High Lie Read online

  “As far as you concerned, I’m the main man.”

  “You’re a delivery boy bouncing around in a fruit van, if the smell is anything to go by. I’m talking about the actual main man.”

  Boss man ground his teeth at Lucas. “How you know El Tiburon?” he snarled.

  “I never met the guy,” said Lucas. “But he sounds like a right drongo.”

  “He what?” said boss man.

  “I met him at Los Piños,” I interjected.

  “You?” he said, looking me up and down. “What the hell you doing at Los Piños?”

  “Last time, as I recall, I was kicking the living daylights out of the Shark.”

  The two guys looked at me like I’d just invited them to solve an anti-differential equation. I could almost see the smoke coming off their heads as the gears spun around. Then boss man made like he was going for his handgun.

  Lucas kicked out his foot, striking the lever that folded the seats down, and the two guys flopped backwards at us. Before the seat back had even settled in the down position, Lucas gave both guys a karate chop on the back of the neck, and they fell limp.

  “They’re not dead, are they?” I said.

  Lucas shook his head. “Not yet,” he smiled. “That’d be no fun.”

  Lucas grabbed the gun that was sticking out of boss man’s jeans and pointed it at the driver’s head.

  “Up ahead by the airport you’re gonna come to a bunch of noise barriers. Pull in behind them,” said Lucas.

  The driver could see his prone comrades and made the smart play. He pulled behind the sound barriers. I slid out of the van on the driver’s side and helped the driver out, then took the keys. Lucas kept the gun on the driver the whole time, then jumped out himself.

  “How’s your day going so far?” asked Lucas.

  The driver was a big guy, round in all the wrong places. He didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a hero. “Look I don’t got no money. I don’t handle that,” he said.

  “Don’t want your money, hoss. Just need to know where the boss man hangs out,” said Lucas.

  The driver looked toward the boss man lying on the collapsed seat.

  “Not that fella, the real boss man. El Jefe,” said Lucas.

  The driver shook his head as his eyes shifted left and right.

  “Think hard, dopey. See your two Irish buddies from the fronton, they took some money that didn’t belong to them and then tried to kill a little boy. El Niño.”

  “You beat those guys?” said the guy, wide-eyed.

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, so we need to have a word with El Jefe about how he goes about his business.”

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t know.”

  Lucas could jot down on the inside of a matchbook more about fighting and dispensing pain than I would ever know. Hitting people was an occupational requirement, but it wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed or felt competent in. But one thing I did know was the human body. A baseball season is like a war. A long, arduous series of battles, day after day, each one with the potential to put you in harm’s way. Baseball players know a lot about where a body is going to break down, where its failure points are. Back then, learning about that had helped keep me on the field. Now, understanding the body’s vulnerabilities aided me in a completely different way.

  “You see that knee you’re leaning on there, pal?” I said.

  The guy looked down at his own leg.

  “Yeah, at your weight, that thing goes backwards, it’s gonna snap like a twig and you’re gonna spend the rest of your days scooting around in one of those electric wheelchairs. You got three seconds to decide if you want to talk or you want to be hobbled.”

  The guy made his mind up pretty quick. He set his jaw firm, like a child zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

  “One,” I said.

  The driver glared at me through the little slits he called eyes.

  “Two.”

  A snarl formed on his lips.

  “Three.”

  He tensed for the hit. It was the worst thing he could have done. He put more weight on the left leg, and stiffened, meaning it was going to snap instead of bend. I kept him hanging, not moving, then I looked at Lucas. The driver glanced at Lucas, as well. Lucas just raised his eyebrows again, as if to say, some folks is just too dumb to help.

  I kicked my foot out like I was in the windup for a fastball, and before the driver had the chance to look away from Lucas, I cracked my boot into the guy’s kneecap. It popped with an audible crack, one half slipping around the outside, the other around the inside of his knee. His considerable girth drove down as the knee buckled backwards and ripped all the tendons away from the bone. I’d seem some seriously nasty knee injuries playing college football, but this one took the cake. It was pretty much every knee injury in the book, all in one go.

