"Two eggs over easy with grits and sausage," I said.
She licked her pencil and scribbled on the pad. Looking up at me, she asked, "Toastergravybiscuit?"
"Biscuits and gravy, please."
"Jews?"
"What?"
"Jews. Awrange er termater. Which one?"
"Orange juice, please." I suppressed a chuckle. It wouldn't be funny to piss her off. No telling what she might say or do.
"Uh-huh." She scribbled again and tore the order off her pad like she was angry with it. She waddled over to the pass-through window to the kitchen and hung the order on a wire, screaming something unintelligible through the opening.
She planted her massive rear end on a wooden barstool near the pass-through, careful not to break the stool, and turned her attention back to the local news. I swiveled to the side, facing the strange old TV, and listened to the newswoman. She was interviewing a hard-looking older woman in front of a run-down South Beach condo building.
"You knew him, then? Mr. Rayburn, that is."
"Louie? Oh, yeah. Everybody knew Louie. Piece-a-trash, that's what he was. Always bringin' hookers up to his place. This ain't that kinda buildin'. We got people with kids livin' here. It's a family place. We been tryin' to get him outta the buildin', but I guess we ain't gotta worry 'bout that no more."
"He brought hookers here, you say?"
"Uh-huh. Couldn't miss knowin' what them women were up to. Trash, they were. Not just one, either. Two, three at a time. Sometimes more. My husband and me, we figgered him for a pimp. Looked like it, acted like it. And them women." She pursed her lips and shook her head.
"Mrs. Wells, you said you live on the same floor as Mr. Rayburn?"
"That's right. One door down, across the hall. We got a sea-view unit. Cost way more, but it's worth it. 'Specially now we ain't gonna have that scum across the hall. We been praying to the Lord for help ever since he moved here. Guess our prayer's been answered, finally. The Lord works in mysterious ways." Mrs. Wells shook her head.
"Were you at home when the police came this morning?"
"Honey, we sure were. I seen the whole thing. Couldn't-a missed it, anyhow. Louie and them three thugs of his, they made an awful racket. Yellin' and screamin' like you wouldn't believe. Then it got real quiet-like. Me and Harlan figgered they drunk themselves into a stupor, that's what. Harlan, he knew some men what drank like that when he was in the service, you know."
"Is Harlan your husband?"
"Of course he is. I wouldn't let no strange man in my place. I ain't one o' them harlots like Louie brought around. Trash. That's what. Harlan's upstairs, talkin' to the police detectives. They done already talked to me; said I could go. They wanted to hear Harlan's version of things."
"So there were three men with Mr. Rayburn?"
"Yep. The same three that was always with him. Big, rough-looking boys, with them radio things in their ears like the secret service. And Harlan says they carried guns. Harlan knows about stuff like that, from bein' in the service. He said them boys was bodyguards."
"Did Mr. Rayburn always have armed bodyguards?"
"He sure did. Didn't do him much good, though. That sleazy girl killed all three of them big men, plus Louie. O' course, Louie was just a little feller, but mean lookin' just the same."
"Tell me about the girl, Mrs. Wells."
"One of them hookers, she was. Had on real high heels and a dress slit up to…well, you know. Them three bodyguard fellers drug her into Louie's place."
"You say they dragged her in?"
"Well, they didn't quite drag her, but there was one of 'em holdin' each arm and one right up close behind her, like. Louie was walkin' in front, so they had her boxed in where she couldn't get away."
"Was she trying to escape, Mrs. Wells?"
"She couldn't, the way they was all around her, holdin' onto her. But I sure woulda been, if it was me in her place. Not that I'd ever get myself in a fix like that. Stupid whore. Me and Harlan figgered she was gonna get what she deserved. Asking for it, them hookers are, the way they dress and paint themselves up."
"Do you think she was the killer?"
"Couldn't a been nobody else. She was the only one there besides Louie and them boys."
"How can you be sure, Mrs. Wells?"
