Death of the Innocent

by Karl Tutt

  “You want to get dressed?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, but maybe we can finish our coffee. I’ll waive my rights if we can just sit here and talk for a while. I’d like to enjoy a few more minutes on HAT TRICK before this all goes down. I got a feeling it’ll be a little more comfortable than where you’re taking me.”

  Frank nodded and took a pocket cassette recorder out of his pocket. He flipped the switch and stated the date and location, then asked Harry if he understood that this conversation was being recorded.

  “T.K., you’re a witness,” Frank said.

  Chapter 33

  I was surprised he didn’t demand an attorney. Harry didn’t ask for any special treatment. No reduced charges or immunity from prosecution. As the tale unfolded, I got the feeling that Harry wanted to lighten a heavy load of sins he committed or been a party to.

  The dogs had located a couple of joints, but there was a lot more. They found a file folder in a drawer in the master stateroom. There were prints of men on men, women on women, black white, Asian, a virtual smorgasbord of smut. No perversion overlooked. Plenty of SanDisks, and photos of Alexis that I didn’t want to see. Harry had taken them all.

  In a separate closet was a makeshift darkroom and a ledger with names, addresses, and phone numbers of contacts in every state on the east coast.

  Harry stared out the window as Frank went through the file. He dropped his head to his chest. Then he sipped his coffee and began to talk.

  “It started out simple. I was just a photographer, but I was good at it. All of the top fashion rags calling me. Lots of good shoots. Quick and pretty. It wasn’t big money, but I was comfortable. A couple of the girls, they weren’t doing so hot, asked me if I could get them some extra work. I told them I’d try. I had a line on a guy who did quality nudie stuff. Figured, why not?”

  “Some of them were a little bashful at first. But a little weed, a few shots in some expensive lingerie or a designer bikini, it was easy enough to get them out of their clothes. We’d start by telling them we just wanted to see their tits. Another joint, maybe a little booze, we were ready to move on down, shoot a little snatch. Then they’d get greedy. They all had some kind of Jones. Whiskey, dope, clothes, whatever. Once they had a healthy taste of the cash, they had to have more.”

  “We’d bring the guys in, very gentlemanly and all. Start them off slow. Give them something to get them flying. But don’t kid yourself, they knew what they were getting into. Some of them drew the line at flashing their bodies. That was okay because some of them wouldn’t. They’d suck anything and put it anywhere. After the word got around, we had more girls than we had cameras.”

  Harry got up and re-filled our coffee cups.

  “But it didn’t end there, did it?” Frank asked.

  Harry grinned, sat back down and asked for the cream.

  “You know it didn’t, Detective. Next thing we started thinking about distribution. That’s where it’s at. Buddy of mine had some contacts with some dudes in New York. We put together a little catalogue. Nice piece, coated stock, full color. Tease them, you know. Next thing we got offers to finance. All of a sudden we’re in the mail order business. Stills, videos, sexy little toys guaranteed to make life more fun and exciting. We made a few mistakes, but we learned all the time. Got better.”

  Frank noticed the recorder had stopped. He said excuse me, picked it up and replaced the cassette. He started it back up.

  “Sorry, Harry,” he said, “go on.”

  “No problem. Anyway, I couldn’t see that I was hurting anybody and it was making me a wealthy man. That’s when I got my first boat. Nice little Bertram, thirty feet. Sometimes we’d use it for a shoot. But it kept getting smaller and the Long Island Sound gets mighty cold in the winter. I guess that’s when I started dreaming about living aboard, being in the sun all the time. It was sweet, but that’s when I screwed up.”

  “I needed to expand. That’s where the kids came in. That’s the one thing I’m sorry about. I wish to God I’d never done it. Adults? Who gives a shit? Let ‘em do what they want. But kids? I should have left them alone. It wasn’t right.”

  He took a long sip of coffee and swallowed slowly.

  “But there are some weird people out there who will cough up serious bucks just to look at pictures and feed their sick fantasies.”

  Yeah, and Harry was the one who made all their dreams come true. I locked my teeth together for a moment, then spoke.

  “So no Uncle Mort?”

