The Bad Judgment Series: The Complete Series (28 page)

I
n the early morning heat
, South Beach smelled vaguely like the ocean, but further from the water it smelled like any city during the hot, humid months — like decomposing trash and stale urine. The neighborhoods around the corner from Ocean Drive were a far cry from the Art Deco opulence of the restaurants, bars and fancy hotels that fronted the beach. There were low, stucco office buildings with shingles dangling from them. There were lots of signs for quick-cash companies, and also lots of modeling agencies. I'd never been to Miami before, but this section seemed seedy, weeds growing up through the cracks on the sidewalk, paint chipping from some of the signs, like a fancy nail polish that hadn't been properly removed and looked garish in the morning light.

It was very early and very quiet, except for the people out on their morning runs. We walked down the boulevard and I frowned at the business signs. “Blue’s office is right between a bunch of modeling agencies?” I asked.

“South Beach has a ton of modeling agencies. Plus, Lester set the whole thing up,” Walker said, pulling the brim of his hat down and clasping my hand. “So you really shouldn't sound so surprised.”

“Lester Max,” I said, in an assessing tone, remembering his shiny, copper penny of a face. “Did you ever trust him?”

“I told you — I don't trust anyone. Except for you. And Adrian,” he said, his voice trailing off for a second in a way that made me know he missed her. “But to the extent that I had to — yes, I did trust Lester. He really only wanted to make money. Money was his thing. And I paid him enough of it that I thought I was ensuring his loyalty.”

“I guess,” I said, “if he's responsible for what's happening, he was greedier than you thought.”

“He can’t be solely responsible,” Walker said, squinting at the signs. “But he's definitely greedier than I thought. And that's saying something.” We kept walking, reading the building numbers. We were getting closer.

“Lester is not a personal risk kind of person, though,” Walker continued. “He doesn’t mind being risky with other people’s assets. But not his own. He always wanted to keep every dime he made — that’s part of the reason he was always fighting with his ex-wives. He’d rather spend it on legal fees than share it with them.”

“Whatever it was then, it must have seemed like a risk-averse scheme,” I said. “If he was taking money and giving it to himself and to my law firm, he must have felt like there was some guarantee that he would come out on top.”

“Someone had to have some real bandwidth to give him a guarantee like that,” Walker said.

“Someone like the United States Government,” I said. My thoughts swirled around me. “But why? Let’s say it
was
the government that planted the bomb on your boat. They tried to kill you and it didn’t work. And then they fabricated charges against you, to put you away for a long, long time, so they could make nice with your Board and whoever your new CEO was going to be. Then they could help themselves exclusively to your technology.

“So why would they have been following us like that, breaking into your house and bugging it? Why did they kill the delivery guy and set the bomb off outside the firm?”

I stopped for a second. I didn’t like where my thoughts were leading me.

“Umm…they wanted to follow me? And if I did something they didn’t like — kill me?” Walker asked, his voice slightly sarcastic.

“But they’d tried that,” I said, my brow furrowing, “and they were trying an alternative. Bringing you to court. I don’t know why they’d wait to drag you into a public trial to kill you again,” I said. My head was spinning. The conversation was making me sick. I didn’t want to face that the people that I’d believed in, that I’d trusted, could be so dirty.

And that it was over money.

Money is at the heart of this,
I remembered Mimi saying, back when I'd called her, desperate for advice.
It's not something dignified like honor or love. Follow the money,
she’d said
.

"Walker," I said, stopping and pulling him over to the side of the sidewalk. I hoped it was safe to do so, but so far, we were alone out here — it was five thirty in the morning, the only people who had passed us were roller-bladers and runners with large headphones over their ears. “Maybe they were following…
me.
Maybe they were after me because I’d figured something out, something that was going to get in the way of what they wanted — of all the money they wanted.”

