Tom McInnes - Dog Island Part 21

"Fine. Then wait. I'll be done in three minutes."

And she was. Loutie turned the key in the lock, climbed into her car, and pulled out ahead of us. Joey and I climbed into his Expedition, and he steered back onto Highway 98.

Miles of scruffy beach vegetation droned by, and exhaustion poured over me. I was drifting into unconsciousness when the phone began vibrating against my hip. I reached into the wind-breaker's side pocket, fished out the phone, and handed it to Joey. It was probably Loutie.

Joey said, "h.e.l.lo," listened some, and handed the phone back.

I looked at him and put the tiny gray receiver against my ear. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Mr. McInnes, this is Charlie Estevez in Tallaha.s.see. We must talk."

"No s.h.i.t."

"There has been a death."

My stomach tightened, and I prepared to hear the worst about Susan. "Who is it?"

"Leroy Purcell."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "How do you know?"

"I don't understand. Were you involved? We believed you weren't. If you were, then we have nothing else to discuss."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

Estevez said, "I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Sanchez. He wanted to warn you. One of our people found Leroy Purcell murdered not five minutes ago. Mr. Sanchez was concerned that certain people in Purcell's organization might suspect you."

I tried to sound a little more surprised. "What happened?"

"Somebody knifed him. He was... I'm sorry, but I don't know how else to put this. As it was described to me, Purcell had been ... well, gutted. And, ah, something worse than that."

Estevez wanted to tell me the lurid details. But he wanted me to ask. Instead, I asked about the doctor's wife from Atlanta who had been with Purcell that morning in Mobile for brunch.

Estevez said, "She's fine. Reports are that there was some kind of argument, and Purcell walked out and left her at the party."

I thought it was kind of soon to already have "reports" on Purcell's date that morning. I said, "Well, that's good," and decided it was time for an awkward pause.

I was getting on Estevez's nerves. He wanted to tell me about Purcell's death, and I wanted to get off the phone.

Almost five seconds pa.s.sed before Estevez said, "Purcell had been ... Our man found him spread-eagle on the top of his desk with a bunch of nails hammered through his wrists and the skin on the sides of his neck and, pardon the detail, but..."

I interrupted. "I got the picture." Once again, Estevez paused. I asked, "Anything else?"

"That's not enough?"

I said, "More than enough."

Joey slowed to a respectable speed as we crossed the state line and followed Highway 331 through the fruit-stand-lined streets of Florala. Just a couple of car lengths ahead, hard tropical sunshine bounced off the back window of a red Saturn, partially obscuring our view of four sun-streaked ponytails that bobbed and bounced with animated conversation. The Greek letters for phi mu clung to the red, rear-window brake light, and one of the girls had draped a shapely, suntanned leg out of the front window on the right side. The leg's owner wiggled her toes in the warm wind as she sipped dark cola from a liter bottle and adjusted her sungla.s.ses.

Joey said, "That's what Carli ought to be doin' at her age."

I looked over at him and nodded.

He said, "It's not gonna happen, is it? We get her out of this, anda"after what her father did to her and everything elsea"she still ain't ever gonna be like those little sorority girls."

The scene back at Seaside had gotten to him. For Joey, this was pouring his heart out. I put my hand over the cell phone mouthpiece and said, "Not like them. No. But one day she'll make it. Look at Loutie."

Joey was through talking. He was studying the girls. I refocused my attention on the cell phone and on Charlie Estevez, who had been patiently waiting for me to respond to his news about Purcell.

I said, "Tell Sanchez I need to see him right away."

Estevez cleared his throat. "Mr. Sanchez is a very busy man. I'm not even sure where he is, ah..."

"There have been other, connected deaths today. Do you understand?" Estevez didn't answer. I said, "And that's all I'm saying over the phone about that. Sanchez needs to know, though, that somebody's making a move on everyone involved, and up until now I thought it might be him. That's why I wasn't real polite when you told me who you were. But, if it's not your patriots, you better tell Sanchez to call me in a hurry. This is all spinning out of control, and somebody's going to pay. You got that?"

Estevez let a few seconds pa.s.s before answering, but when he spoke he sounded more thoughtful than irritated. "I have it. Will you be at this number?"

