Long Way Down

by Paul Carr

  Jack sounded like a legitimate businessman, but Sam knew he was actually Grand Master of the high-level con. This latest venture was just busywork until the right mark came along.

  They arrived at the marina and walked down the dock to The Clipper. Jack led him into the galley, which was much larger than the one on Sam’s boat, and pulled two beers from the full-size refrigerator. Handing one to Sam, he twisted the top off his own and took a long swallow, then reached into the bucket for the bluefish and plopped it onto a cutting board. He pulled a filleting knife from the wall, sliced into the fish, separating a four-inch-wide slab of meat from the backbone.

  Sam sat in a chair next to the table, watching the operation. Jack skinned the two filets, zipped them inside plastic bags, and tossed them into the refrigerator. He rinsed his hands and said, "Be right back.”

  Jack left the galley for about thirty seconds and returned with a seven foot surf rod. "It's a beauty," he said, scanning the rod from handle to tip, running his fingers over the ceramic eyelets.

  Sam took it by the handle and looked it over. "You don't see many like this anymore."

  "Better believe it. Why don’t we try it tomorrow morning on the changing tide? We'll kill those blues.”

  "You’ve got a deal."

  Sam stood the rod in the corner next to the table and turned back to sip his beer. Jack sat down at the table and rocked back in his chair.

  "Funny thing happened last week," Sam said. "A woman, a real looker, came to my boat about midnight on Tuesday. She said Tommy Shoes sent her. Turns out, she’d been shot and fainted before she could tell me anything else."

  Sam told the rest of the story, leaving out the part about him and Carling on the sofa.

  “Oh yeah, Carling said to tell you hello.”

  Jack’s face softened, and his eyes drifted off to a pleasant place for a couple of seconds.

  “Carling, huh, I bet she still looks great.”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I took her out a few times, but never got to first base.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Jack said. He took a long swallow of beer. "So, you haven't heard anything from this mystery woman since she left Carling Research?"

  "No. I thought I might talk to Tommy Shoes, if I can get a meeting with him.”

  "You want your ten thousand back?"

  "It’s not that. I just thought I'd make sure she’s okay."

  "You said she’s pretty. You wouldn't want to cash in on a debt of gratitude, would you?”

  Sam looked at Jack and smiled.

  "C'mon, Jack. That's something you'd do."

  Jack winced.

  "Hey, I was kidding. Anyway, I can set up the meeting with Tommy if you want.”

  “You can?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Sam stood up to leave.

  “How much did the rod cost?”

  Jack closed his eyes, waved Sam away.

  "Forget it. It's a present."

  Sam knew there was no need to argue, so he thanked him and turned to leave.

  “What about Tommy?” Jack said, “you want to see him this afternoon?”

  “Sure, if you can arrange it.”

  “Why don’t we get some lunch first and drop in on him.”

  Jack must know Tommy pretty well. He nodded, said he had to go take a shower and would be back in thirty minutes.

  Sam walked off The Clipper and turned his eyes toward the water. Fifteen or twenty boats drifted on Biscayne Bay. Their sails, fat with the eighty-degree Miami breeze, colored the sea with green, red, and white dots. The scene made him envious for a split second, but he wasn’t sure why, because he could do the same if he wanted to. Maybe he would take a cruise down to the Keys in a week or so if he could tie up a few loose ends, and see if Carling wanted to go along.

  ****

  JACK WANTED to try a new seafood restaurant and said he’d drive. Sam noticed a car following them, and it stayed behind them all the way to the restaurant. Sam and Jack went inside, ordered grouper sandwiches and beer. Two men came in a few minutes later and took a table about ten feet away.

  “You see the tail?” Sam said.

  Jack nodded. “Gray Dodge, picked us up right outside the marina.”

  “I think they just walked in,” Sam said. “Maybe Feds.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You call Tommy?”

  Jack shook his head. “I figured he’s probably home. He usually is this time of day.”

