‘You thought you killed my sister,’ Lena growled, standing right beside me, ‘but you killed a cop!’
Good for her, following my lead.
Ironstone hesitated, then set down his cup. Before he could speak, I went on.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘that David pissed everybody off. And I mean everybody. The Seminoles hated him because he’s a child molester; the Cubans hated him because he sold them out to the Columbians; and the Columbians hated him on general principle. It’s a wonder he didn’t end up dead before Lena plugged him. Which, by the way, was lucky for you, because it threw a monkey wrench into the investigation. The woman you had killed took over Ellen’s identity and was peripherally involved in David’s life. Just enough to get into the operation, to know what he was doing. You killed her because, excuse me for saying so, you’re an idiot. The real Ellen wasn’t in love with David. And he wasn’t in love with her. She would never have asked you for a thing. Not for herself and not for David’s baby. But now you’re in a mess, and it’s one you made for yourself. I wouldn’t be here at all except that I want to find Ellen, the real Ellen. I don’t care about the rest of it. That’s for someone else.’
I stopped. I wanted to see what effect my little tirade might have had.
Ironstone sighed and closed his eyes.
‘First,’ he said wearily, ‘I didn’t kill anyone or have anyone killed. David did. For the last two years he’s been loaded. Cocaine hydrochloride mixed with morphine sulfate.’
‘Speedball,’ Lena said softly to me. ‘One of Mom’s favorite cocktails.’
‘I’m not surprised he couldn’t tell the difference between the woman in this picture and the woman who worked at the hospital,’ Ironstone concluded. ‘Sometimes he couldn’t tell the difference between me and the sofa.’
I shook my head. ‘In the first place, it’s probably the case that Lena’s sister dyed her hair and maybe gained a few pounds since this picture was taken. In the second place I just realized why the DEA agent went to work at the hospital.’
‘Pharmaceuticals!’ Lena concluded. ‘She was supplying David!’
‘Not exactly,’ I told her. ‘She was giving him, like, a control group. He could test the coke and the morphine from the hospital against the stuff he got from the Columbians to see how much the South American stuff had been stepped on.’
‘Stepped on?’ Ironstone interrupted.
I gazed at him for a moment and got socked with another realization.
‘You’re not involved in the drug part of your business,’ I said to him. ‘That was all David.’
‘Otherwise you’d know that the term refers to how much the drugs have been diluted,’ Lena explained with the condescension of youth, ‘to make a little bit into a lot.’
‘You can dilute cocaine?’ he asked before he could stop himself.
‘My mother used to cut it with baby laxative when she sold it,’ Lena told him.
‘The point is,’ I insisted, ‘David did think that the agent was the real Ellen, helping him out with his enterprise. He didn’t kill her.’
‘But if Ironstone didn’t kill her,’ Lena protested, ‘and David didn’t – then who the hell did? Did anyone? Maybe she isn’t dead.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I guess we’d better find that out. All the more reason for us all to work together.’
‘We have to find out what happened to the DEA agent,’ Ironstone agreed. ‘Unfortunately, that might mean dealing with the Columbians. Black Tuna. They’re the most likely culprits, wouldn’t you say?’
I nodded. ‘And I agree that it’s unfortunate that we have to mess with them. But I know someone on the inside of their little club who might be willing to help.’
The drive back to the Cherry Pocket was tense. Lena and I were in the lead in my black T-Bird, Ironstone followed in a sleek blue Cadillac Fleetwood. We were more obvious than a parade, and we had no idea what was waiting for us at the other end.
Lena was staring out the window, thinking, and I didn’t want to interrupt her. But I was relieved when she finally spoke.
‘You think that Tony is a part of the gang that killed the agent?’ she said softly.
‘Tony? No. I didn’t tell you about – do you remember the geezer at the bar who told us about the Three Tee Pees campground?’
She nodded silently.
‘Him. He’s Cuban, one of the original drug guys in the region – one of the few that made the transition once the Columbians took over. He has valuable information.
