Inside his town house, which shrieked of being professionally decorated, again by his mother, Tyler finally wrestled his cell phone from the junk he toted around with him day and night. He scrolled down to see the number of the caller. It was a number he didn’t recognize. Probably a wrong number. He sighed with relief that the call hadn’t been from his father.
He looked around at the room he was standing in because that’s what he did each time he entered the town house. The decorator, who had never met him, must have thought he was some kind of outdoor macho man who liked to hunt and fish. Probably because that’s what his mother would have told the decorator. He hated the dark leather, the earth-tone carpet, the hunting prints on the wall. He liked vibrant colors, bare floors, and fabric-covered furniture. He even liked green plants as long as he didn’t have to water them.
Tyler looked over at the bar and decided a drink was in order. The bar was stocked with manly liquor: scotch, whiskey, gin, rum, and vodka. He was a white-wine drinker. He uncorked a bottle and poured until the exquisite crystal glass was filled almost to the brim.
Still dressed in his suit, he sat down in one of the leather chairs and sipped at the wine. He finally yanked at his tie, then swiveled his neck from side to side to undo the kinks. What the hell kind of life is this? Every nerve ending in his body was twanging in protest. For one crazy minute he actually thought about digging his sweat suit and sneakers out of wherever they were to go running. The thought was so outrageous, he just shook his head in disgust.
He was no longer sipping at the wine in his glass the way he usually did. He was gulping at it, a sign that things were out of control. There was no way to unring the bell, to go back in time. No way to right the wrongs he’d done. He knew he was just weeks, maybe even days away from being fired. Fired! No one in the Tyler family had ever gotten fired. Never. The Tylers were the ones who did the firing.
Back at the bar, Tyler shed his jacket and pulled off his tie. He poured a full glass of wine and drank half of it before returning to the hated leather chair. He was about to flop down when he changed his mind and headed back to the bar, where he grabbed the wine bottle. He placed it on the coffee table, directly in his line of vision. If he was going to soul-search, he would need some false courage.
The glass steady in his hand, Tyler leaned back into the supple leather. It was all wrong. His life was wrong. He was tired of pretending, sick of the way he’d taken credit for others’ work, sick of the lying, sick of the covering up, sick and tired of his parents’ meddling in his life. Sick and tired of not being able to cut it. Sick and tired of being hated by his superiors and fellow agents even though he deserved their hatred. He wondered, and not for the first time, if there was any way he could get back on track. At forty, how hard could it be to start over without his father the governor paving the way?
Damn hard, he decided. They’d check his records. People in law enforcement had loose lips. Maybe if he told his father he wanted to transfer out of the DEA and go to the FBI or the ATF, he could pull it off for him, at which point Tyler would work his ass off to become the man he always wanted to be. He’d do it by the book this time, his book, not his father’s.
An hour later, Tyler looked at the wine bottle and was surprised to see that it was empty and realized that he was drunk. He could hear his mother now. “For shame, Lawrence! A drunkard in the family is totally unacceptable.”
“Well, Mummie dearest, tell that to someone who cares. And to my father and his White House aspirations,” Tyler mumbled as he made his way to the kitchen. He should probably eat something. One of the rules in law enforcement was always eat, you never knew when you’d eat again, especially if you were in the field. The refrigerator was full; his day lady always saw to it that there was cold chicken, cold ham, cold roast beef. The drawers held fresh fruit, vegetables, bacon, eggs, muffins, and there were all sorts of desserts in the freezer. From time to time he wondered who ate it all because he dined out three times a day. His day lady probably fed her family on it. Not that he cared because she was a nice Mexican lady with a large family. He knew she was illegal, and he hadn’t done a thing to change her status. She was just trying to take care of her family the only way she knew how. He would have given her cash, but she was too proud to take money for nothing. He knew he was breaking the law by not reporting her, but he simply didn’t care. Maybe he was more human than he thought. He closed the door and looked around at the gleaming kitchen. Maybe he’d move out and give Talaga the town house. The thought made him warm all over. Now, wouldn’t that just kick the governor’s ass? He started to laugh and couldn’t stop.
