“Hey, Mike!” Tommy said, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “How you been?”
“Not too bad,” Michael Levy replied. He was a little over six feet tall, on the slim side, wearing shorts, sneakers and a polo shirt. He grabbed Tommy’s bag and started up the dock. “C’mon,” he said.
“I’ll show you what I’ve got done.”
GIGI DROVE THE rental car down the paved road, with Larry Lee, which was his real name, in the passenger seat. “Look at that,” Larry said, pointing to an airplane climbing above the tree line, headed south.
“It’s just an airplane,” Gigi said, checking their map. “Here’s the road to the marina coming up.”
“It’s against the law in Florida to land an airplane on a beach or on the inland waterway,” Larry said.
“Does anybody pay attention to that?” she asked.
“The cops don’t,” he replied.
“Did the airplane have any offi cial markings?”
“No, it looks ordinary enough,” Larry said, “but I still don’t like it.”
She reached the road with a sign pointing left to the Osprey Marina—private.
“Slow down,” Larry said. “Slow way down.” They came to a bridge. “Stop at the top of the bridge,” he said.
“All right.”
The bridge gave them a little elevation to see above the trees, which weren’t very tall.
“We’ve got a nearly empty parking lot, a shack and a fl oating pontoon,” she said. “No more than a dozen boats, and I don’t see any people.”
“There’s one,” Larry said. A man had stepped onto the pontoon from a small motorboat with a cabin and was walking toward the connecting footbridge that rose and fell with the tide. He was carrying a sailing duffel. “Let’s just wait here a minute,” Larry said. The man walked ashore, tossed his duffel in the back of a pickup, got in, started it and drove toward the road.
“Go ahead slowly,” Larry said. “Let him get past us, then stop before you get to the parking lot.”
The truck passed them going the other way as they drove off the bridge.
“He looks like a regular guy with a boat,” Gigi said.
“Yeah, he does. Just pull over about fifty yards ahead at that wide spot. I want to take a look on foot.”
“Larry, the place looks deserted.” She sighed.
“Gigi, did I ever tell you that I’ve never been arrested, not even for a speeding ticket, let alone a killing?”
“Yes, Larry.”
“Well, that’s because I’m careful, and I always listen to my own brain, and right now, my brain is a little nervous.”
Gigi pulled over and stopped. “You want me to wait here?”
“Turn the car around and keep the motor running,” he said. She did so, and Larry got out of the car. He crossed the road, entered the woods, which was mostly smallish live oaks, and began running lightly through the trees. He slowed down when he could see the edge of the parking lot, then approached the pavement cautiously. From a few feet into the trees he could see everything. The parking lot was empty, and so was the pontoon. The sun was low in the sky, big and red, with the light filtering through the pollution from I-95. It was dead quiet.
Larry looked around the perimeter of the parking lot, checking for men in the tree line, but he saw nothing. He retraced his steps to the road and went to the car. As he put his hand on the door handle he heard something. Whomp-whomp-whomp. He got quickly into the car. “Chopper,” he said. “Let’s go, but don’t drive over thirty.”
“Which way?”
“Back the way we came,” Larry said.
“I don’t see the chopper,” she said, and then she crossed the bridge and turned right, and there it was.
“State police,” he said.
“But it’s headed away from us, toward I-95.”
“Look,” he said, pointing. “Stop here.”
Ahead of them, several miles away, a column of black smoke was rising, and the helicopter was flying toward it.
“Accident on I-95,” Larry said. “That’s what the chopper is for. We’re okay; let’s go back to the marina.”
Gigi made a U-turn and retraced her route.
“This time park in the parking lot,” Larry said.
“Are you feeling less nervous?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he replied.
She pulled into the lot.
“Turn around and back into a spot, near the bridge to the pon toon,” he said. When she stopped, he got out of the car and looked around, listened. “Pop the trunk.”