"The elevator. It's right next to our bedroom. Can't nobody come or go that we don't hear it."
"What about the stairs?"
"Right next to the elevator shaft. We hear the door open and close. Elevator or stairs, don't matter. Either one wakes us up."
"So you didn't hear anybody after Mr. Rayburn and his bodyguards dragged the girl into his unit, is that right?"
"Yep. That's it. Nobody came or went after that. And the screamin', it started not long after they got here. Didn't last too long, neither."
"How do you suppose the girl got out?"
"What?"
"Did you hear the girl leave?"
Mrs. Wells frowned for several seconds. "Why, no. Now you mention it, we didn't. Wonder how she snuck out? Or maybe she's still there."
"You told me you saw them removing corpses, Mrs. Wells. Is that right?"
"Yep. Four of 'em. Cops said it was Louie and three men. Didn't say nothin' about the girl. You think she's still in there?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Wells. It's time for a commercial break." The frowsy blond with the heavy makeup looked into the camera. "Heather Newcomer, Channel 5 News, live from the scene of the latest grisly murder in South Beach. Mrs. Wells and I will be back in five minutes. Stay tuned for all news, all the time."
When the commercials started, the waitress hoisted her bulk from the stool and retrieved my breakfast from under the warming lights in the pass-through. She put the plates in front of me: one with two cool, rubbery eggs; another with two biscuits slathered with glistening, greasy sausage gravy.
"Awrange jews coming right up," she said, turning back to the pass-through.
She was settled on the creaking wooden stool again in time for the return of Heather Newcomer. I ate as much of the breakfast as I could stomach. It would have been better before it got cold, but I understood. I was transfixed by the news myself. When I finished, I held up three five-dollar bills, fanned out. When the waitress saw them and nodded, I put them under my coffee cup and left.
I needed to walk around the block and think about things before I called Aaron. He was sure to have questions. Hell, I wondered what was going on myself. But Aaron didn't know about Mary's involvement, and I wasn't sure I should tell him.
Despite what I said to Aaron earlier about my relationship with Mary, I did feel personal loyalty toward her. I wasn't lying about the dark side of my psyche, nor about Mary's, but this wasn't a matter where our ruthlessness came into play. Whatever Mary was doing, I didn't see how it could be at threat to me or to Phorcys, so I would protect her privacy.
Aaron said she was off the reservation. She started working with Phorcys before I did, so I wasn't sure about her arrangement with them. She didn't offer them exclusivity, from what she told me. After a while, though, they booked all her available time, so she was effectively only working for them. That might not preclude her serving other clients if she chose to do so.
Now that I thought about it, my relationship with them was similar. Until Mary came along, I never knew Phorcys existed. When Mary took up with me, I was retired from the Department of Defense. I was doing occasional contract work for them, still taking orders from my former boss, Phyllis Greer. At least, that was one of the names she used. Then I discovered Phyllis was a traitor, and further, that she sold me out personally. That was when Mary and I killed her.
Mary and I planned to kill Phyllis's boss, too. He was part of whatever scheme she was involved in. Before we got to him, he fell victim to a Russian mobster. Aaron was still trying to identify the Russian.
The man I killed the night before last was the next one up the chain of command. Phyllis's boss was a Deputy Secretary of Defense. My target t
he other night was the Secretary of Defense himself. That's why I was so careful to make it appear that he died of natural causes. The Secretary was dirty, but he didn't know the details of the operation Phyllis ran. After the Russian mobster's people killed Phyllis's boss, there was no one at the DoD to assign targets to me.
That made me a free agent until I connected with Phorcys. I wasn't looking for assignments from anywhere else. But as I reflected on my "welcome aboard" meeting with Mike, he made it clear I was a partner in the organization, as opposed to being an employee.
There was no mention of any prohibition on my taking on work from outside. I guess Mary's situation was the same, but I still wondered who else she was working for, and why. Whoever it was, they were important enough to Mary for her to stand me up, not to mention failing to stay in touch with Phorcys.
