Powder Burn - Carl Hiaasen [87]
“What in the hell happened?” Manny said finally.
“You guys saw the car, didn’t you? I thought it was cops.”
“Who were they?” Meadows asked.
“All I know is what I heard,” Moe said. “As soon as I saw the headlights, I dove into the grass and just laid there. I didn’t move a fucking muscle.”
“We heard voices,” Manny said.
“Yeah, yeah. Two guys and a chick. I think they were balling her all night.”
Manny pounded his fists on the steering wheel. “And for that we spent six hours in the goddamn water? Jesus!” he mumbled furiously in Spanish.
Moe scratched a welt on his upper lip. “Look, man, I didn’t know if they had guns or what. What was I supposed to do, ask ’em to wait a few minutes while we loaded some dope in the truck? Shit, they could’ve ripped us off, or killed us, or took the license tag and turned us in…”
Moe got a warm beer from the cooler and popped it open. “We could go back and look for the stuff,” he suggested, “before it gets too light.”
“No way,” Manny said. “All it takes is one pilot flying a little too low, and we’re had.”
“Will Alonzo be pissed!” Moe was getting depressed.
Manny slipped on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that reminded Meadows of the Tonton Macoutes in Port-au-Prince. “I’ll be talking to Alonzo tonight,” he said, “at Rennie’s party. Chris, you like parties?”
Meadows shrugged. A few moments ago he had suppressed near jubilation at surviving the night and retreating safely. Now he was daunted by a terrible new fear. He could imagine this Alonzo, whoever he was, fingering him as a conspirator. What if he didn’t believe Manny’s story? What if he suspected that the three of them had stashed the dope? His dope. Meadows realized he needed Manny’s cunning now more than ever.
“You want to come tonight?”
“Sure,” Meadows replied. “It beats another evening out there in the black lagoon.”
“I think that’s a damn good idea,” Moe said, burping. “I think all of us ought to be there together.”
They drove due east, and ahead of them the rising sun hung like a bright red egg. Manny flipped the visor down. “Don’t sweat it, Moe,” he said. “Alonzo understands this kind of thing. I’ve never fucked him over before.” The words rang with a forced confidence. Meadows traced a quick glance with Moe.
“You’ll like Rennie’s party,” Moe said.
Chapter 22
“NASTY CUT.”
Meadows’s hand went to his face. He fingered the thin gash that traced a capital C on his left cheek—a souvenir of his night in the swamp.
“Shaving?” asked Rennie McRae.
“Yeah.”
The porky young lawyer guffawed, and his nose reddened. “Manny! Buy your friend a brand-new razor. An electric one, too.” He shoved a fifty-dollar bill into Manny’s right hand. “Your friend obviously has very bad hands,” McRae said.
Meadows studied Manny for a cue. The Cuban took the money and shoved it in a pocket. “I’ll buy him a good one,” he said jovially, “and shave him myself next time.”
McRae laughed appreciatively and waddled off to liven up his own party. Meadows polished off his Jack Daniel’s in four hot gulps. He sat down alone on a sofa; he guessed at least a hundred people were in the apartment.
“Rennie’s a very popular guy,” Manny said. “He’s a great lawyer, Carson. The man knows the law. Hell, he’s kept me and Moe out on the streets.”
“Then he must be a wizard.”
Manny sagged down next to him. “Look at you, idiota. I take you to a fancy party, introduce you to important people, and you sit there like some kind of constipated—”
“I’m tired, OK?” Meadows scanned the crowd skittishly, afraid he would spot a familiar face.
Manny wrapped a taut arm around his shoulders. “You still bummed out from last night?”
“Oh, no, Manny, it was a ball. I’ve always wanted to spend the night in the Everglades with a billion mosquitoes sucking my blood, lying there in the water, waiting for some alligator to swim up and bite my nuts off. And what I really love is not getting paid for it.”
Manny