She did, and he walked to the rear of the car, still looking around, and got his duffel with its equipment inside. He waved for her to follow him. Gigi got out of the car and padded down the bridge to the pontoon. “There’s the boat,” she said, pointing to the end of the fl oat. It was a black Boston Whaler, and the name on the side registered. Larry was already climbing in. He opened the small locker under the steering wheel and came out with a key attached to a plastic float. “Looks like we’re in business,” he said.
“And not a moment too soon,” Gigi replied, checking the sunset and untying the mooring lines. She stepped into the boat, inserted the key into the ignition lock and turned it. The fi fty-horsepower outboard purred to life.
“Let’s get out of here,” Larry said. “This place gives me the creeps.”
59
STONE AND DINO stood with Evan beside the rental car, a few blocks from the restaurant.
“It’s seven twenty-fi ve,” Dino said. “You’d better get going. Park as close to the restaurant as you can.”
“Have you got the money?” Stone asked.
“I have.”
“Don’t give it to him until he confirms the hit,” Stone said, “and make him say it out loud, for the recorder. My guess is, he’ll leave the second he gets the money, and then he’s the state police’s problem.”
“Where are they?” Evan asked.
“Already in and around the restaurant for some time, I should think,” Stone replied. “Don’t look for them in the restaurant; they’ll spot you, don’t worry. And when Manny gets up and leaves, don’t try to stop him or follow him.”
“Got it,” Evan said.
“You’ve been pretty cool through this so far,” Dino said to him.
“Now is not the time to get nervous. A little, maybe, that would be normal, but not much.”
“I’m not excessively nervous,” Evan said.
“Then get going.”
Stone opened the car door for him. “Just stay at the restaurant until it’s all over,” he said. “We’ll come fi nd you.”
Evan got into the car and drove away.
“You think this is going to work?” Dino asked.
“Nothing we can do about it,” Stone replied. “It’s in the hands of other people now.”
AS TOMMY FOLLOWED Mike up the fifty yards of catwalk from the dock, he saw a man sitting on the front porch, rocking and sipping a drink.
“We got company?” Tommy asked.
“We’ve got two deputies with rifles in the house, but have a look.”
They approached the porch, and they were ten yards away before Tommy got it. “It’s a dummy,” he said.
“Made it myself,” Mike said.
It was wearing Mike’s clothes, with a fl oppy fishing hat. Tommy could see a string tied to the rocker and another that held the dummy’s left hand in place, holding a glass. When the string was pulled, the glass went to the dummy’s lips. A deputy was standing inside in the living room, pulling the strings.
“That’s sweet work, Mike,” Tommy said, looking at his watch.
“But we’d better get off the porch; it’s nearly dark.”
GIGI PUT the outboard in gear, a light suddenly came on AS behind them. Larry spun around, alarmed, then he took a deep breath and let it out. “Spotlight on the shed,” he said. “Comes on automatically when it gets dark enough.”
“That’ll help u
s find our way back,” Gigi said, pushing the throttle a bit forward and starting down the creek toward the waterway.
“Switch off your running lights,” Larry said, “and keep it at idle, so we make as little noise as possible.”
Gigi did so. “Larry, what is this thing you have about boats?”
“I don’t have a thing about boats. I like riding in them; I enjoyed the trip to Key Largo from Key West. I just don’t have any experience operating them. I don’t like the wind and tide doing things to them, either. I feel like I’m not in control.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve got a buoy dead ahead,” Larry said, switching on a small but very powerful fl ashlight.
“I see it,” Gigi said. “It just marks the creek.”
“Seems like there ought to be a light on it,” Larry said.
“There is,” Gigi said. As they passed the buoy it came on, fl ashing green.
“Let’s get out into the middle of the waterway until we see the dock,” Larry said. “And keep a lookout for other boats.”
