by Philip Depoy
‘Who killed the stationmaster at the bus depot?’ he added. ‘And why?’
‘And where, by the way,’ I concluded, ‘are the children I’m supposed to be taking care of?’
‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘Maggie Redhawk took them over to Yudda’s.’
‘Yeah, about Maggie.’ I set my coffee cup down. ‘I gotta talk to her brother.’
Maggie Redhawk’s brother was, among other things, one of the richest Seminole men in the country. Oil, banking, stocks – a tycoon with a ponytail. A very measured man, too. Patient. He knew how to wait. For instance, he’d been waiting since before he was born for the United States Government to live up to certain treaty promises it had made with the Seminoles in Florida. Waiting since 1866.
John Horse nodded. ‘You borrowed money from him. To pay off the man in Oklahoma.’
‘I generally stopped trying to figure out how you know stuff,’ I told him. ‘But how did you know that?’
He shrugged, which was the usual answer I would get from him on such a subject.
‘OK,’ I pressed, ‘so are you going to tell me why the kids have to wait until noon tomorrow to be reunited with their mother?’
He looked down. ‘There might still be owl people. It’s too dangerous.’
I sighed. ‘Look, I know that a lot of your Wise Old Man shtick is for show, and you do it to impress me. But the guys who kidnapped those women are just crooks, plain and simple. And this guy, Bear Talmascy, he’s just a crumb, that’s all – a bad ex-husband. The world’s full of them.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not talking about Bear. His spirit left his body a long time ago. He’s not a human being any more. But he’s not an owl person. He just looks like one. He’s nothing more than a collection of bones and thoughtless action.’
‘Then …’ I began.
‘I’m talking about the dead body in the county morgue,’ he went on. ‘The one that they thought was your friend, Mr Washington. He’s a genuine demon.’
It was good to see the kids horsing around in the back booth at Yudda’s. And there was Pan Pan. All three of them laughing. I realized what a rare commodity laughter had been for a while.
John Horse and I waved. The kids got out of the booth and ran to me. They both hugged me. Also a rare commodity.
‘What’s all this?’ I managed to ask.
Sharp looked up. ‘You saved our mother.’
‘We were just too freaked out about being up a tree and scared of a bear to do this yesterday,’ Duck concluded.
‘Pan Pan is funny,’ Sharp said, looking back toward the booth.
‘He’s a scream,’ I acknowledged. ‘I just don’t know what he’s doing here.’
‘I came here after I dropped your car off,’ Pan Pan said. ‘I was hungry.’
‘He’s been telling us all about you,’ Duck said.
I glared at Pan Pan.
He blinked. ‘Not all.’
‘Let’s go,’ I told him. ‘You and me got work to do.’
He nodded and slid out of the booth. That was the thing about Pan Pan: even after all this time we’d been apart, he knew what I was talking about without my talking about it.
‘Where are you meeting up with the kids’ mother?’ I asked John Horse.
‘She knows where,’ he said, voice lowered. ‘And I’ll stay with them until it’s time to go see her. You go on and do your work.’
I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned about these owl people. Or was he still trying to play a part?
‘Where to first?’ Pan Pan wanted to know.
‘Well, as long as you’re in town, how would you like to see the sights?’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the richest Seminole in America,’ I told him.
‘OK.’
That was all. Within the next ninety seconds we were in my car and on the way to the only building in Fry’s Bay designed for the very wealthy. It was a snooty Art Deco number right downtown. If Mister Redhawk was in town, that’s where he’d be. He owned the building and lived on the top floor, in the penthouse.
I parked my car in front, advertising the fact that I was visiting. Anyone who really wanted to know would recognize the black 1957 Thunderbird.
As we were getting out of the car, Pan Pan said, ‘You’ve really kept this thing in great shape. I remember when you brought it in to me. Used to be baby blue.’
I encouraged him to save the reminiscences for a rainy day, and held the front door to the building, into the lobby.
He whistled at the marble excess. The marble echoed back.
We were up the elevator and into the foyer of Redhawk’s digs before Pan Pan spoke again.
