by Karl Tutt
Chapter 11
The next morning I hung around the boat for a while, did a little house cleaning, including much overdue laundry. But mostly I was thinking. Bijet’s call had definitely given me the chills. S had said I would be safe . . . and I guess I was, but that casual comment about “my friens” worried the hell out of me. What exactly did that mean? My friends? I guess that meant Ricky, Henri, and now, Evelyn. I didn’t know whether Grace figured in that equation or not. And what would Elvis uncover about the man I was almost in love with? S and I were scheduled for lunch at 11:30, but true to his word, my skinny bag boy delivered the goods sooner.
I locked the boat and was halfway down the dock when Elvis hurried over.
“Up early. Couldn’t sleep. Went to work. Maybe some stuff you don’t want to know.”
He handed me a file folder with a few sheets of printed paper. “Sorry, Dee,” he said and ambled back to the Catalina. I stuffed the documents under my arm and headed for the old Focus. She was damned sure ugly, but she started like a rabbit let loose from her cage and roared toward the office.
I unlocked the door. I hadn’t seen Ricky’s Caddy and there was no sign of him. Not unusual. Maybe dogging some unfaithful husband or checking some records at the city hall. Anyway, I was kind of glad. I wanted some time to see what was in Elvis’ care package. I made some crappy coffee and considered a shot of Jameson. But it was early and I wanted my head to be perfectly clear.
I opened the folder and spread the sheets on my desk. Elvis had made a few notes. The file on Bijet was thick. His real name was DeLain Changette. He had been arrested six separate times, assault, drugs, even an attempted murder charge. He walked every time. There was no proof, but apparently he had his hand in some legitimate businesses. A dummy corp called Change for the Better even owned some real estate in Fort Lauderdale: a dry cleaning business, a liquor store, a couple of neighborhood groceries, and a warehouse. The cops hadn’t been able to verify any of it . . . too many layers of sham bureaucracy, but the connections were there.
Sterling was actually George Sterling Major. When the feds had indicted him for money laundering in Charlotte, North Carolina, the Sterling part was missing. That was 2001. He didn’t do any time, actually never went to trial. Insufficient evidence. Still, an indictment meant that some serious shit had gone down. That “measure of influence” thing stuck in my mind. Okay . . . Why . . . and with whom?
I pored over the file a couple of times, but the records were clear and my questions had no answers. At least not now. I called Ricky’s home, then his cell. No answer either place. I left messages. I decided to try Evelyn, but she was out of the office. That might explain a lot.
S showed up right on time, as usual. I got in the Jag and he headed for the little pizza place on A1A. There must have been some event at the Swimming Hall of Fame, because the kids in their Speedos were all over the sidewalk. They strutted and preened and laughed like the world would end in fifteen minutes. Actually it was fun to watch them. The brown flesh was innocent . . . even sweet, but it had a sexual vibe that was hard to deny.
S and I sat outside in the corner. It was open, but between the bodies and the noise, we had a surprising measure of privacy. I spoke first.
“So George, what are you in the mood for? I’m thinking The Meat Lover’s Supreme.”
“I knew you’d find out sooner or later. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t find a good time to tell you.”
“I gotta tell you, S. I don’t much like it. You told me you were falling in love. You asked me to move in with you. So when was that ‘good time’ gonna happen?”
“Okay, Dee. Guilty as charged. But if you love me even a little bit, at least give me a chance to tell my side of it.”
I nodded and he began.
“I played a little ball at a small college near Charlotte. I wasn’t big time and I knew it. But I used to go to the courts downtown. Sometimes I was the only white man among the big black trees. I minded my own business and fed the giants on the court. They liked it. I met some good guys and some bad ones. I gotta say I was smart, but too smart. That led to some problems and some dumb decisions. I had a small consulting firm. It became a front for other activities.”
“Like money laundering?”
“Yeah. When the Feds caught up with me, I knew I was screwed. The question was who else I’d screw along with me. They offered me a deal, witness protection and all of perks. I thought about it long and hard. I figured the bad boys would find me sooner or later if I rolled on them. Then I could say bye, bye permanently. I sure as hell didn’t like those ass holy bastards in the dark suits, but I fed them a little information. I finally made a deal, but not with the boys with badges. I told the thugs I would keep my mouth shut if they could get me off. They promised high priced lawyers. Lots of technicalities, but they had to understand. After it was over, I was going straight. They had to leave me alone. The bottom line is I have contacts on both sides of the fence. I used one to get Bijet off your back.”
I told him about the clown’s call. “That wasn’t part of the deal,” he said. His face was grim.
The pizza smelled delicious, but it just didn’t melt in my mouth. I sucked down the Yuengling draft and sat silently.
“That’s it, Dee. You want to walk? I don’t blame you.”