Only Make Believe (23 page)

There were two more anonymous letters, along the same lines, block-printed by different hands. A fourth threatened me by name, in graphic terms:

Mr. Uing you durty QUEER HOMO your wicked durty privates will be cut OFF by the flameing sword of the ANGEL and thrown in the FIRE and you will be nailed to the Cross like LORD JESUS and GODs clenzing flames will RISE and consum you and your sinful BODY. Repent and Bee Gone by Sunday the LORDs Day or BURN now and forevr.

             
             
             
             
             
             
             
KKK

I almost tossed the letters in the trashcan. During the previous two years, I’d received half a dozen such epistles. They didn’t scare me, not personally. The Ku Klux Klan had burned a cross in the hotel parking lot only months after I arrived. The white knights had paraded around in bed sheets and hoods, toting rifles. No real harm was done.

But with Nick DiGennaro dead, it seemed likely that the new threats, as well as the lipstick message on the door of 522 and the deliberately-set fire were either connected to the crime itself or a result of increased evangelical agitation because of it. So, after opening the first letter, I handled the envelopes and sheets of paper by the edges, hoping that Doc, one of his boys or even a real expert could lift a few felonious fingerprints.

Bud reported for guard duty around eight that night, ready for his overnight shift. He cursed when I showed him the letters.

He phoned the department. The desk sergeant told him that the single available fingerprint kit was in Immokalee with Matt Ramos, the other half of the Lee detective squad. Ramos was working a multi-county shoplifting ring, the sergeant explained, and wasn’t due back until Monday at the earliest.

Bud set down the phone surprisingly gently. “God is my witness, Dan, I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. Fuckin’ fuckers ain’t gonna do this to you.”

“People only know what they read in the papers, Sarge.”

“Fire wasn’t in the paper. Happened too late at night.”

“I’ve thrown worse letters away. Never even showed them to you.”

“Christ! Don’t do that. Here’s my chance to put a few more Jesus-loving Klanners in the penitentiary. These here are threats, deadly threats to your person and property. Federal and state statutes cover it like skin on an orange. And with this kind of evidence set before them, and any luck at all, the right kind of grand jury would hand down indictments before they even broke for lunch. Fingerprints could do the trick.”

“You’re dreaming. We can’t take these into court.”

“You watch me, Dan. The admiral will back me up. So’ll the sheriff if the admiral asks him.”

“OK, Sarge. Go to it. Now what about a hug?” I moved toward him but he stepped aside.

“We got to be more careful, got to put a stop to all this shit—letters, loose talk, ugly rumors, the fire next time. Some of these religious nuts could go crazy, hurt somebody bad, froth themselves up into a lynching. Christ, sometimes I feel like I’m right back at Iwo Jima or Kwajalein.”

“Good thing the Fort Myers nuts don’t have machine guns.”

“Words can be just as bad, Dan. I’d like to put a grenade to a church or two, you know what I mean? That’d give ’em something to talk about.”

“Give ’em Hell, Harry.”

“You got some tweezers or paper clips? Let’s put these sick puppies in a file for safe keeping. You’re my witness. I’ll get after them as soon as we wrap up this DiGennaro mess.”

Something else was bothering him. I could tell. So I asked and he answered. He looked away when he spoke.

“I ran into Jesse Welton, you know who I mean? Old bald-headed master chief, hangs around the legion hall? He was coming out of the drug store. The man wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Just crossed to the other side of the parking lot, quick-like. Like I had some kind of disease. Like I wasn’t worth speaking to.”

I caught Bud’s arm and drew him to me. He still wouldn’t face me. “Fuck, Dan, I’m sorry. Goddamn it, I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Dan, I’m no Einstein. But I got sense enough to know we’re knee deep in shit.”

“What did you have to do, Buddy? It’s OK, it’s OK.” I tried to pull him closer. He stiffened but let me hold him.

“Slim.”

“Slim?”

“A few nights ago. Slept in her bed, mixed it up a little. Didn’t want to tell you.”