‘Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?’ he whispered.
Swank made him nervous.
‘Is that you, Mr Moscowitz?’ a voice called.
It was Redhawk. He knew it was me. So why was he asking?
As soon as I rounded the corner of the foyer and got a gander of his living room, I got my answer. There was Watkins, with two burly Seminole gentlemen in classy suits, all pointing guns – some at Redhawk, some at me and Pan Pan.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said to the silent assemblage, ‘this is certainly an unexpected state of affairs.’
‘You messed me up real bad,’ Watkins said. He sounded exhausted.
I picked out one of the Seminoles.
‘Leech-as-chay,’ I snarled at him.
He took a second to register surprise that I spoke his language, and then gathered up a small portion of bravado.
‘You’re not going to kill us.’ He laughed, nervously.
‘Nakin chief ka teh?’ I demanded.
‘What’s my name?’ another guy asked. ‘Kiss-My-Ass, that’s my name.’
‘John Horse sent us,’ I told the assemblage.
At that the Seminoles grimaced like I hoped they would. The mere mention of John Horse’s name could sometimes freeze blood.
‘He sent us to take revenge,’ I told the strangers, ‘because we’re immune to the Owl People. This man standing next to me? He’s already dead. His name is Pan Pan Washington.’
‘The guy who got dumped in the bay?’ one of the Seminoles asked Watkins.
‘He’s just trying to make you nervous. That’s not—’
‘You’ve been taking Seminole women,’ I interrupted, louder. ‘You’ve been shipping them to Oklahoma. Watkins has been helping you with the technicalities: picking out the women here in Fry’s Bay, cinching their disappearance with the hotel, keeping it all hushed up with the police.’
‘He–he doesn’t know anything,’ Watkins stammered, trying to assure his cohorts.
I took several steps closer to him; Pan Pan did too.
‘The Seminole Nation of Oklahoma gets federal money based on population,’ I said. ‘Bear Talmascy figured out a way to make money by counting these extra people as members of the Oklahoma congregation. It’s a variation of an old Social Security scam. Only with this thing, there’s proof: you have more people there in Oklahoma – these Florida Seminoles. And then after that you also dispose of the women, to collect their tribal death benefits. Two scams for the price of one.’
‘There’s probably more money in selling the women,’ Redhawk corrected me.
‘Yeah,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t really want to think about that.’
‘We’re going to start shooting in about five seconds,’ Watkins raved, ‘unless Redhawk gives us money and a way out of town.’
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pan Pan shift his feet. It had been a while, but the last time I saw him do that, he was getting ready to pull out a .44 and start shooting.
‘Pan Pan,’ I said calmly. ‘Show these men your driver’s license.’
Without batting an eye, Pan Pan whipped out one of his many licenses and flashed it.
‘Pan Pan Washington,’ he said. ‘Shot in the head and dumped in Fry’s Bay.’
That little bit of distraction
handed me the opportunity I wanted. I kicked high enough to knock loose the gun in Watkins’ hand. Redhawk took care of the next move – he shoved his fist into Watkins’ face so hard that blood spurted out of his nose in two directions.
Pan Pan had his .44 out, popping off two clean shots. One into a Seminole kneecap, the other into a different Seminole gun hand.
I stomped sideways on Watkins’ foot and rapped his throat with my knuckles. He went down like bag of sand, messy all over the nice marble floor.
Pan Pan had the tip of his pistol at the temple of one of the Seminoles. I took the gun away from the other one.
‘How long have these guys been here?’ I asked Redhawk.
‘Don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I came home about fifteen minutes ago and they were here, waiting for me.’
‘I came to say thanks,’ I began.
‘Where are the children?’ he interrupted.
‘They’re OK,’ I assured him. ‘John Horse is with them, taking them to their mother at noon.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Watkins told me. Bear Talmascy is here. In Fry’s Bay. He’s lost his mind. He’s going to kill everyone.’
