Trap Line - Carl Hiaasen [26]
“All right.”
The kid passed Laurie on her way up the driveway and gave a bright hello. Albury was staring at the ball game when she walked in with a bag of groceries. She wore the same pair of jeans shorts and diaphanous top in which she had fetched him from jail that morning.
“Bobby’s so mad he scares me,” she announced.
“What’s wrong?”
“Neal Beeker got beat up real bad yesterday. I didn’t mention it when I saw you last night. Bobby thinks Barnett had something to do with it.”
“Why?”
“Because of the fight they had at the last council meeting.”
Albury was admiring the Astros’ reliever, a lanky blond rookie who reminded him of Ricky, except that he came around from the side a little more with the slider.
“There was a cop who saw the mugging and didn’t do anything,” Laurie said as she arranged some Campbell soup cans in the pantry. A sideways glance told her Albury was not particularly appalled.
“Breeze, don’t you think it’s terrible?”
Albury grunted. Freed was probably right; the attack on Beeker simply was political fallout from Barnett. And if there was one thing that Albury made a point of ignoring year in and year out, it was the vagaries of Key West politics. His daddy had thought the city council of his day was worthless scum, and Albury saw no reason to be more charitable. Freed had gotten elected as the obligatory reform candidate, but all he ever fought for was new bike paths and rent controls for Duval Street. If he wanted to feud with Huge Barnett, the results surely would be both predictable and inconsequential.
Laurie asked, “Did you talk to Crystal?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t his fault. Barnett stayed off the radio all night. Crystal didn’t have a clue about him being up at Ramrod until it was too late.”
“I bet he felt awful, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Albury said. “He also told me the three other boats made it in with a total of eleven tons. That means Tom can buy his latest mama a new Seville.”
“Speaking of which, there’s a guy sitting in a Caddy out on MacDonald Street,” Laurie said.
“My baby-sitter.”
“What for? What’s he want?”
Albury had decided not to tell her the terms of his release. She would never understand the Andros trip.
“I don’t know what he wants,” Albury said, brushing a curtain aside and peering toward the road. “Maybe Tom’s afraid that I’m still pissed off, and that I might talk.”
“Tom doesn’t know you very well.” Laurie sat cross-legged on the sofa and pulled him toward her for a wet kiss. “I sure am glad you’re out of jail.”
Albury hugged her tightly and whispered, “You have a delightful neck. Did I ever tell you that?”
Laurie laughed huskily and leaned all the way back. “What time is Ricky’s game?”
“Seven sharp,” Albury said. “And he’s going right to the ball park after work.”
“Now, there’s wonderful news,” Laurie said, playfully shedding her blouse.
TAVERNIER BEAT Key West 4-2. Ricky Albury pitched the last three innings in relief, striking out four batters and giving up a meaningless double in the top of the seventh. Generally, he looked sharp, Albury thought. The new spikes helped on his follow-through, though the mound, as always, was too rocky.
Teal was in the bleachers, rooting for his wife’s little brother, an outfielder for Tavernier.
“I didn’t know you liked baseball,” Albury kidded him.
“I don’t. It’s boring as hell,” Teal said. He was a local flats guide, the best in Key West. He was the only one who ever got invited up to Islamorada for the bonefish tournaments. By and large, the Middle Keys guides thought the Key West guides were a wretched bunch. By and large, they were right.
“I’m only here because Susan’s brother is playing. Ricky looks damn good.”
“Thanks.”
Teal looked absolutely dapper in a yellow Izod golf shirt and tan boat pants. His skin was the color of polished mahogany.
“How’s fishing?” Albury asked.
“Fishing is great. Too bad there’s no tourists here to enjoy it. I’m only booked two or three times a week.”
“You charter guides are always bitching,” Albury said.
“Yeah, well, if I had a bigger boat, I could run them square