Miami Blues (13 page)

In the bottom drawer of the dresser there was a one-ring hot plate, a small saucepan, a tablespoon, a knife, a fork, three cans of Chunky Turkey Soup with noodles, and a box of Krispy saltines. There was a half-loaf of rye bread, four eggs in a brown carton, a jar of instant coffee, and a bottle of Tabasco sauce. The other dresser drawers contained papers neatly filed away in cardboard folders, Fruit of the Loom underwear, and black lisle socks. There were several T-shirts, two pairs of ragged khaki gym shorts, and a pair of blue-and-red running shoes. The cop didn't have another pair of black dress shoes, except for the pair he was wearing. Of course, Freddy thought, he might have more shoes and clothes in his locker at the police station.

The detective, in any event, was living incredibly cheap, and Freddy couldn't understand it. On top of the man's dresser was a ticket to a lot of money: a badge and an ID in a worn leather holder, a holstered .38 police special, a sap, and handcuffs. Freddy searched Hoke's pockets. He found keys, a wallet, a package of Kools, Dupont Plaza Hotel paper matches, and eighty cents in change. There were $18 in the wallet, several business cards with notes on them, and one MasterCard. There were also two small photos in the wallet, older versions of the two young girls in the framed photo on the dresser. The detective's notebook was in his leisure jacket. Freddy flipped through it idly but could make out nothing intelligible from the shorthand Hoke used in the notebook.

Freddy sat on the edge of the bed again and tapped the black leather sap gently into the palm of his other hand. The light blow stung. The tapered sap, eight inches long, with a wrist loop at one end, was filled with buckshot. Once, in Santa Barbara, a cop had slapped Freddy on the leg with one almost like this one. There had been no reason to hit Freddy with the blackjack; Freddy had been handcuffed at the time and was sitting quietly in a straight-backed chair. The cop had tapped him because he had wanted to tap him. The pain had been excruciating. His entire leg had gone numb, and unbidden tears had burned his eyes.

Still seated, Freddy reached out, and slapped the sap sharply against the top of Hoke's right leg. Hoke groaned, and made scrabbling motions with his fingers on the frayed carpet. Freddy shrugged. Hitting the unconscious man had given him no pleasure; he still didn't know why the cop in Santa Barbara had tapped him with the sap. Policemen undoubtedly had some kind of inborn perverted streak that normal men like himself didn't have.

Freddy got a brown paper sack from the closet and dropped the holstered .38, the badge, and ID holder into it, along with the sap. He now possessed a cop's license to steal, and the equipment to go with it. He added the handcuffs to the sack and put Hoke's $18 on top of the dresser. He then put five $20 bills on top of the $18; it would help to confuse the pig even more when he woke up.

Freddy closed the door, which locked behind him, took the elevator down, and left the lobby by the side terrace French windows to avoid being seen by the domino players and the old ladies. The players could identify him, he knew, but four Latins with homemade prison tattoos wouldn't volunteer any information about an injured cop. Not unless, Freddy grinned, someone slipped them ten bucks or so--and investigating officers didn't put out any free money for information.

Freddy told Susan to take the Venetian Causeway back to the Omni Hotel in Miami. When they reached DiLido Island, he told her to stop on the other side of the island by the bridge. When she stopped the car, he got out and threw the teeth in the bay. He climbed into the front seat again.

"What did you throw away?" Susan said.

"None of your business. If you needed to know, I would've told you. How many times do I have to tell you not to ask questions?"

"I'm sorry," Susan said. "I forgot."

They turned the car over to valet parking, and when Freddy showed his room key to the doorman, a bellman came out with a cart and brought Susan's prepared dinner up to their room. Freddy dialed room service and ordered a bottle of champagne, a pot of coffee, and table service for two. They ate the stuffed pork chops and still-warm sweet potatoes by candlelight in the handsomely appointed room, with a magnificent view of Biscayne Bay and the Miami Beach skyline.

Freddy complimented Susan on the pork chops and biscuits, even though they were cold.

If Susan was still curious, she kept her questions to herself.

