Tropical Freeze (8 page)

He said, “What limb am I out on, Myra?”

She put her tinted glasses on. She stood up, cocked her head at him for a few moments, letting the silence build a nice drumroll for her.

“It was either compromise you or compromise the mission,” she said. “We chose you.”

Gaeton looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes.

He said, “You’re telling me that Benny knows I’m still with the bureau, investigating him?”

“Yeah,” she said. “We’d provided him with limited clearance to access FBI files as part of our operation. Apparently he used that clearance to run a routine check on everybody on his staff. Your name got flagged. He came to us and wanted an explanation.”

“And you gave me up?”

“Benny’d figured it out anyway,” Myra said.

“Why didn’t you just bring me out then, Myra? Huh?”

“Benny insisted on keeping you,” she said. “You were opening so many doors for him down there, introducing him to all your Conch cronies, Benny didn’t care if you were a spy, building a case on him, he was in heaven. He loves rubbing shoulders with all the Bubbas down there. He didn’t want to lose you.”

“Goddamn, Myra.”

She said, “So we informed Adamson, and since our operation had priority, Adamson agreed that even though your cover was exposed, you weren’t in any real danger. As long as you didn’t try to move on Benny, you were safe.”

“How long has Benny known?”

“A few months,” she said.

“Jesus shit, Myra. You mean, I’m there busting my ass, trying to make a case on this guy and Benny’s just toying with me? I don’t believe you fucking people. The things you think you can get away with.”

“It’s a war, Gaeton. Wars get complicated.”

“God Almighty. I fucking can’t believe it.”

“It gets worse,” she said. She took a deep breath and said, “Benny’s flipped on us. We set him up in one kind of business and he branched out into another kind. A kind that could do us all a great deal of harm. Not just careers or reputations. But lives. Other missions.” She took her purse off the dresser and snapped it open and drew out a small automatic. “He could do us a great deal of harm. Especially in an election year.”

Gaeton rose.

She stepped over to him and held the pistol out by the barrel. He hesitated for a moment, then took it.

“What’s this?”

“A very clean ten millimeters,” she said.

“What the fuck, Myra?”

She said nothing but turned and went back to her coffee. She drank the last of it and watched him standing there.

“The bureau wants me to use this,” he said. “To take out Benny? Is that what you’re saying?”

“The bureau wants you to continue to use your training and imagination.”

“Kill a guy for conspiracy to bribe public officials? Huh? We doing that now? I didn’t know.”

“Don’t be that way, Gaeton.”

“I don’t believe you, Myra. Handing me a gun, telling me to go shoot some guy. Somebody owes me a very big explanation.”

She dropped the coffee cup in a trash can. The light hit her hair again. Her skin backlit, creamy, the mole at her upper lip. Even in the midst of this, Gaeton noticed it, felt the warm growl rising from his stomach.

He tried to calm his voice.

“You think I’m going to shoot a guy and not know why?”

“The more people who know the specifics of this operation, the more jeopardy for everyone.”

“OK, well, let me guess then. Just nod if I get it,” he said. “It’s about Claude and these other guys, right? They’re not looking for burglar alarms. Anybody can see that. They’re getting out of the business. Giving you people a little testimony and getting paid off in Porsches, nice houses. They might give you names, drug routes, bad cops. Benny’s the go-between. Huh? Is that it? Am I close?”

She said nothing, gave no indication.

“Myra,” he said, “I got to know. You owe me that.”

She said, “I’ve told you what I can, Gaeton. Probably too much. Benny’s a loose cannon. He’s using his training as a federal agent, his contacts inside the government, and the computer access we gave him to accomplish some very bad things. The problem is, because we assisted him in setting up part of his shop, we’re complicitous. Politically, it’d be devastating, impossible to bring this to court.”

She let a few moments of silence work for her again. Then said: “The man knows things, he’s threatened to say things that could topple people. Lots of people, and from very high perches.”

“I don’t give a shit about toppling people,” Gaeton said. “Let him topple away. Maybe they should get toppled.”

She stepped up close to him, gave him a workover with those new conference-table eyes. The ones she’d won from staring down androgen junkies.

