Cross Current - Kling Christine - Страница 38
- Предыдущая
- 38/78
- Следующая
The decorating scheme for the house could only be called eclectic, but, somehow, it all worked. Along one wall, a narrow section of bookshelves stretched to the ceiling while the rest of the wall was covered with lighted nooks that held sculptures or photos or antiques. A wheeled library ladder reached up twenty feet to a rail that ran just below the ceiling. An antique barber’s chair was bolted to the floor just inside the window where it would have the best view of the river.
As promised, Joe was home in less than ten minutes. We heard the car, followed by a loud greeting, then the hushed tones as Celeste told him we were there. His whispers sounded loud and harsh, angry about something. I wondered if it was us. But when he came through the doors, he was all smiles.
“Mike. Seychelle.” He shook both our hands. “So good to see you both. What brings you by the old hacienda?”
In his white shorts and lime green polo shirt, Joe looked the part of the retiree. I doubted the ensemble was a biking outfit. Maybe golf?
“Hey, Joe. Sorry to barge in on you like this,” Mike said, “but I’m going to get straight to the point. Sey came by to visit me today, and she found some old photos among her dad’s things. She wanted to find out more about the history behind those pics.”
I had already retrieved the photos out of my shoulder bag, and I spread them out on the bar. “I’m more than a little confused, Joe,” I said. “Yesterday morning you said that you and Red used to work together when you were in the DEA, and he used to tow boats for you.”
Joe picked up the picture of the three of them. He had a peculiar little half-smile on his face.
“You never said anything about knowing Red over twenty years ago,” I added.
He didn’t say anything for over a minute. None of us did. We just sat there and watched the shadows in the room stretch out.
“I haven’t talked about that trip in years,” he began. He climbed onto a bar stool on the far side of me. Mike rested his hand on my shoulder. Joe looked up from the photo. “You have grown up to be such a beautiful young woman, Seychelle. I would never say or do anything to hurt you. I didn’t lie to you the other day, I just didn’t tell you everything. That was the way we always handled it. When Red and I began working together again in the eighties, we never discussed the past.” He looked back down at the photo. “Seychelle, I think this is something you should just forget. Destroy these photos, forget you ever saw them, and get on with your life. Trust me when I tell you there are some things you are better off not knowing.”
“I can’t do that, Joe.”
“Then you need to try to understand those times, Seychelle. Everyone was doing it, and your dad was in a bind, as I understand it. Financially.”
“But that doesn’t mean he would—”
He raised his hand palm up. “Hear me out, then, if you insist. I was there as the delivery skipper, already down in Cartagena, and some guys I knew up in Lauderdale recruited your dad. It was a long time ago. I was only, hell, what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old.”
“Were you working for the DEA then?” I asked.
Joe’s eyes flickered, sought out Mike, then looked across the room, out the window. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “You’re not making this easy. Yes. Yes, I was. I was pretty fresh, only nine months on the job when they asked me if I wanted to go undercover as a yacht delivery captain. Shit. Nobody’s even supposed to know we were doing that back then.”
Part of me wanted to stop him. If it was even remotely possible, I didn’t want to know about it. But it wasn’t possible. Not Red. No matter what Joe said.
“The guy who owned the boat had been under surveillance for quite some time. He had lots of toys and no identifiable means of support. Turned out it was easier than I thought getting hired on as the captain of his yacht. And, eventually, he brought me in on what was really happening. He had this crewman working for him. The guy’s still around.”
“You mean Gil Lynch?” Mike asked.
“Right. Of course, you’d know him, Mike. Forgot about that.” Joe pointed to Gil in the old photo. “That’s him there. This was the early days, before he was known much here in Lauderdale. He became a much bigger player after that trip.”
“You see much of Gil these days?”
Joe grunted a half-laugh. “I’d be surprised if he’s still alive.”
“Oh, he’s alive all right. Sey and I saw him just a few hours ago.”
“Really? Did you talk to him?”
“No. I’ve used him as a snitch in the past, but today he ran from us. Don’t know why.”
“Hmm. Well, it was Gil back then who set up the buy, did all the legwork down in Colombia. But I didn’t bust either him or Red. My bosses were after the yacht’s owner, the bigger fish. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I protected Red. Hell, you know what I’m talking about, right, Mike? The guy had a wife and kids back in the States, it was his first time getting into something like that.”
“Sure, I know what you’re saying,” Mike said.
My elbows were propped up on the bar, and I rested my forehead against the heels of my hands. I began to shake my head. “No way. I don’t buy it.” I lifted my head and turned to face Joe. “Red did not knowingly get on a boat that was smuggling drugs up from Colombia.” I swung my head back and forth, looking first at Mike, then Joe. Neither would look at me.
No one said anything for several seconds. Mike’s hand rested on my shoulder, massaging the flesh in a little circling motion. I wanted to reach over and smack his hand away.
Finally, Joe said, “Listen, honey, I know you don’t want to think of your daddy—”
I stood up. I wanted to break something. I wanted him to stop calling me “honey.”
“Red didn’t know,” I said. “He couldn’t have.” I could hear that my voice sounded whiny, and it made me even angrier. I slid off my stool and stomped out of the room.
Celeste was standing in the hall, just outside the doorway. As I passed her I asked, “Bathroom?” She motioned for me to follow her.
I sat down on the closed toilet lid and gave myself about three minutes to just let my emotions go. It wasn’t long enough to turn my eyes and face all red and puffy, but it was just enough of a little pffft, like a pressure cooker’s jiggle, to make sure I wouldn’t blow when I went back into that room with those guys. They were undoubtedly talking about me right now—some “poor kid” scenario, where they were painting themselves as the big tough cops who knew how bad folks could be.
But Red was different, and they weren’t used to people like Red. He was a man whose morality was absolute. He would not bend, nor did he ever struggle over a moral issue, much to the chagrin of his teenage daughter. Red would never have willingly smuggled drugs—not even to finish Gorda. That was a truth. I felt it in my gut. I was not sure whether Joe was floating this tale out of ignorance or deceit, but I intended to find out.
After splashing some cold water on my face and relishing the soft, Egyptian cotton towels, I unlocked the door and ventured out. The men’s voices and loud laughter carried from their end of the hall, but I turned in the opposite direction. I decided to explore a little before returning to the boys’ club.
I saw three doors down the hall. The guest bedroom was located diagonally across from the bathroom. The furnishings were expensive and tasteful, but the room had all the personality of a model home. The next door led to the master bedroom, a huge room, nearly twenty by twenty, with French doors that opened onto the pool deck. When I came to the last door, I nearly collided with Celeste.
“Oh, pardon,” she said, looking startled and then lowering her eyes.
“No, I should be saying that.”
Over her shoulder I saw a room that was small and spartan, containing a twin bed, a dresser with a small mirror, and a single chair. Unlike the other two rooms, this one had personal items, a lovely brush-and-comb set on the dresser, a hand-stitched quilt on the bed, a small bright painting on the wall.
- Предыдущая
- 38/78
- Следующая