“Okay.” Gigi steered for the center, keeping the motor at idle. The boat steered sluggishly going so slowly, but it was manageable. Larry turned his flashlight to his duffel. He held the light in his teeth as he quickly assembled his rifle and screwed on the silencer and telescopic sight.
“Will the guy be able to see any muzzle flash?” Gigi asked.
“No, the silencer is also a suppressor. You’ll hear a ffft noise, and he won’t even hear that. He’ll never know what hit him.”
“I see a light up ahead,” she said. “It seems to be on shore, not on a dock.”
They were both whispering now, aware of how voices carried over water. “I can see a porch,” Larry said. “Go past the house and upstream a hundred yards or so, then make a U-turn and go south, close to the dock.”
Larry took a small pair of binoculars from his pocket. “I have the porch,” he said. “The porch light isn’t on; the light is coming from inside.”
“Can you see anybody?”
“I see something, but . . .” They were fifty yards from the dock now. “I have a man in a rocking chair.”
“That’s gotta be our guy,” she said.
Larry pressed a magazine into the rifle and worked the bolt action slowly to make as little noise as possible. “Is this as slow as you can go?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, “but we’ve got a little tide against us. When you’re ready, I can take it out of gear and we’ll slow nearly to a stop.”
Larry sat cross-legged in the bottom of the boat, looking through the telescopic sight. “He’s got a drink in his hand,” he said. “Get ready to stop.”
Gigi steered the boat to a point three feet from the dock. As they came abreast of the pontoon, Larry said, “Stop.”
Gigi pulled the gear lever to neutral, and the boat slowed imme-diately. “I won’t be able to steer,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” Larry said, squeezing off a round.
60
EVAN FOUND A parking space a couple of doors from the Steak Shack and parked. He got out of the car, took his briefcase and began walking up the sidewalk. To his surprise, someone fell in beside him.
“Evening,” Manny White said.
“You startled me,” Evan said. “I thought you’d be inside.”
“I’ve already been inside,” Manny said, “checking out the place, and I wanted to be sure nobody’s following you.”
“Who would follow me?” Evan said. “Nobody knows I’m here but you.”
“Yeah, sure, kid. Get the door, will you?”
Evan opened the door and held it, but Manny stood, turning slowly, having a last look at the street.
“You first,” Manny said.
Evan went into the restaurant, followed by Manny, and they were immediately met by a maître d’.
“Good evening, Mr. White,” the man said smoothly.
“Good evening, Marty,” Manny replied. “This is my friend Joe; he’s going to be a good customer, so treat him right.”
“Of course, Mr. White. How do you do, Joe?”
“Just fine, thanks,” Evan said. “Nice place you have here.”
“Mr. White, your regular booth is ready, but if you wish to have a drink at the bar first . . .”
“No, thanks, Marty,” Manny said. “We’ll sit down now.”
They were shown to the booth, and Manny took the seat facing the door.
Evan noticed him scanning the faces of the other diners. “See anybody you know?”
“A couple of people,” Manny said. “I’m more interested in who I don’t know.”
“You’re a careful man, Manny,” Evan said. “I like that; it means we’re less likely to have problems tonight.”
“You have the money?” Manny asked.
Evan patted the briefcase on the seat beside him. “Right here. It’s yours as soon as we get that phone call.”
A pretty waitress approached. “Hi, Mr. White, what can I get for you and your guest?”
“Scotch,” Manny said.
“Same here.”
“Two Chivas Regals coming up,” she said, then left. Evan noticed that Manny was sweating. “Do we have any problems, Manny? Is everything all right?”
Manny mopped his face with his napkin. “Don’t worry, I have good people on this,” he said.
“People? More than one?”
“One to handle the boat, one to shoot,” Manny said.
“Oh, okay.” Evan looked out a side window. “It’s almost dark,” he said.
“Dark is good,” Manny said as their drinks arrived.