“We’re going to give you two weeks,” she said. “To convince yourself I’m right and to take care of him. You accomplish it, you’ve got complete immunity, witness protection, whatever you want. We’ll send in helicopters to pull you out if we have to, whatever it takes. The full deal.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will,” she said. “You’ll call Adamson. You’ll check with whoever you want to at the bureau. You’ll see what I’m telling you is true. This is extremely volatile. It’s a boil that has to be lanced. And you, because you’re inside his security already, and because he thinks he has the upper hand with you, everyone agrees, you’re the logical person.”

“Logical,” Gaeton said.

She thought about it a moment more and said, “And because it’ll mean the bureau will owe you one, Gaeton, a very big one. It could turn things around for you, put you right back on the fast track. You should think about it.”

“I’m not taking this fucking thing.” Gaeton flipped the pistol onto the bed.

She looked at it. Picked up her purse, moved slowly to the door, and turned.

“Then leave it here. Maybe the maid can use it.”

After she’d gone, he sat on the side of the bed for a few more minutes. He could hear the morning news coming from the TV next door. Something about mines and harbors. He listened to that till he got back the strength to stand.

“Whatta you mean, Thorn’s not interested?” Benny said.

“Forget Thorn,” said Gaeton. “I’ve got somebody else.”

It was near midnight on Saturday. They were sitting in a booth in the back room of the Green Turtle Inn on Islamorada. Benny in a sherbet concoction. A rumpled raspberry jacket, lime pants, a white T-shirt advertising a Jamaican beer. He was experimenting with an earring tonight. A gold conch shell dangled from his left ear. It’s what could happen when you spent twenty years in standard-issue Sears suits.

“You must not’ve put it the right way to this asshole,” Benny said. “Give me his address. I’ll take a shot at him.”

“I’m telling you, I got you a much better guy,” Gaeton said. “The guy I got in mind, he’s a great fisherman, and plus, he’s got the goods on every politician in the county. He’ll break you up.”

“What’s his name?”

“Let me talk to him first, see if he’s interested.”

The late-night diners were clinking and clanking out front. The waitresses had lost all their hustle-bustle, now just smoking in a booth by the kitchen, watching the dawdlers. Benny was smiling from the four White Russians he’d had. He kept touching the fringe of black hair that circled his slick bald dome. He was getting all the hairs lined up to meet the constituents, the ones Gaeton had worked so hard setting up for him.

The barmaid came back again.

“Do us all again, sweet pea,” Benny said. “The boys in the booth, too.” He nodded at the three guys across the room, Benny’s tabernacle choir. All three still with their cop haircuts, square jaws. Their thick forearms resting on the table. All of them in guayaberas, one yellow and two whites.

Benny swept his eyes across the darkened parking lot. A couple of retirees going home with their Styrofoam doggy box, fighting their way through the heavy wind.

Benny said, “You sell me on Thorn, then you take it all back. What’s the deal?”

“He’s busy, building his house,” Gaeton said. “Don’t worry, Benny. The guy I got in mind for you, he knows the water down here as well as anybody. You’ll love him.”

Benny was still looking out the window. Or no, was he adoring his own reflection? Gaeton took a sip of his Budweiser.

Benny fingered the gold conch shell at his ear. He brought his eyes away from the window, and said, “You give up too easy, Richards.” He smiled. “I haven’t met the man I couldn’t hire.”

They traded looks. Gaeton felt a trickle of sweat sprout in his armpit.

When the red-headed man in a plaid shirt and navy pants moved cautiously to the edge of their conversation, Gaeton broke connection with Benny’s eyes, waved the man over.

“Benny,” Gaeton said, “this is Charlie Boilini. Charlie, Benny Cousins of Florida Secure Systems. Charlie owns Boilini’s Liquors up in Tavernier.” No one offered to shake hands.

“Oh, yes,” said Benny. “The man who wants the stoplight.”

Mr. Boilini stood awkwardly at the edge of the table.

“Well, the thing is, Mr. Cousins, it’s a real bad intersection, accidents, near misses. I’ve petitioned the county commission, Department of Transportation. And they tell me they’ve got to do a study of the area first, and they—”

Benny said, “Hey, hey, hey, listen, Boilini, I’m no fucking politician. You don’t have to bullshit me with your humanitarian concerns. We clear on that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK. So you want to put a stoplight out front, slow the tourists down. They’re stuck in traffic, they get thirsty, they pull off, you get rich. Is this the story you want to make happen?”

Mr. Boilini shrugged like yeah, well, maybe.

