Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [96]
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “I bought a car and just drove around a lot. I drove all over the country. I even drove to Alaska. Then I got tired of the cold and came south. That’s how I ended up in Miami.”
“And now you work as a personal trainer?” Caldwell asked.
“That’s correct, sir.”
“You were a good cop,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You could be again. Even with all this,” he said, tapping the red folder. “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Too dangerous.”
Even Hackbart had to laugh at that. Susan kicked me under the table, but not as hard as the first time.
“Miss Andrews and I,” Caldwell began, “have reached an agreement—an agreement, I might add, in which your record as a former officer of the law plays no small part.” He picked up the envelope and showed it to me. “This is a sealed indictment with your name on it, Mr. Vaughn. Whether or not it remains sealed depends entirely on you. It all comes down to this: Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“Sir,” I told him, “I’ve got the worst case of amnesia you’ve ever seen, and it’s getting worse by the day. By the time I get downstairs, I won’t even remember this meeting. Is that good enough for you?”
“I’m starting to like you, Mr. Vaughn. We understand each other very well. It’s a pity we never met prior to this occasion. Now, before you go, we have a few things we need you to sign—and yes, one last thing. It would be better for you if none of us ever sees you again. I hope you don’t take offense at that.”
“None at all. I hope I don’t see you either. I’ve had enough of cops to last a lifetime.”
“I’ve heard that said before,” Hackbart said. “But it never lasts.”
An hour later Susan and I were at the Bayfront Marketplace. We were sitting at a café called the Lost Lagoon, watching a line of tourists filing on board a fake pirate ship that was moored in a wreath of floating garbage. We had finished eating, and I was drinking an early scotch while Susan sipped her cappuccino. A crescent of foam had found purchase on her upper lip, but I didn’t mention it. I thought it made for a nice accessory to the tailored blue pinstriped suit she was wearing.
“Let me ask you a question,” she said.
“Go ahead, Counselor.”
“Vivian aside, Cortez aside, how come you never made a pass at me in all the time we trained together?”
The question caught me by surprise, and I knew I had to be careful about how I answered it. I was edging back toward her good side, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“That one’s easy,” I said. “I told you before. I’m a professional. All personal trainers have to take an oath when they get certified, and getting mixed up with clients is a no-no. Anyway, one woman at a time is enough.”
“Is that the truth? Not the part about the oath, the rest.”
“Mostly. But there’s more. I’m just not sure you want to hear it.”
“Come on, tell me. You’re not going to hurt my feelings. Lawyers don’t have any. You know that.”
“Maybe that’s part of it. You’re a little on the hard side, Susan. You’ve got that damned force field around you not even a rhino could get through.”
“What are you talking about? What force field?”
“I don’t know. It’s like some kind of invisible padding you wear. You like men—at least from the waist down you like them—and you like them to look at you, except that the moment they do, it’s like they’ve shown their hand, and you get disgusted.”
“That’s not true,” she said indignantly.
“Okay, then. I take it back. Besides, I couldn’t have handled both you and Vivian at same time even if it had come down to that.”
“I doubt you could handle me at all.”
“About the only thing I can handle right now is another glass of scotch.”
“Well,” Susan said, “look on the bright side. At least you’re rid of that little bitch.”
“Yeah,” I said. “One down and one to go.”
So much for staying on her good side.
A