Earlier in my relationship with her, Mary mentioned unfinished business that predated her involvement with Phorcys. Maybe that's what she was doing now, but why would she have cut herself off from me, or from Phorcys? That was unlike her. As Aaron said, she was dependable.
I struggled to think of other possibilities, situations that would explain her behavior. When I saw her get out of the Hummer last night, she didn't appear to be under duress. But neither did the other two girls, presumably hookers from Louie's stable, and I didn't think they were free to come and go at will. Pimps didn't work that way. And there were the three bodyguards.
Mrs. Wells, Louie Rayburn's neighbor who was on the TV news, described a woman who could have been Mary being forced into Louie's condo. Then there was a lot of screaming, followed by silence. I wondered when the police were called, and who called them.
If the Wells woman called them, she would have no doubt mentioned it during her interview. I could have missed that part, though. Given her comments about the screaming and noise, she or her husband probably made the call. Besides, she would have jumped at the chance to lodge a complaint. She made her dislike for Rayburn clear enough.
According to her, the noise started almost as soon as Rayburn and company were inside his place. My guess was it got quiet when Mary finished off her would-be captors. Or it was possible she killed the three bodyguards and then interrogated Rayburn. That could explain the screaming. Mary would have left using the stairs, most likely, and she wouldn't have let the door to the stairwell give her away.
I was sure Mary killed Rayburn and his goons, but I couldn't fathom why. Was it a hit for another client? That didn't seem likely. She wouldn't have put someone else ahead of Phorcys — unless there was a personal angle to this. Even so, it was unlike Mary not to let me or Phorcys know she was going to miss her scheduled contacts with us. Something about this didn't make sense.
I couldn't delay my call to Aaron much longer. Opting to get it over with, I found a bench at a bus stop and sat down. I took my new, Phorcys-supplied iPhone from my pocket. It looked identical to my other one, but Aaron's tech support person assured me it was not. She explained that this one was running a custom operating system developed by someone she knew. The software provided for advanced encryption, as well as feeding randomly modified identity information to cell sites. That meant the phone couldn't be tapped, nor could its location be tracked.
5
"Aaron?"
"Yeah. That you, Finn?"
"Yes. You wanted me to call."
"I did, yes. Have you seen the morning news yet?"
"You mean about the guy who owned the Hummer?" I asked.
"Yeah. Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I was watching for Brandon at the Pink Parrot. The Hummer pulled up and a guy who looked like a pimp got out with three bodyguards and three women."
"So?" Aaron asked. "Was Brandon with them, or what?"
"He wasn't with them, but I wondered if Rayburn was meeting him. Brandon didn't enter the club while I was watching, but he could have been inside already. Rayburn and his bunch created a big stir when they entered, so I sent you the text. Then I tried to get in, but I didn't make the doorman's cut. I tried to bribe him, but he turned me down. He said there was a private party, but who knows?"
"Did you keep up the surveillance? See who left when the club closed?"
"No. The doorman was watching me after I tried to get in. I didn't want to attract any more attention, so I left."
"Yeah, okay," Aaron said. "That was probably smart. There's more to that place than meets the eye. We've got somebody working inside the club, anyway. I'll see what I can find out and let you know, but why would you think Brandon was meeting with a pimp?"
"I said the guy in the Hummer looked like a pimp. I'm not sure he was one, though."
"Why's that?" Aaron asked.
"With all that security, he didn't look like your ordinary pimp. And he was dressed like a banker or something. I want to know who he is; his pimp act wasn't all that convincing."
"Security? You mean the three guys who were found with him?"
"Yes," I said.
"Just hired muscle, I imagine. You have a different idea?"
"Yes, I do. They were pros, Aaron. Damn good at what they were doing. They weren't the kind of yardbirds I would expect to see with a pimp."
"What are you getting at, Finn?"
"The pimp thing could be a cover."
"A cover? What do you think he was, then?"
"I don't know, Aaron. Do you know any more about him?"