Time to go to bed.
Still laughing and sputtering, Tyler stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers, brushed his teeth, removed his contact lenses, and crawled into his sweet-smelling bed. He scrunched up his pillow as tears spilled from his eyes. He felt like a lost little boy again as he fought the tears. Eventually, he slept, his tears drying on his cheeks, his dreams invaded by gunfire, shouting, smoke, and racing automobiles.
Hours later, as he battled his dream demons, the landline next to his bed rang, a long, jangling sound that made him sit bolt upright. He tried blinking as he struggled to see the time. Three A.M. Six o’clock in the East. He looked at the caller ID and saw the readout said, WIRELESS CALLER. NUMBER UNKNOWN. Well, at least it wasn’t the governor. Probably another wrong number. He picked up the handset and mumbled a greeting.
The voice sounded whiskey soaked, gravelly, as though it was disguised somehow. Tyler blinked again when the voice said, “Agent Tyler?” Work-related? Another crazy tip he would have to pay attention to. Or not.
“This is Agent Tyler. Who is this? It’s three o’clock in the morning in case you can’t see the time wherever you’re calling from. Where did you get this number? It’s unlisted. If this is DEA business, call the office in the morning.”
“Who I am isn’t important. It also isn’t important how I came by this number. There is nothing sacred at the telephone company these days. I am very aware of the time, Agent Tyler. It is DEA business, and I will not be available when your office opens in the morning. I also know I can call your twenty-four-hour hotline, but I chose not to do that.”
“What do you want?” Tyler asked, his voice hard and strong. He took a moment to wonder where his gun was. In his briefcase, of course. It was supposed to be on his nightstand. What a stupid thought. Was he planning on shooting a hole in the telephone?
“We spoke a year ago, Agent Tyler. Right before the hurricane hit Florida. Do you recall that conversation?”
“I remember. I also remember it all turned out to be a joke on me.”
“Yeah, that’s how I read it at the time. You sure do move around a lot for an agent. I told you to pay attention and do something about the situation on Mango Key. You didn’t listen to me. They’ve had a whole year to do what they’re doing.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Who are they? And what are they doing?” Tyler clenched his teeth as he waited for a reply. Damn Kate Rush.
“Listen, Agent Tyler, I know your days are numbered at the DEA. I know you blew it. There aren’t any more strings for your daddy to pull. You know what else I know?” Not bothering to wait for a response from Tyler, he said, “I know that lady who works for you is illegal. With one phone call, I can have her and all her brats deported. I know you like sweet-smelling sheets, and I know you have a pair of boxers with little hearts all over them. You also have a pair with lightning bolts on them. Not that I care, mind you. I’m just saying, I know things. Now, do you want to listen or not?”
Tyler looked around, his eyes wild. Someone had sneaked into his house, touched his belongings. “Fine, fine, you broke into my house. You went through my things. Why? Why me? What are you getting out of this, or are you just out for cheap thrills? You do anything about my housekeeper, and I will hunt you down like a wild dog, and what happens after that won’t be pretty.” Jesus, did he just say that? Obviou
sly he did because the unknown wireless caller laughed, a creepy, evil sound.
Tyler’s mind raced. I know this voice, he thought. I’ve heard it before somewhere, and not just from his previous call. Who? Where would I have heard it?
“Pretty brave talk for a guy who’s never in the line of fire. The reason I’m calling you is you’re the only agent who has deep pockets. By the way, I know to the penny what’s in your bank account. I want money. I don’t want it for nothing. I’m willing to give up what I know in exchange. And just so you know how serious I am, I know your deep dark secret, the one your daddy doesn’t know. Just tell me if you’re interested or not.”
Tyler started to shake. Who the hell was this guy? Was he interested? Damn, he knew the voice. If he could just tie it to a real live person, he’d have something to go on. He surprised himself when he said, “How much money are we talking about? What exactly do I get in exchange for it?”
