Miami Blues (19 page)

"No, Bill, it's much worse than that."

Hoke filled Henderson in on Sergeant Wilson's visit, and told him about the order to get the girl, Susan, back to the International Hotel in the morning. Still sensitive about his fragile, ill-fitting teeth, he omitted the part about Wilson throwing them out of the window.

"This guy's trying to get you into trouble, Hoke. It may be the girl's boyfriend, and maybe not. Why, though, is something else. One guy I really know is Wilson. He was in Vice when I was still in Vice, and he's a vicious sonofabitch. Mean, but I always thought he was straight. I haven't seen him in a couple of years, however, and a lot can happen to a man in two years."

Hoke scratched his bearded jaw. "In two seconds a lot can happen to a man."

"What're you going to do about Wilson?"

"I don't know. I could go to Brownley with it, but how do I explain the five hundred bucks?"

"You just tell it like it happened, and you're covered. I was there, and I can back up your story. It links up with the way this guy--what's his name?"

"Mendez. Only that isn't his name."

"Anyway, it links in with the way he used your cuffs to rob two bastards and leave 'em in the john. If you want me to, we can leave Brownley out of it, and I'll talk to Wilson."

"If you could get across to him that he's after the wrong guy--"

"I will. But it won't be all that easy because you were spending his money."

"I didn't know it was Wilson's. Besides, he got his five hundred back. I can't get the girl back and wouldn't if I could."

"I'll talk to him. I know how to deal with a prick like that."

"I appreciate that, Bill."

"D'you have a gun?"

"I get my new gun and shield back Monday, when I see Captain Brownley."

"I'll get you one. I've got a chrome Colt thirty-two automatic you can have. I used to carry it in Liberty City in case I needed a throw-down piece. It's not much good, but the magazine holds seven rounds."

"I can give it back to you on Monday. It really feels funny as hell driving and walking around Miami without a weapon."

"I can imagine."

Henderson got the .32 out of the desk in the dining room and gave it to Hoke. Hoke removed the magazine, checked the chamber, and then slipped the magazine in again and loaded the pistol with a round in the chamber. He flipped up the safety with his thumb and put the weapon into his hip pocket.

"In case you're interested, Hoke, I gave Martin Waggoner's effects to his father when he took the body back to Okeechobee. I used my key to your desk."

"That's okay, but what about the Krishnas?"

"They didn't have any claims." Henderson smiled. "I called the head honcho out there when I didn't hear from them, and I got the impression that Martin Waggoner was a novice, not a full member, and was about to be thrown out anyway."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Not in so many words, but that's the impression the honcho gave me. He wasn't even interested in the funeral arrangements, even though I told him what Mr. Waggoner had in mind."

"Martin was probably ripping them off. That's some family, isn't it? Incest, prostitution, fanaticism, software. . . . I'd better go home, Bill. This is really only my first day to be traipsing around, and I'm bushed as hell."

"Want me to drive you home?"

"Hell, no. I just mean that I'm tired. Otherwise I'm okay."

"Be careful, Hoke. This guy, this Mendez, or whatever his name is, seems like a crazy bastard to me. And when he finds out that you're up and around, he might come after you again."

"I'll watch myself all right, don't worry."

Hoke was almost certain that the man from California was after him, but he couldn't figure out why. He didn't feel safe until he got home and had locked the door and bolted it behind him.

On Sunday, Hoke stayed in bed almost all day. He braved the heat at noon and walked to Gold's Deli for the Sunday chickenin-the-pot special, but he napped again during the afternoon. At six, he made his regular rounds of the hotel and discovered that Mr. Bennett had, during his absence in the hospital, put chains and a padlock around the quick-release handles to the back fire door exit. Hoke got the keys from the office, unlocked the chains, and put them into the storage room behind the unused kitchen. Later, when he made out his report and put it on Mr. Bennett's desk, he reminded the manager that the fire marshal could close the hotel down for a serious violation like that.

For dinner, Hoke heated a can of Chunky Turkey Soup on the hot plate in his room, and then watched "Archie Bunker's Place" on television. After the show, he called Bill Henderson.

"Everything's okay, Hoke," Henderson said. "I talked to Wilson last night, explained things to him, and he'll be on the lookout for Mendez himself."

"I don't think that's his real name."

"All right, all right! What do we call him then?"

