The Empty Copper Sea (9 page)

When I came to Top Music, I turned out of the slow parade and went in, feeling as if I were
Page 30

leaning into the blare of somebody electronically amplified, yelling, "Babybabybabybaby. . ."

There was an extraordinarily beautiful young woman in there, in white slacks and a pink top, with flawless figure and flawless complexion. She had one disconcerting flaw, though-she had such a mouthful of big white projecting teeth that she couldn't quite close her lips. She had a smoky drift of dark hair, dark eyes, and a fine way of holding herself, of walking. I could almost read her lips and knew she was asking me if she could do anything for me.

I leaned toward her and yelled into her ear, "Miss Ambar?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"What about?"

"Hub Lawless."

"No way!"

I handed her the To Whom It May Concern card signed by Devlin Boggs. She looked at it and shrugged, then handed it back.

"Please?" I shouted.

She looked me over more carefully. I tried to look responsible and respectable. I could almost hear her sigh. She hurried into the back and came out with a small white-haired lady with a smudge of dust on her cheek. Then Miss Ambar walked by me and out into the pedestrian traffic. She turned back and looked at me. "So come on!" her lips said, inaudible in all that babybabybaby din.

We sat at a counter fifty yards from the music store. I had coffee and she ordered a tall Red Zinger tea with honey. She had the ghost of an accent. We kept our voices down.

"What she did, what Mishy did, she call me up like I guess it was two o'clock that day, and she said, Hey, 'Licia, you wan we go on a boat tonight down to Clearwater? I said I din wan to do nothing like that at all, I had a date and so on, but she begged and begged and said how it was such a nice boat and all, real fast, real lovely, and where she works, the Cove, she had heard Mister Tuckerman, he was saying they were going down in the boat, and she asked maybe a fren of hers and her could come along, and he said, Hell, why not? So she wouldn't go without me and she said she had a girlfren there in Clearwater, we could stay in her place, and then her girlfren's boyfren, he could drive us back up here next day. Chee, I tole this seven tousand times, I think. Over and over and over."

"Are you originally from Mexico?"

"From Honduras. When I was a little kid. I got no accent now at all. How you can tell?"

"I just guessed."

"Okay, so I got to the Cove about eight thirty all set to go, and pretty soon Mr. Tuckerman, he picks us up, and then he picks up Mr. Lawless from downtown, and we go down to the marine place and get on, and it was beautiful, it really was. I didn't know they were so nice inside. Just like in some kind of high-price trailer, television and hi-fi and everything, and ice and booze. I thought that what it was, it was some kind of pass. You know, like we were going to put out on account of we were so grateful to be on that boat. What Mishy does is her business, but I wasn't going to, no matter what. But it was no problem on account of they acted like maybe we weren't there at all. They were in the other end of that living-room-type place, having a drink, talking in low voices, talking business. After we had been' gone from the dock about twenty minutes, maybe less, Mr. Lawless made a drink and took it up and gave it to that Captain Harder. I din know his name then. I found out his name later on. Okay, so they were talking again, Lawless and Tuckerman, and the boat was going up and down, kind of, and I began to feel kind of sick. I said I was feeling sick, and Mr. Tuckerman said I should go up topside and the cold air would make me feel better. I went on up there and it really was cold and the wind was blowing something scary. Then I saw that Captain Harder on the floor up there, like he was dead. I ran back down there screaming and the men went running up, and then Mr. Tuckerman came back down and said they had decided to go back to Timber Bay, which was just fine with me, because by then I
Page 31

was sorry I'd ever said I'd come along for the ride, and, Mishy was sorry too because she wasn't feeling real great either. It was more bouncy on the way back and it seemed to take longer, which I found out later it did, on account of Mr. Lawless was driving it by hand. What Mishy and I were doing, we were running in and out of that funny little bathroom, throwing up, taking turns.

