Powder Burn - Carl Hiaasen [124]
“Octavio, let’s hear from you.”
“Captain, Roberto was my brother, but I didn’t know what the hell he was up to. I had his car towed as a favor, that’s all. I’ll reimburse the department for that. I did give him a ride to the airport, also as a favor. That I won’t bother to defend. This Cruz thing I can’t even remember.”
“OK,” the hearing officer had said. And a few minutes later: “Thanks for your time, gentlemen. I’m going to rule that there is insufficient cause for action in this case. The complaint is not sustained.”
Nelson was halfway out the door when Wilbur Pincus caught up with him. “I’m sorry,” he had said plaintively. “About your brother. About everything. I…I sent some flowers.”
“That was very thoughtful,” Nelson had replied, “but you should have come to the funeral. Your friend Mr. Cruz was there.”
“Why?” Pincus had said, his voice fading suddenly. “How did he know Roberto?”
“Strictly business, amigo.”
Nelson’s rod dipped, and he set the hook and hauled in a small mangrove snapper. “A few more of these, and we have dinner,” he announced.
“So is Pincus quitting?” Meadows asked intently.
“Are you kidding? He’s doing great, a regular star. They gave him a new partner, and already he’s got a big case. Your Cuban friends we busted at ‘Cumparsi’s.’ The one with the fucked-up ear and his buddy, the fashion plate.”
“The sketches?”
“Right. Their names are Contreras and Losada. Pincus has got ’em cold. I thought I told you about it.”
“No,” Meadows said. “What are the charges?”
“Murder.”
“Whose?”
“Your old pal Mono.”
“But you told me that case was closed.”
“Was. Sure was,” Nelson said with a pirate’s grin, “until that knife turned up in the trunk of Losada’s Continental. I searched all over the airport for that damned thing, but Pincus got a warrant and went through the car—and there it was. The lab says it’s definitely the right weapon.”
Meadows gently raised the tip of the fishing rod, and it twitched a reply; the frantic little baitfish was still alive at the end of his line.
“Nice work,” he said, reaching into Octavio Nelson’s pocket for a Cuban cigar.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1981 by William D. Montalbano and Carl Hiaasen
cover design by Karen Horton
ISBN: 978-1-4532-1063-5
This edition published in 2010 by Open Road Integrated Media
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