Miami Blues (15 page)

Freddy flashed his badge. "It's okay, dear," he said to the waitress. "I'm a police officer." He held up the badge so the middle-aged couple at the counter could see it. Freddy smiled. "Police. Go ahead and finish your breakfast."

The waitress sat at the counter, put her head down on her crossed arms, and began to cry. Freddy took the billfold from the unconscious man's hip pocket and dropped it into his own jacket pocket with the handcuffs. He took out the handcuffs, decided he didn't need to use them, and then told the middle-aged couple to stay where they were while he made a call for an ambulance from the radio in his police car. They both nodded, still too numb to reply.

Freddy put a dollar bill under his coffee cup at his booth, left the restaurant, and walked back to the Omni Hotel. As he entered the lobby, he heard the police siren as the panda car hurtled down Biscayne toward Sammy's. He sat in a red leather chair in the lobby and took out the robber's billfold. Eighty dollars. There were three driver's licenses in the billfold, all with different names but with the same picture. Freddy had no use for the licenses or the billfold, but he could always use another eighty dollars. He dropped the billfold into a potted plant and took the elevator up to his room. He had an idea now, on how to take care of Pablo Lhosa.

Freddy shook Susan awake, told her to take a shower and to get dressed. He ordered coffee, orange juice, and sweet rolls from room service. The continental breakfast was at the door by the time Susan was dressed.

"The breakfast's for you, to wake you up," he said. "Go ahead and eat while I tell you what to do."

"Want some?" she said, biting into a prune Danish.

"If I'd wanted something I would've ordered it."

Freddy told Susan to drive back to the apartment and to pack up his purchases from the day before and to bring them to the hotel. He told her where he had hidden the coin collection in the leather case, and to bring that, too. Also, while she was home, she could pack a few things she might need herself for a few days' stay at the hotel. "Don't think about it too much. If you forget something, we can always buy it here at Omni. The important thing is to pack my stuff and get the money, then come back here without running into Pablo. He won't be up this early in the morning. On your way back, make sure you aren't followed. If you pick up a tail, lose him before you drive back to the hotel."

"Is somebody after us, Junior?"

"Not us, but me, yes. I'm not a likable person, so someone is usually after me. And because you're with me now, that means somebody'll probably be after you, too."

"I don't understand."

"That isn't important. When there's something important you really need to understand, I'll explain it to you. Right now, when you finish your coffee, I want you to get moving. Here's the extra room key. Change clothes when you get home, too. Wear a skirt and blouse and some saddle shoes."

"What saddle shoes? I don't have any shoes with saddles. I can wear my running shoes."

"Okay. We'll get you some saddle shoes later, so you'll look like a college girl. But that'll be after I deal with Pablo."

"Do I have to see Pablo again? I'm afraid of him."

"Did Pablo fuck you when you first went to work for him?"

"No. I just sucked him off, is all. He wanted to see if I knew how to do it, and then he gave me some pointers, afterward. Pablo knows a lot."

"No, you don't have to see Pablo again. Just beat it now, come back here, and if I'm not here, watch the TV until I get back. If you get hungry, call room service."

After Susan left, Freddy drank what was left of the orange juice. His mouth was still dry. He found it exhausting to talk to Susan, and he was never certain whether she understood everything he told her. Apparently she did, because so far she had done everything right, and she had also picked up on his lies when he had talked to the cop in the Brazilian steak house. But she also had the bad habit of telling the truth when a lie would have done her more good. She shouldn't have told the detective that she was hooking at the hotel. The way she looked, no one would have ever guessed what she did for a living. Later on, when he had more time, he would talk to her about what to say and what not to say; otherwise, she would get herself-- and him--into some bad situations.

Freddy called the desk, and found out that the barber shop didn't open until eight-thirty. He took a shower and glumly watched the "Today" show on television until eight A.M. Restless, he got dressed again, and took the elevator to the lobby, sharing the cage with a Latin family with four small children and an old lady with a hairy mole on her chin. The elevator reeked of musk and garlic, and because the rotten kids, on getting in, had pushed all the buttons, the elevator stopped at every floor on the way down.

The barber shop was open. Freddy got a shave. After the shave, the barber combed Freddy's hair and said:

"You have lovely hair, but you really should let it grow. It's much too short for today's stylings."

