Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (22 page)

I relaxed my fears. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ll have nowhere to hide when you’re naked, you realize that, right?”

“That’s why I avoid running around during Fantasy Fest.”

“That and you’re a prude Irishman.”

•  •  •

Tita went to her office late Monday morning. I went to the
Fenian Bastard
to change. I left my Glock on the chart table with the extra magazines and my money. I carried it everywhere, now. Norm called a little before eleven.

“Twelve-thirty, the Smokin’ Tuna, that good for you?”

“You bringing them?”

“Yeah, they want to get a drink at Sloppy Joe’s, see if

Hemingway is there. Actually, they wanted to meet at Sloppy’s.”

“Too crowded.”

“That’s what I told them. No privacy, too loud,” Norm said. “I promised to meet them at noon.”

“They afraid of getting lost?”

“They’re afraid of everything,” he said and laughed. “They call it being cautious.”

Noontime on a Monday and only a few people sat around the bar, but the courtyard tables were almost full. I grabbed the table closest to the open bar by the fence. I sat with my back to the office stairway, it gave me a view of both entrances and bars. I told Susan there’d be four or five of us and ordered tonic water with lime.

“And Susan, if I order a gin and tonic, hold the gin and maybe give it a splash of bitters for taste.”

“That’s an old trick,” she said. “Three or four women?”

“I wish,” I said. “A friend and a couple of Englishmen.”

“How will you ever wear green on Saint Patrick’s Day after this?” she said and walked away laughing to herself.

I didn’t expect them to be on time and they weren’t. It was almost 1 PM when Norm walked in, followed by the three touristy-looking, pale-faced Limeys. If they’d seen sunshine recently it was through a window. The man talking with Norm was tall, six something for sure, he wore glasses and had a large nose. What hair he had left was cut tight to his scalp.

The two following were a mixed-match of men. One was roly-poly fat and had a round head that looked like a cue ball. Next to him walked a man with no memorable features. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed straight back, he walked with a slouch that made him appear about five-eight, but I bet when he stood straight he was closer to five-ten or eleven. His slouch was part of his disguise and with his bland features it worked. I wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd, standing straight and dressed differently.

All three wore cheap Hawaiian shirts and shorts from Duval Street T-shirt shops, and boat shoes without socks.

Norm waved and the three followed him to the table. I didn’t stand and Norm didn’t make introductions.

“They feel names are not important,” he said and they sat.

“That’s fine,” I said and grinned so wide it hurt my face. “Let’s see, you,” I pointed at the tall one, “you’ll be Moe. Larry,” I pointed at the slouched one, “and, of course, Curly.” I pointed at roly-poly.

“You can cut the shit, Murphy,” Moe said, his face wrinkled into a scowl. “We don’t like being here with you either.”

“We might as well skip lunch then,” I said and watched Norm shake his head but he had a hard time stifling a laugh. “Too bad, because the fish and chips are good.”

“Tell us what we want to know and we’ll be gone,” Moe said. “We don’t need to eat lunch with a Fenian bastard. Not one with your reputation.”

“I told you.” I turned to Norm. “No Limey can refer to an Irishman without calling him a Fenian bastard, like it’s one word.” I laughed at them. “I named my boat after you.”

They looked confused.

“Fenian Bastard,”
I said.

“Appropriate,” Curly said and stared at Moe.

“Where is Walsh?”
Moe said, putting more emphases on his words than necessary.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants to know?”

Susan delivered my drink, with a lime and it was pink because of the splash of bitters.

“Can I take your order?” she asked. “Anyone else for a gin and tonic?”

“Whatever you gentlemen want, the first round is on me.”

“We don’t want anything,” Curly said and Susan left.

“Afraid of being poisoned?” I asked Norm.

“Tell them about Walsh,” he said and tasted my drink.

“Walsh is not the guy you’re looking for.”

“Let us decide that,” Moe said.

“Are you the guys who sent the woman to kill him?”

“Where is he?” Moe asked again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“We didn’t come to this hell hole to answer questions.”

“You don’t like the tropics? Well, you can head back to your cold and rain after you answer me. Then I’ll answer you.”

