Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (10 page)

“When?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“When we were together, the whole time, we’ve been working on it.”

“The whole time?” I asked. “You were keeping this from me the whole time?”

He nodded. My mind raced over those months, flashing onto our bodies in the sun, a hash joint hanging from my lips, the musky flavor filling my mouth, Dan’s kiss, our touch. None of it held any promises but to enjoy each other. Honesty, truth, they’d never been in the bargain. “Right,” I said. “We never made any promises.”

Dan nodded again, slowly. “And that’s why I have no reason to be angry with you and you have no reason to be angry with me. We can be friends.”

“Friends?” I asked.

“Partners, even,” he said. “Have you thought about it?”

I opened my mouth and closed it again, shaking my head. “I have not had enough time. It’s all been so…” I played with the knot of my bathrobe. “Quick.” I felt the clench of tears in my throat and looked down at my feet. Shit, I could not start crying right now.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you about this,” Dan said.

I didn’t answer as water welled in my eyes, making my feet and the golden carpeting blur beneath me. I heard Dan stand up and cross the room. He put an arm around my shoulders and I shuddered in a breath, trying to gain control over my feelings. Part of it, I realized, was relief. I had not betrayed Dan.

“Hey,” Dan said, squeezing my shoulders. “It’s okay, you don’t have to decide this now.” He kissed the top of my head. I blinked and the tears dropped from my eyes, landing on the tie of my robe. “Let’s just help Hugh and then we can talk about it, okay?”

I nodded and swiped at my eyes, desperate to end this conversation, to talk about something else. Stepping away from Dan’s arm, I went over to the couch. “Show me what you’ve got on Maxim,” I said, sitting down.

“There is not a whole lot.” Dan handed over his typed notes and sat down next to me. “But I’m digging deeper, getting into his personal stuff, deeper into what Fortress Global is doing, but it’s going to be hard. Not impossible but it will take time and money.”

“You have access to my bank accounts, use whatever you need,” I said, looking down at the pages of charities Maxim supported on his last tax return. 

“Yes,” Dan said. “I will take what I need.” I looked up at him and he smiled. I turned away from his beautiful green eyes, returning my attention to the papers. I placed my free hand in the space between us trying to create a barrier.

“Robert Maxim has complete control over FGI, no board, no nothing. He built it from scratch and he’s never needed any investors.”

“Is he from money?” I asked.

Dan shook his head. “His mom was a piano teacher and his dad owned a tailor shop in South Beach.”

“So where did the money come from?” I asked.

Dan shrugged. “I’d guess drugs. This city, a whole hell of a lot of it was built with trafficking money. It was by far the largest sector of the economy for a long time. Some of FGI’s first big clients had known links to organized crime, cartels.”

I nodded. “Right, makes sense.”

“I’ve only skimmed the surface but from what I can see nothing points to why Robert would set up Hugh.”

“Me, it’s me he’s after. I’m the reason he would set up Hugh,” I answered, not taking my eyes off the list of charities.

“I believe that,” Dan said. I looked up at him and immediately down again. Scooting away from him, I stood. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” I said, not feeling tired but knowing that I couldn’t continue with Dan in my room. “You should go,” I said, making eye contact.

He nodded and stood. “Okay.” Dan reached into his front pocket and pulled out what looked like a square piece of plastic. “This is for you,” he said, handing it to me. It was smooth and lightweight. “It blocks listening devices and trackers,” Dan said, then smiled. “Well, not my trackers, but most people’s.”

“You think this place is bugged?” I asked.

Dan laughed. “Uh, yeah. Just keep it on you and you’ll be safe wherever you go.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking up at him.

Dan reached out and gently took hold of the end of my bathrobe belt. “See you soon,” he said, rubbing it between his fingers for a moment before turning and leaving. I stared at the closed door and felt an intense need to get the fuck out of there.

#

I
pulled on a pair of wrinkled jeans that smelled like the smoke of burning plastic, incense and hash. They hadn’t been worn since India. I threw on a white T-shirt. Grabbing my bag I dropped the device Dan gave me into it. Robert Maxim’s key fob was already inside. Downstairs my car was where I’d left it and with a nod to the valet I motioned for Blue to jump in. He passed over my seat into the passenger’s. I opened the sunroof and he raised his nose, sniffing at the night air.