"Your hair's too long," Freddy said. "You look like a fruit, and if I couldn't tell by your hair, that Swiss army earring you're wearing still gives you away."

Freddy climbed into the first cab in line, and told the old woman who was driving it to take him to the International Hotel.

"That's the one on Brickell, isn't it?

"Are there two International Hotels?"

"Not that I know of--"

"Then it must be the one on Brickell, right?"

"That's what I meant."

People were going to work, and the traffic was heavy. The cab's meter ticked away with the speed of light. When she pulled up at the entrance, Freddy said:

"I'm not going to be long. If you want to wait, you can take me over to Miami Beach."

"That beats going to the airport. But you can pay me now, and I'll turn off the meter."

"Don't you trust me?"

"As much as you trust me."

"Keep the meter running." Freddy counted out four twenties. "If it gets up to this much and I'm not back, you can leave without me."

"Yes, sir."

Freddy made a casual tour of the enormous lobby. There were three restaurants and a coffeeshop, three bars, and a dozen specialty shops selling resort clothes and gifts. There was a small conference room next to the Zanzi Bar, with a blacklettered sign outside the door:

BEET SUGAR INSTITUTE

SEMINAR AT 11 A.M.

CASH BAR IN ZANZI BAR AT 10

The Zanzi Bar wasn't open yet, and no one was in the small conference room, although there was a lectern, a movie screen, and thirty or more folding chairs set up for the seminar. Freddy went to a house phone, asked for the bell captain, and waited for him to get on the line.

"Tell Pablo Lhosa," he said to the captain, "to come to the small conference room next to the Zanzi Bar."

"Is anything wrong, sir?"

"Of course not. I'm running the seminar for the beet sugar people, and if anything was wrong I'd call the manager--not Pablo."

"Right away, sir."

The 240-pound Pablo arrived in three minutes, huffing slightly, the two bottom buttons of his monkey jacket unbuttoned because of his belly. Freddy closed the door to the conference room and hit Pablo in the stomach. Pablo gasped and staggered slightly, but he didn't fall. A knife appeared in his right hand. Freddy showed Pablo his badge.

"Put the knife away, Pablo."

Pablo closed the knife and returned it to his pocket.

"My name isn't Gotlieb, Pablo. My name's Sergeant Moseley, Miami Police Department. And that little girl you sent to my room, Susan Waggoner, is only fourteen years old. Your fat ass is in trouble."

"Her brother told me--"

"Her brother's dead, and he lied to you. He was killed at the airport, and it was on the news. You're one of the suspects. Did you have Martin Waggoner hit, Pablo?"

"Hell, no! I didn't--I don't know nothing about it!"

"I've got a signed deposition from Susan that you're her pimp, so your greasy ass is on the fire."

"Susie's lying to you, sergeant. She's nineteen, not fourteen. I checked on that. Sergeant Wilson knows I run a few girls here. There's no problem. Why don't you call Sergeant Wilson? I pay him every week. You guys ought to get together."

"Wilson doesn't know you're hustling kids. Susie told me about the pointers you gave her."

"Honest to God, sergeant!" Pablo raised his right arm. "Her brother showed me her driver's license."

"Her brother's dead, and licenses can be forged. Your Cuban ass has _had_ it."

"I'm not a Cuban, I'm a Nicaraguan. I was a major in the National Guard. Sergeant Wilson told me--you know Sergeant Wilson, don't you?"

"Fuck Wilson, and fuck you, Pablo. How much're you paying Wilson?"

"Who said I was paying him anything?"

Freddy took out his blackjack and started toward Pablo. Pablo held up his hands and backed away.

"Don't. Please. I give him five hundred a week."

"All right." Freddy put the blackjack away. "I'll let you off the hook, Pablo. From now on, you give Wilson two-fifty a week, and you can send the other two-fifty to me. Just put it in an envelope and send it to me, Sergeant Hoke Moseley, at the Eldorado Hotel. By messenger--not by mail."

Pablo shook his head. "I'll have to talk to Sergeant Wilson first."

"Don't worry about Wilson. I'm the man with Susie's signed deposition, not Wilson."

"I guess you don't know Sergeant Wilson, then. He won't stand for any split like that."