“How will we know you are telling the truth?”

“How will I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Did you send the woman?” Norm asked. “Answer the damn question and let’s get this over with.”

“Natasha Baron worked for us many years ago, but, like us, she and her partner Olga LeBlanc retired,” Curly said. “We do not want Walsh dead, dead men don’t answer questions.”

“Good point.” I now knew the dead woman’s name, if they were telling the truth. “But killing is, or was, Natasha and Olga’s job. If you didn’t hire them, who did?”

“Where is Walsh?” Moe said, ignoring my question.

“I don’t know.” I watched anger spread across their faces. “He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. But.” Their faces lit up. “I gave some thought to it. If he had Whitey Bulger’s money,” they looked puzzled again, “or your diamonds, he would go where the authorities couldn’t get him.”

“Who is Whitey Bulger and what does he have to do with the diamonds?” Moe asked.

I gave them a quick run-down on Bulger and his recent capture.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said with a grin. “Who would want him dead?”

Chapter 51

M
oe looked at Curly. Larry looked at Curly. I looked at Norm, who shook his head and smiled, and then I looked at Curly. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to appear to be in charge.

“Curly, it seems you’ve been selected. Do you have the answer?” I kept eye contact with him.

I could tell he wished he had a drink, the flesh covering his cue-ball head had that rosy color of a gin drinker. He wanted something in his hands to play with, a drink would’ve been good, anything to stall for a moment, to give his mind that extra second or two to qualify the situation, but he didn’t have anything and the only glass available was mine. His nervous facial expressions were comical while his dead brown eyes gave away nothing. Imagine a cue ball with eyes and making faces. It was hard not to laugh at him, at all of them, but the subject was deadly serious.

“The two women, Natasha and Olga, worked freelance,” he said breaking the uneasy silence. His voice was much higher than I expected, and his Cockney accent was pronounced, as his comical expression turned serious. “Sometimes they worked for us, off the books. I can only assume they worked for others, but I cannot prove it. They were very good at what they did. Mostly their work looked like accidents, if the body was found, but often the target disappeared.”

“Used them in Ireland, did you?”

“Fuck you,” he said with a wide grin. It came out
fook
, like the Irish pronunciation.

“So, what brought them out of retirement?” I wanted to shoot him but I thought it better to move on.

“I am not sure, possibly for the same reason we did,” he said, measuring his words, not wanting to give away too much. “Or maybe the man who paid for the documents made them an offer. ‘E would not want that information made available, not after all these years.”

“Any idea who that is?”

He chuckled like a schoolgirl and his face took on a monstrous appearance. “Someone important, if ‘e’s still around today and knows what is ‘appening. Could be German, could be
American
.” He grinned as he said it.

“Could be an English bastard.”

“Could be anyone.”

“Could be there are no documents,” I said, mimicking his tone. “Maybe it was a con and all the guy wanted were the diamonds. Y’all got scammed,” I said wasting my southern drawl and grin on him. “Did you come out of retirement to bring justice to an old case? And the diamonds will be returned to the correct governments, right?”

“We are not fools, Murphy, so don’t talk down to us.” He slapped his open palm on the table. “You and our friend ‘ere want them, too.” He pointed to Norm but kept his stare on me. “We want them, so does your CIA and the Russians. Nobody wants to return them. The Russians will kill you, kill Norm, kill whoever ‘as the diamonds.”

“And you won’t?”

“We’ll deal with you.” He lied without changing his creepy expression. “You tell us where ‘e is and we’ll give you twenty percent of what ‘e has left.”

Norm laughed. When I turned to him, he raised his hands and shook his head. He wasn’t going to comment, he was only an observer. I was on my own.

“Twenty percent of its worth today?” I said as if I was interested. He knew I wasn’t because I would have asked for a bigger percentage if I was. We all knew I wouldn’t help them. We were playing a game, possibly a deadly game.

“Of what we get off ‘im,” he said.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“None of your business.”

“See, you’re wrong there, I wish someone would kill him,” I said and leaned back, holding my glass. “You can go to Cuba and search for him and throw a party for the CIA and the French while you’re there.”

“You told them ‘e was in Cuba?”