The car rumbled at the curb as I sat there wondering where to go. Deciding I wanted to get out of the city I searched through my bag until I found the details about where Lawrence Taggert’s body was found. I put the coordinates into the GPS and then followed directions as it led me through South Beach. The streets were packed with people, their bodies tight and exposed. Girls balancing on high heels, their boyfriends, in button-down shirts and ironed jeans holding onto them as they pushed through the tables that lined the sidewalks making navigation that much more difficult. Some of the people pressed into the streets dangerously unsteady.

Blue watched it all, occasionally raising his face to the skylight for a sniff of what I’ll never know. I squeezed the wheel of the car, wanting to be going fast, turn quickly, anything to make my mind concentrate on things besides the raging emotions inside of me. Eventually we made it to SW 8
th
Street where we turned west. On the causeway we cruised over the bay, past downtown where FGI’s building stood in a cluster with other skyscrapers. They looked imposing against the flat landscape of southern Florida. I weaved between cars, picking up speed. We drove onto one of those roads that is found in every part of the United States. Lined with fast food restaurants, gas stations, and big box stores. Clogged with lights that always seem to turn red as we approached.

I banged my hand against the wheel. To our left was a casino where rich rewards were promised on large signs that flashed into the night. Before us was the Everglades and as the light turned green I took off, speeding into the welcome darkness of the wild.

Within a couple of miles the landscape and the sky became one black mass beyond the reach of my headlights. Low and bright they lit the reflectors on the road and the guardrail, occasionally catching the swaying grasses beyond. In my rearview mirror the city’s lights made the low clouds glow burgundy. A truck rumbled past me, headed to the city. Its windshield was dark, the high headlights illuminating the canal that slunk slowly by to my right.

Up ahead, bright white lights pooled around a tall power grid structure. At its entrance, a bridge crossed the canal allowing access to the facility. A dirt road continued on that side, running parallel with the paved one we raced upon. On our left, yellow street lights clustered around a closed Gator Park that advertised airboat rides. Then darkness again. Another Gator Park, this one advertising an Indian Village. The next cluster of lights was the gas station and convenience store Hugh stopped at. I pulled in and parked. Blue followed me out and I let him pee on the grass before putting him back in the car.

#

I
nside the gas station was a familiar array of amenities. The shelves and coolers were well stocked with chips, candy bars and sodas. Hot dogs spun in their own grease beneath the warming heat of long, yellow bulbs. I tonged one of the frankfurters and placed it into a bun, soft to the touch yet dry on the exterior, left out in the air for too long.

I grabbed two bottles of water from the cooler. A bag of Twizzlers caught my attention as I walked back toward the checkout. A Sikh stood behind the counter, his turban bright orange, fitting in nicely with the multi-colored cigarette packs and lottery cards that he stood in front of.

“Hi,” I said with a smile.

“Good evening,” he nodded as I pushed my purchase across the counter. I guessed he was in his mid-forties, circles under his eyes made it clear that it was close to midnight and he worked under fluorescent lights. He smiled. “You don’t like ketchup?”

I shrugged. “It’s actually for my dog.”

He laughed and shook his head. “My name’s Sydney,” I offered, and held out my hand.

He cocked his head but reached across to shake. “Sanjit,” he said.

“I’m a private investigator and I’m working on the Lawrence Taggert case.”

He nodded and frowned, leaning ever so slightly away from me. “I was not here and I’ve already handed over the surveillance video.”

“Thanks, I’ve seen some of it. I was wondering if you knew how much gas he bought?”

The man’s eyes opened wider. “Why do you want to know that?” he asked.

I sighed. “It seems, from watching the video- did you watch it?” I asked. He nodded. “Right, so to me, it didn’t seem like he put much gas in the car and he didn’t come inside.”

“No, he never came inside.”

“Right, so why did he stop? If he didn’t
need
the gas.”