“It’s definitely possible,” he said. “Maybe the payments from Miami were what they looked like. Payoff money. Maybe they knew that you were onto something, and it was going to screw up everything they’d been working for.” Walker made a fist with his hand, and casually hit it against the wall. “If that’s true — if what happened after my indictment was all about you — I’m probably going to have to kill some people.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes at him. “You can’t do that,” I said. I watched him hit the wall again; this time it was a little harder. I grabbed his hand. “Stop. We have to be better than them. We have to prove who did what. We can’t kill anybody — that’s not justice. It’s just two or more wrongs not making a right.”

“If you say so,” he said, and his voice was tight. He raised my hands to his lips and kissed it. “Some people think that money can save them,” he said. “They don’t understand that they can’t take it with them when they go. If they try to hurt you again, I might have to teach them that lesson.”

“You should
explain
it to them,” I said, knowing full well that wasn’t what he meant. “You would know. You’re the billionaire.”

“I don’t think I’ll feel like explaining when I finally get my hands on whoever’s responsible. I think my hands are going to be too busy throttling them.” He looked at me and smiled while I looked at him and frowned in disapproval. “Let’s get going,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down the street. “We have errands to run after we check out the office and get breakfast.”

“What errands?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

T
he Miami outlet
of Blue Securities appeared to be a one-room office at street level. There wasn’t even a sign out front. We only found it because we had the street address I’d written down in my notes back in Boston, from the Secretary of State’s website. The office name was listed with about seven others above the mailboxes in the entrance alcove. It was written with cheap, shiny stickers; the sign said it was #1. I squinted through the entrance and saw that the first office to the left, with windows facing the street, was labeled #1.

“This is it,” I said, walking back to the sidewalk and peering in through the window and its plastic vertical blinds. At this time in the morning, the office was empty and dark. I could make out one desk, a computer, and a land-line telephone. There was nothing on the whitewashed walls.

“Not quite as nice as corporate headquarters,” I said.

Walker was scowling at the view. He had a dark, heavy look on his face like his mood was a thundercloud, just about to burst. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s go,” I said. “I can tell you’re grumpy. We need to feed you.”

His jaw clenched as he let me lead him down the street. “That doesn’t look like an office where any actual work gets done. Or has ever gotten done. I just might have to kill Lester Max, after all,” he said, under his breath. “You just might have to let me.”

“Maybe you could just beat him up? Really bad?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

“Maybe,” he said, but his eyes looked distant. “But that might not be quite good enough.”

“Let’s just see how this shapes up,” I said, trying to stay cautiously optimistic about our prospects. “Let’s check it out later, during business hours, and see if anyone’s here. And then we can figure out what’s good enough for Lester Max. Maybe instead of killing him, taking all of his money and having him end up in jail would be better.”

Walker glowered at me.

“And beating him up. I forgot the beating him up part,” I said, and clasped his hand.

A
fter breakfast at a low-key
, sweaty diner where we had excellent Cuban coffee, Walker brought me to a pharmacy. “Is this the errand we needed to run?” I asked, watching as he carefully read the labels on several bottles of painkillers. Satisfied, he finally grabbed a bottle of acetaminophen and headed to the cashier.

“You have a headache?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But I’m going to be in a little pain in a little while. I just want to be prepared.”

“What sort of pain?” I asked, panicking. Was he planning some sort of attack on the office?

We headed down the street, towards a small Mom and Pop hardware store. “You said I was too recognizable,” he said and shrugged. “No one’s been following us since we’ve been down here. But we need more time. I want to look less like myself, to maybe buy us some.” Once we were in the store, he selected heavy-duty duct tape, pliers, and large black trash bags.

“Walker, you’re starting to freak me out,” I said, nervously.

“Finally,” he said and laughed. “But I’ve gotten you in so much trouble since you met me that you’re a little late.”

He paid for the items and we went back to our hotel. There was a different clerk at the front desk; she was older, round and tan, with long, stringy bleached hair.

“Stay here,” Walker said, and I waited by one of the waxy-looking chairs in the Majestic’s lobby.

“Hi, there,” Walker said. “I’m Mr. White. I’m in Room 139.”

She looked up at him and smiled, the smile spreading as she took all six-foot-two of him in.

