Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery

by Michael Haskins

Tita had a quick mind and it was a wonder in court, but now I wished she’d left it at the Boston law office.

  “Hold on, now,” I said and moved closer. “I was as surprised as anyone when Norm showed up, especially with a redhead.”

  “Redhead?” She watched me, looking for the lie.

  “Yeah, a redheaded CIA agent.”

  “Oh. This has to be a good one.”

  “Well,” I mumbled. “Yes and no.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Howard Livingston’s song filled the space around us, the trop-rock rhythm strong enough to make you want to sing and dance. Tita was interested in neither.

  I moved her back toward the open door looking out at the Western Union. We sat and I told her the story of Dick Walsh, leaving out the part on my kidnapping and the encounter with the Russians. I didn’t lie to her, I avoided some of the things that would’ve upset her.

  “So the marshals are what?” she said, her eyes ready to burn holes in me if I lied.

  “The marshals are nothing,” I said and held her stare. When you lie, I learned a long time ago in interviewing people, never lose eye contact. “I don’t know why they’re still here, but they’re leaving me alone.”

  “And these retired spooks, as you call them, why are they here?”

  “They want to find Walsh because they think he’s someone else. Norm thinks they’re bored and this chase puts some excitement back in their lives.”

  “And how are you involved again? Why do they want to talk to you?” She had more questions than I had answers.

  “I’m the one who found the body, the last one to talk to Walsh and that makes me the starting point,” I said. “I tell them what they want to hear and they’re gone.”

  “Norm gave you the idea of lying to them.”

  “It’s not really a lie,” I said. “I thought about it, and fleeing to Cuba with Whitey Bulger’s money, or a share of it, makes sense. I tell them, this is what I’d do. And they go on their way.”

  “And they believe you?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Let’s go find Norm,” she said and stood up. “I need him to explain mostly to me.”

  She walked down the back stairs without waiting for me.

  Chapter 49

  It was a five-minute walk to the Smokin’ Tuna Saloon on Charles Street, more of an alley than a street, off the two-hundred block of Duval. We were no longer holding hands like teenagers, but we were acting as such. Tita was in a huff because she found out Norm was here from someone other than me, and stayed a step or two ahead so we couldn’t carry on a conversation. I tried and she ignored me.

  At the traffic light on Duval, in front of Sloppy Joe’s, she hesitated long enough for me to catch up. I placed my hand on her shoulder.

  “Why can’t you be honest with me,” she said, shook off my hand and crossed the street.

  “About what?”

  She stopped on the sidewalk and we could hear music coming from Rick’s. “About everything. Norm was going to be a surprise? Well, for your information, I was surprised. Besa me!” It was her way of cussing, kiss me, she said in Spanish but meant kiss my ass.

  “Tita, this isn’t my doing,” I said. “These people want to talk to me because Walsh called me and I was the last person to see him. That’s all that’s happening.” I lied with a smile. “Believe me.”

  “I had enough of Whitey Bulger while I was in Boston. That’s all anyone talked about, would Whitey name names, would he talk?” she grumbled. “Now I find out I knew one of his killers. Christ! Coming here was hard enough, now the dumb fucking Irish hoodlum is causing me problems and in Key West.” When she was upset and let her Puerto Rican temper loose, she could cuss with the best. “What’s Walsh’s real name?”

  She took a deep breath.

  The emotional pressure of her decision to move to Boston seemed to be more than I thought and probably the cause of her mood swings. I didn’t want anything to ruin our few days together and had to try to be more understanding; to lie more convincingly, if necessary.

  “Mulligan,” I said, “Doyle Mulligan. Means nothing to me.”

  “You were gone when the FBI went to work on the Mafia in the North End,” she said. “You know about Bulger, right? He was their snitch.”

  “Yeah, and his brother was the head of the state senate. I read a lot about Whitey, but I don’t recall Mulligan’s name.”