  The driver hit the ground with a dull thud, and his scream was lost in the wash of a jet taking off in the direction of the Bahamas. The poor guy tried to grab at his knee, but he wasn’t near flexible enough, so he ended up groping at nothing but air while his leg stuck out at the most unnatural of directions.

  Lucas stepped over and put his boot into the guy’s shoulder. “You still got another knee there, champ. You wanna go again?”

  The driver shook his head vigorously and, through tears, gave us an address on Okeechobee Boulevard. As the driver lay there, Lucas and I pulled the other two guys out of the van and laid them next to their chauffeur.

  “All right mate, I don’t fancy walkin’ all that way back, so we’re gonna take your van for a bit. We’ll leave it at the casino for you to collect, okay?”

  Lucas gave the guy a mouthful of teeth that shone from his deeply tanned face, and we left them there to consider their sins.

  Chapter Twelve

  LUCAS AND I considered our own sins, with a six-pack, sitting on the grass in the cemetery. Lucas popped the top on one and passed it to me, then opened another, which he placed against the headstone. The third he kept for himself. We clinked all three bottles together and took a long pull, then Lucas picked up the bottle by the VA-supplied headstone and poured the contents into the ground.

  “Cheers, Lenny,” said Lucas.

  I held my beer up in salute. “To Lenny.”

  “Lenny,” said Lucas. He took another slug of beer. “I sure do miss the old mongrel.”

  I smiled. “Me too. He taught me everything worth knowing. Outside of baseball, that is.” I took another sip. “How did you guys meet, exactly?”

  “Oh, it was a long time ago,” said Lucas. “In a galaxy far away, as they say. I could tell ya, but then I’d have to kill ya. And you’re too good a bloke for that.”

  “Cheers.”

  “I will tell you one thing, Miami. We did a lot of stuff, me and Lenny—stuff that wasn’t real flash. Don’t get me wrong, it was stuff that needed doing, and I’d do most of it again, but still. We did some things that aren’t conducive to a good night’s sleep. But Lenny never did anything for selfish means. Not for his own gain. He helped a lot of people. Me included. You too.”

  I nodded. “Got that right. After my dad died, when I was at college, I could have gone either way. I got lucky meeting Lenny.”

  “Lotta people would say that. He paid it forward, old Lenny. He did one for me, saved my family once. Nasty business, but he was there, and he saved them. And you know he never asked for nothing in return. Not ever, not once.”

  “But you felt a debt?” I said.

  “I guess.” He shrugged. “How could you not?”

  “I get it. But you know, that debt doesn’t extend to me.”

  “What makes you say that?” he said, sipping his beer.

  “You’re always there, just like Lenny was. I sometimes think you help me out because you feel indebted to me. Because of him, somehow.”

  Lucas smiled. “Geez, you’re a dill. I don’t feel any debt to you. That’s not it at all, mate. Just like we’re saying about L
enny. It’s about paying it forward. I help because I can, not because I have to or feel indebted. Just ’cause I can. That’s the best thing Lenny taught, and the silly bugger didn’t even know he was doing it. Pay it forward. Give someone a hand, so maybe they’ll do the same for someone else, someday.”

  I nodded and smiled, then stuck my beer in my mouth. It was the most talkative I’d ever heard Lucas, and I wondered if he didn’t do most of his talking at Lenny’s gravesite.

  “What happened to your family, Lucas? You never really mention them.”

  He nodded and frowned. “Well, I’m not the easiest bugger to live with.”

  “Who of us is?”

  “Yeah, but the life I’ve lived, its not one you get past. It’s who you are. And that makes it hard. My missus, she’s a lovely girl. A real beauty. We had two little ones, although they’re not so little anymore. And she wanted what people want for their kids, you know? A house, a lawn, schools, picnics, all that.”