“You get your reputation back. The governor will be proud of you. You won’t have to slink out of the DEA with your tail between your legs. Your colleagues will look at you differently. In time, they might even come to like and respect you. And best of all, your secret remains safe. A hundred grand should do it.”
Tyler laughed. “Just like that, a hundred grand. You must be smoking something illegal. What’s the guarantee the information is solid? By the way, this is blackmail.”
“Agent Tyler, there are no guarantees in life. You buy the poke, you open it, then you do your share. Call it whatever you like. I have something to sell, and if that includes your secrets, and you’re willing to buy, then, hey, it’s a simple sale. Just for the record, I’m just a conduit. You really should think about my offer because that task force is closing in on you. Two weeks, tops, and you’re out on your ass. I’m going to give you till noon. And then I’ll call you for your decision. Go back to bed, Agent Tyler, and have sweet dreams.”
Tyler held the phone to his ear until he heard the dial tone. Maybe this was all a bad dream. He pinched his arm. Nope, he was wide awake. He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt like he was seven years old in that fancy school they’d sent him to, the one where he had to wear white socks, saddle shoes, shorts, and suspenders over a starched white shirt. Just like the von Trapp kids from The Sound of Music. For days, for weeks and months, he’d tried to figure out a way to run away to join the circus, where people would care about him. Why he thought people in a circus would care about him he had no idea. It didn’t matter because even back then he’d been a gutless wonder.
Tyler sat up and swiped at his eyes with the bottom of his shirt. He might as well get up. He’d never fall asleep now. His head buzzed like a beehive as he trotted out to the kitchen. Talaga always left the coffeepot ready to go. All he had to do was press a button. He’d never made a pot of coffee in his life.
He sat down and tried to think. The wireless caller’s voice, disguised or not, was somehow vaguely familiar. He rubbed at his temples as though that would somehow magically make a name surface. Was the caller primarily a blackmailer or an informant? The first time, when he’d called a year ago, he hadn’t tried to blackmail Tyler. A hundred thousand dollars was a boatload of money. But, as everyone knew, blackmailers never let up. They kept coming back again and again.
The coffeepot pinged, the signal that it was ready to be poured. He yanked open the dishwasher, pulled out one of the heavy DEA complimentary cups, and filled it to the brim. He’d taken it from the office back in Phoenix to a mall, where he had his name stenciled on it. It made him feel important. He looked up at the dishes in the cabinet to see only fine bone china, thanks to his mother. Itty-bitty cups that held about two swallows. He was sick of that, too. He’d gone out of his way to buy paper plates and napkins, and that was what he used on the rare occasions when he made himself a sandwich or a salad.
As he blew on the coffee and sipped at it, Tyler let his mind race. Who the hell was that guy? For all he knew, it could just as easily be a woman using some kind of disguising device. Criminals used them all the time. And, why me? Yeah, yeah, I’m the one with the deep pockets. Obviously, the caller knew something pertinent. He wondered what would happen if he hopped a flight to Miami to check on things, which was his right to do since he was technically Jellard’s boss. Maybe he’d look up Kate Rush’s address and stop in for a visit. He owed her an apology. The big question was, did he have the guts to follow through and actually do it.
His coffee was cool enough now to gulp at it. He liked strong coffee even though at times he felt like his eyeballs were standing at attention.
He needed to pull a rabbit out of a hat, and he needed to do it soon since his unknown caller had stressed the time frame of the task force working against him.
Like I needed a reminder.
Tyler went to his computer, his coffee refreshed. He logged on, booked an airline ticket, paying for it with his own credit card. He booked a 6:00 P.M. flight. He needed time to do some shopping and a few other things both before and after he was home for the noon phone call. Satisfied, he went to MapQuest and started to type.