  Sam chanced a glance at the table where the two men sat; a tingle ran up his neck when he recognized one of the faces. The waiter brought their beer and poured it. Sam turned up the glass, took a long drink, and set it down. For the second time in a week, he wished he’d brought his gun.

  Chapter 3

  SAM KNEW the man only as Grimes. He used to work for the Government, and their paths had crossed on a couple of jobs. Both times, he left death in his wake. He looked different from what Sam remembered, beefed up, his spiked hair lighter, almost white, but the eyes were crazy as ever.

  They ate crab cake sandwiches with fries and left the restaurant. Sam checked the side mirror. Grimes and his sidekick followed.

  Jack drove into Coral Gables and up to a Mediterranean mansion, built in the twenties by a man who helped kill the Everglades. Many others had owned it since then, most of them wealthy. Jack waited for traffic to pass so he could turn into the driveway.

  “Used to be Mickey Jay’s place,” Sam said.

  “You knew Mickey?”

  Sam shook his head. “I just know he lived here.”

  “Tommy moved in when Mickey disappeared a year or so ago,” Jack said.

  Sam remembered the story circulating at the time: The owner of a tee-shirt shop at the beach got tired of paying protection money, hit Mickey on the head with a hot tee-shirt iron, and took him on a one-way trip to the Gulf Stream. He probably got what he deserved.

  “Did Tommy take over Mickey’s business?” Sam asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I assume that went with the house.”

  The Dodge kept going down the street when Jack turned into the driveway. Grimes and

  the other man looked straight ahead as they passed. They didn’t realize they had been made.

  Jack drove up to the gate, reached out his window, and pressed a button.

  “Yeah?” an anonymous voice said from a speaker.

  “We need to see Tommy Shoes,” Jack said.

  A couple of seconds later the gate opened and they rode into the expansive turnaround in front of the house. They stopped close to the entrance, got out of the car and walked onto the portico. A short, fat man in a cheap brown suit opened the door.

  “Nice to see you, Mr. Craft.” The man smiled. He had perfect teeth, and he also had a black eye, the edges of it turning yellow.

  “Hello, Frankie,” Jack said, “Tommy in?”

  “Sure. Step this way.” The man turned and walked very gracefully for a person who had to weigh more than three hundred pounds and stood only a foot or so higher than the door knob.

  Sam first met Tommy Shoes a dozen years before in Chicago. A guy named Roland had run up gambling debts and borrowed money from someone on the street. Roland couldn't pay the money and was getting threats. He asked Sam for help.

  Sam and Roland met two guys in the back room of a restaurant where Roland told them he needed more time. One of the men was named Tommy Shoes; he wore a pair of white, patent leather wing-tips with flamingos painted on the toes.

  Tommy had said to Roland, “How much more time do you think you should have?”

  “A month,” Roland said.

  Tommy squeezed his lips together and shook his head. “You got ‘til midnight.”

  “What if I don’t make it?”

  Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Believe me, you better make it, or you ain’t gonna like what happens next.”

  Roland pull
ed a gun Sam didn’t know he had and grinned. “That’s okay, I'd rather settle the debt right now.”

  Sam knew Roland would kill both men, and had planned to do that all along.

  Tommy and the other man were caught off guard and fumbled for their guns. Sam back-fisted Roland, grabbed the gun from his hand, and laid it on the floor. Tommy had drawn his own gun by that time, and said he would kill both of them. Sam somehow talked him out of it, promising that Roland would have his money the next day. Tommy wanted to work Roland over, but he settled down after a while and told them to beat it, saying if he didn't get the money when promised, that he would drop both of them into Lake Michigan.

  Roland didn't have any way to raise the cash, so Sam called in some markers. Tommy played it pretty cool when Sam paid the debt. He counted the money, leaned back in the chair, said, "Okay.”

  Sam nodded, and was half-way to the door when Tommy called after him.

  “Hey, Mackenzie?”

  He turned around.

  “I appreciate you not letting Roland shoot us. I'm gonna remember it. I’ll probably have to teach him a lesson, though."