  “I do,” she muttered. “A cold-blooded killer who found a conscience after he was caught and then he disappeared. Everyone knew he went into witness protection and assumed he turned on Whitey. He’ll get on the stand, probably lie and walk free.” She took another deep breath. “The families of those he murdered, what do they get? Mulligan should be on death row, right along with Bulger and Flemmi.”

  Tita was a defense attorney but she was carrying on like a prosecutor. She was tough and had been through a lot in life, even her five years with me had some rough spots, but I’d never seen her so vulnerable.

  “So you know I had nothing to do with these people,” I said and hoped I’d read between the lines correctly. “This is an accident, not something I caused.”

  She exhaled and it was almost a laugh. “Mick, you’re an accident looking for a place to happen.” She looked around the street as if she didn’t know where we were. “Christ, we sat with him in bars, we rented his Jet Skis. It makes my skin crawl, to think I was that close to him.”

  “If you’d heard the way he talked on my boat,” I said and pulled her to the side so people could walk past us. “As if killing people was nothing unusual. That’s why I turned down writing his story, or confession, or whatever it was. I want nothing to do with any of this and the sooner these spooks are gone, the better.”

  “You’re not in danger?”

  “I haven’t done anything,” I said and even though it was the truth, it felt like a lie. “Richard questioned me, the marshals were next and now the spooks. You have things to finish up this week and I’ll have lunch with some old spies while you do whatever it is you need to do. Norm is the middle man, protecting me.” I smiled because I thought a laugh would be too much of a highlight to my lie.

  She began walking slowly through the crowd of tourists toward Charles Street. We waved to Rick the bartender at the Tree Bar, turned right on Charles, after the Red Garter, and were holding hands again as we entered the Smokin’ Tuna.

  The Smokin’ Tuna is a large patio bar and restaurant that is surrounded on three sides with two-story, attached buildings that holds a kitchen, T-shirt shop, air-conditioned dining room, bar offices and restrooms. The bar’s opened patio area is shaded by a large gumbo-limbo tree. To our left was the stage with Chris Clifton and Country Dave performing. Facing the stage was a covered bar area with raised tables and stools that sat four. More tables filled the patio for diners and at the far end was an exposed bar, up against a fence.

  Both bars were busy with people drinking and half the dining tables were occupied. Norm and Chris Stone sat at a raised table behind the covered bar. Norm waved when he saw us.

  “She is a redhead,” Tita said and her words were almost lost in the din of the music.

  As we walked to Norm, I wondered what he was doing alone with Chris, since I didn’t see Ted Williams or Jimmy Piersall. I almost laughed aloud when I thought that maybe he was on a date. He knew I didn’t willingly tell Tita he was here. We talked about it, so I wondered how he’d play this. The wrong word from him could send Tita on another temper tantrum.

  Norm stood and greeted Tita with a handshake then pulled her close and kissed her cheek. She looked like a ragdoll held against him.

  “You look splendid, counselor,” he said and then introduced Chris.

  Tita quickly sat next to Norm, to keep us apart. I sat next to Chris, facing Tita.

  “I told Tita all about Walsh,” I said and hoped Norm could decipher my meaning. “That’s how I met Chris.” I turned my attention to Tita.

  Tita chuckled
and ordered a rum and coke, I ordered a beer.

  “Two more of the same,” Norm said as Susan took the orders.

  “If you missed that,” Tita said to Chris, waving her hand between Norm and me, “Mick is trying to tell Norm he’s told me some of what is happening.”

  “They have a code?” Chris said.

  “Yes, spoken, sometimes with eyebrows…”

  “Oh yes, Norm and his raised eyebrows, I’ve caught that one a few times.”

  “Boys…”

  “Children,” Chris said. “Boys would behave better on a date.”

  Norm and I laughed. We had no choice.

  “Would anyone like an appetizer?” Norm asked as Susan delivered our drink order.

  “We just ate at the Half Shell.” Tita answered for both of us.

  “Norm said I had to try the conch chowder there.”

  “The best,” Tita said. “One of the things I’ll miss.”

  “You’re moving back to Boston.” From Chris’ words

  I knew she and Norm had been talking about us, or at least me.