‘And you got to know him?’
‘In the sense that he kicked my ass, yes,’ I admitted. ‘And he would have killed me if I’d let him.’
She turned herself my way. ‘Then what makes you think he’ll help us?’
‘I got the impression that he hated the Columbians.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try to get him to help us. If I’d really thought it through, I probably would have asked you to wait in Fry’s Bay, because this might not be so pleasant.’
‘I guess you could have tried to make me stay in your little apartment,’ she sneered. ‘But how has that sort of thing worked out for you so far?’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘It’s just that since I found out that your badass quotient is a little less – realistic than I thought, I worry about you.’
She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘Aw, you worried about me before that. You’re a worrier by nature. And, P.S., who shot those guys in the Chalet Suzanne?’
‘OK.’ That was all I said. I decided not to bring up the fact that she’d been crying in my living room. She might not have been tough as nails, but she certainly wasn’t a typical fourteen-year-old kid either.
‘Besides,’ she said.
And with that she drew a neat Lilliput pistol out of one pocket in her jeans. Right around four inches long, it was one of the smallest semiautomatic handguns ever made, a German 4.25mm number.
‘Where the hell do you get all these guns?’ I asked her.
‘I told you,’ she answered, examining the thing, ‘my mother was a collector.’
‘Well that thing’s an antique,’ I warned her.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘so are you, but you both seem to work all right.’
‘I’m not a – how old do you think I am?’ I railed.
‘Slow down, Speed Racer,’ she said, glancing in the rear view, ‘you’re losing our new friend.’
I glanced back at the Fleetwood and eased off the accelerator.
‘Speed Racer?’ I asked.
‘You never saw that television show? I watched it all the time when I was a kid. It’s a Japanese animation thing.’
‘You watched it when you were a kid,’ I said, attempting to demonstrate that I still considered her an apprentice adult. ‘I see.’
‘Television, school, and hiding with a gun in my hand,’ she snapped. ‘That was my so-called childhood. I’m a Dead End Kid, remember? How old was Leo Gorcey? He was your hero.’
‘Right’ I acquiesced, ‘and Speed Racer was yours?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘My hero when I was little? I’d have to think about that.’
‘Yeah, well I grew out of the Leo Gorcey phase. After a while, unfortunately, my heroes were low-level criminals. But then I came to Florida, and now I got no hero, unless it’s maybe John Horse. And that’s some tough shoes to follow.’
‘I outgrew cartoons,’ she mused. ‘But I guess I still have a – I feel the need for, you know, heroes.’
‘Like who?’
‘I don’t know.’ She turned back straight in her seat, staring out the window again. ‘Bobby Fischer’s pretty cool. And, I guess, you.’
They say there are things you won’t know until you have a kid of your own, but I’m pretty sure I came close at that moment.
TWENTY
We pulled into the gravel parking lot of the restaurant at the Cherry Pocket just as the sun was beginning to sink low. The Fleetwood pulled up beside my car, and we all just sat there f
or a minute.
After a couple of minutes, I glanced over at Lena.
‘Any way I could get you to wait in the car?’
She smiled. ‘Hit me on the head, wrap me in duct tape, and weld the doors shut?’
I sighed. ‘Well, I don’t have any duct tape.’
She nodded and opened her door.
I got out, followed almost immediately by Crew Cut and Ironstone. Crew Cut had his machine gun in his hands.
‘I don’t know what’s in there,’ I said to him softly, ‘but no good can come from sauntering through the door with that in your hands.’
Lena glanced at him, reached into her pocket, and showed him her Lilliput.
He nodded, tossed the machine gun back into the car, and opened his tan suit jacket. He had a remarkable holster system that held three different pistols and something that looked like a small hand grenade.
Lena nodded approvingly.
‘Could we all just settle down,’ I suggested, ‘and let me see what I can accomplish with my gab before we start shooting up the joint?’
Everyone agreed, but the reluctance was thicker than the humidity.