  Sam said he understood and left. He hadn't seen Tommy Shoes or Roland since. He often wondered if Tommy had dropped Roland into the lake anyway, just on principle.

  Now the fat man led them into a large study where Tommy Shoes sat at a desk. Tommy stood when they entered and walked around to greet them. He hadn’t changed much in the last dozen years: a little thicker around the face and the midsection, the shiny pompadour graying around the edges. He didn’t seem as tall as Sam remembered. Tommy gave a nod and the fat man disappeared down the hall.

  “Mr. Craft, what can I do for you?” Tommy asked.

  He shook hands with Jack.

  Jack smiled. “You know Sam Mackenzie?”

  Tommy glanced at Sam.

  “Sure, Mackenzie, I remember you.” He grinned, pointed his index finger at Sam, thumb raised like the hammer of a Colt 45, and made a popping sound with his tongue.

  Sam nodded, said, “Tommy.”

  Tommy wore a charcoal suit with a pink knit shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He turned back to Jack, grinned, and pointed at his own feet.

  “Check out the shoes.”

  He wore dark green loafers made from alligator skin, with the heads of twin baby reptiles covering the tops. There were penny slots cut right between the little eyes. The backs of the shoes above the heels were pointed, with an inch of gator tail sticking out from each like cowboy spurs.

  A smile teased at the corner of Jack’s mouth.

  “Those are interesting, Tommy.”

  “I can get you a pair, just say the word.”

  “Maybe later.” Jack lost the smile. “Sam wants to talk to you about something.”

  Tommy’s smile slipped away, too, and he nodded at two wing chairs.

  “Sure. Have a seat.”

  Tommy offered them drinks and both men said they would have a beer. Tommy pressed an intercom button and told Frankie to bring in three Coronas.

  Sam told Tommy what had happened and Tommy squeezed his lips together, frowned, and shook his head.

  “I haven’t seen her since that night,” Sam said.

  “That’s too bad,” Tommy said. “’Cause I haven't talked to her in over a week.” He glanced down at one of his hands and picked at a thumbnail. Frankie entered the room and floated to the desk with a tray in his fat little hands. He poured the beer for Jack and Sam, and left Tommy’s beer in the bottle. Tommy nodded and Frankie left the room.

  Sam took a swallow of beer and set his glass on a table next to his chair. “Why’d you send her to me?”

  “Pretty simple. I had to stay out of it. Mr. Craft speaks highly of you, and I remembered you from, you know, back in Chicago.”

  Tommy turned up the Corona bottle and drank about half of the beer. He set it down on the desk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Sam eyed him for a few seconds.

  “Okay, who is she?”

  Tommy held his hands up in front of him, palms out. “Like I said, I can’t get involved in this.”

  “I’d consider it a personal favor, Tommy,” Jack said, his tone not that of a request at all. Tommy seemed nervous. He glanced at Jack, studied his face for a split second. “Okay, but this is probably going to get me in trouble.”

  “We’ll keep it confidential,” Jack said.

  Tommy glanced at the door, got up and closed it, and returned to his chair.

  “Her name is Candi Moran. That name ring any bells?”

  Sam stared at Tommy for a second and looked at Jack. Jack smiled.

  “Moran,” Sam said, “I remember Philip Moran. Disappeared with a few million dollars his client’s had invested in his lending company.”

  Tommy made his hand into a gun again, pointed it at Sam and popped his tongue.

  “He turned up in the Miami River with about a hundred bullet holes in him,” Sam said. “And I heard they never found the money.”

  Tommy nodded and glanced at Jack, whose eyes might have narrowed slightly. Tommy looked back at Sam, stuck his thumbnail between his teeth and chewed.

  “So, who’s Candi Moran? His daughter?”

  “Yep.” Tommy pulled his thumbnail from his mouth, looked at it, spat something invisible from his lips.

  “Who plugged her?” Sam asked.

  “Had to be La Salle.”

  Tommy’s voice dripped venom when he said the name, and his lip peeled back in a sneer.

  “La Salle?”

  “Yeah, Vince La Salle. Big guy with long hair, looks like a weight lifter or something. You know him?”