  “In two weeks, but I think it will be temporary.” Tita looked at Norm and smiled. “I’m making the move to help set up a legal clinic.”

  “That sounds like a challenge,” Chris said.

  “Getting the law firm to agree was the challenge,” Tita said. “Mick said you’re with the CIA. That has to be interesting.”

  “Office work.” Chris smiled. “Analyze this, analyze that. I often wondered if they ever listened to what I said.”

  “I thought you were here because of Walsh or whatever name he’s using.”

  “I have two associates who think he could be an old Cold War spy that got away with a lot of diamonds,” she said. “Boys that are bored with retirement, so I tagged along and convinced Norm to meet me.”

  “Convincing Norm to come here.” Tita laughed and stared at Norm. “That’s a story I have to hear.”

  Chapter 50

  Tita and Chris seemed to hit it off. Women have that ability to warm up to each other in social settings a lot better than men do, even if it’s pretend. I wondered who was playing whom. Norm and I talked nonsense because we wanted to hear what the women were saying. Chris told some of the truth about how she was recruited by the CIA, but never mentioned her field agent status. Tita related part of the facts of when Norm had her kidnapped and taken to Cuba so he could plant an agent in a Mexican drug cartel. I thought of how Tita often scolds me for what she claims is my lying by omission and here I could’ve taken a lesson on how to do it with a smile from these two.

  Norm and I discussed the English MI6 agents and he promised to try to get them to agree to lunch at the Smokin’ Tuna. It wasn’t La Trat but I hoped the openness of the place would make them uncomfortable.

  When we finally left the Smokin’ Tuna, Tita had arranged for us to go out on the Fenian Bastard for a day sail to the reef, as soon as she finished placing her clients with other attorneys. I would have liked the arrangement better if it were only the two of us.

  “Do you think it was a date?” Tita asked as we left the scattering of tourists on Duval and turned onto Southard Street, walking slowly toward her house.

  “I suppose,” I said, and wondered if Norm really was romantically involved with Chris.

  “I didn’t want to pry,” she said and made the funny face she often does when she’s pretending—wrinkled nose, furrowed brow and squinted eyes. “If Chris was stationed in Europe and Norm was in Central America, how did they meet? Does the CIA have a Club Med where spies go to relax?”

  I laughed. “Club Med for spies?”

  “How did they meet? It’s none of my business but aren’t you curious? Or do you know?”

  “I met her for the first time yesterday, at Louie’s Backyard. I’d never heard her name mentioned before.”

  “Norm is a man of secrets. Right?”

  “More so than ever, I’d say.”

  “And you can keep a secret.”

  “It wouldn’t be a secret if I told everyone.”

  “But we don’t keep things from one another, do we?”

  “No,” I said and reminded myself to be careful, so she wouldn’t go off on another tantrum.

  “Surprises, are they secrets?”

  “I hope to keep your interest in me piqued, because of surprises.”

  “Do they teach evasion in journalism class?” She fought a smile and grabbed my hand.

  I relaxed my fears. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’ll have nowhere to hide when you’re naked, you realize that, right?”

  “That’s why I avoid running around during Fantasy Fest.”

  “That and you’re a prude Irishman.”

  • • •

  Tita went to her office late Monday morning. I went to the Fenian Bastard to change. I left my Glock on the chart table with the extra magazines and my money. I carried it everywhere, now. Norm called a little before eleven.

  “Twelve-thirty, the Smokin’ Tuna, that good for you?”

  “You bringing them?”

  “Yeah, they want to get a drink at Sloppy Joe’s, see if

  Hemingway is there. Actually, they wanted to meet at Sloppy’s.”

  “Too crowded.”

  “That’s what I told them. No privacy, too loud,” Norm said. “I promised to meet them at noon.”

  “They afraid of getting lost?”

  “They’re afraid of everything,” he said and laughed. “They call it being cautious.”