"I'm sorry. Mendez, I guess."

"Anyway, Wilson wants to find him as much as we do now. Apparently the guy scared the hell out of Pablo, and Wilson told me that Pablo's talking about going back to Nicaragua. I also reassured Wilson that neither one of us is going to say anything to Internal Affairs. We've got enough to do in Homicide without worrying about what's going on in Vice. He also told me to tell you he's sorry about your teeth."

"I'm sorry about them, too. I have to pour hot sauce on everything now in order to get any taste."

"How you feeling otherwise?"

"Okay. I'll probably see you in the morning when I come in to get my gun and badge from Brownley."

"I don't think so. I'll be out with Lopez. We're doing that investigation about the woman who sat on her kid, and I'm letting him handle it. But I'm watching him."

"What case is that?"

"It was in the papers. This woman was punishing her kid, a six-year-old, and she sat on him. She weighs about two-forty, and she crushed in his chest. The kid died, and now she's up for manslaughter. It'll probably be reduced to child abuse, but we've got to knock on doors all morning to see what the neighbors've got to say about her and the kid."

"Did she do it on purpose?"

"I think so. But Lopez, being Cuban, doesn't. Cubans, he says, don't punish their kids no matter what they do, so he thinks it was an accident. We'll find out after we've knocked on a few doors. Incidentally, I found out who your new partner's going to be. Ellita Sanchez. D'you know her?"

"The dispatcher? The girl with the big tits?"

"Girl? She's at least thirty, Hoke, and she's been on the force for six years."

"Yeah, as a dispatcher. What does she know about Homicide? Shit, I'm sorry I called you."

"No, you're not. I got Wilson off your ass. Besides, Sanchez really has got a nice pair of knockers. And she can write in English, too. Lopez can't. If it wasn't for being married, I'd trade you Lopez for Sanchez, but Marie would have a fit if I had myself a female partner."

"I thought Marie was liberated."

"She is, but I'm not."

"I'll lock your little thirty-two in your desk drawer."

"Keep it, old buddy. I'm not in any hurry for it."

Captain Willie Brownley, wearing his navy blue uniform, complete with heavy jacket, sat behind a huge pile of paperwork in his glass-walled office. He gave Hoke a short lecture about hanging on to his new badge and .38 pistol this time.

"In my report, Hoke, I stressed the severity of the attack, and there'll be no problems with your record. The only problem you might have is with Ellita Sanchez. She told me that she would rather work with someone else instead of you. I get the idea she doesn't think you're macho enough--losing your gun and all."

"Jesus! Didn't you tell her the circumstances?"

"She knows, yes. But all the same, she wants to do well as a detective and asked me to put her with someone else. I think I straightened her out on that score, but I want you to know how she feels so you can win her over. She realizes that you're the sergeant, and she'll do whatever you tell her."

"I'm still going to be out for my two weeks' leave."

"I know. I'm moving Henderson and Lopez into the bullpen, and Sanchez into your office. Maybe she can catch up on some of your back paperwork."

"In that case, I'll see you in two weeks."

"Get rid of that beard before you come back. You look like that Puerto Rican actor, José Ferrer."

Hoke drove to the Trail Gun Shop and bought a new holster and a pair of handcuffs, charging them to his MasterCard, one that he had obtained from a bank in Chicago that issued them without a thorough credit check. It was the only charge card that he had left, and he never missed sending the bank in Chicago the monthly minimum payment of $10.

He then drove to the International Hotel, parked in the yellow zone, and looked for Pablo Lhosa. He showed Pablo his badge and ID, and asked him where they could go to talk. Pablo took him downstairs to the employees' locker room and opened his locker, which was secured with two padlocks. He took out a leather sports jacket and handed it to the detective.

"He left this jacket in his room," Pablo said. "He checked out of the hotel by telephone, paying by credit card. He was registered under the name of Herman T. Gotlieb, San Jose, California. The card, it turned out, was stolen. That's all I know. This jacket's too small for me, but it's expensive, and brand new. I want you to find him, lieutenant--"

"Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. This guy is scary. You should see his eyes--"

"I have."

"What I think, I think he's a hitman of some kind, imported from California."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just the way he acts." Pablo shrugged. "I don't have no proof, but I know what a killer looks like. I served ten years in the National Guard in Nicaragua, and I've dealt with men who looked like him before."