TOMMY SCULLEY S AT on Mike Levy’s living room fl oor, with Mike and two deputy sheriffs on the floor nearby. One deputywas pulling a string in a rhythmic fashion, controlling the rocker. The other occasionally pulled the other string, controlling the drinking hand of the dummy.
“So, Mike, how you been?” Tommy asked.
“Not bad. I still miss Ruth, but I’ve been seeing somebody.”
“Good for you.”
“I hear a boat,” one of the deputies said. “Going slow.”
Everybody got very quiet.
“Listen to me,” Tommy said softly. “If there’s shooting, stay on the floor; we don’t want the shooter to see anybody inside.”
“Aren’t we to fire back?” a deputy asked.
“Absolutely not,” Tommy replied. “We want the guy alive, and your boss and a bunch of deputies will be waiting for him at the marina.”
As if to confirm this, a radio came alive. “Eddie, you there?”
A deputy picked up the handheld. “We’re in place,” he said.
“We’re ready at the marina. No shooting back, you hear?”
“Yes, sheriff.” He set down the radio and as he did, there was the sound of shattering glass, and a broken pane spattered the room with shards.
“I didn’t hear a shot,” Mike said.
“And you won’t,” Tommy said.
From outside, they heard an engine rev, then quickly the sound faded as the boat moved away.
Tommy stood up. “We’re okay,” he said, looking at the picture window, which was spattered with what seemed to be gore. “Jesus, Mike, what’s all that stuff?”
“Sponge cake and ketchup,” Mike replied. “It was all I had.”
They got to their feet and went outside to inspect the dead dummy.
“Got me right through the forehead,” Mike said. The motorboat could no longer be heard.
GIGI THROTTLED BACK as they approached the green fl ashing buoy at the mouth of the creek leading to the marina. “Are you happy with your shot?” she asked.
Larry was sitting on the seat beside her, disassembling his rifle.
“Don’t worry, his brains are spattered all over the front of the house,” he said.
MANNY AND EVAN finished their drinks and Manny ordered two more.
“It’s getting kind of late, isn’t it?” Evan said.
“I trust my people,” Manny replied. “Don’t sweat it.”
“Should we order some dinner?” Evan asked.
“You can, if you like,” Manny replied. “I’m not going to be here that long.”
GIGI DROVE SLOWLY past the buoy and into the creek.
“Throttle back to idle,” Larry said.
Gigi did so, and the boat was barely making headway against the current from the creek. They made another fifty yards, and Gigi could see the pontoon and the other boats in the dim light. Larry reached over and switched off the ignition.
“Why did you do that?” Gigi asked.
“The light on the shed is off,” Larry said. As he spoke, they both saw the beam of a flashlight on the trees above the pontoon, then it went off. They were now drifting backward with the current, and the boat began to turn sideways.
“Something’s wrong,” Larry said. “Just let the boat go where it wants to.”
The boat drifted toward the south shore of the creek and brushed against some mangrove. Larry reached overboard, grabbed at the mangrove and propelled the boat downstream. From behind them they heard an unintelligible shout and an equally unintelligible reply, then the engine of a boat started.
“Get us out of here!” Larry hissed. “Go north.”
“Back past the house?”
“They won’t be expecting us there.”
Gigi started the engine and eased the throttle forward. Larry pushed her hand forward. “Don’t worry about the noise; they won’t be able to hear it over their own engine. We’re only a few miles from Stuart; head for there, as fast as you can.”
Gigi swung the boat north as they passed the buoy and aimed for the opposite shore. “You’re awfully jumpy, Larry,” she said. Larry looked over his shoulder and saw the running lights of a boat leaving the creek, then another and another. “We’re being pursued,” he said. “Make it wide open now.”
He took a small black box from his pocket, extended a six-inch antenna and pressed a button.
There was an explosion from behind them, and Gigi looked back in time to see a large fi reball rising. She moved the throttle all the way open. The boat leapt forward, its big outboard pushing the small hull. “What was that?” she yelled.
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