“No, I told them what I told you, if it was me, I’d be in Cuba.” I sipped my drink. “But I might be having second thoughts on that.”

“And what would they be?”

“I was thinking.” I stared at Norm. “Cuba’s too close to the States. Since he thought out this whole thing, I think he’d have set up something to distance himself, like Rio, where extradition is difficult and if he married a Brazilian, extradition would be almost impossible. I’d be sitting on Copacabana counting Bulger’s money, if it was me.”

Curly turned to Norm. “Would you tell us if ‘e was full of shit?”

“First I’ve heard of Brazil,” he said. “But he’s got a point. A lot of the American criminals living in Cuba are concerned the government might topple and then their safety would be gone.”

“It sounds like he’s eating our Yorkshire pudding, while we are in the kitchen,”

Moe said, referring to the fluffy pastry popular in England.

“I ain’t sure what that means,” Norm said.

“I do,” I said. “Look it, he ain’t here and wherever he is, he’s sitting back laughing at you and counting his money, or maybe just staring at a bank book, but he’s making fools of you.” I stopped, laughed to myself. “You’re the ones making fools of yourselves. Walsh is not the man you want. I’ve met him. He’s street smart, but no master of disguises and languages. He’s a killer.”

“Maybe ‘e is so good at disguises, ‘e’s fooled you,”

Curly said.

“It’s more likely you are the fools.”

Norm made a growling sound as he waved Susan over. “Give me whatever Mick’s drinking,” he said.

“Exactly, Susan,” I said. “Anyone else?”

No one spoke until Susan returned with Norm’s drink. He tasted it and shook his head at me. I didn’t know if it meant there was gin in it or not.

“You’ve got everything I know, which is nothing,” I said and leaned forward. “You also know what I think and, right now, that’s more than the others have if you consider Brazil. You can stick around and track me, or you can follow my suspicions.”

“We ‘ave contacts in Cuba and Brazil.”

“I’m sure.”

“We can ‘ave them check for your Walsh, while we keep an eye on you,” Curly said and stood. The others followed. “We don’t trust you.”

“We don’t like you,” Moe said.

Larry hadn’t said a word. He slouched at the table, and was still slouched over when he stood. Maybe his voice was the only distinctive thing about him but I would never get to hear it.

“Feeling’s mutual,” I said as the three left. “They going to stop at the Red Garter?”

“If it was open,” Norm said. “Did you accomplish anything?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah, you’re the Rodney Dangerfield of Key West,” he said. “No gin in here.”

“You knew that.”

“Yeah.” He moved to the seat next to me. “At the bar, there are two men with military haircuts, see them?”

I looked toward the covered bar and saw the two men. “I know them.”

“I figure that. They’re Pauly’s, right? They followed the big guy at the other end of the bar. You know him too?

“Nope. You think he’s Russian?”

“If he ain’t, he’s working for them.” Norm finished his drink. “The Russians are going to make things dicey, Mick.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“There’s one thing you’re not thinking about.”

“What?”

“Who grabbed you?” He played with the ice in his empty glass. “I hate to admit it, but maybe you were right in thinking the marshals. That might explain why they’re still here and not out hunting this guy down.”

“Thanks for coming around.”

Norm stood up to leave. “I’ve gotta run. What do the marshals think you know?

Whatever it is, it’s keeping them here. Try to focus on that. If the Russians just wanted you dead, they’d have killed you at Schooner. So they think you know something too. Be careful tonight, especially if you’re out with Tita. Pauly’s guys may not be enough.”

Chapter 52

N
orm left with a warning about the Russians. He wasn’t trying to contact them for a sit-down. “They know how to reach you, if they want to talk,” he said and looked toward the bar on his way out. Was he looking at the Russian sitting there or Pauly’s two men?

I was surprised when Norm admitted the marshals might be involved in my abduction, though he still had doubts. My surprise quickly turned to concern because it made the marshals more dangerous since it meant they were willing to work outside the rules—bending them to the breaking point and then pulling back, hopefully in time. Maybe not a threat like the Russians, but a threat just the same. By the process of elimination, the marshals kept coming to the top of my list.