Trap Line (8 page)

THE NEXT MORNING
, Drake Boone arrived in a different suit and a matching briefcase. Breeze Albury thought it was hilarious, corduroy in the summer. He made up his mind not to laugh. Boone was in a serious mood.

“It’s complicated, Breeze.”

“Why? You gonna post my bond?”

A thin line of sweat glistened above Boone’s black mustache. The fingers of his left hand rubbed anxiously against his palm. His voice crawled up an octave.

“I might as well tell you all of it. I had a chat with Tom. He and Manolo need you.”

Albury’s jaw set.

“They’ve got an important errand. They need a good boat and a good captain.”

“I heard that a couple weeks ago, and look where I am. What kind of shit is this, Drake?” Albury noticed that Boone had not even bothered to open his briefcase.

“You were right. This,” Boone said, motioning abstractly to the room, the jail, the whole screw job, “was no accident, Breeze.”

Albury gave no conscious thought to what he did next. The lawyer struggled weakly, like a tired fish, against Albury’s fists. The suit squeaked an objection. Boone’s head lay pressed against the cinder-block wall, his tasseled loafers barely touching the gummy floor. Albury gave another twist to the jacket and leaned so close he almost gagged on the Brut.

“Tell me everything, son,” he demanded.

“You’re hurting me! Let go, damnit. I’m just a fucking messenger boy.”

Albury turned him loose and sat down. He motioned to the other chair and Boone eased himself down, looking over his shoulder for some sign of the jailer. He would not be coming, Boone knew; he had slipped him a few bills to stay away for an hour. Now he wished he hadn’t.

“Just listen,” the lawyer said with a staged urgency. “There’s a dozen Colombians hiding on a stash island off Andros. They’re going to Miami. Somebody’s got to bring them across. You know about the Bahamian Coast Guard? Well, so do they. So do the Cuban captains in Key West. Remember what that Bahamian gunboat did to those crawfishermen a few years back? Manolo can’t find anyone to go fetch these people. Nobody wants to fuck with the Bahamians, Breeze.”

“Since when is Manolo running aliens?” Albury asked.

“He’s not. It’s a favor for a friend down south. A business associate.”

Albury nodded tiredly. “Not a favor, Boone. Repayment of a favor, right?”

Boone shrugged. “I honestly wouldn’t know. Point is, Manolo needed a good captain and a big, fast boat. That would be you, and the
Diamond Cutter.”

“So they set me up?”

Boone dropped to a whisper. “They planned to give up one boat, anyway. It was … well, convenient for that boat to be you. Hey, I don’t blame you for being hacked off. I told Tom this was a stupid way to do business.”

“Did he cut my traps?”

Boone screwed up his face. “I don’t know anything about your traps, Breeze. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah.” Albury stood up and stretched. “So they figure I
have
to make the Andros run now, right? They know I can’t make the bond myself. They know I can’t afford a lawyer, even
you
, by myself. They got me by the short hairs.”

Boone summoned his best professional voice. “If you agree, I post your bond. All charges against you will be dropped.”

Albury was incredulous. “How? You buying judges now?”

Boone never lost stride. “The charges will be dropped because Chief Barnett and his men have no jurisdiction on Ramrod Key, Breeze. They were twenty miles out of the city limits when they busted you the other night. They had no authority. They didn’t tell the feds and they didn’t tell the sheriff. It’s a rather serious flaw in the case.”

“For that I get off?”

“If I handle it. Don’t you want to know how much Manolo is paying for the Andros thing?”

Albury clasped his hands theatrically. “God, you mean I’m getting paid on top of it? Marvelous. What generous dirtbags you work for, Drake. Yes, tell me about the money.”

“Fifty thousand.”

Albury stopped capering. “Jesus.”

Boone smiled. “Makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

“How far do I have to carry these peasants?”

“Key Largo. Dynamite Docks. You know the spot?”

“Yeah. When?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Boone said. He was still smoothing his suit. “Well?”

Albury was in turmoil. “Why didn’t they just ask me to do it? Why go through all this? Drake, remember last time. I never said a word. I did my time quietly….”

Boone nodded and nodded. “This was an emergency, Breeze. They didn’t think you’d do it without a little pressure. You got a clean reputation on Stock Island. Tom knows that. He didn’t think you’d fool with Colombians. Remember, you’re not talking about the Marine Patrol now. You’re talking about Coast Guard and Customs. Big fucking time if you get caught. I have to warn you.”

