She smiled. “Oh, I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought, what the hell, I might as well pick Jack up. Throw your suitcase in the trunk and hop in, sailor.” The trunk lid popped open, and I complied.
As I settled into my seat and fastened the safety belt, I said, “How’d you know what terminal I was coming in at? I don’t remember giving you my flight info.” A sideways glance and a devilish grin was my answer. “Oh, yeah, you’re a trained investigator. Sometimes I forget that, you’re so damn good-looking.”
“Ha, I see that your stressful experiences up north didn’t purge you of your subtle charm.”
We chatted easily as PJ drove. I wasn’t really paying any attention to our route until we turned into one of the wide drives leading into Escapade, a large entertainment district located at US 1 and Sheridan Street. Escapade is a sprawling complex of bars, restaurants, and shops anchored by the Pinnacle Hotel and Casino and the Ocean View Race Track. I quipped, “Is this a shortcut to Moe’s?”
A dimple bloomed on the side of her face as PJ smiled and replied, “Something like that.”
PJ navigated the streets of Escapade until we arrived at the porte-cochere in front of the Pinnacle Hotel. She handed her keys to the valet, gave him a room number, and asked him to have the suitcase in the trunk sent up to the room. As she pressed a folded bill into his hand, he smiled and nodded. “Yes, ma’am, will do.” As she turned away, she was frowning. She hates being called ma’am. In her black flouncy knee-length skirt, cream-colored scooped neck top, and short-heeled strappy sandals, she didn’t look much like a ma’am to me.
As we walked through the doors into the hotel lobby, I said, “I love what Moe’s done to the place.” Like most casino hotels, Pinnacle is bright and glitzy. I had never stayed here but had seen a couple of rooms when PJ had attempted to hide Sissy, a former bartender at Cap’s Place, here when her life was in danger. Unfortunately, the bad guy learned of her location and nearly killed Sissy.
Lacing her arm through mine PJ steered me toward the nearby hotel bar and said, “One drink and then I take you upstairs and make you forget all about Michigan and everyone up there.”
Damn if she didn’t do just that. A couple of hours later, propped up against a pile of pillows in the no longer well-made bed, I said, “I had better call Moe and tell him not to expect me.” Then I asked, “What about Angela? I thought you had to be home with her tonight. Or are you one of those love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of girls?”
Raising her head from my chest, PJ replied, “I called Moe earlier and told him I was hijacking you. No worries there. And Angela. Well, this time next year she’ll be away at college. I figure I need to get used to not supervising her every move. Besides, I said you couldn’t stay at my place with her and her friend there, I didn’t say we couldn’t stay somewhere else together.” She kissed me softly on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Because I’m not a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of girl.”
A little later we ordered dinner through room service and then resumed purging my memory of anyone related to my former life in Michigan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Over breakfast, in what was designed to look like a Parisian street cafe located in the area of shops and restaurants that separates the hotel from the casino, PJ told me that our room had been comped by Jeff Spencer, Director of Security for Escapade. I’d met Jeff at the time of the incident with Sissy and found him to be a no-nonsense kind of guy. Over her years as a detective with Hollywood PD, and now as a private investigator, PJ had helped Jeff with numerous investigations. The glitz, fun, and free flowing money in an entertainment venue like Escapade attracts any number of creatures out to prey on others in the herd. It’s Jeff Spencer’s job to hold the predators at bay. He has to do it in such a way that it’s invisible to patrons and doesn’t attract any publicity. To accomplish this, he cultivates a wide ranging network within public and private law enforcement circles. The occasional comped room is simply one of his approaches to building his network.
As we talked, I realized that I felt more relaxed than I had in years. Certainly, there were countless unsettled issues in my life, but they just didn’t seem that daunting. Where was I going with Cap’s Place and where was my relationship with PJ going were just a couple of the more immediate unsettled elements of my life. Yet I still felt as if the huge weight I’d been carrying since I first arrived in Florida was gone. My lighthearted feelings must have been showing because PJ said, “You look like you’re right with the world today, Mr. Nolan.”
I nodded and replied, “I am. You know it’s funny, there are so many unsettled issues in my life right now, but I feel light as a feather.” I gripped the tabletop for emphasis. “I might just float away. I haven’t felt like this in years.”
PJ grinned. “Well, thank you. I think you’re damn good in bed, too.” As I chuckled, she reached across the table and patted me on the back of the hand. “Actually, I think a huge cloud has been lifted from you. I think for the first time since you came down here years ago you are totally comfortable with your decision. From what you’ve shared with me, I think you learned that the woman you left behind in Michigan was not the person you believed her to be. You’re no longer looking back over your shoulder, no longer second-guessing your decision. You realize that your breakup was inevitable, it was only a matter of when.”
Cocking my head, I contemplated her words. “You’re probably exactly right. Thinking about it, I guess that I owe a real debt of gratitude to Benjamin, even though I fell short in accomplishing what he was asking.”
PJ smiled back at me with that knowing smile that women give a guy when they have led him to the brink of the conclusion they are seeking. She said, “It’s entirely possible that Benjamin’s sole purpose in making his request of you was to provide you the chance to learn what kind of person your ex is. To provide you the opportunity to shed the burden you’ve been carrying these years. To give you the freedom to move forward with life unimpeded by your misplaced guilt.”