"In that case, it'll cost you seven-fifty a week instead of five hundred, won't it?"

"Give me a break, for Christ's sake!"

"I have. But I'd rather take you in and book you. There're plenty of girls in Miami over eighteen without putting young kids into the life."

"I didn't know. That holy sonofabitch! I asked Marty first thing because she looked so fucking young, but he swore that--"

"Martin Waggoner's dead, Pablo, and there's no one to back you up. You can start paying today. Tonight, by ten P.M. An envelope to the Eldorado Hotel."

"That's in South Beach?"

"That's right, on the bay side, three blocks from Joe's Stone Crabs. Just give it to the man on the desk tonight, and tell him to put it in the safe for me."

"All right, but I'm going to talk to Wilson, and he'll have something to say to you about this."

"I'm sure he will. Tell him if he wants to talk to me, we can meet in the Internal Affairs Office. Tell him that."

"You didn't have to hit me, either."

"I wanted to get your attention, and I thought you might have a knife. Good-bye, Pablo."

Pablo looked as if he might have something more to say, but he turned and left the conference room. He didn't close the door behind him.

He'll send the $250 tonight, Freddy thought, but after his talk with Wilson, whoever that is, he'll probably discontinue the next payment. But maybe not. Sergeant Wilson would worry about those two magic words _Internal Affairs_. Even straight cops were frightened by the investigators in Internal Affairs. At any rate, a confused Pablo Lhosa wouldn't come looking for Susan. As time passed, old Pablo would try to forget that he had ever known her.

The old lady, smoking an aromatic Tijuana Small, was still waiting for Freddy when he came out of the hotel. The meter was ticking away.

"Turn off the meter now," Freddy said, as he got into the back seat. "It reminds me of the passage of time. I'll give you another hundred bucks, and you can give me a tourist's grand tour of Miami Beach. And then, when you get to Bal Harbour, you can drop me at a real estate office."

"I've got nothing better to do," the old lady said.

When Freddy handed her the money she lifted her Mercury Morris T-shirt, with the number 22 on the back, and stuffed the bills into her brassiere.

16

The work on Hoke's mouth, as planned by Doctors Rubin and Goldstein, did not pan out as well as they had hoped. Hoke's new teeth were almost fragile compared with his old Dolphin choppers; his jaw wouldn't hold a set of heavier teeth. After the jaw healed, and it healed remarkably fast, the restraints were removed and a pan holding evil-tasting pink plaster was jammed into Hoke's mouth. Impressions were made, and twenty-three days after the assault, Hoke had a full set of slightly yellow upper and lower dentures. Hoke had wanted whiter teeth, but Dr. Rubin had told him that whiter teeth would look false, and that the yellow ones were more natural for his age.

Nevertheless, when Hoke forced himself to take a long look at his new visage, the teeth looked phony, and he was alarmed by his overall appearance.

Hoke had lost weight on the liquid diet and was down to 158 pounds. The last time he had weighed 158 pounds he had been a junior in high school. He was only forty-two, but with his sunken cheeks and gray beard he thought he looked closer to sixty. The crinkly sun-wrinkles around his eyes were deeper, and the lines from the corners of his nose to the edge of his lips looked as if they had been etched there with a power tool. His habitually dour expression underwent a startling transformation when he smiled: the yellow teeth gave him a sinister appearance.

But Hoke had no reason to smile.

The departmental insurance had covered 80 percent of his hospitalization and a good portion of his dental and surgical fees, but Hoke still owed the hospital and the two doctors more than $10,000. Except for the one night when he had shared the four-bed ward with the teenager, he had had the ward to himself. As a consequence, the hospital had charged him for a private room, except for that one night. On that night, it was charged as a semiprivate room. Hoke's insurance didn't cover a private room, so the "private" room meant an extra $10 a day on his bill. Hoke protested the charge to no avail. When he left the hospital, the nurses packed his bedpan and enema equipment, telling him that he had paid for them and was entitled to take them along.

Before leaving the hospital with Bill Henderson, who had driven over to pick him up, Hoke had a talk with the priestcounselor who wanted to work out some kind of a reasonable monthly payment plan. The talk had ended with both of them angry because Hoke insisted that he couldn't possibly pay more than $25 a month on the enormous bill.