"Only what's in the news," Aaron said. "I'll do some checking, but I can't push too hard, given what happened to him. If we ask too many questions about him, we'll attract attention from the cops in a hurry."
"I can see that," I said. "Anything could be helpful, though."
"Yeah. I'm on it. What's your next move on Brandon?"
"I'll watch for him to leave his campaign headquarters this evening. I want to see how he travels — what kind of entourage he has. I'm worried about collateral damage."
"I hear you. Any word from Mary?"
"No. You heard anything?" I asked.
"No. What do you think about that? Worried?"
"No, but it's like I said the other day. I have a job to do. I can't let Mary distract me. Have you talked to Mike?" I asked.
"Mike? About what?"
"Mary," I said. "She seems to have a one-on-one deal with him."
"Yeah, that's true. I've noticed the same thing. But he hasn't heard from her. He knows she missed her check-ins. He would have said something if he'd heard from her. Any plans for the day besides staking out Brandon's headquarters?"
"I just finished breakfast. I'll walk it off and head back to my room. Sack out for a while. I'm trying to get myself adjusted to working the night shift, you know?"
"Yeah, man," Aaron said. "Keep in touch, and call me right away if you hear from Mary."
"I will. You do the same. And let me know about Rayburn, please."
"Will do," Aaron said. "Sleep tight."
He disconnected the call and I put the phone in my pocket. I sat there for a few minutes, thinking. Then I did what I told Aaron I was planning to do.
Back in my room after a walk around the neighborhood, I checked the email drop that Mary and I used. I didn't expect to find anything there, but I checked it every morning and evening. That was part of our routine. Mary surprised me this morning — and not for the first time. She was dependable, but that wasn't the same as being predictable. She left me a message in the drafts folder. I opened it, noticing that she sent it while I was out for breakfast.
Hi, Sailor!
Sorry about the crazy voicemail last night, but I needed to wave you off, and I couldn't get any privacy. I hoped you would read enough between the lines to at least guess at my message and keep your distance.
I owe you an apology for disappearing, too, but something personal has come up. I need to finish it while I can. It's important to me, and no one can help me with it — not even you.
You know by now that I missed my check-in with Phorcys when I got to Miami. I've smoothe
d that over, but only a special contact there knows what's happening. Don't worry; I'm not burning any bridges with them. I should be back to work with you and them soon.
About us — I know you're not the jealous type, but I want to tell you shouldn't read anything into what you saw last night. Those four jerks are dead now; it wasn't what it looked like.
One last thing. I know how tight you are with Aaron, but he's not in the loop on this, so please don't mention any of it to him. I hope you haven't already told him about last night, but if so, just play dumb from here on. I'm sorry to put you in a bind with him, but if he asks about me, sandbag him as best you can. It's not that I don't trust him. It's just that it could embarrass the person I talked with at Phorcys.
I have to run; I'm short of time, so I don't know when I'll be in touch again. Don't worry. This is nothing I can't handle, and I'm in a big hurry to get back together with you.
Love,
Mary
So much for my plans to crash and sleep through the day. My mind was awhirl with the possibilities. Mary said this was personal. That meant it must be part of something she was involved in before she began working with Phorcys.
There were large gaps in what I knew about Mary's background. Piecing together things she told me, I figured out she was killing for hire while she was still in college. She mentioned beginning her working relationship with the woman she referred to as her agent or broker back then. But we didn't discuss how she got to that point, or how she survived her teens.
Mary was on her own from the time she was 12, but I suspected that she didn't have a normal childhood even before that. Her mother was a hard-core drug abuser, and that conjured up nightmare images of what Mary must have endured before her mother died. That she managed to get through her teenage years and finish college at a normal age spoke to her determination and resourcefulness.
Until now, she avoided giving me details of that period in her life. She once remarked that she knew I would imagine the worst. "But I would rather leave it to your imagination, Finn. Whatever you think I might have been doing then can't be as bad as the reality. I have to live with the things I did, but I can't bring myself to talk about them. Not even with you."
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