  Noontime on a Monday and only a few people sat around the bar, but the courtyard tables were almost full. I grabbed the table closest to the open bar by the fence. I sat with my back to the office stairway, it gave me a view of both entrances and bars. I told Susan there’d be four or five of us and ordered tonic water with lime.

  “And Susan, if I order a gin and tonic, hold the gin and maybe give it a splash of bitters for taste.”

  “That’s an old trick,” she said. “Three or four women?”

  “I wish,” I said. “A friend and a couple of Englishmen.”

  “How will you ever wear green on Saint Patrick’s Day after this?” she said and walked away laughing to herself.

  I didn’t expect them to be on time and they weren’t. It was almost 1 PM when Norm walked in, followed by the three touristy-looking, pale-faced Limeys. If they’d seen sunshine recently it was through a window. The man talking with Norm was tall, six something for sure, he wore glasses and had a large nose. What hair he had left was cut tight to his scalp.

  The two following were a mixed-match of men. One was roly-poly fat and had a round head that looked like a cue ball. Next to him walked a man with no memorable features. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed straight back, he walked with a slouch that made him appear about five-eight, but I bet when he stood straight he was closer to five-ten or eleven. His slouch was part of his disguise and with his bland features it worked. I wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd, standing straight and dressed differently.

  All three wore cheap Hawaiian shirts and shorts from Duval Street T-shirt shops, and boat shoes without socks.

  Norm waved and the three followed him to the table. I didn’t stand and Norm didn’t make introductions.

  “They feel names are not important,” he said and they sat.

  “That’s fine,” I said and grinned so wide it hurt my face. “Let’s see, you,” I pointed at the tall one, “you’ll be Moe. Larry,” I pointed at the slouched one, “and, of course, Curly.” I pointed at roly-poly.

  “You can cut the shit, Murphy,” Moe said, his face wrinkled into a scowl. “We don’t like being here with you either.”

  “We might as well skip lunch then,” I said and watched Norm shake his head but he had a hard time stifling a laugh. “Too bad, because the fish and chips are good.”

  “Tell us what we want to know and we’ll be gone,” Moe said. “We don’t need to eat lunch with a Fenian bastard. Not one with
your reputation.”

  “I told you.” I turned to Norm. “No Limey can refer to an Irishman without calling him a Fenian bastard, like it’s one word.” I laughed at them. “I named my boat after you.”

  They looked confused.

  “Fenian Bastard,” I said.

  “Appropriate,” Curly said and stared at Moe.

  “Where is Walsh?” Moe said, putting more emphases on his words than necessary.

  “Isn’t that what everyone wants to know?”

  Susan delivered my drink, with a lime and it was pink because of the splash of bitters.

  “Can I take your order?” she asked. “Anyone else for a gin and tonic?”

  “Whatever you gentlemen want, the first round is on me.”

  “We don’t want anything,” Curly said and Susan left.

  “Afraid of being poisoned?” I asked Norm.

  “Tell them about Walsh,” he said and tasted my drink.

  “Walsh is not the guy you’re looking for.”

  “Let us decide that,” Moe said.

  “Are you the guys who sent the woman to kill him?”

  “Where is he?” Moe asked again.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “We didn’t come to this hell hole to answer questions.”

  “You don’t like the tropics? Well, you can head back to your cold and rain after you answer me. Then I’ll answer you.”

  “How will we know you are telling the truth?”

  “How will I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Did you send the woman?” Norm asked. “Answer the damn question and let’s get this over with.”

  “Natasha Baron worked for us many years ago, but, like us, she and her partner Olga LeBlanc retired,” Curly said. “We do not want Walsh dead, dead men don’t answer questions.”

  “Good point.” I now knew the dead woman’s name, if they were telling the truth. “But killing is, or was, Natasha and Olga’s job. If you didn’t hire them, who did?”

  “Where is Walsh?” Moe said, ignoring my question.

  “I don’t know.” I watched anger spread across their faces. “He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. But.” Their faces lit up. “I gave some thought to it. If he had Whitey Bulger’s money,” they looked puzzled again, “or your diamonds, he would go where the authorities couldn’t get him.”