Trap Line Part 23

"I can't miss the car, can I?" said the gas station man.

"There's only one like it in the whole world," Freed said. "There'll be an elephant driving."

The men laughed together.

"DON'T YOU EVER WONDER how come I eat lunch here every day?" Huge Barnett was draining a second pitcher of beer. how come I eat lunch here every day?" Huge Barnett was draining a second pitcher of beer.

"Because the food's so good," Laurie said.

"No, darlin', because you've got the most delicious-looking pair of t.i.ts in Key West, that's why." Barnett chomped into a piece of hot chicken with such porcine vigor that the breastbone cracked in his mouth.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that around the customers."

"Then let's go somewhere by ourselves so I can talk the way I want." Barnett lowered his voice. "Ever been for a ride in a police car?"

"Oh, please." Laurie drifted to another table and started clearing plates. "You know, chief," she scolded in a whisper, "you wouldn't be half-bad if you weren't always so ... so crude."

"Darlin', I can be a gentleman." He put down the remains of his chicken and looked up at her, panda-eyed. "You think I can't be a gentleman if I want?"

Laurie carted the dirty dishes back to the kitchen and puttered around for a minute or two. Through the window in the swinging door she watched Barnett s.h.i.+fting at his table, craning with great effort to look for her. Slowly, she made her way back to the table.

"How about some Key Lime pie?" he said.

"All right. The usual two slices?"

"Right," Barnett said. "How come you never go out with me?"

"Not so loud."

"Is it Albury? Is it because of him?"

"Nope."

"Why, then?"

"Shhh." Laurie took her time cutting the pie.

"Why, then?" Barnett repeated when she returned.

'"Cause you don't ask like a gentleman. You want a slice of lime on this?"

Barnett buffed his lips with a napkin. "Miss Ravenel, ma'am, could I have the pleasure of your company for a c.o.c.ktail tonight over at the Casa Marina?"

"Ohh ... all right," she said. Then, bending over the table: "But not at the Casa, OK? I don't want any of Breeze's friends to see us. Can we go up the Keys? Marathon, maybe?"

"Abtholootely," Barnett said enthusiastically through a mouthful of meringue.

"And not tonight," Laurie added. "Tomorrow, 'kay? I get off around five."

Barnett's crotch tingled as he wolfed down the Key Lime pie. She would want to get on top, of course. Most women did, except that fat hooker who worked the topless joint on Roosevelt. Yes, this would be the high spot of the weekend. Laurie was a lush-looking woman ... experienced, he was sure ... patient, artful even. Not like the stringy, hair-triggered hitchhikers he was always picking up. s.l.u.ts. Clumsy, too.

Barnett pushed the table away from his belly and rose, as if in slow motion. Laurie was crossing the restaurant with the check in one hand.

"Just put it on my tab, darlin'," he called. "And this old gentleman would be grateful if you wore those jeans tomorrow night. Whaddya say?"

Chapter 21.

TOMAS CRUZ wheeled the big Winnebago into a handicapped-only zone and exchanged a cheery wave with the flaccid foot patrolman whose job it was to see that the tourists behaved themselves in the heart of Key West's Old Town. Winnebago Tom often came to Mallory Docks to watch the tourists watch the sun slip into the sea. With the Winnebago as his traveling office, the docks at sunset were a good place to transact business, pick up snippets of information, and troll for fresh meat to be savored later on the pull-out double bed beneath the ceiling mirror. Tom gnawed at a boiled shrimp. He had two hours to kill before sunset; plenty of time to mellow out. From the cutlery drawer he extracted three pills from a s.h.i.+pment that had come from Colombia the month before. He washed them down with a long swig of champagne from the bottle. Then he slipped off his loafers and sprawled on the sofa in front of his Sony.... wheeled the big Winnebago into a handicapped-only zone and exchanged a cheery wave with the flaccid foot patrolman whose job it was to see that the tourists behaved themselves in the heart of Key West's Old Town. Winnebago Tom often came to Mallory Docks to watch the tourists watch the sun slip into the sea. With the Winnebago as his traveling office, the docks at sunset were a good place to transact business, pick up snippets of information, and troll for fresh meat to be savored later on the pull-out double bed beneath the ceiling mirror. Tom gnawed at a boiled shrimp. He had two hours to kill before sunset; plenty of time to mellow out. From the cutlery drawer he extracted three pills from a s.h.i.+pment that had come from Colombia the month before. He washed them down with a long swig of champagne from the bottle. Then he slipped off his loafers and sprawled on the sofa in front of his Sony....