I dropped my hands. He might as well have decked me. “Fuck. What the fuck, Bud? Why?”

He caught my hard stare and matched it. “I shouldn’t a said anything. God, I should a kept my big mug shut.”

“Catting around. I thought you’d stopped that.”

“As if I didn’t catch you with that Yankee priest. In a hot-sheets motel down in Colored Town.”

“After you’d told me to shove off. And that was when? More than a year ago, almost two?” My mouth had gone dry. I was angry and sad and scared all at once. Angry at him, shaken by the betrayal, terrified of losing only the second man I’d ever loved.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally said. “Maybe you don’t have the guts—the balls—to make this work. Us. Us two.”

“Dan, we didn’t, I didn’t—do it all the way. Same as the other night with you—too drunk, too scared, mad at myself, no good for man nor woman. No good for myself. Good for nothing.”

I gripped his arms again. I was damned if I’d let him go. “You’re good for me. We’re good for each other. These letters are crazy, they’re from cranks. You know that.”

“Dan, I’m feeling crazy myself. You can’t fix that. Maybe all I’m good for is soldiering. Sometimes I figure I might as well go fight the Red Chinese as fight this whole town. Too many people know about you and me. Be safer in Korea, probably.”

“Like hell.” I pulled him to me and kissed him hard—as hard as I could. He fought me for a moment, shaking his head, putting his hands to my chest as if meaning to push me away. But then he abruptly gave in and kissed me back, just as deeply, just as hard. I knew from experience that physical manhandling was the fastest way to rein in the emotional Bud. When he got to feeling desperate and useless it was up to me to show him how much I knew he was worth.

He stepped back suddenly, shaking and breathing hard. He touched his mouth. “Jesus, Dan.”

“You OK now?”

“No. No, goddamn it. It wasn’t like this when I served overseas, in the Fighting Fourth. Whores was whores, buddies was buddies. I didn’t ever get too close to nobody. Not once I got out of boot camp. Safer, that way—like I said. Nothing for other men to talk about, nothing for me to worry about except Japs and a working weapon.”

“The Reds are worse than the Japs. They’ve got the bomb. All we’ve got’s MacArthur. And each other. An army of two.”

“Don’t joke with me. Active duty could be the answer right now. Like I said, either the unit gets all the volunteers they need real soon or they start calling men up. I’m single, I’m trained—”

“You’re not single. Just tell them. Play your joker. Turn in your papers. You have a job here. Work for us full time if you want to. Either way, the sheriff’s on our side. The Caloosa’s here to stay.”

Bud shook himself loose and cracked a wry smile. “I can see why you didn’t roll over and die on that life raft, Lieutenant. You got more balls and brains than I do. You could talk a hooker into joining the Methodist Church.” He checked his wristwatch. “And I got to go run my first recon from the roof to the river. Keep the Devil off the premises, at least for tonight.”

“Keep an eye on the door to the loading dock, would you? I found it wedged open again today. Who’s doing that?”

“That lazy mick Brian, I bet. Saving himself two steps when they deliver chlorine and shower soap. OK if I ream him out?”

“Just verbally, Sarge. Save the good stuff for me.”

“Right. Yes. Verbally. You’re a card, Lieutenant.”

When I tried to embrace him again, he slapped my ass gently, said he’d see me in the morning, and added that he planned to return to the rooming house to nap, shower and change before breakfast. In other words, he wasn’t planning to stop by my room for any early morning give and take.

Privately, Asdeck had told me he could pull enough Pentagon strings to keep Sergeant Wright in the ready reserves forever. I’d asked for a week to think it over, to decide what was fair to both of us, as a pair.

The Slim situation was ugly but understandable. The kiss—and Bud’s response—suggested I needed to get him back in my bed. The physical connection that cemented our competitive partnership was missing. We needed to get naked together before one of us did something stupid. The waitress was no match for me. I knew that. All in all, I figured I could manage the situation with Bud well enough. But my own horniness could overpower my common sense so I knew I had to act, and soon. Because if Bud caught me with another man again he might walk out of my life forever.