Benny said, “So you got a problem with red tape. Every day of the week you’re choking to death already on regulations, paper work. And then a simple thing like a stoplight, it’s like taking a case to the Supreme Court. Am I right, Charlie?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a nightmare getting anything done anymore.”

Benny said, “Now, it so happens I know a man at Department of Transportation. He’s a bureaucrat as bad as the next one. But he’s still a good ol’ boy and a friend of mine. And I think he could be persuaded to help here.”

“Could you let me pay you something for your trouble?”

Benny brought his eyes up and looked Mr. Boilini over.

“Boilini, I’m no doctor, but to me, you look like you got lotsa years left.” Benny took a sip of his drink. He put it down and said, “Think of it, every three minutes your new stoplight blinks and another guy’s walking out with a fifth of Jim Beam. Add that up over a lifetime, you know, and that’s a chunk of change. So if you were to try to pay me what that stoplight’s worth to you, well, I don’t think you could get together that kind of cash, now could you?”

“No, sir.”

Benny said, “And anyway, Charlie, I’m one of the last of the red-hot altruists. I don’t want your money. I’m motivated by the higher virtues. Quid pro quo. Things of this nature.”

Boilini nodded, cocking his head slightly for the punch line.

Benny tugged on his earring again, staring down at his White Russian. He said, “Like, I understand you’re big in the Rotary Club down here, the Masons, these civic organizations.”

“Yes, sir, I’m involved in a good many community activities.”

Benny said nothing, waiting for Boilini to catch on. Looking at him, almost counting the seconds out loud.

“Oh,” Boilini said finally. “I’d be happy to propose your membership in some local clubs. It’d be my pleasure, Mr. Cousins.”

Mr. Boilini offered his hand, and Benny shook it without taking much of a grip. Bringing his face around finally to give Boilini a look at his bullshittiest smile.

“How’m I doing?” Benny asked Gaeton when Boilini had left.

“Well, you shouldn’t get them on their knees. Treat them so smug.” Gaeton took a sip of his beer. “Conchs are proud.”

“What? That? On his knees?” He squinted at Gaeton. “Hey, Mr. Manners, when I get somebody on their knees, they don’t get up. They don’t walk away.” He leaned across the table toward him, getting a sizzle in his voice.

Gaeton said, “These people, they’ve been dealing with Bubbas and payoffs for a hundred years. You want to have some impact down here, you’re going to have to be a little less of a smartass.”

“Gaeton Richards’s charm school.”

Gaeton said nothing.

Benny drew out an envelope from his inside front pocket. He passed it over to Gaeton. Gaeton looked at it for a moment, then picked it up and opened it. Seven cashier’s checks. Five thousand apiece. They were made out to two past mayors of Key West. Three former county commissioners. A judge. The owner of a plumbing and construction company in Marathon. Gaeton had given Benny their names last week when he’d asked who the oldest families in the Keys were. The Conch aristocracy, he’d called them.

Gaeton slid the envelope back and said, “Yeah? So?”

“I want you to deliver these,” Benny said. “Campaign contributions.”

“These people aren’t running for anything,” Gaeton said.

“I know that,” Benny said. “But I am.”

Gaeton put the envelope in his shirt pocket.

Benny said, “And tomorrow sometime, take that Porsche back up to Miami, to the place you got it from.”

“Why?”

“Claude’s leaving town, and he decided he doesn’t want it after all. OK? And don’t always be questioning me, hot rod. I got my reasons for things. Just do what the fuck I tell you, OK?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Cousins.”

A slender man approached their table from the parking lot exit. He had a close-cropped beard. His clothes nicely creased. He glanced around, noted Benny’s men; a light of disdain came and went in his eyes.

“Benny,” Gaeton said, “this is Ralph Marris. Mayor Ralph Marris of Key West. Ralph, Benny. Benny, Ralph.”

“Mayor Marris?” Benny said. “Here, have a seat.” Benny patted the red leather upholstery beside him. He scooted over, shooting Gaeton a look. You’re so hot for sincere. Here’s sincere.

Ozzie Hardison was in the Tropical Freeze ice cream truck parked in a gravel lot about fifty feet from the front of the Green Turtle Restaurant. He was watching through his binoculars Darcy’s blond boyfriend talking to some short, bald guy. He’d followed the guy from the trailer park about two hours ago. The guy’d been in there all that time talking to a string of people.