“I never hope for a lot,” I said.
“Anything you’d like to do today?” Sally asked, holding my hand.
“I’ve got to go to Viviase’s office and make a statement.”
“After that?”
“I don’t know. I wonder if Flo and Adele need anything for the barbecue tomorrow.”
“Let’s find out.”
Sally tracked down Francie and Alaska Dreamer on Monday.
I went to their apartment in Bradenton. Bubbles was there, filling the door. When she recognized me, she stepped out of the way and let me in. Francie was in a small kitchen off of a small living room with a small television.
It was late in the morning. Francie was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.
“How’s your laundry?” she said when she saw me.
“Full of holes,” I said. “Is Alaska here?”
“No,” she said. “And much as I’d like to talk to you, I’ve got to gulp this down and get to work at Wendy’s. How did you find me?”
“I’m a process server,” I reminded her.
Bubbles behind me confirmed, “He’s a process server.”
“What can I do for you?” asked Francie. “You want a quick cup of coffee? A little chat about old times with Mom when I leave.”
“No, no thanks,” I said. “Is Alaska all right?”
“She’s fine,” Francie said. “At school. Kindergarten. Mom picks her up. Alaska’s hooked on that chopped-liver stuff now since you gave her the sandwich. If you’re worried about what all that shooting and the cops with guns did to her, it’s okay. She liked it. Told her friends. They didn’t believe her. I had to tell them it really happened. Alaska was a kindergarten celebrity for a few days.”
“Brought you something,” I said, taking an envelope out of my pocket and putting it in front of her on the table.
“You’re serving papers on my kid?” Bubbles said, angrily stepping in front of me, looming over me.
“No,” I said, ready for a punch this time if one was coming. “Look inside.”
Francie opened the envelope and counted the money.
“Six hundred dollars,” she said.
“A man and woman with two kids and plenty of money gave that to me to give to you when they heard about what happened at the Laundromat. They felt responsible.”
“Why? I mean, why did they feel responsible?”
“Long story. Do me a favor and take it. No strings. I’m out the door and out of your life.”
“I’m not turning down six hundred dollars,” Francie said with a smile. “You find any more people with bad consciences and money they don’t need, we’ll be here.”
“Sorry,” said Bubbles. “Thanks.”
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, I’m sorry I hit you that time.”
“Me, too.”
When I left the Dreamers, I returned the Nissan to Fred and Alan.
“Who was in the front seat of this car?” Alan asked, wiping his hands after inspecting the interior. “A pair of water buffalo after an afternoon of wallowing in the mud?”
“It’s Florida,” Fred said. “What do you expect?”
“We should add on a cleaning charge,” Alan grumbled.
“Al, come on. It’s almost halfway to Christmas,” Fred said, putting a calming hand on his partner’s shoulder. “We’ve got a good customer here. We don’t want to lose him.”
“All right,” Alan said, and then added to me, “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, sitting down.
This time Alan went for the coffee.
“So,” said Fred, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms. “How’d the week go?”
“Fine,” I said. “Three murders, lots of threats, a couple of tries at killing me.”
“The usual,” Fred said with a big grin, as Alan returned with the coffee.
“Cream and sweetener, right?” Alan said, handing me the cup.
“Lew should be a finance officer in some big dealership in town. Can look you right in the eye and say someone’s trying to kill him and you almost believe him.”
“Lew’s got a sense of humor all right,” Alan said, handing his partner a cup of coffee.
“Someday I’ll give you the stand-up comedy routine I’m working on,” I said.
They both laughed.
I got my bike and drove to the Y on Main. I did my usual workout using all the machines and the steps. I had a good sweat going, finished in forty-five minutes, took a shower, and pedaled back.
Dave and his kids were at a DQ table. I said hi, parked my bike, and went up to my office. No calls. No papers to serve.
I went to pull down my window shade. I could see the dance studio across the street. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio, I could see a man all alone, arms held as if he were dancing with an invisible woman. The mans eyes were closed. He had a smile on his face.
I watched Digger dance for a few minutes and then pulled down the shade.
All I had to do now was memorize my jokes. I went to bed instead.
The barbecue at Flo’s started at eleven and went on till about seven. Ames, who had come unarmed, spent most of the time listening politely to whomever wanted to make small talk with him, but he devoted his really serious time on the screened deck at the back of the house listening to Adele and holding Catherine.
Flo kept the volume on the stereo system down, but not so low that we wouldn’t know we were being serenaded by a never-repeating concert of bluegrass, cowboy, country-and-western, and mountain music.
“That’s the soundtrack of O Brother, Where Art Thou?,” Flo told me at one point. “You’d like the movie, Lewis.”
Flo saw to it that everyone kept eating.