14

When Hoke moved his right leg it hurt more than his jaw, but at least he could move it. The top of his head seemed to rise and fall eerily with each breath. His head was immobilized by two pillows so that he could not move it more than an inch or two to either side. His wrists were tied loosely to the bedrails with gauze, which prevented him from feeling his face or poking at the bandages. There were tubes and racks with bottles on each side of his bed, and clear fluids dripped into both arms. Perhaps that was why his arms were restrained.

Hoke's lower face was completely numb. From his position on the bed, with his head raised slightly, all he could see was a gray steel contraption on the wall. He wondered vaguely what it was, but it was two more days before he found out that the steel frame was a bracket for a television set, and that if he signed a piece of paper he could have a TV set brought in so he could watch the tube instead of the bracket.

By the end of the first week, when Hoke could sit up and go to the bathroom without help, he considered ordering the TV set, but he never did. As he recalled, there were too many commercials about food, in color, on TV, and he knew that the commercials would make him hungrier than he was already. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could visualize the Burger King double cheeseburger with the bacon sizzling on top. He was hungry all the time.

There were four beds in the ward, but Hoke was the only occupant. This was a special oral surgeon's ward in St. Mary's Hospital in Miami Shores, and it was used exclusively by dentists and oral surgeons who had patients with special problems. Except for a fourteen-year-old Jewish American Prince whose mother had him checked in overnight to have a back tooth extracted, Hoke had the small ward to himself throughout his stay. Hoke disliked the room, hated the hospital, and detested the gay male nurse, a Canary Islander who took an unseemly pleasure in giving Hoke an enema.

Hoke had been operated on by an oral surgeon named Murray Goldstein, and by his own dentist of several years standing, Dr. David Rubin. Dr. Rubin professed sympathy for Hoke, but he had never forgiven him for having Doc Evans pull his teeth out in the morgue. Still, he seemed elated by the fact that Hoke's damaged jaw would be able to support a new set of false teeth. But the new teeth had to be held off until Hoke's jaw had healed and all of the bone splinters came out. Meanwhile, his mandible was immobilized, wired here and there, and he drank his meals through a glass straw. The bruise on top of his right leg was the size and shape of a football, and he limped for several days after he was up and into his bedside chair.

While he was still punchy from the drugs and unable to talk, Red Farris visited him and brought Louise along. He could remember Red's droopy red mustache hanging over him, and Louise's white face and rain-dark hair hovering ghostily in the doorway. He couldn't remember what Red Farris had said, but Red had left a note with his presents, all of which Hoke found later in his bedside table. There was a bottle of Smirnoff vodka and a one-pound package of fudge wrapped in gold paper with the note:

Use the vodka for mouthwash. It's breathless.

Louise made you some fudge. When I get settled

in Sebring, you can come up for recuperation

and we'll go dove hunting. Take care.

"Red"

When Farris didn't come back later, after Hoke could have visitors, Hoke assumed that he had left for Sebring. But Hoke knew that he would never go dove hunting with Red Farris; once a man left Miami, that was the end of it, and Red knew it as well as he did.

Although his jaw was still wired and he could talk only with difficulty, Hoke was glad to see Bill Henderson. Bill told Hoke that the case of the four dead Colombians had been solved.

Henderson had borrowed a skycap's uniform and cap, put them on one of his black detectives, and had him falsely finger the Colombian woman as the person in a purple Cadillac who had dropped off two men at the Miami International Airport. Confronted by this direct, if false, identification, she had broken down. The child, as it turned out, was the maid's, not her own, and the child was not supposed to be killed. She was upset about that, which helped to make up her mind, too. The killers were back safely in Cartagena and would never be extradited. But at least their names were known now, so it was unlikely that the same pair would be used in Miami for more assassinations.

"I knew she was in on it for sure, Hoke, when you told me there were no packages in the trunk. The woman had nine hundred bucks in her purse, and there is no way that a woman could shop for two hours with that kind of money and not buy something."

Henderson shrugged. "But she hasn't been arraigned yet. I've got a hunch that they'll set bail for a hundred thousand and let her skip back to Colombia. That's what usually happens."

Hoke nodded, and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. Henderson pulled his chair closer to the bed.

"You got any idea who did this to you, Hoke?"

