Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [24]
Boone never lost stride. “The charges will be dropped because Chief Barnett and his men have no jurisdiction on Ramrod Key, Breeze. They were twenty miles out of the city limits when they busted you the other night. They had no authority. They didn’t tell the feds and they didn’t tell the sheriff. It’s a rather serious flaw in the case.”
“For that I get off?”
“If I handle it. Don’t you want to know how much Manolo is paying for the Andros thing?”
Albury clasped his hands theatrically. “God, you mean I’m getting paid on top of it? Marvelous. What generous dirtbags you work for, Drake. Yes, tell me about the money.”
“Fifty thousand.”
Albury stopped capering. “Jesus.”
Boone smiled. “Makes a difference, doesn’t it?”
“How far do I have to carry these peasants?”
“Key Largo. Dynamite Docks. You know the spot?”
“Yeah. When?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Boone said. He was still smoothing his suit. “Well?”
Albury was in turmoil. “Why didn’t they just ask me to do it? Why go through all this? Drake, remember last time. I never said a word. I did my time quietly….”
Boone nodded and nodded. “This was an emergency, Breeze. They didn’t think you’d do it without a little pressure. You got a clean reputation on Stock Island. Tom knows that. He didn’t think you’d fool with Colombians. Remember, you’re not talking about the Marine Patrol now. You’re talking about Coast Guard and Customs. Big fucking time if you get caught. I have to warn you.”
“Thanks, counselor.”
“But you won’t get caught,” Boone said smugly. “You’re too damn good.”
“The money?”
Boone cleared his throat. “On delivery.”
“I want half now.”
“You’re in no position to bargain. Manolo says you get paid in Key Largo. That’s all I know. Oh, cash, of course.”
Albury shoved Boone’s briefcase across the table. One corner caught him in the gut, but Boone smothered an embarrassed cough.
“If this one goes bad, too, I intend to kill Winnebago Tom. Would you pass that along?” Albury said evenly.
Boone said, “Certainly. And I wouldn’t blame you. The answer is yes, then?”
“The answer is what I told you.”
Albury led Drake Boone to the door. Down the hall, Archie the drunk was singing again.
“Fifty grand will buy a ton of traps,” the lawyer said with such counterfeit friendliness that Albury felt like twisting Boone’s neck until his greasy, fragrant head popped off. It was only after Albury was alone for an hour that the anger receded. He tried to imagine what the Colombians looked like, smelled like, after baking in the withering Bahamian sun. He had forgotten to ask Boone if any of them spoke English.
Chapter 6
LAURIE HAD NEVER seen a man so mad. She brought a red table napkin for Bobby Freed’s bleeding hand. He had put his fist right through the plasterboard at the back of the restaurant.
“Easy, Bobby, easy,” she implored. She wrapped the knuckles and gave her boss a hug. “The doctor says it’s not that serious an operation.”
“I know,” Freed said. “But it’s so disgusting the way it happened… a cop standing right there and doing nothing.” Twenty-four hours later, he was still livid.
“It is disgusting,” Laurie agreed. “Did Neal see his badge number?”
Freed shook his head. “He’s still in shock.” He took a couple of deep breaths. Laurie cleared some tables and waited. Freed popped two Valiums and poured himself a cup of hot tea. Two friends stopped by the table and told him how sorry they were; they had stories of their own.
“I will promise you this,” Freed was saying when Laurie returned, “this tidy little alliance we have maintained with Barnett and with the city fathers who indulge that fat pig is finished. The violence against innocent people will stop, and I will put it on the council’s agenda every single week if I have to, until it does.”
“You’ll get the same bullshit,” said one of the other gays. He wore a tank top that exposed firm tan biceps, thick as bread loaves. He smoked harsh Turkish cigarettes.
Freed fixed his friend with a stare. “You’re right, Lee. That’s why we’re going to get rid of Barnett.”
“Bobby, the council will never fire