“Thanks, counselor.”

“But you won’t get caught,” Boone said smugly. “You’re too damn good.”

“The money?”

Boone cleared his throat. “On delivery.”

“I want half now.”

“You’re in no position to bargain. Manolo says you get paid in Key Largo. That’s all I know. Oh, cash, of course.”

Albury shoved Boone’s briefcase across the table. One corner caught him in the gut, but Boone smothered an embarrassed cough.

“If this one goes bad, too, I intend to kill Winnebago Tom. Would you pass that along?” Albury said evenly.

Boone said, “Certainly. And I wouldn’t blame you. The answer is yes, then?”

“The answer is what I told you.”

Albury led Drake Boone to the door. Down the hall, Archie the drunk was singing again.

“Fifty grand will buy a ton of traps,” the lawyer said with such counterfeit friendliness that Albury felt like twisting Boone’s neck until his greasy, fragrant head popped off. It was only after Albury was alone for an hour that the anger receded. He tried to imagine what the Colombians looked like, smelled like, after baking in the withering Bahamian sun. He had forgotten to ask Boone if any of them spoke English.

Chapter 6

LAURIE HAD NEVER
seen a man so mad. She brought a red table napkin for Bobby Freed’s bleeding hand. He had put his fist right through the plasterboard at the back of the restaurant.

“Easy, Bobby, easy,” she implored. She wrapped the knuckles and gave her boss a hug. “The doctor says it’s not that serious an operation.”

“I know,” Freed said. “But it’s so disgusting the way it happened… a cop standing right there and doing nothing.” Twenty-four hours later, he was still livid.

“It is disgusting,” Laurie agreed. “Did Neal see his badge number?”

Freed shook his head. “He’s still in shock.” He took a couple of deep breaths. Laurie cleared some tables and waited. Freed popped two Valiums and poured himself a cup of hot tea. Two friends stopped by the table and told him how sorry they were; they had stories of their own.

“I will promise you this,” Freed was saying when Laurie returned, “this tidy little alliance we have maintained with Barnett and with the city fathers who indulge that fat pig is finished. The violence against innocent people will stop, and I will put it on the council’s agenda every single week if I have to, until it does.”

“You’ll get the same bullshit,” said one of the other gays. He wore a tank top that exposed firm tan biceps, thick as bread loaves. He smoked harsh Turkish cigarettes.

Freed fixed his friend with a stare. “You’re right, Lee. That’s why we’re going to get rid of Barnett.”

“Bobby, the council will never fire him. He’s got dirt on everybody, their wives, their daughters …”

Freed said, “I don’t care. He’s through. I’ll think of something.”

He thought of all the “donations” he had made to the Key West police local; he remembered what he had been told by the bloated old Conch foot patrolman about all the catastrophic things that could befall a man’s place of business without “constant, diligent police protection.” A payoff, pure and simple. As a New Yorker, Freed had laughed at the quaint pretenses extended by the solicitor. A hundred bucks a month to make sure no local punks vandalized the Cowrie seemed prudent. Freed wondered how many other gay businessmen were getting shaken, while Huge Barnett got rich. He had wanted to believe the muggings were the work of teenage thugs, random and undirected, but the assault on Neal Beeker stank of malice.

“I think Barnett knows who’s doing these things,” he said to Laurie. “I think he knows who beat up Neal.”

The Valium had taken an edge off his fury. “Laurie, don’t you remember how pissed off Barnett was after the last council meeting? He thought I made him look foolish when I asked about the smuggling arrests. He doesn’t like to look foolish in front of the locals, especially with the Governor’s people sitting in the audience taking notes. I think he was mad enough to get revenge.”

Laurie objected. “Surely you don’t think Barnett arranged for Neal to get mugged, just because he knows …”

“Everybody knows Neal and I are lovers,” Freed said. “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence, Laurie. That’s all I’m going to say. I have enough friends with enough money to make the council think very hard about how dearly they value their venerable old police chief.”

ALBURY NOTICED JIMMY’S
limp as soon as the boy entered the trailer. The mate’s right foot was wrapped in dirty gauze.

“Jesus, did I do that?” Albury asked, stooping over to take a look.