  He shrugged and took a long pull at his beer. “Anyway, she knew that wasn’t something I was capable of. So she left. No harsh words or nothing. She just upped sticks back to Oz, and that was that. She’s been remarried a long time now, so that was the right call.”

  He finished his beer, then opened three more, and poured one onto Lenny’s grave. He didn’t seem melancholy, just matter of fact. I finished my beer and took the second and sipped at it, wondering if I were capable of the things Lucas was not. A house, a lawn, school, picnics, all that. Lucas interrupted that train of thought.

  “Best knock this one off and head back to Miami. Got a party boat going out of the marina tonight. Some Russian mob.”

  “The Russian mob?”

  “No, mate, not the Russian mob, a Russian mob. A group of Russians. Geez, what language do you fellas talk?”

  I smiled and took a long pull on my beer. “What about our bookmaker friend? Think I should stop by?”

  “Nah, I wanna be there for that. Besides, do him good to stew for a while. Think about his life for a bit, knowing we’re out there. You know?”

  I nodded. I knew.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE BREEZE HAD dropped off, and the evening was postcard perfect when I got back to Singer Island. After my chat with Lucas, I was glad to see Danielle’s car in the drive. I stepped in through the front door to the scent of lime and the roar of the blender.

  “Perfect timing, as usual,” she smiled. “I felt like a margarita. Want one?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  We settled into our loungers overlooking the Intracoastal. Some kind of race was in the making, as a flotilla of yachts drifted past.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Eventful.”

  “Do I want to know?” she said, raising an eyebrow. It was not the kind of look she should be giving if she wanted me to behave.

  “I’ve been hired by some jai alai players who are getting death threats.”

  “jai alai? They still play that?”

  “They do.”

  “And death threats. Did they contact the West Palm PD?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

  “Why do all these people complain about crimes not getting solved, but then never report anything?”

  “I don’t think this is your complaining crowd. Anyway, how was your day?”

  Danielle edged off her lounger and stood. “More margarita?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She wandered inside, and I watched her all the way. She moved like river water across rocks, and I could watch it like other folks watched television.

  “I got steaks out for dinner,” she called from the kitchen.

  “Red meat steaks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not fake soy steaks?”

  “No,” she smiled, coming back out and handing me my drink. “I just felt like steak.”

  “Okay,” I said, letting sleeping dogs lie. “So you were saying, your day?”

  “Interesting also. I got asked to go to a conference.”

  “A conference? What sort of conference.”

  “What sort do you think? A law enforcement conference. Leadership in Modern Law Enforcement,” she said, air quoting the name of the event.

  “All right, leadership. That sounds good. Where is it?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “Hotlanta? Nice,” I said, licking salt from my lips.

  “You think?”

  “Well, I’ve never actually been to Atlanta, but I hear it’s all right.”

  “No, I mean about the conference.”

  “Definitely. Sounds like a hell of an opportunity.”

  “That’s what I thought when the boss asked. He was supposed to go but something came up, so he offered it to me.”

  “That’s great that he’s thinking about you like that,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a leader, I guess.”

  She nodded and took a sip. “I’ve never really thought about it, not really. I mean, what’s after this? I don’t want to be a patrol deputy all my life, do I? But I never really thought about myself in a leadership role, heading a team. It’s a different challenge.”

  “It is, for sure. So when is this thing?”

  She took the straw from her mouth and stirred her drink. “That’s the thing. I have to leave tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? That’s not a lot of notice.”

  “No, but like I said, the boss was supposed to go and can’t. I’m worried if I say no, I might not get another chance like this.”

  “No, absolutely, you should go. No reason not to.”

  “I think it will be good for me to get away for a while, you know? I’m actually really excited. I guess that’s a bit silly, but I haven’t felt this excited about anything for a while.”

  I grinned and winked, and she let go a killer smile. Then she stood again.

  “I’ll get those steaks ready.”