“Mr. White,” she said, her voice husky. “Are your accommodations okay? Is there anything I can do to make your stay better?” she asked, and I felt my hackles rise. From the way she said it, I was pretty sure she didn’t mean just
anything
— she meant something pretty specific.

Walker smiled at her. “Our room’s fine,” he said, smoothly. “But what I’d like to know is if you’re interested in making some extra money.”

She beamed at him. “I get off at six,” she said. “Do you and your girlfriend need some company?” She nodded towards me and my jaw dropped. Women really threw themselves at him.

I would be Exhibit A of that.

“Oh — not
that
sort of extra money.” Walker said and laughed, but kindly. Now Blondie frowned at him and raised her eyebrow, waiting to hear exactly what it was he wanted. “A couple of things. My girlfriend and I, we like our privacy. So please tell housekeeping and maintenance and anybody else who needs to know to stay out of our room. We’re going to be busy in there.” I felt myself blush and Blondie looked crestfallen, like she was imagining how fun being busy with Walker would be. She raised her eyebrow again and shot me a look; I shrugged helplessly.

“I was wondering if you would keep an eye on things for us. Let us know if anyone comes in, looking around. I’d like you to make sure that they don’t find us. And if they do come, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a heads up.”

She nodded at him calmly, as if none of this surprised her. “It sounds like you’re in trouble,” she said.

“A little bit,” he said. “Have you ever been in trouble?”

“My whole life,” she said, and cackled. “So I get it. But how much ‘extra money’ are we talking about?”

“A thousand now, a thousand when we check out of here safely in a few days,” Walker said.

“Two thousand now, two thousand later,” she said. “And I’ll throw in this.” She grabbed a walkie-talkie from a shelf behind her and tossed it to Walker. He looked at her, surprised. “It’s for security. Except we don’t have any security here at the hotel anymore. Cutbacks.” She shrugged.

“Deal,” he said. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this sort of thing before?”

“This is The Majestic, honey. If you’re not wanted for back child support payments or some sort of sex crime, you’re on vacation. And you two don’t look like you’re on vacation.”

“Well, the sort of trouble we’re in doesn’t involve unpaid child support or a sex crime,” Walker said, and smiled at her.

“Then you’re a nice change of pace. In more ways than one.” She gave him another appraising look. “I’m Louise, by the way.”

“A pleasure,” he said, and shook her hand. Then he handed her a large amount of cash and held up the walkie-talkie. “Let me know if anything’s going on. If we get out of here in one piece, I have more money for you.”

“Works for me,” she said.

“
O
kay
,” I said, when we finally were back up in our room, “what’s the deal with the painkillers and the duct tape? And can you please stop paying people off? We’re going to be broke in a week at the rate you’re going.”

Walker opened up the box of trash bags and took one out. He grabbed the tape and lined the bag up over one of the windows and taped it there. He continued until the whole window was covered, blocking everything out.

“I’ll answer your question, but first: can you remind me to buy a pair of binoculars when we go back out? We’re going to need them.”

“Sure,” I said, as I nervously watched him tape trash bags over all the windows. I turned on the bedside light.

“Honey?” I asked as he finished. He’d stepped back and was inspecting his work.

“Yes, Nic?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I practically wailed.

“Oh,” he said, and looked over at me, surprised. “I’m making sure no one can see us.”

I nodded at him. “But you know we can’t see out now, either,” I said, worrying that he might be starting to come undone.

“I know,” he said. I’m going to make some holes for viewing. But I’m guessing we’re going to have company at some point today. We have to be prepared. Which reminds me,” he said, stalking into the bathroom. He came back with a small glass of murky looking water from the tap; he grabbed the acetaminophen and swallowed a couple.

“Come on, Nic. Let’s go run a couple more errands before we barricade up.”

W
e went
and got binoculars at a sporting goods store, a loaf of bread and some peanut butter from a small convenience store, and then Walker dragged me to what was apparently our final destination:
Roxie’s Tattoos
. I pointed up to the sign. “This is what the painkillers were for? You’re taking time from running and hiding to get a
tattoo
?”