“Naw. I cut it on a coral head when I went ashore,” Jimmy said with a shrug.

Albury tossed him a beer and sat down on the sofa near the television. The Astros were blowing a three-run lead in the seventh.

Jimmy leafed through one of Ricky’s sports magazines. Albury could tell he was trying to think of how to say it.

“I’m sorry I chucked you off the boat.”

“Aw, hell,” Jimmy said. “I know what you were doin’, and I appreciate it. I woulda been sitting in that jail, too, if it weren’t for you, Breeze. Kathy woulda left me.”

“No.”

“Damn right! Matter of fact, she thinks I ought to quit the boat because of what happened to you.”

Albury chuckled. He could imagine Jimmy at home with his sixteen-year-old bride and her puerile lectures.

“Did you tell her the charges were dropped?”

“Yeah, it don’t matter. I’m not quitting. You been good to me, and the
Diamond Cutter
is one fine boat. Besides, if it weren’t for that run, we wouldn’t be able to afford that doctor up in Miami.”

Albury said, “I almost forgot. You goin’ ahead, then?”

“I’m driving her up tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “I told her the money is from crawfish, so she ought to lay off you.”

Albury checked out the window for a sign of Laurie or Ricky. Outside the trailer park, on MacDonald Avenue, he noticed, was a lime-green Cadillac with the windows tinted dark blue. A typical Cuban Conchmobile; that would be one of Tom’s soldiers.

“Jimmy, can you wait a couple days before going to Miami?”

The kid sat forward. “No, Breeze. We’d like to get it over with.”

“Sure. I understand.”

Jimmy knew when Albury was trying to smooth something over. “It’s important, huh?”

Albury nodded. He told Jimmy about the Andros run and explained the deal he had cut with Winnebago Tom Cruz. Jimmy agreed that they left Albury no choices.

“I need a mate. Somebody I can trust.”

“Aren’t you scared? From what I hear about Colombians …”

“That stuff sells newspapers,” Albury mumbled. “Hell, I don’t think they’re any different from the Cubans.”

“The whole idea scares me,” Jimmy declared.

“Manolo’s paying fifty thousand. Ten of it’s yours if you want to come.” Albury heard a car pull into the gravel drive. “Think about it, Jimmy. I’ll call you tonight.”

“All right.”

The kid passed Laurie on her way up the driveway and gave a bright hello. Albury was staring at the ball game when she walked in with a bag of groceries. She wore the same pair of jeans shorts and diaphanous top in which she had fetched him from jail that morning.

“Bobby’s so mad he scares me,” she announced.

“What’s wrong?”

“Neal Beeker got beat up real bad yesterday. I didn’t mention it when I saw you last night. Bobby thinks Barnett had something to do with it.”

“Why?”

“Because of the fight they had at the last council meeting.”

Albury was admiring the Astros’ reliever, a lanky blond rookie who reminded him of Ricky, except that he came around from the side a little more with the slider.

“There was a cop who saw the mugging and didn’t do anything,” Laurie said as she arranged some Campbell soup cans in the pantry. A sideways glance told her Albury was not particularly appalled.

“Breeze, don’t you think it’s terrible?”

Albury grunted. Freed was probably right; the attack on Beeker simply was political fallout from Barnett. And if there was one thing that Albury made a point of ignoring year in and year out, it was the vagaries of Key West politics. His daddy had thought the city council of his day was worthless scum, and Albury saw no reason to be more charitable. Freed had gotten elected as the obligatory reform candidate, but all he ever fought for was new bike paths and rent controls for Duval Street. If he wanted to feud with Huge Barnett, the results surely would be both predictable and inconsequential.

Laurie asked, “Did you talk to Crystal?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t his fault. Barnett stayed off the radio all night. Crystal didn’t have a clue about him being up at Ramrod until it was too late.”

“I bet he felt awful, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Albury said. “He also told me the three other boats made it in with a total of eleven tons. That means Tom can buy his latest mama a new Seville.”

“Speaking of which, there’s a guy sitting in a Caddy out on MacDonald Street,” Laurie said.

“My baby-sitter.”

“What for? What’s he want?”

Albury had decided not to tell her the terms of his release. She would never understand the Andros trip.

“I don’t know what he wants,” Albury said, brushing a curtain aside and peering toward the road. “Maybe Tom’s afraid that I’m still pissed off, and that I might talk.”