"I'll find him. If you see him again, or if you can think of anything else, call me at my home address." Hoke gave Pablo one of his cards. "Let the phone ring for a long time. Sometimes no one's at the switchboard. But don't call me at the department for the next two weeks. Call me at home."

"Have you checked her apartment?" Pablo said. "They might be out there. A friend of mine checked once, but they weren't there. That doesn't mean that they won't be back. If you want to go out there, here's the keys to her apartment." Pablo took two keys off his ring and handed them to Hoke.

"How come you've got her apartment keys?"

"My friend gave 'em to me. He's got keys to everything in Miami. Here, why don't you keep the jacket, too? Except for the shoulders, you're both about the same size."

"Don't you want it? It's an expensive jacket."

"It won't fit me. I'm a forty-eight portly."

"Thanks. I'll find him, Pablo."

"It can't be too soon for me. I don't like violence of any kind."

"Yeah . . ." Hoke smiled. "That's why you left the Nicaraguan National Guard after only ten years."

Hoke used the pay phone in the lobby to call a friend of his in Records. He asked his friend to run a check on Herman T. Gotlieb in San Jose, California.

"How long will it take?" Hoke asked.

"It depends on a lot of things. Give me a couple of hours, okay?"

"I'll call you back, then. I don't know where I'll be two hours from now."

Hoke drove out to Kendall. He drew his pistol before he knocked on the door. When no one answered, he used the keys to get in. He looked through the rooms, but he couldn't tell for certain whether the pair was still living there or not. There were no men's clothes, but there was plenty of food in the refrigerator. The air conditioning was on, set for seventy-five degrees, and the brass bed in the master bedroom was unmade. There was a small jar of Oil of Olay and a can of Crisco on the bedside table. Except for two six-packs of San Miguel beer in the refrigerator, there was no liquor in the apartment. Hoke knew he shouldn't be in the apartment without a warrant, but he was positive that a fingerprint check on the jock would turn up a record in California. But how could he get a warrant? He couldn't tell a state attorney that he was positive it was Mendez who had attacked him. He had no tangible proof.

Hoke ate a bowl of chili and two tacos at a Taco Bell before going home. The hell with his diet. He needed to get his strength back. He took a shower and opened a package of Kools. The mentholated smoke tasted wonderful. A man would be a fool to give up smoking altogether. One cigarette, one, just one, once in a while, couldn't hurt.

He called his friend in Records. Herman T. Gotlieb, a mugging victim in San Francisco, had been found unconscious on Van Ness Avenue. He had been DOA when his body arrived by ambulance at the San Francisco General Hospital.

Hoke was not surprised by the information. He looked in the telephone book, noted the page and a half of Mendezes, and laughed. There were five Ramons and one Ramona, but it would be useless to call any of them because he knew that the man's name was not Mendez. All he knew for certain was that the man was armed and dangerous and that he somehow had to find him.

19

For several days after the fiasco at the 7-Eleven, Freddy was moody and inactive. His aching wrist gave him a good deal of pain, and although he didn't admit it to Susan, the nagging nature of the hurt made it difficult for him to sleep at night. They didn't have cable television, but he watched a Bowery Boys film festival on Channel 51 night after night, scowling at the commercials. Toward four A.M., when a faint Atlantic breeze wafted in through the open windows, Freddy would turn off the TV and fall into a restless sleep. Susan would be awakened by the sudden silence as the set clicked off. She would then tiptoe into the living room and cover him with a sheet.

After his shower and breakfast in the morning, Freddy sat on the back porch and looked through the screen at the lizards scurrying for survival in the back yard. There was a picket fence around the back yard, and a Barbados cherry hedge had been planted against the fence. Susan had neglected her small garden, and the tomato plants had withered. A dead coconut palm--killed by lethal yellow--arched up obscenely in the center of the yard. The fronds were gone, and the top of the tree was a shredded stub. Two lizards, in particular, Freddy noted, made the palm their home base. One, a hustler, darted here and there in search of mosquitoes, but the other one, the fatter of the two, moved rarely, except to inflate and deflate its mottled purple throat. When a mosquito came within range-zip! it was gone. In addition to being skinnier than the fatter, immobile lizard, the hustler lizard had lost the tip of its tail. Freddy thought there might be a lesson of some kind here for him to learn.