"Uh-uh." Hoke rolled his head back and forth on the pillow.

"Got _any_ ideas?"

Hoke nodded and then shrugged. He was tired, and he wanted Henderson to leave.

"I talked some to Eddie Cohen, the old fart on the desk, and he says he didn't see any strangers in the hotel. The manager questioned some of the old ladies who sit around the TV set in the lobby, and they didn't notice anyone either."

Henderson got up, and walked to the window. He looked down into the parking lot. "I--ah--I checked your room, Hoke, and I really don't think you should be living in a crummy place like that. All those social security types and Marielitos-- it's depressing as shit, Hoke. When you get out of here, you'll have to recuperate for a couple of weeks. I can put you up at my house. We can put a cot out in the Florida room, and Marie'!! look after you."

"No dice, Bill." Hoke closed his eyes. After a few seconds, Henderson tapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, think about it anyway, old sport. I'd better get outta here and let you get some rest. If you need anything, let me know."

After Henderson left, Hoke found the carton of Kools and the new Bic lighter his partner had left in a paper sack on the floor beside his bed. Hoke had lost his desire to smoke; if he was lucky, maybe the desire wouldn't return.

Captain Willie Brownley was Hoke's third visitor. The captain had been there to look in on him a couple of times before. Brownley was black, and it was the first time Hoke had seen the Homicide chief in civilian clothes. He always wore his uniform in the office, complete with buttoned-up jacket. Now he wore a pink Golden Bear knitted shirt, mauve corduroy jeans, a white belt, and white shoes. With his gold-rimmed glasses, Brownley looked more like a Liberty City dentist than a police captain. Hoke had known Brownley for ten years, and at one time had worked for Brownley when he commanded the Traffic Division. Although Brownley had little aptitude for Homicide work, he had been placed in charge of that division so that he could eventually be promoted to major. The black caucus in the union had been demanding a black major for several years, and Brownley was being groomed.

Brownley opened his briefcase on the bed and handed Hoke a one-pound box of fudge that had been wrapped in gold paper and tied with a flexible gold string.

"My wife made some fudge for you, Hoke," he said. "And if you can't eat it now, you'll be able to later. And the boys asked me to bring you this card." He handed Hoke a Hallmark get-well card that had been signed by forty of the forty-seven members of the Homicide Division, including Captain Brownley.

Without thinking, Hoke had counted the signatures and was wondering why the other seven hadn't signed. Then he felt ashamed of himself. There were a hundred reasons--sickness, leave, shift changes--why they all couldn't sign the card.

"For a while there," Captain Brownley said, "we were worried about you, but Dr. Goldstein said you're going to be fine. The only immediate problem is to take care of the paperwork on your lost gun and shield. I hate to lay it on you, Hoke, but we've got to protect you.

"I've brought the forms along and a legal pad, and you can take care of the paperwork now. It's been about six years since a Homicide cop lost his shield and gun, but the big question to answer in your case is why you were living in Miami Beach instead of Miami in the first place. I knew you were living in the Eldorado, and I okayed it as a temporary residence. But you've been there for almost a year now, and that puts both of us in a spot. As you know, all Miami cops are supposed to live in Miami--"

"I know at least a dozen who don't--"

"I know more than that, Hoke, including a city commissioner who commutes down here from Boca Raton. But he has an official address in Miami to beat the system, and we can do the same. Henderson told me your official address is his house, so put that down on the forms."

"There's no way I can live with Henderson and his wife."

"I'm not asking you to; all I want you to do is use his address on the forms so we can cover our ass. First, fill out the Victim's Report so I can get a cop from Robbery to begin an investigation. Next, you've got to send me a red-liner memo explaining the circumstances, and third, you need to fill in this Lost and Damaged Equipment form. As soon as you've done this, I'll get the badge and gun numbers into the computer. Just write the info on the yellow pad and sign the forms. I can have them typed at the station. It's a legitimate loss, so the city'll replace your gun and badge at no cost to you, and that's about it, I'll do everything I can to prevent an investigation of why you were living in the Eldorado instead of Miami."

"That rule's never enforced," Hoke said. "There're guys with condos in Hialeah and Kendall, captain."