Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [25]
Freed said, “I don’t care. He’s through. I’ll think of something.”
He thought of all the “donations” he had made to the Key West police local; he remembered what he had been told by the bloated old Conch foot patrolman about all the catastrophic things that could befall a man’s place of business without “constant, diligent police protection.” A payoff, pure and simple. As a New Yorker, Freed had laughed at the quaint pretenses extended by the solicitor. A hundred bucks a month to make sure no local punks vandalized the Cowrie seemed prudent. Freed wondered how many other gay businessmen were getting shaken, while Huge Barnett got rich. He had wanted to believe the muggings were the work of teenage thugs, random and undirected, but the assault on Neal Beeker stank of malice.
“I think Barnett knows who’s doing these things,” he said to Laurie. “I think he knows who beat up Neal.”
The Valium had taken an edge off his fury. “Laurie, don’t you remember how pissed off Barnett was after the last council meeting? He thought I made him look foolish when I asked about the smuggling arrests. He doesn’t like to look foolish in front of the locals, especially with the Governor’s people sitting in the audience taking notes. I think he was mad enough to get revenge.”
Laurie objected. “Surely you don’t think Barnett arranged for Neal to get mugged, just because he knows …”
“Everybody knows Neal and I are lovers,” Freed said. “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence, Laurie. That’s all I’m going to say. I have enough friends with enough money to make the council think very hard about how dearly they value their venerable old police chief.”
ALBURY NOTICED JIMMY’S limp as soon as the boy entered the trailer. The mate’s right foot was wrapped in dirty gauze.
“Jesus, did I do that?” Albury asked, stooping over to take a look.
“Naw. I cut it on a coral head when I went ashore,” Jimmy said with a shrug.
Albury tossed him a beer and sat down on the sofa near the television. The Astros were blowing a three-run lead in the seventh.
Jimmy leafed through one of Ricky’s sports magazines. Albury could tell he was trying to think of how to say it.
“I’m sorry I chucked you off the boat.”
“Aw, hell,” Jimmy said. “I know what you were doin’, and I appreciate it. I woulda been sitting in that jail, too, if it weren’t for you, Breeze. Kathy woulda left me.”
“No.”
“Damn right! Matter of fact, she thinks I ought to quit the boat because of what happened to you.”
Albury chuckled. He could imagine Jimmy at home with his sixteen-year-old bride and her puerile lectures.
“Did you tell her the charges were dropped?”
“Yeah, it don’t matter. I’m not quitting. You been good to me, and the Diamond Cutter is one fine boat. Besides, if it weren’t for that run, we wouldn’t be able to afford that doctor up in Miami.”
Albury said, “I almost forgot. You goin’ ahead, then?”
“I’m driving her up tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “I told her the money is from crawfish, so she ought to lay off you.”
Albury checked out the window for a sign of Laurie or Ricky. Outside the trailer park, on MacDonald Avenue, he noticed, was a lime-green Cadillac with the windows tinted dark blue. A typical Cuban Conchmobile; that would be one of Tom’s soldiers.
“Jimmy, can you wait a couple days before going to Miami?”
The kid sat forward. “No, Breeze. We’d like to get it over with.”
“Sure. I understand.”
Jimmy knew when Albury was trying to smooth something over. “It’s important, huh?”
Albury nodded. He told Jimmy about the Andros run and explained the deal he had cut with Winnebago Tom Cruz. Jimmy agreed that they left Albury no choices.
“I need a mate. Somebody I can trust.”
“Aren’t you scared? From what I hear about Colombians …”
“That stuff sells newspapers,” Albury mumbled. “Hell, I don’t think they’re any different from the Cubans.”
“The whole idea scares me,” Jimmy declared.
“Manolo’s paying fifty thousand. Ten of it’s yours if you want to come.” Albury heard a car pull into the gravel drive. “Think about it, Jimmy.