Needing a cold beer, I walked down the hall to the club. Wayne Larue Barfield and Doc Shepherd were at the bar with Betty Harris. Before I even ordered, Wayne Larue limped over and said he and Doc wanted to confer with me in private. I signaled Carmen. He uncapped a long-necked Regal and handed it over. I led the two men through the dining room into my office.

“This is serious business,” Wayne Larue began. “Extremely serious.”

“We don’t like you p-p-playing amateur detective,” Doc added.

Playing Hardy Boys
, I thought. “I don’t like having somebody killed in my hotel,” I answered.

“We are dues-paying members,” Doc continued. “You are only the manager here. You work f-f-for us.”

“No, sir, I work for Admiral Asdeck and his board of directors.”

“Don’t get smart,” Barfield snapped. “You’re already way out of line.”

“It’s a tough situation, sir. We’re all on edge around here.”

“You questioned my b-b-brother-in-law about a most serious matter,” Doc went on. “And without a lawyer present. He’s been publicly embarrassed. What do you think he told his boss about having to reee-maaaine in Myers?”

“I witnessed an interview conducted by the detective assigned to a homicide case, sir. You know that. Mr. Doolittle didn’t ask for a lawyer. He talked freely. Later he changed his mind and threatened Detective Wright and me. He invaded Bud’s private quarters with a firearm. If he’d been sober enough to shoot straight he might have killed us.”

“Larry is a known alcoholic. He didn’t know what he was saying or doing. As to Sunday night and Monday morning, my wife and I are certain he was passed out d-d-drunk in our backyard, all night, ha ha, and he—”

Barfield started talking again before Doc could continue. “Mr. Doolittle is now my client. He is entirely blameless as far as this business with the Bradenton pervert is concerned. A neighbor returning from a weekend trip observed my client asleep on the chaise lounge about two a.m. Monday. The milkman saw him in the same position a little before five.”

“I’m sure Detective Wright will be glad to hear that, sir. He’s on the premises tonight. You may want to talk to him. But I don’t believe that affects the attempted murder charges against Mr. Doolittle.”

“Attempted murder! Christ, Dan. All three of you were drunk, from what I understand. And you and Bud were—well, I won’t say it. I don’t have to. You know what Larry’s prepared to testify he saw, though.”

“I’d had one drink. Doolittle was smashed and waving a firearm around, making threats. His word’s not worth last week’s newspaper. Whether he killed the Diva or not, he’s a menace.”

“The Diva? Whose side are you on, Dan? This stink could not only close down the hotel and the club, it could affect every member you have. We’re not all fruitcakes here.”

“You were in the club Sunday night, Doc. Maybe you can help get this situation resolved—talk to Bud some more. Help everybody out.”

Doc’s nervous laughter jumped up a notch. “We’re b-b-both already officially involved!”

“Under the present circumstances,” Barfield said, “for myself, it would be a conflict of interest to do more. Since I have a client who is under suspicion.”

Doc turned on Barfield. “You just said he wasn’t. In the DiGennaro case, anyway. We have our own witnesses.”

Barfield ignored this and kept his attention on me. “Let me be very clear about the other situation, Dan. You mentioned private quarters. Isn’t it true that you invaded my nephew’s private residence, doing your buddy’s business. You led my nephew to believe that you were Detective Wright.”

“No, sir, he assumed that.”

“You didn’t correct his misimpression. Detective Wright was not present during that interview. That was his mistake and I’ve spoken to the sheriff about it. I’ve also put in a call to Admiral Asdeck. His secretary says he’s traveling and will be back in touch. I’m sure he will. Meanwhile, sir, listen up. I’ll get a restraining order on you if you approach Albert again without consulting me. Albert is doing the best he can with a difficult family situation and a third baby on the way. He’s a kindly natured boy, but somewhat slow and childlike. I understand that you wish to clear up this mess here at the hotel. So do we all. But I’m warning you. Don’t try to do work you are not qualified—or licensed—to do.”