  “No. What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He took over Philly Moran’s company.”

  That meant he probably put the body in the river.

  “He killed Moran?”

  “Sure, but the police came around here busting my chops about it, ‘cause I used to work for Philly. I told ‘em I hadn’t seen the man since I started my own business a year or so ago. They said that's a good reason for us to be having problems, but we didn’t have any problems. When I left, he asked me to stay away from his clients, and I respected his wishes.”

  Several seconds of silence passed, Tommy with a brooding look on his face. He glanced at his watch, said, “That about it?”

  Sam looked at Jack, then back at Tommy. “Why would La Salle go after the girl?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she threatened him for killing her old man.”

  Sam nodded at Tommy and glanced at Jack, who shrugged, as if to say he couldn’t think of anything else.

  Sam drained his Corona. “What happened to Frankie?”

  “La Salle’s men came by here a few days ago. Tried to get me to tell ‘em where Candi’s hiding. Frankie got pissed off the way they talked to me and mixed it up with one of ‘em. He’s kind of protective...you know what I mean. You think he looks bad, the other guy ran out of here carrying one of his own ears. Frankie clipped him with a sap.”

  “Why would they think you know anything about Candi?”

  Tommy looked wistful and his eyes softened.

  “I used watch out for Candi, made sure nobody bothered her.”

  Tommy looked as if he might say more, and Sam waited for several seconds until Tommy finally leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms.

  “What about the Government? Where do they fit in?”

  Tommy shook his head.

  “They don’t fit in nowhere, far as I know.”

  THEY FINISHED their beer, said good-bye, and left. As they rode through the electronic gate and pulled into the traffic, Sam looked for the gray Dodge. He spotted it turn onto the street several cars behind them.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?” Sam said.

  “Knew what, Samuel?”

  “About Candi Moran, her father, the money.”

  Jack glanced at Sam and grinned. “What?”

  Sam smiled and shook his h
ead.

  After several seconds Jack sighed. “Okay, I just didn’t want you to think I was in the middle of this. Tommy called me last week about Candi. He said this La Salle character had already threatened him about dealing with Philly’s former clients, and he didn’t want to make matters worse. I told him to send her to you.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam. “Hey, I knew you’d know what to do. And you did. This could be really big, you know.”

  Those were the key words: really big. Millions of missing dollars get a lot of attention, especially from an old con man like Jack Craft. And Sam hadn’t missed the look Tommy and Jack exchanged at the mention of the money.

  “Why all the games, then?”

  “No games, I thought you might want to hear everything from Tommy.”

  Which meant he would never have said anything if Sam hadn’t guessed it.

  “Yeah, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you and Tommy are pretty chummy. Why is that?”

  “I helped him out of a situation awhile back. I suppose he thinks he owes me.”

  The Mercedes whisked north on US1, crossed the Miami River and turned right on the MacArthur Causeway. Sam looked out over the channel at a thunderhead rolling in from the Atlantic. The cruise ships wouldn’t like that. They passed the Coast Guard Station and Sam could see a curtain of rain in the distance sweeping across the tip of Miami Beach, coming fast toward the Causeway. He was glad when they rolled off the bridge ahead of the storm and slowed for the turn into the marina.

  “He’s lying about the Government,” Sam said. “He knows something.”

  Jack glanced at him. “Maybe he didn’t pay his taxes?”

  “I recognized one of the men in the Dodge. His name is Grimes, and he isn’t a tax man.”

  “Yeah?” Jack drove into his usual parking space and turned off the engine.

  Rain pounded the roof of the Mercedes, and wind assaulted it like a grizzly tossing its prey. Jack turned on the radio and tried to get a weather report. A news program played, and the reporter said pieces of what was thought to be a missing fishing boat had washed up in Grand Cayman that morning. The authorities suspected an explosion of some kind. Sam wondered what might have happened to the boat. Lots of things can go wrong on the open sea. The weather man came on and said the rain would last through the night and be gone by morning. Jack turned off the radio.