It was eleven o’clock when his housekeeper handed him the neatly folded clothing she’d just taken out of the dryer. Her eyes were full of questions, but she said nothing. Her English was sketchy, so Tyler made flapping motions with his hands to show he was going on a trip. He went over to his desk and opened an envelope that contained his emergency stash of cash. He pulled out enough bills to pay her for a month. Then he added an extra hundred-dollar bill. The housekeeper’s eyes filled with tears as she hugged him. She hugged him so hard Tyler knew it was how a mother’s hug really felt. He almost swooned. He shoved two more hundreds into her hand. She cried harder. She gripped him harder as she cried, jabbering away in English and Spanish.
Finally, it dawned on Tyler what his housekeeper was saying. “No, no! I am not firing you. I’m coming back.” He pulled away and took her out to the kitchen, where he showed her the calendar and marked off when he would be back. The woman went limp, and if Tyler hadn’t caught her, she would have fallen to the floor. She started to bless and hug him again. For the first time in a long time, a very long time, genuine laughter erupted from Tyler.
Now it was time to get dressed in his new duds. MapQuest had given him a direct route to a used-clothing store, where he found worn jeans, shirts, and a tattered Florida Marlins baseball cap. He found a pair of sneakers that actually fit and matched an equally tattered windbreaker plus four other equally worn sets of clothing.
As he dressed, he thought he would feel squeamish about wearing someone else’s used clothing, but it just felt like clean clothing. The fact that everything fit was a bonus. The baseball cap was the hardest. He plopped it on his head and looked at himself in the mirror. He thought he looked like a regular guy on his way home from a construction job.
Perfect.
The phone rang. Tyler’s gaze flew to the digital clock on his nightstand. His unknown caller was right on time. The digital readout said it was twelve o’clock.
Tyler picked up the phone, and said, “This is Lawrence Tyler.”
“How you doing, pal?”
“Let’s get one thing straight right now, I am not your pal. I’ve thought over your proposal, and I’ve decided to decline. That’s as in screw you, don’t call me again, and if you even think about trying to blackmail me, I will make you wish you’d never been born. Are we clear on my response, Mr. No Name?”
The crackly disguised voice on the other end of the phone waited a few seconds before he said, “Big mistake, Agent Tyler.”
“Mistake or not, that’s my answer. I’m going to hang up now, and I want to warn you not to call me again.” With shaking hands, Tyler broke the connection. He hated that his knuckles were bone white. He licked at his dry lips. Was it a mistake? Maybe. Only time would tell. What was it his old nanny used to say? Don’t cry over spilled milk or something like that. Overall, his tone had
been hard and cold, and in the end, he thought the call had gone well.
Tyler looked at the Rolex on his wrist. Damn, he’d almost forgotten about the watch. He rummaged in his bag for the Timex with the leather strap he’d bought in the drugstore on the corner. He dropped the Rolex into the drawer in his night table.
A glance at his new watch told him he had roughly four hours to get everything together before he had to be at LAX. If he allowed himself some extra time, he could grab something to eat at the airport before going through security.
Maybe he could pull this off on his own. He wasn’t exactly stupid. Just cowardly. Well, this was where the rubber met the road, and there was no time to be either stupid or cowardly.
Tyler headed back to his home office and sat down at the computer. All he needed was a plan and a hell of a lot of luck.
Chapter 8
It was three o’clock in the morning local time when Lawrence Tyler checked into a Holiday Inn in Miami. He’d parked his Ford Mustang rental in the lot and lugged his own bag into the lobby of the hotel. He was simply too beat to drive all the way to Key West. He wished again that he’d been able to get a flight directly to Key West International instead of Miami, but booking a reservation at the last moment wasn’t the best way to secure a seat. He’d get up early and drive to Key West. By three-thirty, he was sound asleep in the queen-size bed with the orange bedspread.
From long habit, Tyler woke at six without the aid of an alarm clock or a wake-up call. For a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was until he noticed the orange bedspread with the big yellow flowers on it, and it all came back to him. He hopped out of bed, showered, shaved, and dressed in the same clothes he’d arrived in.
Downstairs, he took the time to avail himself of the inn’s complimentary breakfast and coffee, which he swigged down at the speed of light. He checked out and was on the road by seven-fifteen.
Southern Comfort Page 9