Then finally the wind wasn't so strong, but we were bouncing up and down terrible, and there was one awful jolt that threw me right on the floor-I mean deck. Then Mishy thought she heard somebody yelling for us and then I heard it too, and neither of us would go up alone, so we both went. We were inside the pass by then, I think. Mr. Tuckerman yelled to us that Mr. Lawless had fallen overboard and we were to help look. The Captain was still on the deck passed out. It was a real nightmare. You couldn't see nothing. Nobody could run the radio they have on boats like that. So we had to go in. Mr. Tuckerman banged the boat something terrible against the dock and there was some man there who came running to help with the lines, and pretty soon the police and, everybody was there, and by then, I can tell you, I didn't give a damn what anybody did with me, I was so glad to have my feet back on ground again. I was so glad I could hardly stand it. I thought it had to be about three in the morning, but you know what? It was only about an hour and a half, just a little more than an hour and a half from the time we'd left. It was a terrible experience, I can tell you. We had to make statements and wait and sign them after they were typed up for us, and later we had to testify at the hearing. I'd never done that before. It isn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was the worst night of my life. I din wan to go in the first place. That damn Mishy. She gets me into bad things. I doan wan to do anything with her again.

But you know how it is when somebody keeps calling up. What the hell. She's some crazy person, that Mishy. She likes a lot of stuff happening, and it sure happens aroun her. I tole all this nine thousand times. It's been in the papers, every word of it."

"Weren't you going to get into Clearwater pretty late?"

"Like four in the morning. Something like that. It was a crazy thing to do, but that's how Mishy is."

"Why were Mr. Tuckerman and Mr. Lawless going down there by water? Did you get any clue to that?"

"Some kind of business thing. Nobody really said."

"And the Captain was really out?"

"Man, I thought he was dead!"

"Were they drinking?"

"Little bit. Not much."

I smiled at her. "Somebody said last night over at the North Bay Resort lounge that you're a nice person."

She lighted up. "Hey! Who says that?"

"Nicky Noyes."

She lost the sparkle. "Oh, that one. I see him around. I doan go out with him. He used to work for Mr. Lawless, you know? Some kind of good job, he says. I couldn't say. Lunchtime some guy I know was in buying tapes and he said Nicky was in the hospital from being in some kind of fight someplace."

"Does he get in fights a lot?"

"Not often on account of he's so big. But he comes on evil-bigmout', you know. He was over to North Bay last night. Huh! What happened over your eye anyhow?"

"I ran into something in the dark."

"Something like Nicky?"

Her very dark eyes were merry. So take a chance, McGee. "What if it was?"

"Good for you! That sumbitch likes hurting. He busted Mishy's finger once. He walk into a room, she walks out, you bet." She looked at me more carefully. "No more marks? Just one?

Maybe you had a stick?"

"Footwork."

Page 32

"That bank card says help you out. From the president yet. And you go around hitting. That doesn't sound like a bank."

"Did the fellow say how Nicky is?"

"Oh, he is okay. He said they were letting him out. He was just in, you know, for overnight. He goes to Emergency a lot. Nicky is always worried about his bod. If he feels hot, right away he wants to find out his temperature, and he thinks maybe he's dying. He was some kind of big person around here in high school, and then he went to play football in Tallahassee, but he got sent home for some kind of gambling. He had a good job with Mr. Lawless. I doan know what now. For a little bit, he drove beer. Now he seems to be okay for money, but they say he's a dealer, nothing real real heavy, just grass and coke and hash. Mishy is into that sometimes when she feels real down, but not me. Never. It's too scary. I got to know where I am and where I'm coming from."

"Is Mishy a special friend of John Tuckerman?"

"Huh? Oh, you wanna know if it's all that special? Maybe. It wouldn't mean all that much to Michele. I mean he's kinda nice and funny. But she never mentioned it especially."

"Is it okay to tell her I talked to you?"

"Sure. But why bother anyway, with me or her?"

"I'm working for people who want to buy Mr. Lawless's land. So we need to find out if he's dead."

"Chee, we can't help. I'm telling you, there was a hell of a lot of black watertout there, all bouncing up and down, and me knocked on the fl-deck. They say he couldn't swim at all. They say he's in Mexico. What that means is he didn't have to swim. Mishy and I talked about that. So if he comes ashore, he's in Timber Bay, where all around the bay it's built up. A wet man walking. around? They say the tide was going out strong. What was there? A boat? I doan know, mister. You said your name is what? McGee? I just doan know. I theenk that sumbitch is dead.

