The Shop (20 page)

They came in on the leeward side, rounding the spit of land that ended St. Joseph Peninsula. Motored past the state park—white beaches, marshy areas, trees noisy with birds, wildlife, and campers. Next were the expensive houses and private docks. Up ahead, in the crook of the peninsula’s elbow, Landry saw two islands.

“Opal Island,” said Franklin, motioning to the smaller one. “It’s a resort. Very exclusive.”

Gated. Palm trees. Golf courses. A complex of buildings. All very high-toned, pristine. But the island had almost a plastic patina to it, like Saran Wrap. More Disney World than Florida panhandle. It didn’t look real.

Indigo Island looked real.

There were similar palms. There was a small golf course, but it appeared shoddy and neglected in the bright morning sunlight, like a paint-by-numbers set. The trees encroached. A very tall wrought iron fence made a sporadic and halfhearted ring of the island, punctuated by No Trespassing signs.

Landry squinted past the black bars of the fence. He spotted stables and a good-sized riding ring through the trees. The octagonal house Franklin had told him about looked like a wedding cake. It reminded Landry of Dickens’s
Great Expectations
, a book he’d read in high school and one that had fascinated him by its pure weirdness. The house looked like something Miss Havisham would have kept in her refrigerator—if they’d had refrigerators in her day.

The other three structures were painted to match the octagon house, yellow with white trim. Rectangular swimming pool, chaise lounges lined up razor-straight facing the pool, like you’d find at a high-class hotel. Three permanent cabanas. Golf cart paths ran through the compound like ant trails. Plenty of parking.

Landry noted a causeway, maybe two hundred and fifty meters long, linking Indigo Island to the mainland. Narrow. Landry guessed the causeway had been built early in the last century—the only way onto the island by land. There was a guardhouse situated on the small spit of land that led onto the causeway. Dark uniforms, ball caps. The security company. The E-Team.

They tied up at the dock opposite an ancient, beat-up skiff—had to be twenty years old. Landry thought it must have sentimental value. In his travels, he’d noticed that rich people didn’t seem to throw away their old possessions. He’d seen plenty of stud farms breathtaking in beauty but still containing the odd rusty pickup or old shed.

The boathouse, a real antique, was empty. Frank had mentioned they’d sold a lot of their toys recently. The jet. The expensive cars. The picnic boat. The only thing they hadn’t cut back on, according to Frank, was Grace’s Hackneys. She still had plenty, and they were eating him out of house and home.

“Where are your agents again?” Franklin asked.

Landry motioned to the houses and the boats tied up to the long docks on the peninsula, and to the trees and bushes onshore.

Franklin nodded. “And why do we need to get rid of my security people?”

“This is an FBI operation. Your people would only get in the way. They’re the E-Team, remember?”

Franklin nodded again. “The Keystone Cops, only dumber.”

Franklin handed over control of the boat to Landry. Landry enjoyed the docking procedure on the Hinckley. He’d done it before, but of course Franklin didn’t remember that. The jetstick was a lot like the joystick on the video games Landry grew up with. Docking the Hinckley was just like parallel parking.

The morning was sunny, but there had been some chop in the open bay. Weather reports did not lie.

A storm was coming.

As they tied up, Landry spotted a girl lying on the other dock. She looked exactly like a Barbie doll. Tanned Barbie, maybe. She was lying on a chaise cushion that had been dragged out to the dock, talking to a member of Franklin’s security detail. Big guy, biceps that only came from hours in the gym, his Danehill Security cap sitting atop a bulging shaved neck like a child’s beanie. He dangled his feet in the water. Landry could hear hip-hop music coming from somewhere. He detested hip-hop music. He glanced at Franklin. The man’s face was grim.

“That Riley?” Landry asked him.

“Uh-huh.” The way he said it showed he was simmering. “She’s after the help again.”

The help, Landry thought. Like Luke Perdue. He hopped down from the boat to the dock and started walking in their direction.

Franklin rushed up behind him, trying to keep up. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” He crossed to the other dock and strode toward the two people at the end. He didn’t pause when he reached them but let the momentum carry him right up to the moment he pushed his foot into the security man’s back, toppling him into the water.

The man had time to say “Hey!” before he hit. He made a big splash—probably weighed 240.

The guy stood up in the waist-high water. His face was red, either from the sun or from anger, except for the white triangle of zinc oxide on his nose. “You mother fucker, what’d you do that for?” he yelled, trying to get up on the dock. He had to pull with his arms and hands.

Landry stepped on one of the hands. “You know what my wife’s favorite TV show is?”

