniformed driver was my old compatriot Mickey Burns, since, speeding at eighty miles an hour through the night, one black-and-white looks pretty much like the next. I watched the deputy's red taillights recede in my rearview mirror until they faded from sight; then I reached over to switch on the radio and noticed my Browning 9mm on the pa.s.senger seat. Bless Carlos Sanchez. The clip was full and the chamber was empty, just as they had been when Julie lifted it out of the trunk.

Following a quick stopover in Panama City at an all-night truck stop with a Hertz franchise, I pulled into Seaside a few minutes after sunrise in a newly rented, dark-blue Taurus. I parked in back, stepped out of that peculiar rented-car smell, and walked around to the front of the cottage. Loutie Blue answered the door.

I said h.e.l.lo and searched her face. ”Can you tell me what's going on with Carli?”

Loutie shook her head. ”Sorry, Tom. There's nothing to tell. As far as we know, they're just still looking.”

When we were seated in the kitchen, she said, ”Purcell's gone. He left late yesterday to meet with 'the Cubans,' whoever they are. Susan's fine. She's still asleep. Kelly's been calling you. Three times last night. She said she needs to talk to you as soon as possible.”

I stood and walked to the refrigerator. ”The Cubans are a group of self-described 'patriots' who waylaid me last night to give us our lives back. According to their leadera”at least I think he's their leader. Anyway, I wouldn't bet my life on it, but it's possible that Purcell no longer longs for my demise. I'll fill you in on the details later.” I looked inside the fridge at eggs and cinnamon rolls and bagels and realized I was too tired to eat. I closed the door. ”I'm going to bed. If anything happens, come get me.”

”Kelly found out something about that yacht's owners.h.i.+p. The one the Teeter guy told you about seeing the other night when you and Joey were on Dog Island. It belongs to some corporation in Tampa.”

”Would you mind calling her for me? Ask her to check out the company. Find out if there's any Cuban-American management or owners.h.i.+p.”

”There's Cuban-American owners or managers in just about everything in South Florida, Tom.”

”I know. Just ask her. And call Joey and ask him if he can turn loose and meet us here ... What time is it? Six-twenty? Ask him if he can make it around three or four this afternoon.”

”No problem.” Loutie said, ”Go to bed. You look like h.e.l.l.”

I trudged up the stylish staircase and hesitated outside the room where Susan slept. It was the same room where she and I had made love two nights before.

I liked her. She liked me. We had slept together and liked that too. But climbing into her bed at daybreak to catch up on lost sleep, thata”I don't know whya”but that seemed too intimate, as if I would be taking too much for granted. Maybe it was the way we had parted. Maybe it was the fear that her idea of us was different than mine. Maybe it felt too, almost, married. Maybe I was just tired.

I walked a few steps farther down the hall and found a room no one was using. The mattress was bare. I spied a yellow blanket with satin trim stuffed onto a shelf in the closet. I put my head on a purple, ruffly pillow, pulled the nubby blanket up to my chin, and felt sleep soak into my body like a warm bath.

Someone sat on the bed. A woman's voice said, ”Tom, Joey's here now, and Kelly's been here for a couple of hours. They're waiting downstairs.” It was Susan's voice. And I felt no ambiguity whatsoever about how glad I was to hear it.

I pushed the twisted blanket away, rolled onto my back, and said, ”Nice to see you.”

Susan smiled. ”You too. Wash your face and come on down. Everyone's waiting.” And she left the room.

I walked out into the hall and through Susan's room to the bath, where I had a look in the mirror and was greeted by swollen eyes, red pillow marks on one cheek, and, I was pretty sure, breath that would melt paint. I turned on cold water in the shower, took off my s.h.i.+rt, and leaned over the tub and let the frigid spray run over my face, neck, and hair. I needed a real shower, but people were waiting, so I did what I could. After toweling and combing my hair and making vigorous use of a toothbrush, I felt more or less like myself again, and I headed downstairs.

Once again, everyone had congregated in the kitchen. I said, ”I'm getting tired of looking at this kitchen. Can we do this in the living room?”

Joey said, ”Did we wake up grouchy from our nap?”

I said, ”Bite me,” and walked into the living room. Joey, Susan, Loutie, and Kelly followed. Loutie came in carrying something that looked like the kind of miniature radio my father used to listen to at football games. As she walked, she worked at poking a tiny black foam k.n.o.b into her ear.

I looked at her. She said, ”Mobile monitor,” and sat on the sofa next to Joey. Susan sat in an upholstered chair next to mine, and Kelly came in a few seconds later and put a gla.s.s of c.o.ke on the table next to my chair. I said, ”Bless you,” and drank half of it right away. ”Who wants to start?”

Susan said, ”Loutie says you said something about Leroy Purcell not wanting you dead anymore.”

”That's what this Cuban guy wants me to think.”

My stomach felt queasy, and I realized I hadn't eaten in almost thirty hours. I took another swallow of c.o.ke. Joey said, ”You trying to be dramatic? Tell us the frigging story.”

”Oh. Sorry.” I said, ”Actually, I'm trying not to throw up again. It's been a while since I ate. Yesterday at lunch. And I managed to lose most of that on Billy Teeter's boat last night.” I looked at Susan. ”I'll back up and fill you in later on Teeter's boat and the yacht off Dog Island and all that, but the bottom line is that Carli's father, Rus Poultrez, is dead.”

All Susan got out was, ”How?”

I told her.

Susan said, ”I can't believe how happy I am that another human being is dead.”

”Something else,” I added. ”I met with some kind of Cuban revolutionary last night who claims to do business with Purcell and the Bodines. He also claimed he's convinced Purcell to leave you and me alone. He didn't offer the same deal for Carli.”

Joey said, ”Why the h.e.l.l not?”

”He said Purcell wants to make some kind of example out of her. You know, 'don't f.u.c.k with Leroy Purcell' or some equally eloquent sentiment.”

Susan stood. ”Kelly, tell Tom what you told us about the yacht. I'm going to get this poor guy something to eat. Don't let him say anything else until I get back.”

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