TWENTY-TWO
That’s why Watkins and crew were so crazy to get out of town: Bear Talmascy. And they were crazy to go to Redhawk for help. In the first place, if they hurt him, there wasn’t a cave on earth where they could hide from Seminole retribution. In the second place, Mister Redhawk would rather kill those guys than help them.
Or maybe that’s just how stupid Watkins was. Because screwing with Seminole citizens in a place where Redhawk and John Horse lived, that was significantly stupid.
It was clear that Bear Talmascy would be looking to settle the score with me and his ex-wife – and probably even John Horse. Was that why John Horse acted so strange about the kids being reunited with their mother? Did he somehow know that Bear was coming?
I looked at Pan Pan. ‘We should get back to Yudda’s.’
‘I can take care of these things,’ Redhawk said, staring down at Watkins. ‘You should go; be careful. Bear Talmascy is not entirely human.’
‘We’ve met,’ I said, heading toward the elevator. ‘I’d still like to talk about the money you put up to pay off Pody Poe.’
‘Let’s see if we’re both alive tomorrow,’ Redhawk said softly. ‘Then maybe we’ll talk.’
In that jolly mood, Pan Pan and I headed back to Yudda’s.
‘I like those little kids, Foggy,’ Pan Pan said after a second or two. ‘Could you drive faster?’
I eased the accelerator forward and the T-Bird jumped. When we drew closer to the waterside and Yudda’s shack, we both saw an ominous black column of smoke rising into the sky. I put the pedal all the way down and jumped out of the car as soon as we were next to the restaurant. It was entirely hidden by the smoke.
I cracked open my trunk and hauled out an industrial-sized fire extinguisher – something that had come in handy on more than one occasion.
I ran to the front door and doused the entrance.
I yelled, ‘Yudda!’
No answer.
There was no way to see if anyone was trapped there, so I had to go in. I could hear Pan Pan yelling at me from behind, but I didn’t understand what he was saying. I just charged, coughing and spewing extinguisher foam everywhere.
The place was the inside of a furnace thanks to the tin roof. Something on the griddle was on fire. Smelled like rancid grease and rotten coleslaw. I sprayed it down and eased toward it, still hot as a blowtorch. My eyes were stinging and I was having trouble breathing, but the fire was going out. Didn’t help the smoke any; in fact, it made it worse. But I used a napkin from the bar to fan away the smoke from my face; it looked like the place was deserted.
I emptied the extinguisher all over everything in the cooking area and then backed out of the joint.
Pan Pan was at the door. He’d found a hose somewhere and was watering down the doorway and the tin roof. The roof crinkled and complained, but it was relaxing.
‘Nobody inside,’ I panted.
‘Man, you are one crazy Jew,’ Pan Pan swore. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?
‘I didn’t think about it,’ I admitted.
He shook his head. ‘You are way too invested in this job you got here.’
‘You said you liked those kids,’ I protested.
‘I do,’ he told me. ‘But this is a three-hundred-dollar suit!’
I set the extinguisher down and stared at Yudda’s building. ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’
‘No idea.’ He turned off the hose. ‘I guess it could mean that this Bear Talmascy guy’s been here.’
‘Bear Talmascy? I left him tied up in Oklahoma waiting for Pody Poe.’
‘I don’t know,’ Pan Pan told me. ‘But they all say that Talmascy is a real badass.’
I sucked in a breath and shouted, ‘Yudda!’
Nothing for a second, and then coughing.
‘I hope you done called the fire department.’
Yudda’s voice was coming from the docks. The smoke was drifting high and wild. Didn’t really think a call to the firemen was necessary. I headed for Yudda.
He was lying on his side in a pool of blood, a huge kitchen knife in his hand.
I got to him and knelt down.
‘Shot twice,’ he gasped. ‘Stings like a bastard but it’s mostly fat that got hit.’
I managed to untie his apron and get it off. Tore it in two and stuffed wads of it into his gunshot wounds. Then I looked around.
‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.
Big fire, gunshots, people yelling – where was the hoi polloi? Not a soul in sight.
