Double Dexter

by Jeff Lindsay

  “Like what?” I said, genuinely puzzled.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t help thinking that it might be some kind of setup?”

  “What?”

  “Or that you might want to use me as a kind of cat’s paw, just to see what happens?”

  “Brian,” I said.

  “It’s the sort of thing that naturally occurs to one, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Not to me,” I said, and because I could think of nothing more compelling, I added, “You’re my brother.”

  “Yes,” he said. “On the other side, there is that.” He frowned, and for a moment I was terrified that he would pick up the sugar packet again. But instead, he shook his head, as if overcoming a large temptation, and looked me in the eye. For a long moment he simply stared, and I stared back. Then his face lit up with his terrible fake smile. “I would be delighted to help you,” he said.

  I exhaled a very large cloud of anxiety, and inhaled even more relief. “Thank you,” I said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE LAW OFFICES OF FIGUEROA, WHITLEY AND FLEISCHMAN were on the fourteenth floor of a high-rise building on Brickell Avenue, just on the edge of the area where office space starts to get pricey. The lobby was deserted when I walked in at two fifteen, and as I stood next to the elevator and scanned the building’s directory, I noticed that very few of the floors had any tenants at all. Like many of the newer buildings in Miami’s cluttered skyline, this one had apparently been built during the wild optimism of the last real estate boom, when everyone was certain prices would keep going up forever. Instead, prices had collapsed like a punctured balloon, and half of the glittering new buildings in downtown Miami had turned into shiny and very overpriced ghost towns.

  Rita was not in the waiting room when I stepped off the elevator, so I sat down and thumbed through a copy of GOLF magazine. There were several articles on improving my short game that would have been much more interesting if only I played golf. The large golden clock on the wall said it was exactly two thirty-six when the elevator doors slid open and Rita stepped out. “Oh, Dexter, you’re here already,” she said.

  I never really know what to say to that kind of painfully obvious remark, even though it seems to be very popular, so I just admitted that I was, in fact, right here in front of her, and she nodded and hustled over to the receptionist. “We have an appointment with Larry Fleischman?” she announced breathily.

  The receptionist, a cool, stylish woman of around thirty, cocked her head at the appointment book and nodded. “Mrs. Morgan?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rita said, and the receptionist smiled and dialed a number on the phone on her desk.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Morgan,” she said into the phone, and a few moments later we were ushered into an office halfway down the hall, where a serious-looking man of about fifty with badly dyed black hair sat behind a large wooden desk. He looked up as we entered, and then stood and held out his hand.

  “Larry Fleischman—you must be Rita,” he said, taking her hand and staring deep into her eyes with well-practiced and totally fake sincerity. “Carlene has told me so much about you.” His eyes flicked down to the front of her blouse and Rita blushed and gently tried to disengage her hand. Larry looked up at her face and reluctantly dropped her hand at last, and then he turned to me. “And, uh … Derrick?” he said to me, holding out his hand just far enough away that I had to lean over to shake it.

  “Dexter,” I said. “With an ‘X.’ ”

  “Huh,” he said thoughtfully. “Unusual name.”

  “Almost bizarre,” I said, and then, just to keep things on an even footing, I added, “And you must be Leroy Fleischman?”

  He blinked and dropped my hand. “Larry,” he said. “It’s Larry Fleischman.”

  “Sorry,” I said, and for a moment we just looked at each other.

  Finally, Larry cleared his throat and looked back at Rita. “Well,” he said, frowning. “Sit down, won’t you?”

  We sat facing the desk in matching chairs, battered wooden things with worn fabric seats, and Larry sat back down behind his desk and opened a manila folder. It had only one sheet of paper in it, and he picked that up and frowned at it. “Well,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Our problem was apparently not written on the paper, and I wondered whether there was anything written on it at all, or if it was just a prop for Larry’s I-am-a-real-lawyer act, and the folder was as phony as his hair color. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder whether Larry could possibly be any help at all. If I was going to fight off a determined and dishonest attack by Hood and Doakes, I needed an attack dog, a lawyer who was sharp and eager and very aggressive and ready to snap the leash and maul that vile old whore, Justice. Instead I was looking at a middle-aged poser who clearly didn’t like me, and would probably decide to help them throw me in the slammer so he could hit on my wife.