I asked, “You think he exposed to me what he considered his greatest failure solely as a means of providing me the chance to really learn who Katharine, his own daughter, was? He did that for me? Why?”
Another pat on the back of my hand and a warm motherly smile. “Because he loved you like a son. A loving father would do that for his son, Jack. What he did had no impact on his daughter but made a tremendous difference for his son. I believe that was the primary wrong he wanted to correct from his deathbed.”
Sometimes it’s downright scary how insightful this woman can be.
After breakfast, PJ dropped me off at Moe’s on her way home. Stopping at home would afford her the opportunity to change her clothes and make certain that Angela and her friend had gotten off to school that morning. She was afraid Angela was contracting a case of “senioritis.” Tough cop, crafty investigator, good friend, and a great lover. PJ was all of these things and much more, but first and foremost she was a mother.
Moe lived in a rental house in a neighborhood between Dixie Highway and I-95. The neighborhood abutted an area of light industrial businesses. The houses were small low-slung stucco-sided structures, sited on equally small plots of grass. The only obvious differences, one to another, was exterior color. As I approached the front door, it flew inward, and the opening was immediately filled with Moe. All six foot four inches, 240 pounds of him. Running his huge hand over his perpetually shaved head, and in his best imitation of a southern drawl, he said, “Lordy, Lordy, if it ain’t Jack Nolan done returned from the dead.”
I couldn’t help but grin. Moe was one of those people I counted as a true friend. Coming from diverse backgrounds, him the black inner city of Detroit and me the white rural suburbs of Lansing, our friendship and appreciation of each other had been forged over time in the hot coals of mutual experiences that were at times challenging and at times actually life threatening. I knew he would give his life for me, and I hoped he knew I would give mine for
him. As I reached him, he engulfed me in what started as a bro hug but evolved into a full bear hug. Given his size, I doubted he was capable of anything except a bear hug.
Grabbing my suitcase, Moe said, “Come on in, Jack. I’ve got your room all ready. The place isn’t much, but it’ll keep the sun and rain off you until Cap’s gets rebuilt.” As I followed him through the front door, he suddenly stopped and said, “We are going to rebuild, aren’t we, Jack? Marge said you had an offer to sell the property and she wasn’t certain you’d rebuild.” That’s one of the things I had come to know about Moe, he’s about as subtle as a freight train.
“Wow. Yeah, I think we’re going to rebuild, Moe.” I paused as his brown eyes bore into me. “I do have an offer for the property. Well, I did have an offer. I haven’t called the guy back, and the date has passed, so the offer may no longer stand.”
Interrupting, Moe said, “Oh, the offer still stands. You can bet on that. A developer has been all over the beach trying to buy up property. They want to turn it into something like the new Margaritaville. From what I hear, no one has signed yet. It’s like everyone is waiting to see what the other guy does. My guess is that if people start to sell, everyone will follow suit.” He rubbed his chin as he added, “To be honest, Jack, I think people are waiting to see what you’re going to do. If you sell, the remainder of the properties will fall like dominoes.”
“Damn, Moe, no pressure.”
“Just telling you how it is, Boss. The way you go, that’s the way the neighborhood will go. We’ll either rebuild the lives we had here, or you’ll sell and the bulldozers will forever change the area.” Where did Moe find this new dramatic flair?
“Okay, I hear you. How about you show me where I’m going to be staying and then we’ll track down Marge and the three of us will talk about what’s going on. You know, with the insurance settlement and all.”
“I can tell you what’s going on. They’re trying to screw us. That’s what’s going on.” The dark cloud that had suddenly enveloped him seemed to dissipate, and Moe added, “But you’ll see soon enough for yourself. Let’s get you settled.”
I had never given much thought to what I expected Moe’s home to be like, but if I had, it would never have been what I found. While the exterior of the house was neat and clean, it looked a bit tired and in need of a few repairs and a fresh coat of paint. The interior was just the opposite. Every room of the three-bedroom, two-bath house had been repainted and was immaculate. The modest furnishings were certainly eclectic and aged, but they all appeared to be in original or well-restored condition. Moe showed me into a small bedroom in the back of the house. “I apologize for the color,” it was a pale pink, “when I painted it, I thought my niece was going to be living with me when she came down here to college.”
“No sweat. I sleep with my eyes closed.”
The deep rumble of a laugh came from Moe. He said, “The bureau is empty. So’s the closet for that matter. Just make yourself at home.” He gestured across the hall. “Bath’s over there. It’s kinda small, and it’s only got a shower, but I doubt you’re much of a tub guy anyway. Somebody carved the space out of the third bedroom to put in the second bath. Ended up with a small bath and a bedroom that wouldn’t accommodate anything much bigger than a hamster.”