Yudda grunted, and then painted me a picture. John Horse and the kids were sitting in the back booth at Yudda’s, waiting for noon. Yudda was making sandwiches for them – Muffuletta Po’boy with Bayou spread, lots of horseradish and tobacco.
All at once a sky-blue Cadillac Deville barreled up to the docks and a demon from hell exploded out of the driver’s seat. Bear had a gun in each hand and he just started shooting. People scattered. Bear was screaming.
John Horse grabbed the children and flew out the back exit, a rusted strip of corrugated tin on hinges in one corner. Yudda grabbed his carving knife and stood in the doorway, hunkered down.
Bear busted in and shot Yudda without saying a word. Yudda stabbed Bear in the stomach twice before Bear shot Yudda again. Yudda fell backward and landed on the floor with a pounding thud.
Bear roared, ‘Where’s my children?’
But Yudda looked dead. Bear kicked him. Then Bear howled like a dog and set Yudda’s place on fire.
With that, he got back in his car and screeched away.
Yudda crawled out of the burning building, headed for his boat at the dock and the telephone that was in it. He made it about halfway there, and then Pan Pan and I showed up.
‘Very succinct,’ I told Yudda.
‘If you ain’t gonna call the fire department,’ he grumbled, ‘could you at least call me an ambulance?’
But right on cue: sirens.
‘Where did John Horse and the children go, man?’ I asked Yudda.
Yudda took in a breath, opened his eyes wide and passed out.
I waited with him until the ambulance took him away. The fire truck had already quelled the worst of the smoke. Notably absent: Rothschild, or any cops. What had happened to Rothschild?
Pan Pan was doing his best to be invisible in between two storage sheds by the docks. I signaled him and we managed to slip back to my car unnoticed.
‘Where to?’ he asked, slipping into the passenger seat. ‘We got to find those kids, Foggy. The Bear sonofabitch is crazy!’
‘Well, John Horse can’t get the kids back to the swamp fast enough,’ I said, cranking the engine. ‘That’s where they’d be safest. But I wonder if he might try for the next best thing.’
And with that we were off.
The joint was d
eserted, as usual. A little over an acre of land: flowers, and shrubs and vines that had flowers, giant striped grass, a rock garden and tons of shade. There were three benches, all handmade, all facing the sea. It was a very quiet place, and always kept up, well-watered, tribally maintained. There was no sign or marker.
‘What’s this?’ Pan Pan asked, a little irritated. ‘A park?’
‘Abiaka Park,’ I said. ‘Abiaka is as famous to Seminoles as Osceola.’
‘Who?’
I sighed. ‘Doesn’t matter. Abiaka was a great spiritual leader. John Horse comes here sometimes to meditate. Me too. Sometimes.’
‘Meditate?’ Pan Pan closed his eyes. ‘Jesus, Foggy. What the hell happened to you?’
‘The point is,’ I pressed on, ‘that there’s a little hiding place here that not many people know about. Come on.’
I got out of the car; Pan Pan likewise.
In the middle of the park, beside a big boulder, there was an ancient magnolia tree the size of a small house. The lower branches leaned on the ground and the leaves were as thick as a wall. Also smelled like heaven thanks to the blossoms.
But if you could manage your way past the branches and the leaves and you knew what to look for, you’d see that you could climb about halfway up the trunk to a treehouse, solid as a rock, built into the branches, nearly invisible.
‘What the hell are we doing?’ Pan Pan complained.
I put my finger to my lips and then pointed up. He still didn’t see it. That’s how good it was.
He stared, he squinted, then he shook his head.
‘What?’ he whispered.
‘Up,’ I whispered back.
I grabbed a handful of tree and hoisted myself up.
‘This is a three-hundred-dollar suit!’ he repeated.
I ignored him.
He said something; probably for the best that I couldn’t hear it. Then he followed me up.
It was difficult, but a couple of minutes later, I put my hand on the platform of the treehouse.
‘Do you think you could make any more noise?’ I heard John Horse complain.
‘It’s Pan Pan,’ I objected, out of breath. ‘He’s not as savvy about nature as I am.’