"... two weeks in Aspen or the prize behind the green door. The choice is yours. Which will it be?"

Tom knew that scam. The green door was horses.h.i.+t, nine times out of ten.

"Take the vacation," he screamed.

The contestant chose the green panel and won a year's supply of dog food.

"Air-headed b.i.t.c.h," Tom scoffed.

When the door of the Winnebago sprang open, Tomas Cruz sat up sharply, upsetting the champagne onto the pile carpet.

"Don't you ever knock?" Tom recovered the bottle, rubbed the lip on the sleeve of his T-s.h.i.+rt, and proffered it to Drake Boone.

The lawyer ignored it. He dropped a green attache case onto the floor and stripped off his matching tie.

"Where's Manolo? I need to talk to him right away."

"Booney, baby, relax. Relax. Have a drink. Have a pill."

"Christ, what are you on? Your pupils look like Frisbees."

"What do you want Manolo for?"

"It's important. I'll tell him myself."

"You're talkin' to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Manolo had to go out of town on business for a few days. He left me in charge. You got a problem, tell me."

"Where did he go? When will he be back?"

Winnebago Tom didn't notice the strain in Boone's voice or the sweat that spotted his forehead despite the camper's air conditioning.

"Where he went is Manolo's business, and when he'll be back is my business. You got somethin' to say, say it or go away. I'm tryin' to watch television."

Exasperated, Boone flicked off the Sony.

"We got bad problems."

"Keep it short and to the point," Tom said, mimicking Manolo. "That p.r.i.c.k Breeze Albury is comin' by anytime now. He's finally going to give us back the gra.s.s he stole. I sent him a little message, and he read it loud and clear."

"I don't want to talk about Albury, Tom. It's that Julie Clayton business ... it's all coming to pieces."

"Good ole Julie. She sure did love Demon Pill, didn't she? But she was overrated. Never could understand what you saw in her." Tom yawned.

"Listen, a.s.shole, I'm not going down the tube for Julie Clayton or anybody else."

"Oh, c'mon. You're not going down the tube, counselor. You got a problem, I'll have Barnett fix it."

"It's not Barnett who's after me. It's that Manning woman, the Governor's b.i.t.c.h. She's got me cold, man."

"We'll fix it." The Machine paid Drake Boone to be precise, but sometimes he was simply tedious. Tom decided to pop another pill.

"We won't fix this one, Tom. Look, we've run this town for almost ten years. It was fun, but it's over. I'm leaving for St. Thomas-now and for good."

"Horses.h.i.+t."

"It's the truth. And do you know something? I think Manolo has the same idea. Is he really away on business? Or did he split? Manning is after me. The queers are crazy for Barnett's blood. Albury ripped off a load. Maybe Manolo just read the tea leaves and walked away while he still could."

"No, no way. Manolo's coming back."

"OK, Tom, if you say so. I'm leaving town, and I want a hundred thou to go with me. I'll take cash."

"Are you out of your gourd?" Tom was becoming agitated. He wished Manolo was around to handle Boone.

"Let's call the money a parting gift. A silence gift, like all the ones we have paid to patsies over the years, OK?"

"No, it's not OK."

"Hey, baby, if I go down, I don't go alone, remember that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it says. Remember where Julie's pills and everybody else's pills come from. That's you, ain't it, Winnebago? And the pot, the enforcement, and all the other little things you'd rather your ole mama never read about you in the newspaper. It costs a hundred grand for me to forget all that. For good. Otherwise, I meet the lady prosecutor. Tonight."