I took the lead and headed for the door; the others flanked me, following. We didn’t remotely resemble ordinary customers or fishing enthusiasts.
As I forged through the door I caught sight of Tony behind the bar and the old Cuban guy sitting in front of him. They turned my way. There were a couple of guys in a booth eating crab legs and some woman at a table looking over the menu.
I lifted my chin in Tony’s direction. He wasn’t happy to see me. When he saw my entourage, he actually took a step back. The Cuban guy got off his stool lightning fast.
‘Mr Fidestra,’ I said quickly, ‘we just want to talk. Look. We have Ellen Greenberg’s sister with us.’
I made sure he could see Lena, and then I put myself in between the two of them.
It was a risk, just calling out the name like that. But if he was Fidestra, it would cut right to the punch line. And if he wasn’t, the name might at least give this guy pause.
I took advantage of his silence to say, ‘Is there some place we can talk?’
He stared, ice-eyed and frozen.
Ironstone spoke up before I could stop him. ‘I’m Ironstone Waters. David Waters was my son. This little girl killed him.’
It was short and to the point. I had to admire that.
The old Cuban guy took a deep breath.
‘Mr Moscowitz,’ he said in his gravelly voice, ‘I understand that you enjoyed our grouper the last time you were here. Would you care to see how it was prepared?’
I smiled. ‘Tony is really something of a chef,’ I responded. ‘I’d love to see how he does it. The kitchen?’
The old guy nodded. ‘Right this way.’
And just like that, we all repaired to the kitchen. It was a very small affair: an eight-eye stove, a wood grill, a prep table, and a deep sink, all stainless steel. The floor was spotless and everything was gleaming.
‘The fact that you know my name,’ the Cuban said, ‘means something.’
He stared. He wasn’t going to say anything else until I told him how I’d found him out. So I explained about Pan Pan Washington and my former life in Brooklyn – only a little, but enough that he believed me.
‘There is more to you than meets the eye,’ he said. ‘And in my life, I am not very often surprised like this.’
‘The point is,’ I pressed, ‘I’m not here – we’re not here – to mess with you. We’re here to find Ellen Greenberg, and that’s all.’
He looked us over. ‘Not entirely true. You want to find out what happened to the DEA agent who was protecting her.’
I held my breath. I wanted to choose my words very carefully. Unfortunately, Lena didn’t have the same constraint.
‘Did you kill my sister?’ It was a blistering sound in the small, cramped space.
It was so searing, in fact, that Fidestra grimaced.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘Nobody killed your sister. That I know of.’
‘But you killed the Fed,’ she went on.
‘Not me.’
‘Your guys,’ she pressed.
‘My guys,’ he barked, ‘are all dead. The men from Columbia killed them all.’
‘Which is why,’ I interrupted before he could go any further, ‘you’ll help us. You work for those men, but you hate them.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Do you know who I am?’ Ironstone butted in.
Fidestra looked at him. ‘Ironstone Waters is a name I have heard, even before I met your idiot son. No offense.’
‘None taken,’ Ironstone said evenly. ‘Being an idiot was only one of my son’s foibles. I ask you because if you know who I am, you also know that I can offer you a way out of your current situation.’
‘How’s that?’ Fidestra asked.
‘You’ll come work for me.’
‘It’s not a bad gig,’ Crew Cut chimed in. ‘You should see his place. I stay in a guest house all to myself. With a pool.’
Steel in his voice, Fidestra dead-panned, ‘Yeah, but how’s the food?’
I smiled. ‘Tony learned from Yudda, as maybe he’s mentioned. And Yudda lives in our little town.’
‘Yudda,’ he mused. ‘He got screwed over by these damned Columbians too.’
‘He did,’ I agreed.
Fidestra looked around the kitchen for a minute. ‘This place is the nicest prison I ever stayed in. But it’s a prison to me.’
‘Because you’re not your own man,’ I said.
‘Not for a long time,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’m an old man. But I’m not dead. I just feel like I am.’
‘So let’s fix that,’ I told him.
He hesitated.