  But we were here, after all, and Rita seemed to be impressed. So I sat and let her burble her way through our tale of woe. Larry stared at her and nodded, occasionally tearing his eyes off her cleavage and looking over at me with an expression of dull surprise.

  When Rita finally finished, Larry leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. “Well,” he said. “First of all, I want to reassure you that you’ve done exactly the right thing by coming here to consult me.” He smiled at Rita. “Too many people wait to consult an attorney until things have gone too far for me to be really helpful. Which you haven’t done, in this case.” He seemed to like the sound of that, and he nodded a few times in the direction of Rita’s breasts. “The important thing,” he told them, “is to have some good legal advice at the very beginning of this thing. Even if you are innocent,” he said, turning to look at me with an expression that said he didn’t really think I was. Then he turned back to Rita and gave her a condescending smile. “The American legal system is the finest in the world,” he told her, which didn’t seem remotely possible, since he was part of it. But he said it with a straight face and went on. “However, it is an adversary system, which means that it’s the prosecutor’s job to get a conviction any way he can, and it’s my job to stop him and keep your husband out of jail.” He looked at me again, as if he was wondering whether that was such a good idea after all.

  “Yes, I know,” Rita said, and Larry snapped his head back around and looked at her attentively. “I mean, that’s exactly— And I don’t even know … Have you had, you know. A lot of experience? With, um, this kind of … I mean, we understand that criminal law and corporate law are very much— And Carlene said, your sister-in-law? So it might be important.”

  Larry nodded at Rita as if everything she’d said made sense, which was one more clue that he wasn’t actually listening. “Yes,” he said, “that’s an important consideration. And I want you to know that I will leave no stone unturned and do absolutely everything in my power to help you beat this thing. But,” he said, showing her the palms of his hands and smiling confidently, “that will take some work. And you need to know that it may turn out to be expensive.” He glanced at me again, then back to Rita. “Not that you can really put a price on freedom.”

  I was pretty sure that, in fact, Larry could and would put a price on freedom, and it would turn out to be exactly ten dollars more than we had in the bank. But before I could think of a diplomatic way to tell him that I would rather spend twenty years in the penitentiary than ten more minutes in his company, Rita began to reassure him that she understood completely and money was no object, because Dexter, that is, her husband, and anyway, so that was fine and we were very grateful. And Larry smiled and nodded thoughtfully at Rita’s breasts until she finally ran out of oxygen and blathered to a gasping halt. And as she paused to inhale he stood up behind his desk and held out his hand.

  “Terrific,” he said. “And let me reassure you that I will do everything I can, so I want you to stop worrying.” He beamed at her, and I have to say that it was a far shoddier effort than even B
rian’s fake smile. “And I want you to call me if I can help with anything.” He nodded slowly. “Anything at all,” he said, with a little too much emphasis.

  “Thank you, that’s really very— We will, and thank you,” Rita said, and a few moments later we were in the waiting room again and the receptionist was handing us a stack of forms and telling us that if we could please just fill these all out for Mr. Fleischman he would appreciate it very much.

  I looked back down the hallway to the door of Fleischman’s office. He was standing there, looking around the half-closed door. I was pleased to see that at least he was no longer looking at the front of Rita’s blouse; instead, he was staring at the seat of her skirt.

  I turned back to the receptionist and took the forms from her. “We’ll mail them in,” I said. “My parking meter is about to expire.” And as Rita frowned at me and opened her mouth to say something, I took her firmly by the arm and led her into the elevator. The doors slid mercifully closed, shutting out the nightmare world of Figueroa, Whitley and Fleischman for what I devoutly hoped would be the very last time.

