Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [23]
“What do you mean?”
“Pinched,” Manning said. “Blackmailed. Whatever term you choose. We heard you were conscripted into that run last night. And if that’s true … well, I took a chance that if that was true, you might be more of a mind to talk. I know you think the task force is a joke and that I’m a joke …”
“Not at all.”
“Good, because I’m not. There’s going to be a grand jury in a few weeks. Do you know what that means?”
“Another big payday for the Holiday Inn.”
“Shit, I am wasting my time,” Christine Manning said. “If something should change your mind and you feel the civic urge to testify about what you know, please call. I have an office at the courthouse.” Albury craned to watch her leave along the linoleum corridor. Her walk was intriguing.
“I have a feeling you could be very helpful,” she called, knowing she was being watched.
Albury felt no civic urges.
THE NEXT MORNING, Drake Boone arrived in a different suit and a matching briefcase. Breeze Albury thought it was hilarious, corduroy in the summer. He made up his mind not to laugh. Boone was in a serious mood.
“It’s complicated, Breeze.”
“Why? You gonna post my bond?”
A thin line of sweat glistened above Boone’s black mustache. The fingers of his left hand rubbed anxiously against his palm. His voice crawled up an octave.
“I might as well tell you all of it. I had a chat with Tom. He and Manolo need you.”
Albury’s jaw set.
“They’ve got an important errand. They need a good boat and a good captain.”
“I heard that a couple weeks ago, and look where I am. What kind of shit is this, Drake?” Albury noticed that Boone had not even bothered to open his briefcase.
“You were right. This,” Boone said, motioning abstractly to the room, the jail, the whole screw job, “was no accident, Breeze.”
Albury gave no conscious thought to what he did next. The lawyer struggled weakly, like a tired fish, against Albury’s fists. The suit squeaked an objection. Boone’s head lay pressed against the cinder-block wall, his tasseled loafers barely touching the gummy floor. Albury gave another twist to the jacket and leaned so close he almost gagged on the Brut.
“Tell me everything, son,” he demanded.
“You’re hurting me! Let go, damnit. I’m just a fucking messenger boy.”
Albury turned him loose and sat down. He motioned to the other chair and Boone eased himself down, looking over his shoulder for some sign of the jailer. He would not be coming, Boone knew; he had slipped him a few bills to stay away for an hour. Now he wished he hadn’t.
“Just listen,” the lawyer said with a staged urgency. “There’s a dozen Colombians hiding on a stash island off Andros. They’re going to Miami. Somebody’s got to bring them across. You know about the Bahamian Coast Guard? Well, so do they. So do the Cuban captains in Key West. Remember what that Bahamian gunboat did to those crawfishermen a few years back? Manolo can’t find anyone to go fetch these people. Nobody wants to fuck with the Bahamians, Breeze.”
“Since when is Manolo running aliens?” Albury asked.
“He’s not. It’s a favor for a friend down south. A business associate.”
Albury nodded tiredly. “Not a favor, Boone. Repayment of a favor, right?”
Boone shrugged. “I honestly wouldn’t know. Point is, Manolo needed a good captain and a big, fast boat. That would be you, and the Diamond Cutter.”
“So they set me up?”
Boone dropped to a whisper. “They planned to give up one boat, anyway. It was … well, convenient for that boat to be you. Hey, I don’t blame you for being hacked off. I told Tom this was a stupid way to do business.”
“Did he cut my traps?”
Boone screwed up his face. “I don’t know anything about your traps, Breeze. Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.” Albury stood up and stretched. “So they figure I have to make the Andros run now, right? They know I can’t make the bond myself. They know I can’t afford a lawyer, even you, by myself. They got me by the short hairs.”
Boone summoned his best professional voice. “If you agree, I post your bond. All charges against you will be dropped.”
Albury was incredulous. “How? You buying