The guy just stared at him.

“
Celebrity Apprentice
. You ever watch
Celebrity Apprentice
?’”

“What the fuck? What are you talking about? Get off my fucking hand!”

“Donald Trump? Remember the part where he says, ‘You’re fired’? Well, that’s what you are, chum. You’re fired.”

“Get your foot off my hand!” The guy looked at Franklin. “Who the fuck is this fucker?”

Franklin looked nervous, but said, “He’s my new security.”

Landry was really starting to like Franklin.

“You can’t fire me. We’ve got a contract—”

Landry’s foot came off the man’s hand and toed into his larynx. You could overdo it, so Landry pulled back at the last moment and tipped up the chin, just enough pressure to send the man back into the water.

“Daddy!” screamed Riley.

The guy stood up again. He looked up at Landry and let out another string of profanities laced with obscenities. Landry felt uncomfortable with that. He was raised the old-fashioned way, and you didn’t curse in front of a lady. But a glance at Riley told him she wasn’t one, so he let it go.

She looked avid. Like a cat waiting for a mouse’s next move.

Landry returned his attention to the security guy. For a moment Landry thought the guy would lunge at him, but then he thought better of it and waded to shore. He emptied his cap into the water and slapped it against the dock, then glared at Franklin. Franklin took a step back.

“You don’t have to fire me. I quit!”

“Daddy, what are you doing?” demanded Riley.

Franklin glanced at her and then back at the security guard. “I want all of you off-property ASAP. I’ll settle up with your boss.”

“Fuck you.”

The E-Team.

Riley tagged along as they went to the security center situated in a metal outbuilding not far from the main house. She wasn’t the only one who tagged along. A pack of dogs joined them, mostly terrier types. Yapping and snapping, making Landry wonder how thick his socks were.

In the security center, Frank reiterated his position, this time to the chief of security, whose name was Melvin Graus. He told Graus that Danehill was no longer providing protection for the island. The chief was understandably upset. First he tried intimidation, then he tried logic, then wheedling, and back to intimidation. To his credit, Franklin stood firm.

“You know there’s a provision in here about premature termination of the contract,” said Graus. “You’re going to have to pay us a substantial amount in penalties.”

“You can talk to my accountant about that.”

“I’ve never heard of Salter Security.” He glared at Landry. “Are you sure of this guy’s bona fides?”

“His bona fides are fine,” Franklin said.

Landry liked Franklin better all the time.

“Okay then. You’ll be hearing from our attorney.”

Franklin said to Graus, “I want you off the property by noon today.”

Landry leaned near Franklin’s ear and said, “Eleven.”

“Eleven today. Eleven sharp.”

“But we have equipment to move, electronics—we can’t just pack up like we’re in the circus.”

“You’d better get to it then.”

Landry said to Franklin, “Boss?”

“Yes?” He sounded slightly bemused at Landry calling him boss.

“Do you want me to escort Mr. Graus out?”

“Yes, you do that.”

“I can find my own way out,” Graus said stiffly.

Landry stood over Graus and held his eyes. “I’ll want to see your inventory.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Landry said to Franklin, “It’s a precaution. We wouldn’t want him walking off with any equipment he doesn’t own.”

Franklin said, “I hardly think he would do that—”

Landry ignored him and remained where he was—towering over Graus. He felt Graus’s confusion, calculated the moment the smaller man would take a step backward. He was off by about two seconds.

“All right, if that’s what you want,” Graus said to Franklin.

“Good, I’ll meet you—all of you—by the guard’s gate at eleven hundred hours,” Landry said. He held Graus’s eyes until the man looked away.

After Graus was gone, Frank said, “I need to practice what I’m going to say to Cardamone. Mike is a smart guy. He’ll know something’s up if I don’t sound convincing.”

Landry was sure Franklin would be convincing, but he said, “Okay. But I’m going to need to see the grounds.”

Frank led the way out of the security center. He seemed pleased with himself. Standing up to someone was probably a rare occurrence for him. Landry noticed Riley looking at her dad in a new way. She was looking at Landry, too, but her look for Landry was different.

As they walked in the direction of the octagon house, Franklin took the lead, pointing out hidden cameras and infrared sensor grids. “A lot of the equipment was installed by the Secret Service for Owen’s visits,” Franklin said. He added for Landry’s edification, “The veep. This stuff is all inactive right now. Some of the equipment is Danehill’s, but not much. Are you sure you guys have it covered?”

“You’re covered. You can’t see our people, but they’re there.”

“When I was in the DOJ, I had a very good relationship with the FBI.”