  “You could have parked in the building and they validate?” Rita said. “Because I don’t even see— Dexter, I didn’t know there were any parking meters at all in this part of—”

  “Rita,” I said, pleasantly but very firmly, “if I have a choice between watching Larry stare at your cleavage and going to prison, I think Raiford looks like a good idea.”

  Rita blushed. “But that isn’t even— I mean, I know, my God, he must think I’m blind or else— But, Dexter, if he can help at all? Because this is still very serious.”

  “Too serious to trust it to Larry,” I said, and the elevator gave a muffled ding! and the doors slid open and spilled us out onto the ground floor.

  I walked Rita to her car. Following her own excellent advice, she had parked it in the building’s garage, although she had failed to get her ticket validated because I had rushed her out before she could ask the receptionist.

  I reassured her that the extra ten dollars would not really send us plummeting into bankruptcy, promised her I would ask around for another lawyer, and watched her drive away into the traffic on Brickell Avenue. Rush hour was already starting, and I wondered how Rita ever managed to survive Miami traffic. She was not a good driver; she drove the way she talked, with lots of stops and starts and sudden changes, but she made up for that by being the luckiest driver I had ever seen, and she’d never had even a small fender-bender.

  I got into my car and started the tedious drive home, south again on Brickell for a few blocks, and then west and up onto I-95 until it ended and dumped me down onto Dixie Highway. I found myself pondering as I drove, which is never a great idea in Miami’s rush-hour traffic, and at the intersection of Le Jeune I very nearly plowed into a Jaguar whose driver had made the perfectly reasonable decision to turn left from the center lane. I swerved around it at the last second, earning myself a loud and operatic chorus of horns and bad words in three languages. I supposed it served me right for criticizing Rita’s driving.

  Somehow I made it home without smashing into a tanker truck and being consumed by a giant fireball, and I had just enough time to make a pot of coffee and pour myself a cup when Rita burst into the house, with Lily Anne in her arms and the other two children following along in her wake.

  “You’re home!” she said as she rushed through the front door. “Because I have some wonderful news, and I have to— Cody, don’t just throw your jacket there; hang it up on the— Astor, for God’s sake, don’t slam the door like that. Here, take the baby,” she said to me, thrusting Lily Anne in my direction and turning away again so rapidly that I had to lurch forward to grab the baby, spilling a quarter of a cup of coffee as I did.

  Rita put her keys into her purse and the purse on the table by the front door as she continued. “Brian just called me, your brother?” she said, in case I had forgotten who Brian was. “And anyway, he told me— What, dear?” she said, turning to Cody, who was at her elbow asking her something in his soft voice. “Yes, you can play the Wii for an hour now— So, Brian? When he called?” And she came back over to me where I stood juggling Lily Anne and my cup, with one foot in a pool of spilled coffee. “Oh,” she said, frowning at the small puddle on the floor. “Dexter, you spilled your coffee. I’ll get it,” she said, and rushed into the kitchen, hurrying back out again almost instantly with a wad of paper towels. She squatted down and began to blot up the coffee.

  “What did Brian say?” I asked the top of Rita’s head, and she glanced up at me with a radiant smile.

  “We have to go to Key West,” she said, and before I could ask her why we had to go, or why Brian could order us around like that, and why that made her so happy, Rita leaped to her feet and ran for the kitchen with the wet paper towels clutched in her hand. “Honestly,” she said over one shoulder, “nobody else around here ever even—” And she was gone through the kitchen door, leaving me to marvel at the fact that I somehow managed to survive in this house without ever knowing what was going on around me, or even what I was talking about.

  But Lily Anne reminded me of the futility of trying to understand the harsh conditions of our bleak existence; she gave me a clout on the nose that brought tears to my eyes, topped it with a hearty chuckle as I blinked at her through the haze of pain, and then Rita whisked back into the room and snatched the baby from my arms.

  “She needs a change,” Rita said, and hurried away toward the changing table before I could add that I did, too. But I followed along behind her, hoping for some kind of clarity.

  “Why did Brian say we have to go to Key West?” I asked her back.