"That's not funny."

They quarreled for another forty-five minutes, while the sun dropped ever lower, as though on a pulley, and the tourists gathered along the seawall to celebrate its departure.

At sunset, the broad concrete promenade at Mallory Docks is street theater the way Fellini would stage it. That night a juggler-comedian with a wispy mustache and a pink jump suit played the star. Around him, as he tossed flaming rods and evil-looking machetes, stood several hundred people: cruising h.o.m.os.e.xuals and s.h.a.gged newlyweds; bemused straight tourists in white shoes and matching belts; an eccentric piano teacher from Akron with a broken arm cast in praying-mantis position; a creature of indeterminate s.e.x in a knee-length white fur coat, mirror sungla.s.ses, and a rainbow-colored wig. About the periphery, a frizzy-haired woman bicycled in a green dress and high-topped leather boots. "Guava cookies, carrot cookies, Key West sweet, Key West treat, warm and chewy," she sang to the strains of an off-key black bongo drummer. Alone on an elevated pump housing, smiling benignly, stood a barefooted gray-bearded man in white duck trousers of an Otavalo Indian and a poncho cut from an army blanket. Around the Rock, people called him Moses.

In the Winnebago on the fringes of the spectacle, Drake Boone was adamant. Tomas Cruz ricocheted between incredulity, anger, and stupor.

"One last time, Boone," Tom said, "this will all blow over. Forget it."

"I've had it. You and Manolo can get yourselves another lawyer."

They stared at one another for a long moment-Tom gummy-eyed; Boone glacial. Outside, the sun was dying. The tourists watched in rapt silence. When it vanished, they would clap; every night the tourists clapped.

"OK have it your way," Tom said at last. "One hundred thou it is. Small bills?"

"I don't care. You got it here?"

"Yeah." He had much more than that. "But turn around while I get it. If you ain't a part of the team anymore, then I don't want you seeing where my bank is."

"Just put it in the briefcase, OK?"

Drake Boone turned. From behind a cus.h.i.+on, Tomas Cruz pulled the silenced Beretta and shot Drake Boone twice in the back.

On the seawall outside, the tourists applauded.

"HOW MUCH IS that sh.e.l.l there?" He nudged it with his boot. It was a queen conch, a beauty. that sh.e.l.l there?" He nudged it with his boot. It was a queen conch, a beauty.

"Ten dollars," she said without looking up. "It may sound expensive, but it's real cheap. That's a Queen of the Sea, comes from over a hundred feet deep."

"Not as deep as all that, Peg."

"h.e.l.lo, Breeze."

It hurt to look at her. Once, her eyes had flashed a sensual yellow fire. Now, as she peered up at him from under a floppy straw hat, they were lost in the swollen face and as colorless as the gin that had destroyed them.

"How're things, Peg?"

"Fine, I guess."

"You haven't been around to see Ricky lately."

"I keep meanin' to, honest. But you know how it is. Besides, he stopped by the other day. He's so big, Breeze. And Veronica, she'd be nearly fourteen. Veronica."

"Yeah." Albury had come to tell her about Ricky's arm. He decided not to.

"Where did it all go, Breeze? Us, and the island? It was so good, once. Then it went someplace, all of it, all rotten. Can you tell me where it all went?"

"I don't know."

"Fast. It all went so fast. Like my little girl. And now, what's left? This place, my office." She gestured. The sun had left. Shadows speckled the tiny s.h.i.+ngle of sand and the fading red-and-white sign that proclaimed it "Southernmost Beach in the U.S."

"These are hard times, Peg," Albury said gently.

"No good times." Then she smiled. "It was so bright, like the sun on a summer day, so hot it makes you feel good all over. Remember? We saved and bought that house. The kids loved that backyard, and then you said one good season and you'd build a Florida room on the back with air conditioning, but you never built it. Only a tree house in that ugly old ficus, and me scared to death the kids would fall out. 'Course, you didn't know that because you were out fis.h.i.+n', and you were going to buy another boat and then one day a fish house so you could be home more."