“No beer. No wine,” she had announced to each guest as they arrived. “I’m driving now and I’m taking no chances. I should be facing the devil, but every time I’ve done that in the past, the bastard won.”
Sally’s Susan ate the most, helped Flo with the grilling, and waved at her mother, who stayed close to me, saying things from time to time like, “Hang in there, Lewis. You can be happy for a few more hours.”
Michael, with a huge platter of ribs, coleslaw, and potato salad and an oversize glass of Coke, had settled himself, with his mother’s permission, in front of the television in what used to be Flo’s husband, Gus’s, office. He spent most of the day watching movies and reporting the score of the Cubs doubleheader with San Diego. The Cubs split. Sammy hit one home run.
Everyone looked happy. Everyone thanked Adele and Flo and said nice things about Catherine.
“I’ll help with the cleanup,” Sally said.
“I’ve already got a volunteer,” Flo said, looking at Ames. “I’ll drive him home later.”
“Call me, Lew,” Sally said in the driveway, touching my cheek.
“I will,” I said.
And I did.
Epilogue
JANICE AND KENNETH Severtson got a good lawyer, but not good enough. I had a lawyer, Tycinker himself, who cut a deal with the Orlando prosecutor. I testified. I walked with no charges. The Severtsons made a deal and pleaded to conspiracy to commit murder. Kenneth Jr. and Sydney went to Charleston with Janice’s sister.
With Trasker dead and my statement, Viviase didn’t go after Hoffmann. When enough newspapers and mail had piled up at Hoffmann’s gate, a neighbor called the police. They came. Hoffmann couldn’t be found, nothing seemed to be missing except for the baseball collection.
No one in Sarasota has seen or heard from Kevin Hoffmann, wherever or whoever he might be now.
Three months later there was a hotly contested special election to fill the place of the deceased William Trasker on the commission. One of the biggest voter turnouts in Sarasota history. A Hispanic named Gomez who owned a big auto-repair business was elected. There was talk of another vote on Midnight Pass.
I did my stand-up act for Ann Horowitz on a Wednesd
ay morning.
“You’re funny,” she said.
“I’m not trying to be.”
“That is precisely why you are. Comedy, like life much of the time, depends on timing and delivery. In your case, you are afflicted with Cassandra’s curse, doomed to say funny things, which you do not find funny. We’ll work on that.”
Later that morning, after I had discussed it with Ann, I called Sally and told her I’d be Darrell Caton’s Big Brother.
Life went on.
By Stuart M. Kaminsky
Lew Fonesca Mysteries
Vengeance
Retribution
Midnight Pass
Abe Lieberman Mysteries
Lieberman’s Folly
Lieberman’s Choice
Lieberman’s Day
Lieberman’s Thief
Lieberman’s Law
The Big Silence
Not Quite Kosher
Toby Peters Mysteries
Bullet for a Star
Murder on the Yellow Brick Road
You Bet Your Life
The Howard Hughes Affair
Never Cross a Vampire
High Midnight
Catch a Falling Clown
He Done Her Wrong
The Fala Factor
Down for the Count
The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance
Smart Moves
Think Fast, Mr. Peters
Buried Caesars
Poor Butterfly
The Melting Clock
The Devil Met a Lady
Tomorrow Is Another Day
Dancing in the Dark
A Fatal Glass of Beer
A Few Minutes Past Midnight
To Catch a Spy
Mildred Pierced
Porfiry Rostnikov Novels
Death of a Dissident
Black Knight in Red Square
Red Chameleon
A Cold, Red Sunrise
A Fine Red Rain
Rostnikov’s Vacation
The Man Who Walked Like a
Bear
Death of a Russian Priest
Hard Currency
Blood and Rubles
Tarnished Icons
The Dog Who Bit a Policeman
Fall of a Cosmonaut
Murder on the Trans-Siberian
Express
Nonseries Novels
When the Dark Man Calls
Exercise in Terror
Short Story Collections
Opening Shots
Hidden and Other Stories
Biographies
Don Siegel: Director
Clint Eastwood
John Huston, Maker of Magic
Coop: The Life and Legend of
Gary Cooper
Other Nonfiction
American Film Genres
American Television Genres
(with Jeffrey Mahan)
Basic Filmmaking
(with Dana Hodgdon)
Writing for Television
(with Mark Walker)
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
MIDNIGHT PASS: A LEW FONESCA MYSTERY
Copyright © 2003 by Stuart M. Kaminsky
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kaminsky, Stuart M.
Midnight pass / Stuart M. Kaminsky.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Forge book”—T.p. verso.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-1264-8
1. Fonesca, Lew (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Florida—Sarasota—Fiction. 3. Sarasota (Fla.)—Fiction. 4. Widowers—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3561.A43M54 2003
813'.54—dc21
2003046856
Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) Page 23