I really didn’t have much to unpack, so a few minutes later we were on our way to Cap’s Place. When I called Marge, she’d told me that she was meeting the insurance adjuster at Cap’s in a couple of hours. We decided that the three of us could meet there and she would bring me up to speed on the negotiations before the adjuster arrived. The tone of her voice communicated stress from the ongoing problems with the insurance somewhat tempered by relief that I was back. I wasn’t looking forward to the battle with the insurance company, but it was nice to think Marge saw my return as such a positive. There had been times when I felt that she saw my involvement in the business as more of a hindrance than a help.
We were coming across Hollywood Boulevard headed toward the beach when Moe said, “Hey, Boss, I could use a cup of coffee. Mind if we stop? You want a cup?”
“Looks to me like you’re the one driving.” Moe was driving a rental car as his had also been destroyed in the hurricane. “Besides, I can always drink a cup of coffee.”
“Great. We’ll stop at Jack’s. We’ll grab a couple cups to go.” He made the arc around Young’s Circle and headed north on US 1. I knew that when he said Jack’s he meant Jack’s Hollywood Diner. The original diner was manufactured in New Jersey and shipped to South Florida by rail in the early fifties. The diner has gone through one name change, from its original Freddie’s Diner to Jack’s Hollywood Diner, a couple of ownership changes with enlargement and remodeling projects, but it remains a twenty-four-hour diner with great food. Moe had introduced me to it a year or so ago when he and I were out running errands one day. It’s one of his favorite restaurants.
We pulled into the parking lot, and I got out of the car, saying, “You’re driving, least I can do is get the coffee.” I went inside and ordered two large coffees to go. As I was standing at the counter waiting for the coffee, I glanced around the crowded restaurant. In a back corner booth, I noticed Percy Strickland, the real estate broker who has been attempting to convince me to sell, sitting alone. He was looking through a sheaf of papers spread out on the table in front of him. I considered walking over to talk to him but decided it would be better to get a clear picture of the situation with the insurance company before I reengaged with him.
As I was paying for the coffee, I noticed the TV hanging in the corner at one end of the counter. It was tuned to a news channel, and the picture was of Robert Armstrong speaking from behind a podium. With the din of the diner, I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. The picture changed, and two talking heads began an earnest discussion. I couldn’t tell if they were talking about the governor or had moved on to the next highlight of the news day. Walking out the door, I couldn’t help but think that the specter of Armstrong had followed me home.
Moe lowered his window as I carried the coffees up to the car. As I handed his coffee to him, he said, “Thanks, Boss.” He pointed toward the door of the diner. “See that guy going into the diner? That’s Ralph, the guy we’re meeting with in an hour. That’s our insurance adjuster.”
After glancing at the guy Moe was pointing toward, I walked around and got into the passenger seat. As Moe drove through the parking lot and around the back of the building, I noticed Strickland’s apple green Bentley Bentayga. I chuckled to myself. The guy might have been a successful real estate broker, but everything about him was just a little over the top. If I could ever afford a Bentley, which seemed more than unlikely, it certainly wouldn’t be apple green. As Moe was about to pull out onto the street, a thought occurred to me. I said, “Hey, Moe. Stop right here for just a second. I’ll be right back.” I jumped out of the car and headed back into the diner.
Moe called after me, “Okay, but if somebody comes along, I’ll pull back around the building.”
I stepped into the diner, took a quick glance around, and then left. Getting back into the car, I answered the quizzical expression Moe wore. “Guess who ol’ Ralph the insurance adjuster is meeting with?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Moe said, “I’m clueless, Boss.”
“Percy Strickland, the real estate broker who is trying to convince me to sell.”
“Really, now that is interesting.”
“You’re damn right it’s interesting. Let’s get to Cap’s. I want to talk with Marge and learn as much as I can about our problems with the insurance company before we meet with Ralph.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When we arrived at Cap’s Place, the gate in the temporary chain-link fence that had been erected around the parking lot to secure the property was open, and Marge was sitting in her car. Before Moe could even park, she was out and striding toward us. As soon as I alighted from the car, she threw her arms around me, nearly spilling my
coffee, and said, “Welcome back, Jack. It’s great to have you home.” First, PJ, then Moe, now Marge. I’m really starting to think I was missed around here.
As we stood around the front of Moe’s rental car, the Marge I knew and loved returned. Curtly, she said, “Hey, guys, thanks for bringing me coffee.”
Moe and I looked at each other and both shrugged, uttering a chorus of, “Duh.”
Marge spread a folder of notes she had on the hood of the car. She’d made detailed notes at every interaction she had with the insurance company. Of course she had. She was the most organized person I’d ever met. This place had never run as smoothly before she took over management. Yet, with my uncle Mickey, and then me as the standard, how could a person not do better? I listened intently as Marge took me through the chronology of events. I owed her that much even if I hadn’t been interested in the detail. After all, she had thrown her heart and soul into trying to navigate through this crisis. The least I could do was show an interest in what had taken place.
When Marge finished her initial presentation of the situation, I asked a couple of questions and then asked her, “Sounds like the only problems in the first few meetings were just typical insurance red tape but at some point Ralph seemed to dig in his heels and oppose everything you suggested. Is that a fair assessment?”
Marge reflected for a moment and then said, “I guess you could see it that way.”
Loyal Be Jack Page 24