"Yeah. Unless my battery gives out. If it does, I'll call you back in one hour." I said, "By the way, we learned something interesting today about who my client actually saw with Purcell in See Sh.o.r.e Cottage that night. One of Jethro's cousinsa"if you follow mea"told my partner that all this started over some Cuban, in his words, some 'Castro' getting whacked." Estevez was quiet. I said good-bye and pushed the end b.u.t.ton.

Joey said, "By any chance, am I the partner who heard about the murder?"

"Yeah. You are."

"Just when exactly did I hear this?"

I said, "I haven't decided yet," then tossed my phone on the seat and pulled Joey's out of the clip on his dash and called Kelly. I explained to her, somewhat cryptically since we were talking over airwaves, what had happened, and told her to check into a hotel or go visit her mother for a few days. Kelly promised to get out of town.

When I finished, I filled Joey in on Charlie Estevez's side of our phone conversation, and Joey said, "Gimme that," and took his phone out of my hand. He called Randy Whittles, Navy SEAL and loser of lost girls, and checked on his progress finding Carli. Joey filled Randy in on what was happening and told him to be available in Mobile that night for a meeting.

Joey put the phone back in its dashboard holder and said, "We gotta get everybody together tonight and figure out what to do about all this."

I said, "I'm not going to vote on it, Joey. I'm going to find out who took Susan and ... and cause somebody some pain."

Joey looked miserable. "I know it doesn't look good, but we don't know what the h.e.l.l happened with Susan today. And, Tom, I like Susan too. Not like you do. But she's my friend too. Believe me, if we find out somebody hurt her, I'm gonna skip the pain part and go right to killing the sonofab.i.t.c.h."

Bright sunshine glinted off the hood and burned a fiery oval into my retina. I closed my eyes and rubbed hard at them with the heels of my hands. I could still see the blazing dot. Joey said, "There's a pair of sungla.s.ses in the glove box."

I put them on.

I said, "You remember telling me about that dagger tattoo on the arm of one of the guys who jumped you outside the bar the first night you were in Apalachicola?"

"Outside Mother's Milk. Yeah. I remember."

"You said there were initials over and under it."

Joey rubbed his jaw. "Yeah. I remember it said R.I.P. Rest in Peace, I guess. And it had something like initials too."

"R.E.T.".

"I'd have to check my notes."

"It's R.E.T. I remember. And I saw the tattoo myself on Sunday." Joey glanced over. I said, "Sonny. Purcell's guy who was one of the painters. It's the same a.s.shole who burned Susan's painting."

Joey smiled a little for the first time since leaving Seaside behind. "The one you threw grits at."

I nodded. "And the one Billy Teeter's partner, Julie, called to come kill me after Willie fell in the water off Dog Island. Look, I was thinking. There are obviously a h.e.l.l of a lot of names that start with T, but the arm stamped with this particular T is tied to Julie and the Teeters. So, I was thinking that maybe we could make another donation to your friends on the Panama City force and find out if they have any record of a convicted felon named R. E. Teeter. You said it looked like a prison tattoo."

Joey sat and thought about that for a few seconds. "It was definitely one of those s.h.i.tty homemade jobs like people get in prison. Can't be sure, though. Nowadays, street punks give themselves fake prison ink to try and look tough, but..." He picked up his cell phone and dialed up Detective Coosa in Panama City.

When the conversation ended, Joey put his phone back in its clip on the dash and said, "He'll call back."

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. It was Sanchez. We set up a meeting at my office that night in Mobile; then Joey called Randy to make arrangements for that evening.

An hour went by before Detective Coosa called. Joey listened, made phone noises, and hung up. He said, "Rudolph Enis Teeter."

I said, "Not a really dangerous-sounding name."

Joey grinned. "d.a.m.n if I wouldn't wanna be called Sonny too."

"What did he do time for?"

"a.s.sault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, and resisting arrest."

I said, "Tough guy."

Joey said, "Or just a dumb-a.s.s."

chapter twenty-eight.

We pulled into Mobile at rush hour and slowly made our way to Loutie's house. As we turned down her comfortable, tree-lined street, Joey said, "You sure this is a good idea? Your buddy Carlos could be behind this whole thing."

"Maybe, but I don't think so. I think he's the catalyst."

"What's that mean?"

"A catalyst is..."

"I may not be a lawyer, Tom, but I'm not a moron. How is Sanchez a catalyst?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Joey said, "Thanks. I'm glad I asked."