  “Oh,” Rita said. “It’s about the house? Brian said that they’re all going to be there— Stop fussing now, silly Lily,” she told the baby as she began to change the diaper. “And so if we go there, too? It’s a very good opportunity for— And with Brian’s connections? We could get a really good deal, too. There you go, little sweetie,” she said as she put the fresh diaper on Lily Anne. “So if you promise to call around about the lawyer? Tonight? Because we would have to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Rita turned to me with Lily Anne in her arms, and I had to believe that the expression of excited pleasure on her face had nothing to do with the amazingly rapid diaper change she had performed. “It’s just a chance,” she said, “but it’s a wonderful chance. And Key West! It’s going to be so much fun!”

  In every man’s life there comes a time when he must stand up, assert himself, and be a man. For me, that time had come. “Rita,” I said firmly, “I want you to take a deep breath, and then slowly, carefully, and clearly tell me what the hell you are talking about.” And to underline just how serious I was, Lily Anne smacked her mother’s cheek and told her, “Blap!” in a clear and commanding voice.

  Rita blinked, possibly from pain. “Oh,” she said. “But I said—”

  “You said Brian is forcing us to go to Key West, whether we want to or not,” I said. “And you said all the houses will be there. Other than that, you might as well be speaking Etruscan.”

  Rita opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She shook her head and said, “I’m sorry. I thought I said— Because sometimes it seems so clear to me.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said.

  “I was in the car, picking up the kids?” she said. “And Brian called me. On the phone,” she added. The thought of her talking on the phone in the course of her already erratic driving made me very glad I was off the roads already. “And he said … He told me that, you know. The real estate company he works for? They’re about to file Chapter Eleven and they need to raise as much cash as they can.” She gave me another very warm smile. “Which is wonderful news,” she said.

  I am not really a financial maven, but even I had heard of Chapter 11 before, and I was reasonably sure it had something to do with bankruptcy. But if that was true I couldn’t see why that would be wonderful news, except for any business rivals Brian
’s employers might have. “Rita,” I said.

  “But don’t you see?” she said. “That means they have to sell off all their houses for whatever they can get, so they’re having an auction!” she said triumphantly. “This weekend! And it’s in Key West, because you can get a convention rate? And anyway more people will come to the auction if they have it there. Which is why we have to go down there and try? I mean, to get one of them—the houses? At the auction? And so Brian is bringing us a complete list, so this is really a great chance for us to get the new house! Dexter, this could really, really be exactly— Oh, I’m so excited!” she said, and she lurched forward and tried to give me a hug. But since she was still holding Lily Anne it was more of a lean against my chest, which sandwiched the baby in between us. Lily Anne was never one to waste an opportunity, and she began to kick at my stomach vigorously.

  I took a step back from the onslaught and put my hands on Rita’s shoulders. “An auction in Key West?” I said. “Of all the foreclosed houses in our area?”

  Rita nodded, still beaming. “In Key West,” she said. “Which we haven’t even been to together before.”

  For a moment I tried very hard to think of something to say, and I failed. Events seemed to be spinning away from me. I felt like I was being pushed off my feet and rolled along the floor toward something wildly irrelevant, weird, and foreign. I know that in theory I am not actually the center of the universe, but I had some very important and immediate concerns right here in Miami, and to go rushing off to Key West to buy a house that was right here in South Miami, and at a time like this? It seemed just a little bit frivolous, and, well … not at all about Me, which didn’t seem quite right.

  But aside from my petty desire to stay home and save my own hide, I couldn’t think of any real reason not to go—especially in the face of Rita’s near-hysterical enthusiasm. And so five minutes later I found myself sitting down in front of my trusty laptop to make hotel reservations for a three-night stay in Key West. I turned it on and waited. It seemed to start up a bit slower lately. I was usually pretty good about keeping the hard drive clean, but I had been a little distracted. In any case, computer cookies and spyware get more sophisticated every day, and I was not absolutely up-to-date. I made a mental note to spend a little time catching up when things settled down again.