He pursed his lips. “He did not buy very much. Only $10.” He shook his head side to side. “I also thought it strange. Why would a man do this? With another man in his trunk?” Sanjit’s frown deepened, large creases appearing between his eyebrows.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But,” Sanjit held up his hands. “I don’t want to get involved.”

“Of course not,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re not involved at all.” He nodded, somewhat reassured and began to put my water and Twizzlers into a bag. “Do you have access to more surveillance footage?” I asked.

“I already gave the whole week to the police,” he said, turning to the register.

“I was hoping to look further back.”

“I’m not sure if that’s allowed.”

“Perfectly legal.”

“I keep 90 days.” His eyes narrowed, thinking.

“I can pay you,” I offered. His eyes attached to mine, insult clear across his face. “Or you can do it for the good of justice,” I offered with a smile.

“Come back in an hour. I will have my son put it onto a thumb drive for you.” He turned around and unhooked a package behind him, running it under the scanner. I handed over my credit card. “My son was here,” Sanjit said, “when he came.”

“I know,” I said, having read it in Antonio’s report.

“You think he didn’t do it?” Sanjit asked.

“I’m determined to find out who did.”

#

B
ack in the car I headed for the spot where Taggert’s corpse was found. My GPS took me straight to the public launch site where, according to evidence, Hugh had pulled over, let Lawrence out of the trunk, knocked him to his knees, shot him once in the side of the head, and then kicked his body down the cement ramp into the shallow waters.

I sat in the car, the headlights cutting through the thick darkness over the cement ramp and into the trees beyond. They were Everglade apple trees according to the file. Taggert’s body became tangled in them. The trees grew tightly together, their roots intertwining, growing over and around each other so that you could hardly tell which limb belonged to which tree. Each year when they shed their leaves they fell upon the bed of roots and over decades they formed a hammock. A place where deer and other wildlife lived, above the water of the Everglades. The trees fluttered in the wind, their leaves twinkling silver-green in the blue glare of my headlights. I stared into the darkness between the trunks; it looked impenetrable.

I climbed out and Blue followed. The water was still and black, somehow even darker than the night around us. On its surface, lilies floated, their night blooms yellow and vivid against the inky water. The car engine and bright lights seemed to make the place into a theater, the engine’s rumble the murmur of the audience, waiting for something to happen. The frogs and insects’ calls the sound of the orchestra tuning up.

I walked over to the cement ramp. There was no sign of blood, but then again, something as nutritious as that would not sit around for long in a swamp. A sound, a splash in the water, released a low growl from Blue and raised goosebumps across my skin. “It’s probably just a frog,” I said, but I felt eyes on me and backed toward the car. Blue hopped in first and I followed, closing the door blocking out the night sounds and cocooning me in rich leather and luxury.

Turning back onto the long, straight, and unbelievablly flat road, I headed toward the city, my destination made obvious by the light pollution that haunted the horizon.

#

P
ulling back into the gas station I found Sanjit’s son listening to his iPod and eating a hot dog. When he saw me the young man pulled off his headphones. “Hi,” he said with his mouth still half-full.

“Hi, I was here earlier talking with your dad. He said that I could stop back in and pick up your security footage.”

The young man, brown skin, tall and lanky, not yet grown into his broad shoulders or big feet, nodded and swallowed. Putting down the hot dog he stood and picked up the thumb drive his father had sold me earlier that night. “I put it all on here.”

“You were here that night, right?” I asked.

He nodded, his face falling. “Yeah, I feel real bad that I didn’t notice. But you know, the guy didn’t come in or anything. He paid with his card at the pump. How would I have known?”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Trust me. There is nothing you could have done.”

“But if I’d noticed, I could have called the police,” he said, his eyes widening with the truth of it. His pain was obvious and I didn’t know how to help him. There are all sorts of casualties, all sorts of pain that come from violent death that cannot be measured or foreseen.

“You’re helping now,” I said, taking the thumb drive from him.

“I hope you get the guy,” the kid said, his brow furrowing with anger.

“Thanks again,” I said as I left, the bell on the door tolling my exit.