  “No, T.K. Just a nice sweet tale, an easy way to dodge embarrassing questions. People love that shit. Everyone wants to be Peter Pan. We want Tinkerbelle to sprinkle a little fairy dust on us so we can fly to Never-Never Land. Story like that makes people think they might hit the lotto.”

  Now Frank asked, “So how did Cy Watts figure into all of this?”

  Harry laughed.

  “Just a well paid gopher, but one who got a little too enthusiastic. I didn’t tell him to kill Strait. We weren’t even doing any business with him. Cy thought there was a market here. Approached Strait thinking he’d be the man to tap into it. Gave him a few samples. It was a mistake to show him pictures of the kid. Strait got a little crazy. The bastard actually had some scruples.”

  “So Malachi Strait was the one who mailed me the photocopy?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Cy got careless. Strait copied it. Thought he’d be Dudley Do-Right. What a joke. I figured we were still safe, but Cy got scared. Thought Strait might cave in if the Detective started asking questions. He called our noble shop owner and arranged a meeting near the water. Cy’s real good with a knife, but you’ve seen that.”

  “So why Alexis?” I asked.

  He shook his head, stared at the carpet. He looked straight at Frank, then at me.

  “Hell, I don’t know about that. Cy didn’t kill her and I damned sure didn’t. Watts wasn’t even in the Keys that night. I’d sent him up to Miami to conduct some business. He took the Jag, left about three in the afternoon. Didn’t come back until the next day. I know he was there. I talked to some of my people. The business got taken care of. Sorry guys, I can’t help you with that one. God, I wish I could.”

  I had listened quietly. I fought the urge to be judge and jury, but when he got to Alexis the rage began to boil. I wanted to jerk him off the sofa. Pump him until he told me why he had turned a girl so young and flawless into something malignant with filth and evil.

  “I know what you guys are thinking, looking at me like I’m covered in slime. I see it in your face, T.K. You’d be a damned lousy poker player. I’m sorry about the kid. Sorry about the picture. Sorry she’s dead. Nice little girl, would’ve been a real beauty. But let’s get serious. Ask yourself, what are you doing down here? Living on your boat. No job. Checks coming in regular. I read your book. Best seller. I understand. Lots of sex. Lots of violence. You gave the public just what they wanted, didn’t you? Face it, buddy. We’re all whores. You just sold out cheaper. Take a minute and look around you. Power, money, that’s what it’s all about. It’s bucks, plain and simple. In the end, nothing else matters.”

  So maybe I was a whore just like Harry said. But at least I wasn’t bleeding children, peddling their flesh and sucking up their innocence like a creature out of some Bram Stoker novel. So that’s it, my noteworthy defense. But the onslaught of Harry’s words pounded into my brain and made it exactly what it was. The perfect rationalization.

  Harry looked at Frank. “So I guess it’s time to get dressed.”

  He went into the stateroom leaving the door ajar. There was an explosion from below. Harry’s brains were splattered all over the squares and triangles of the bedspread.

  Chapter 34

  I didn’t go to the station, but Frank and I agreed to meet on KAMALA later that afternoon. I spent the rest of the morning trying to scrape the sight of Harry’s blood from my mind. I puttered around the boat. I picked up the USA TODAY and scanned the headlines. Some guy in Scotland had
showed up at an elementary school with a small arsenal. Sixteen dead, kids and teachers. I folded it and put it in the trash.

  I tried to finish the Elmore Leonard I was reading, but I couldn’t concentrate. I looked for a leak that had appeared beneath one of the ports. No luck. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to be much good at anything right then. I opened a beer and sat in the cockpit.

  A parade of tourists was walking the docks, smiling, curious. One guy in a Raw Bar t-shirt tried to make conversation. I guess I snapped at him.

  Frank showed up around four. He was off-duty, so I poured a couple of tumblers of Evan Williams over some ice. He swished it around the side of the glass and spoke.

  “We went through the whole thing at the station. My boys screwed up. Taurus 38 Revolver. Not much stopping power, but enough to do the job on him. We still don’t know where he had it hidden. At least I’ve got his statement on tape. I almost feel sorry for the bastard, but not quite. He damned sure laid some heavy stuff on Watts.

  “Have you got any idea where he might be?” I asked.