“That’s good to know,” Landry said.

They continued on. Franklin walked on ahead, rehearsing his lines for his upcoming conversation with Cardamone. He was far enough ahead so they couldn’t hear what he was saying. Riley moved closer to Landry and said, “Why do you keep looking around like that?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Back and forth.”

“Looking for threats.”

“But you said the FBI has it covered.”

“Ever heard of measure twice, cut once?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“I can’t believe Daddy stood up to Graus that way.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not like him. He lets things slide.”

“What else does he let slide? You?”

“Oh, I get away with stuff.”

“Are you sure you’re getting away with anything?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Children need guidance. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? For your emotional well-being, you need someone to set the parameters every once in a while.”

“That’s fine for a child, but I’m seventeen.”

He said nothing.

“Can a child give you a blowjob that will set your hair on fire?”

All this acting out—he found it disturbing. “You’re a regular little potty-mouth. If my daughter said that to a stranger—”

“You’d what? Give her a spanking?”

“Take away her iPod, her iPhone, her television, her bed, her furniture, and make her stay in her room for a month.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. What if she did it again?’”

“I’d flush her hamster down the toilet.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

“You have a hamster?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not in a position to know, are you?”

Frank stopped on the oyster-shell path by the maintenance shed and looked back at them. “Do you want to go with me in the golf cart?” he asked Landry.

“I’d rather walk.”

“Okay.” He sounded perturbed, but by the time he took off in the golf cart, his lips were moving and he was once again practicing his speech for Cardamone.

“Is your mother here?” Landry asked Riley. “Grace?”

“She’s either shopping or she went to Tallahassee.”

“Tallahassee?”

“To her church. She spends half her time there.”

“You know when she’ll be back?”

“If she’s shopping, maybe late this afternoon. There’s not a whole hell of a lot to shop for around here. Now it’s Kohl’s instead of Bergdorf’s. She used to fly to Atlanta to do her shopping, when we had the jet. That’s all over now. This place is so
lame
. I was born here, and I can’t wait to get voted off this island, you know what I mean? What a
back
water. There is nothing to do! And now you got rid of Mr. Clean.”

“Mr. Clean?”

“The guy you pushed into the water. I used to think he was hot.”

“He didn’t look so hot to me.”

She giggled. “That was funny, the way he sputtered like a wet cat! He was, like, so surprised! He told me he has a really big dick, but we didn’t get that far.”

Again with the provocative statements. He knew she did it just for its shock value.

“So your family’s cutting back?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe. Mommy didn’t even want the veep to come here the last time, thought it was too
ostentatious
. That’s her favorite word now. She’s afraid the peasants’ll storm the castle or something.” She told him about the “ratty old oriental carpets” and the fact that her mother kept her saddles and bridles in her bedroom, which was a huge mess and smelled of dirt and horse hide. The way they used things over and over, all the equipment breaking down. The heater for the pool. The air-conditioning in the octagon house. “Which is, by the way, falling apart! It looks good from the outside, but it smells. Those old walls, I bet there’s mold. That’s where we keep
the senator
.”

“The senator?”

“My grandfather. Dad calls him the senator. As if he’s still the senator. He’s got round-the-clock nursing care. Dementia.”

Landry nodded. His mother-in-law suffered from dementia. It was a terrible disease.

“But he gets around. He’s always in the hothouse playing with his roses—thinks he’s gardening, but he’s actually making them worse, touching them so much. He used to raise champion roses.”

Landry ticked the family off on his fingers. “Your mom, your dad, the senator, and you. Have I got that right?”

“My cousin Zoe lived here until last night.”

“Oh?”

“We got in a fight and she moved out. She’s a pain in the ass, but in another way, she’s really amusing. God, was she upset when I threw her out.”

“You threw her out?”

“Uh-huh. She said bad things about my boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

Riley told him about her boyfriend, Luke. He’d worked for the tree and lawn service that kept the grounds neat. She told Landry that she and Luke had been in love and were planning to run away together, like Romeo and Juliet. But then he died.

“How’d he die?”

“In a shoot-out with the police.” She told him the story, portraying Luke as an outlaw. “He wasn’t going to let anyone take him—he wasn’t going to go without a fight.”

Landry thought that kind of logic was the ultimate in stupidity. “Why did he take that woman hostage?”

Riley didn’t have an answer to that—it didn’t fit with Luke’s heroic image. She had no idea why Luke Perdue would take a woman hostage in a motel. None at all. So she glossed over it with proof that he loved her, then went back to blaming Zoe for saying bad things about him.