  Danielle sauntered inside, and I called out to ask if she needed help. She told me no, to just chill out. So that’s what I did. Except I wasn’t chilling. I was wondering why she hadn’t felt excited about anything lately. All that had happened was that we had moved in together. No biggie. Or, more precisely, I had moved her in. Danielle had received a gunshot wound from a drug dealer only a few months earlier. As fate would have it, she hadn’t been on duty or in pursuit of the guy. He’d actually been trying to get at me. Her townhouse had been damaged in the gunfire, then got turned into a crime scene, so I moved her in with me. When it came time for her to move back to her place, she didn’t. And that was just fine and dandy with me.

  But I couldn’t help feeling there was a lot going on behind those eyes. Getting shot could really mess with your priorities, and lately I couldn’t get a fix on where Danielle’s lay. I had the sense we were treading water, waiting for the shark to burst through the surface, or not. I had to admit I was pretty damned happy. Work was good, I had great drinking buddies down at Longboard Kelly’s, and I came home to the most wonderful woman I’d ever known. She could kick my backside in a sit-up competition, then do the same in Trivial Pursuit. She was a confident, capable sheriff’s deputy, with a heart of something a hell of a lot more worthy than gold.

  Even watching her with Desi, when Lucas had brought the boy to our house. The kid had only responded to her, not me or Lucas. And it wasn’t some professional skill. It was caring. Maybe that’s what Lucas was trying to say, in his way. Paying it forward was just another way of saying caring, and Danielle had that in spades. She had looked after me, more than once, when I’d been laid up after some altercation or other, and I couldn’t help think, maybe she was looking for someone to care about. And now, living with me, she had realized that I didn’t need caring for. That maybe I was like Lucas. A difficult bugger to live with.

  I resolved that encouraging her to go to Atlanta was the right thing to do. I further resolved to be there when she got back—really be there. No
t just be a body on the next lounger, but really listen to what she was saying—about the shooting, about her dreams, about where she wanted to go. And as I sat looking at the sunset falling behind the Everglades, I hoped like hell that I was actually capable of all that I resolved.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE HARD ROCK Casino near Fort Lauderdale Airport had so little in common with the West Palm Jai Alai and Casino that it was hard to even call them the same species. The Hard Rock empire had been purchased by the Seminole tribe some years ago for close on a billion dollars—proof enough if anyone needed it that the tribe was doing mighty fine from its concessions across the state. The Lauderdale version had become one of the largest casino resorts in the world. The auditorium space alone held over five thousand fans, and all by itself attracted more customers than the jai alai in West Palm by a factor close to a thousand.

  I wandered through the casino floor, the bells and buzzers and artificial noise of the slots permeating every corner of the place. The rattle and clink of coins dropping on a jackpot was no more, as the vast majority of slots were electronic and dropped your winnings, in a most unromantic fashion, onto a plastic card.

  I knew from previous experience that security at the Hard Rock was a step or ten up from the West Palm Jai Alai, so I didn’t try any funny stuff to weasel my way past these chunky guards. I just called up, lied my keister off, and made an appointment. I dropped every name I could think off. Some, like Eric Edwards and the governor, would not be happy about being used as pawns, but they would just have to learn to live with it.

  The offices of Jackie Bass overlooked the massive pool complex that wound its way through the lush gardens of the hotel. His private elevator was guarded by a massive Seminole, the kind of guy you could actually envisage wrestling an alligator. He checked me out, gave me a pat down, then deposited me at reception. A young Seminole woman took my name and asked if I wanted water. I didn’t wait long. It seemed Mr. Bass was a pretty punctual guy. He was also filthy rich. Indian gaming had been good for a lot of tribes around the country, bringing in money to previously dirt-poor communities. But along the way, it had also made the tribal elders boatloads of cash. And being a sovereign nation, not only were they exempt from tax, but they also didn’t have to share their financial accounts with anyone. Accusations of dirty deals were as regular as carols at Christmas, but no one seemed to give a damn.