  “Put out an APB on the car. The guy has a serious rap sheet. Aggravated assault, concealed weapon without a permit, a couple of B and E’s. We contacted the state patrol. It’ll be tough for him to get out of the Keys by car or through an airport. He could try a boat, but he doesn’t own one. We’ve contacted all of the rental places. Of course, there’s always someone “willing to help” when cash is involved. We got the place locked up as tight as we can. I think we’ll have him before too long.”

  “What about Alexis?”

  “I’m not sure Watts did it, but he still makes a mighty nice suspect. Maybe he didn’t go to Miami that day. Or maybe he drove up there and came back. He knew the kid was a threat, especially after the thing with Strait. It’s going to be tough until we arrest him. We might be able to break him down during questioning. It’s not a bad bet that he killed the kid. Maybe started worrying about a long vacation at one of our lovely state-owned resorts. The kid could finger him and Harry. Better if she was out of the way. The voodoo thing was a smokescreen. He didn’t tell Harry, because Harry liked the kid. He was a prick, but I don’t think he wanted any violence. Cy kind of liked it.”

  I hoped Frank was right about Watts. Then it could all be over. I could forget the Ghostcatcher crap and go back to being a good-natured boat bum.

  “Well, I gotta go. Pizza night with Felice and the kids. It’s always the Supreme. Peppers, onions, sausage, ground beef, black olives, extra cheese, you name it. I’ll have heartburn for a week.”

  I managed a smile. He turned up his tumbler, drained it and handed it to me.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Harry was right. We all have a little bit of whore in us, but at least you don’t own the whorehouse.”

  Chapter 35

  After Frank left I filled the bottom of the tumbler with more bourbon. Usually the fire in my throat felt good, but tonight the brown liquid left a taste sweet and sickly, almost rancid.

  I sat in the cockpit and watched the sun slip below the horizon. The sky was a brilliant orange punctuated with clouds of gray and purple. I wanted to be awed, to soar with the grandeur and beauty. But it didn’t happen. I gazed on just another sunset and the clouds promised rain.

  I told Sunny I’d drop by the Parrot, but I didn’t want to hear the laughter and see the smiles. There was too much taunting me already. I didn’t want a slap on the back and a promise that it would be okay. I wanted to be alone. The torment was mine and I wanted to inflict it my own personal way.

  It began to drizzle. I closed up KAMALA, slipped into my foul weather jacket and walked. The moon was already on the rise. An occasional break in the clouds revealed its hideout as it crept into the heavens.

  The revelers on Duval Street had decided a little bit of rain wasn’t spoiling their fun. They seemed to bolt and jerk down the sidewalks, their faces lit up and distorted by the garish collection of light. The sounds leaped out of their throats and mingled in the air with the traffic and the flickering neon. It was scene out of Hieronymus Bosch with a bit of Salvador Dali thrown in.

  A mid-twenties man in a parrot-head t-shirt stopped me. I could smell the stale beer and cigarettes on his breath.

  “Whattsa matter, Dude? You depressed or something? It’s Key West, man. Enjoy.” he shouted.

  I wanted to snatch him by the neck and hurl him into the wet gutter. Didn’t he know the world was a stinking cesspool? A kid was dead. Had he missed that somehow?

  We stood in a face-off. My fingers curled and my hand hardened into a fist. He glared at me through an alcoholic haze. His hand came up to snatch at me. Then one of his buddies yanked his forearm.

  “Come on, Bobby. The man’s having a bad day.” He sneered at me and dragged a stumbling Bobby into the next bar.

  The drops got bigger and the tourists began to disappear into smoky doorways. The cool rain ran down my neck and soaked the back of my shirt. I walked toward Mallory Square. I’d been to many Sunset Celebrations. It was a game Sunny and I played, watching the tourists ogle the street musicians, the sword swallower, the human statue, or the man who trained the house cats to jump through flaming hoops. They all performed nightly, eager to entertain, and to fill their buckets with dollars from the mainland. It was an enduring symbol of all that was quirky and fun in Key West. Tonight it was only deserted.

  The breeze increased as I got into the open. I stood on the wharf looking out at the water. I wiped the rain from my eyes. The masthead lights seemed like stars shrouded in the mist. The boats rocked to and fro in the confusion of the chop. From a distance I heard someone start an outboard, and a dinghy headed for shore.

