Powder Burn - Carl Hiaasen [76]
“Cocaine.”
“Could have fooled me,” Patti teased. “Last night, when I gave you a hit, I thought you were going to sneeze it all over the bathroom.”
Meadows chuckled quietly and kissed her cheek. Patti looked at him appraisingly. “I’m not sure I believe you. Hell, you could be a cop for all I know.” She pecked him on the nose. “’Cept you’re too skinny.”
She got up and started clearing the breakfast dishes. Meadows grabbed her around the waist. “Stop, I’m gonna spill something,” she protested, but Meadows led her back to the bedroom, where he swiftly unbuttoned the shirt. He leaned over and began kissing the freckles on her breasts.
“Damn,” Patti muttered.
“What’d I do?”
“Listen.”
“Another boat,” Meadows said. “So what?”
“So we better get dressed fast. That one’s stopping out back. It’s probably Manny.”
MEADOWS SQUIRMED. They all sat in the living room: he, Patti, Manny and Manny’s friend, Moe. “Call me Maurice,” Manny’s friend had said. “Call him Moe. Everybody does,” said Manny.
Manny was Cuban. Up close in the daylight he was not quite as broad or heavily muscled as he had seemed at Lenny’s the night before. His friend Moe was the reverse, a six-foot-six beanpole from Mississippi whose ivory skin was raw with sunburn. He and Manny scavenged a couple of cans of Michelob from Patti’s refrigerator and then plopped down, Manny in a canary-colored bean-bag and Moe on a mushy camel sofa.
“So, Patti, you must have had a good time last night ’cause I didn’t see you leave,” Manny said.
“Did you go home?” she shot back. “Jesus, Manny, Susan is probably out of her mind. Call her, would you?”
“Naw, she’s OK. I met one of those cheerleaders. What the hell are they called now?”
“The Dolphin Dolls,” Moe said helpfully.
“Right. She’s gonna get me a sideline pass to the Jets’ exhibition game. What’d you say your name was?”
“Christopher Carson,” Meadows said.
“What do you do?” Manny demanded.
“I’m in real estate. How about you?”
Manny was all teeth. When he grinned, the rest of his face seemed to disappear.
“Manny’s a businessman; Moe’s a partner,” Patti explained with evident caution.
“What kind of business?” Meadows aimed his question at Manny.
“Import-export.”
Moe laughed, and Manny joined him. Meadows realized they both were stoned out of their minds. The shirtless Manny fingered a gold chain around his neck. A crucifix dangled into dark chest hair, matted with sweat. He finished off the Michelob and mashed the aluminum can with two fingers.
“How’s the real estate business? Sold any houses?”
“I’ve only been down here a couple months.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
Meadows shrugged. “I’ve had one sale,” he said. “Down in Homestead. In a subdivision called Valencia Gardens.” The development was legitimate; its architect was an old classmate of Meadows.
“One sale in two months? That’s pretty goddamn miserable, pal.”
“Easy, Manny,” Patti interrupted.
Meadows waved her off. “No, he’s right. Business stinks. That’s why I’m here.”
“Chris is a good man,” Patti said to Manny. “I told him about Larry and everything.”
“That was real fucking smart.”
“Hey, he’s OK”
Manny gave an exaggerated shrug. “Well, then he must be OK”
“I’m gonna work on my tan,” Moe grumbled. He got up and walked outside. Meadows watched him amble down to Manny’s red Magnum, peel off his shirt and stretch out across the bow.
Manny stared at Meadows through small chocolate brown eyes. “You got a lot of money?”
“Let’s drop the whole thing,” Patti said curtly. “Manny, why don’t you and Moe take off, OK? Chris and I are going for a swim.”
Meadows put a hand on her shoulder. “No, I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Manny, at least call Susan and tell her you’re OK”
“Later, Pat. I want to find out how come your new boyfriend came to Florida.”
“I got a little heat in Atlanta,” Meadows said quickly. “A couple friends got popped. And I got scared.”
“Tell me about it,” Manny said. “Take that boy out there.” He nodded in Moe’s direction. “Talk about heat. Did two years at Eglin. The feds got him in a shrimp boat out of