‘Some people get comfortable in prison,’ I suggested. ‘They like the routine; they don’t like change. So I guess you have to decide if you’re a prisoner or not.’
He reached into an inner pocket of his camo jacket. Before his hand got there, Crew Cut had a pistol out and Lena was pointing her Lilliput.
Fidestra noticed the guns, but he didn’t care. He pulled out his own.
Just as I was about to shove Lena out of the way and prepare myself to get shot again, Fidestra turned and headed toward the back door of the kitchen.
‘Let’s go,’ he told us; he didn’t look back.
We all followed him.
We were out into the growing shadows of the late afternoon, walking a mulch path that smelled like pine and mildew. I was trying to figure out how you could get the whole woods to smell that way when we rounded a bend in the path and came across a circle of cars.
There were maybe twenty guys standing around, all armed to the teeth – those few who had teeth at all. Fidestra kept walking. I couldn’t figure his play.
He called out, ‘Hola!’
A couple of the guys turned his way. Then they saw the rest of us, and the guns all moved. We didn’t have time to think, let alone duck or move.
Fidestra turned toward us and backed away, into the circle of heavy arms, grinning.
‘What the hell made you think I’d just switch over like that?’ he asked me.
It was very clear that we were about to have a serious problem. Guns were aimed, eyes were narrowed.
Then with absolutely no warning, Lena threw herself against my side, knocking me to the ground, and hit the deck herself. She rolled and, when she was on her stomach, she had the pistol in her hand aimed at the gang of Columbians. Two seconds later I had Holata’s pistol in my hand, the one I’d used to shoot up Ironstone’s chair. I’d almost forgotten it was there. We were both partly hidden by the general flora surrounding the path.
I was surprised that no one had fired off a shot.
Ironstone and Crew Cut were just standing there, unblinking. They were about fifteen feet away from the circle of men and cars. There was plenty of undergrowth around the path, places to hide. But that wasn’t Ironstone’s style.
‘You understand what will happen to you if you do anything to me,’ Ironstone said.
His words sounded like flint on rocks.
‘We know about your deal with Raul,’ Fidestra answered calmly. ‘Why do you think you’re not dead already?’
Ironstone laughed. ‘I’m not the one who’s already dead.’
‘Um, boys,’ Lena interrupted from the ground, ‘I’m getting my vintage top all dirty.’
It wasn’t clear who she was talking to.
‘You want to find your sister?’ Fidestra called out. ‘I know where she is. Come here.’
‘Oh,’ Lena answered, ‘OK, I’ll just stand up now so your guys will have a perfect target.’
I was certain we were dead, me and Lena. No doubt in my mind. Otherwise I would never have done what I did next.
In a single move I was up off the ground, right behind Ironstone, my arm around his neck in a sleeper hold – the gun pointed at his head.
‘Here’s my thinking,’ I began.
Crew Cut moved, but Lena was faster. She rolled and shot him in the foot with her little gun. I kicked the back of his other leg, and he went down like a water buffalo. Lena was on top of him with her gun jabbed into the poor guy’s eye. Looked like it hurt.
‘Here’s my thinking, as I was saying,’ I continued. ‘I’m going to shoot Ironstone, then his bodyguard, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows that you guys did it. You have connections? So do I. I’ve already spoken to Brooklyn. Carmine Galante.’
That put a lot of ice on everybody. Galante was the de facto boss of the Bonanno family. He supposedly organized the murders of a whole bunch of Gambino family members. If he did it, it was so that he could take over their drug business. Currently no one involved in the drug trade would mess with Galante. Because if you did, you were dead.
Of course, I hadn’t actually said I’d spoken to the guy, but I had called Brooklyn, so the angel of truth was on my side at least a little. And I’d also swung a guess at the whole notion that Galante was somehow invested in the Columbians. But it wasn’t a bad guess. The drugs went to Miami, and Miami is where Pan Pan always used to go for his stash.
Plus, Ironstone was standing between me and the guys with guns.
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