"But it's got something to do with the fat guy on the beach and whether somebody thought Leroy Purcell stepped outside his territory or overstepped some kind of bounds when he started smuggling and shooting people on the islands."

Pet.i.te, dangerous, and nervous, Randy was waiting inside when we arrived. Two of his men kept watch on the street and the alley. Loutie Blue wasn't home yet, and Joey was having a hard time hiding his concern. Finally, he called her and found out she was caught up in traffic.

Randy had picked up Chinese takeout, but I skipped the egg rolls and rice and found a bottle of Dewar's. After two whiskies, I thought I was better. After the third drink, I could feel the tense tingling pressure that, since I was a child, has always closed in on the sides of my throat when I'm going to lose it, and tears began to fill my eyelids. Without excuse or explanation, I left Joey and Randy in the kitchen shoveling Mongolian beef into their mouths and pretending not to notice that there was another grown man in the room who was cryinga"sort of. I walked through the house to the room where Susan and I had made love while panic had gripped Carli and sent her climbing through a window to escape into the night.

Inside the bathroom, I twisted the shower's ceramic crosses and stripped and stepped into the steaming spray. Hot water poured over my face and scalp and shoulders, and I tried to think. If Susan really was dead, well, there would be time to grieve. But, right now, I had to work on the premise that she and Carli were alive and well and out there somewhere in desperate need of help.

I stood there beneath the stinging spray until it turned warm and then cold, and I stood there some more to let the frigid water run over my face. It didn't help. I checked my reflection in the mirror while drying off, and I still looked awful. I didn't necessarily look like I had been crying, which, I admit, was what I was worried about, but I still, unarguably, looked, as Joey would say, like s.h.i.t on a lollipop.

When I was dressed, I took a deep breatha"and a lesson from Loutie Bluea"and pushed the hurt and anger down deep where, I hoped, I could use them when the time came.

Back downstairs, Randy and his men had left to recon my office building and take up positions. Joey and I climbed into his Expedition and followed. Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the deck of the Oswyn Israel Building and stepped out into the oppressively dark concrete structure. As we walked toward the entrance to my building, I whispered. "Somebody's here."

Joey spoke even more quietly than I had. All he said was, "Yeah."

"Is it Randy's men?"

Joey shook his head and whispered. "No idea," but I noticed the Glock 9mm had moved out of his shoulder holster and into his hand.

I used my key card to open the double gla.s.s doors and work the elevator. The hall was lighted, and my office door was open. Odd Job waited, appropriately enough, in the waiting room. As we entered he tried to pat me down. I pushed him away, and, with surprising speed, Odd Job pulled a gun from inside his coat. But before he could level it, something white flashed across his face and he hit the floor shoulders first. I looked over and saw Joey ma.s.saging his right fist with his left hand. His gun was on the floor.

Joey said, "I figured you didn't want him shot."

I said, "Knocked on his a.s.s is good."

We found Sanchez waiting in my office. He stood and nodded. "Good evening."

Joey said, "Not for Sumo Joe out there."

Sanchez looked puzzled and stepped out of the office. We followed. Sanchez very nearly tripped over his three-hundred-pound bodyguard, who lay unconscious on the floor opposite the front door. Odd Job, a.k.a. Sumo Joe, was breathing heavily, and a small rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Sanchez asked, "What is this about?"

I said, "He behaved badly at the end of a bad day."

Sanchez looked a little disgusted, but I couldn't tell with whom. He turned and walked back into my office and sat in the upholstered guest chair he had been using when we came in. Then he casually, almost gracefully, crossed his legs and said, "It also was a bad day for Leroy Purcell."

Joey said, "We don't really give a s.h.i.t about Leroy Purcell's day."

Sanchez shrugged and turned to me. "I cannot sympathize with whatever difficulties you encountered today because I do not know what you are talking about. On the telephone, you told Seor Estevez that there have been other deaths. That is all I know."

I looked at Joey, and he raised his shoulders. Tell him if you want to.

So I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on the desk, and told Carlos Sanchez about our day on Dog Island.

As I talked, Sanchez pulled out his cigar case and placed a long, thin Montecris...o...b..tween his small, white teeth. As he put the match to the end, he said, "They knew about the listening devices."

I said, "Yeah. It looks that way."

He said, "I am sorry about Seora Fitzsimmons, uh, missing. As you know, I wanted very much to avoid anything like this."