Hey, I got to get back or Carol'll kill me dead. Sure. Talk to Mishy. But for what?"

The Cove was about two hundred yards south of the North Bay Resort, a rambling frame sunbleached structure which extended out over the bay, supported by thick pilings. The dining area was the farthest from the shore, beyond a large bar area hung with nets, glass floats, mounted fish, and funny sayings. They were having their midafternoon lull. A salesman was playing pinball, hammering the corners of the machine with the heels of his hands. A chubby white-haired couple wearing identical horn-rimmed glasses sat at a corner table drinking draft beer and playing gin. A tall hollowchested bartender with a gay-nineties mustache and hairstyle was polishing stemware and inserting it upside down into the overhead racks.

I slid onto a padded bar stool and said, "Mishy Burns around?"

"She comes on at four," he said.

"Draft beer, please."

He served it with a nice head. He said, "When she does come on, she's working. She has to set up the tables. When she comes on, she's not on her own time."

"Are you trying to be unpleasant?"

"I'm just telling you the way it is, friend. What she does on her own time is her business."

"You own this place?"

"I'm one of the owners."

I was getting very tired of contentious attitudes. I smiled at him. I said, "I've always wondered about places like this."

"Wondered what?"

"Suppose, just for the hell of it, you took a list of all the regulatory agencies that have any kind of authority over the way you do business here. County, city, state, federal. You know, the food-handling ordinances, and the tax people and the liquor people. Then suppose you went through this place and made a list of every single violation of every law, ordinance, and regulation."

Page 33

"We run a good clean place here. We don't violate anything!"

"Nonsense, good buddy. There is no way to avoid being in violation of something. The rules are con, tradictory. You know it and I know it. Right now you are subject to fines, suspension of licenses, civil suits. That's the way the establishment keeps you in line. If you get feisty, they come and look you over and tell you you have to build a whole new kitchen, or replace all your wiring, or put in ten more parking spaces."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am the fellow who came in here a little while ago, very quietly, and sat right here and asked you if Mishy Burns was around, and got a big discussion of her working hours and who pays her.

We can start over again. Okay? Mishy Burns around?"

"She comes on at four," he said.

"Draft beer, please," I said, and he took the empty and refilled it and moved down the bar and left me alone, which was exactly what I wanted.

Michele came in ten minutes later. I had been building a mental picture of her, and so I was totally unprepared for a twenty-two-year-old Doris Day. She came a-dancing and bubbling in, full of warmth and life and high spirits. She brightened the place up. The salesman knew her and the gin players knew her. The bartender motioned to me and she came over and put her hand out and said, beaming, "Hello! I'm Mishy Burns."

"Travis McGee. The man says you're on his time and you can't talk to me."

"About what, love?"

"I've been talking to 'Licia about your cruise."

She made a face. "Oh, God. That again!"

She was in constant motion, constant changes of expression, posture, tossing her hair back, rocking from heel to toe, so much so that one wanted to clamp firm hands on her shoulders and settle her down, position her, quiet her. I realized that all the animation gave the impression of prettiness, and that perhaps in repose her face would look quite plain.

"Harley gets itchy, don't you, Harley? Look, love, let me go put on the house garments and brush up the dining room a little and then we can talk, because things will be dead as a snake until five past five and all the car doors start chunking shut out there in the lot."

I saw her in a little while, trotting back and forth in the dining room, wearing a crotch-length tennis dress with a sailor collar and a little white yachtsman's cap. Another waitress had joined her. A couple of construction workers-off at four-came in for beers. Somebody started the juke.

I watched Michele. She had absolutely great legs. I felt guilty about the way I was going to try to booby-trap my question. Not very guilty. Anticipatory guilt, the kind that Meyer calls chessboard guilt, when you realize that the weaker player is making a frail response to a standard opening, and you are about to ram your bishops down his throat.