  The breeze freshened and the clouds moved more rapidly. Utter darkness pierced by cameo performances of a full moon. It was beginning to break up.

  “Hello Doc.” The voice was behind me. I turned slowly. His hair was soggy and the rain ran down his face in jagged trails.

  “You caused me some trouble, actually quite a lot. And now I got a little something for you.”

  He put his hand underneath his coat. I saw the spindly blade as he slid it from the leather sheath. It danced a deadly waltz before me, flashing and glistening in a sliver of moonlight. I watched it move, slow and menacing, like a cobra coming out of a basket.

  “It’s just you and me, Doc. Nice of the clouds and rain to give us this chance to be alone. I guess that fucking Harry told you all about it. Feels good, doesn’t it, to be so goddamned smart. To know it all. But you’re not gonna have much time to enjoy it.”

  He paused and grinned barely showing yellow teeth. There was a fierce, feral look in his eyes. Like a giant cat ready to sink its fangs into the throat of its helpless prey.

  “Yeah, Harry. What a chickenshit. Always shooting off his mouth, tellin’ everybody how good I was with a knife. Tonight you’re gonna find out, Doc. You know what they say. Ain’t no substitute for personal experience.”

  I searched frantically for an escape route. I was at the corner of the wharf. The concrete wall behind me was too tall to scale. That would get me a knife in the back instead of the belly. To my left was the parking lot. I thought I saw a head bob above the bushes, but I didn’t know if I’d even have time to scream. There were cars and obstacles to block his path, but it was thirty yards and I had no head start. On the right was the black water. No room for a fake, a chance to dodge the blade and run for it.

  I was like a boxer trapped on the ropes. Watts stood before me, knees bent, weight on the balls of his feet, perfectly balanced like a murderous Mike Tyson, ready to dart left or right and deliver a killing jab.

  A deadly arc sliced at my belly. My jacket caught most of it. But the blood was warm and quick. It seeped down and pooled at my belt.

  Maybe the water. I could try it, but I knew he was fast. He’d beat me to the edge. In the end it meant he wouldn’t have to drag my bleeding body as far. I’d be like Malachi Strait, my swollen head thumping ag
ainst the hull of some hung over sailor. The moon was lost in the clouds. No one would see and no one would hear me scream.

  He stepped toward me, the knife swaying and floating closer. I wanted to be Errol Flynn or John Wayne, do something heroic. Make a cat-like move, knock the knife from his hand, and put him out with one punch. He made another deft jab, but I grabbed his wrist. An iron fist slammed down on my forearm. I barely felt the blade slice through the joints of my fingers. The crimson bubbled as it mixed with the rain.

  It was over. Nothing brave or meaningful. Soon I’d bob in the water, bloated and bleached like a diseased fish waiting for the scavengers to take my flesh bit by bit. The knife slashed at the air. I raised my hand to my face. Not so much to protect myself. I didn’t have the guts to watch myself die.

  Then I heard a loud thud and a gasp. I lowered my hands. He thrashed and spit like a rabbit caught in a snare. But the force was locked around his neck. Leaden arms tightened like a vice-grip. The knife jerked and twisted like a headless snake. Watts was being pulled back toward the parked cars that bordered Mallory Square.

  Now they were twenty or thirty feet from me. “Don’t kill him,” I shouted.

  For an instant the clouds gave way and the full moon flooded the shadowy features of my savior. He turned his head to hide behind the thrashing Watts, but I caught a glimpse of a face I’d seen before. I fell to my knees and gasped for sweet breath. I don’t know how long I lay on the cold, wet pavement.

  My next clear image was the warm glow of the teak bulkhead on KAMALA. My shirt was drenched in my own blood, but my hand was wrapped in an old t-shirt and there was a towel covering my belly. I lay on the settee shivering, still too much in shock to thank whatever gods may be for my life. I stirred when Sunny knocked on the hull.

  She came below, looked at me and said nothing. She inspected my hands and the slash wound, wiping both gently with peroxide. Then she got the wool blanket from the locker and wrapped it around me.

  Morning came. The pungent scent of coffee crept into my nostrils and I could hear a slow stream of water running into the pot. Sunny sat at the table with a newspaper spread in front of her.

  “Damned if you don’t look like shit. At least I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, testing me.