dark, gloomy blues, bleak tones not shown on postcards. I sensed a strange neighborhood quiet. The peace put me on edge until I realized that the weather had chased away sunny-day industry, the hammer ensembles, Skil saws, and backup beepers employed by property renovators and the city’s perpetual water main and sewer repair crews.
Rain makes for long days in Key West. Streets flood, sidewalks crumble, electric power becomes intermittent. Pervasive humidity promotes mildew, and mildew spreads across exposed surfaces like creeping weed. Craziness flourishes, tropical cabin fever sets in. After three days of no sunlight, normal people tended to join the island’s whacko majority. The longer the spate of inclemency, the larger the yachts in divorce lawyers’ dreams.
Another lightning flash. Sharp thunder banged the windowpanes, echoed off the hardwood floor. So much for quiet.
The wall clock said six-forty. Cuba called: I scooped Bustelo and toggled the machine that ruled my mornings. I felt no hangover pain, though after rum I deserved both varieties: sharp neck tightness and deep cranial ache. No pain, but a certain fog. I hoped my mental haze would burn off by noon. I didn’t need a full day of dumbness.
For damn sure I didn’t need to hear my brass doorbell. Two minutes into the day, too early for business. Jesse Spence stuck his head past the screen door. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked like he’d just witnessed a car wreck, or participated in one.
“Coffee?” I waved him in.
“I got a problem.”
“I photographed that yesterday.”
He stepped inside and sank into the closest chair. “My place was creeped by somebody good. A pro.”
I already knew that. “Well, the alarm thing …”
“All that crash boom bang was a diversion to cover spook shit. No fucking way it was teenybopper vandalism. The bastards went into sealed boxes on my closet shelves, through all my old files. They retaped it all, so I wouldn’t notice what they’d done. I can’t even tell if anything’s missing.” Spence stuck out his leg so he could reach into a front pocket. He slid out a Ziploc bag. It held a small metallic object. “Here’s the frosting. From the phone.”
A miniature listening device. I had used Spence’s phone to call home for my messages. I’d also called Duffy Lee Hall to schedule the film drop-off. “You sure you want to keep this under your hat? Who’s to say these pros won’t be back for a second helping?”
“Right now, it needs to stay close to home.”
“So we can have an ingrown investigation …”
“So I can think about this a day or two. Make some calls.”
I slowly poured two cups. “You mind if I ask a couple of questions about the old days?”
Spence averted his eyes. “That could get off-limits real quick.”
“Oh, come on. It’s ancient history.”
“Best forgotten. For twenty years I’ve specialized in forgetful.”
I handed Spence a mug and sat opposite him. “Listen to yourself, man. Your house just got tossed. Somebody’s trying to slap your memory.”
His mouth formed a tight slit. His eyes lost focus as he juggled those years of secrets, shifted them to the present, readjusted his tolerance for instant profits and worldly adventure.
I gave it a shot: “You privy to an old investment partnership?”
His trancelike expression remained. “I never thought your Chicago friend would blab. I talked to him last week. Everything was cool. He was going to meet me in the restaurant yesterday. I gotta tell you, I got the heebie-jeebies when you showed instead of him.”
Bingo. Zack’s important lunch, a meeting with Spence.
“You didn’t get the heebie-jeebs when that player walked in, the one I asked you about?”
Jesse turned and looked me in the eye. “What’s he got to do with it?”
“Probably nothing.”
“This sudden interest … What’s in it for you?”
I shook my head. “Zack didn’t blab. He called me from Sloppy’s yesterday
Rain makes for long days in Key West. Streets flood, sidewalks crumble, electric power becomes intermittent. Pervasive humidity promotes mildew, and mildew spreads across exposed surfaces like creeping weed. Craziness flourishes, tropical cabin fever sets in. After three days of no sunlight, normal people tended to join the island’s whacko majority. The longer the spate of inclemency, the larger the yachts in divorce lawyers’ dreams.
Another lightning flash. Sharp thunder banged the windowpanes, echoed off the hardwood floor. So much for quiet.
The wall clock said six-forty. Cuba called: I scooped Bustelo and toggled the machine that ruled my mornings. I felt no hangover pain, though after rum I deserved both varieties: sharp neck tightness and deep cranial ache. No pain, but a certain fog. I hoped my mental haze would burn off by noon. I didn’t need a full day of dumbness.
For damn sure I didn’t need to hear my brass doorbell. Two minutes into the day, too early for business. Jesse Spence stuck his head past the screen door. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked like he’d just witnessed a car wreck, or participated in one.
“Coffee?” I waved him in.
“I got a problem.”
“I photographed that yesterday.”
He stepped inside and sank into the closest chair. “My place was creeped by somebody good. A pro.”
I already knew that. “Well, the alarm thing …”
“All that crash boom bang was a diversion to cover spook shit. No fucking way it was teenybopper vandalism. The bastards went into sealed boxes on my closet shelves, through all my old files. They retaped it all, so I wouldn’t notice what they’d done. I can’t even tell if anything’s missing.” Spence stuck out his leg so he could reach into a front pocket. He slid out a Ziploc bag. It held a small metallic object. “Here’s the frosting. From the phone.”
A miniature listening device. I had used Spence’s phone to call home for my messages. I’d also called Duffy Lee Hall to schedule the film drop-off. “You sure you want to keep this under your hat? Who’s to say these pros won’t be back for a second helping?”
“Right now, it needs to stay close to home.”
“So we can have an ingrown investigation …”
“So I can think about this a day or two. Make some calls.”
I slowly poured two cups. “You mind if I ask a couple of questions about the old days?”
Spence averted his eyes. “That could get off-limits real quick.”
“Oh, come on. It’s ancient history.”
“Best forgotten. For twenty years I’ve specialized in forgetful.”
I handed Spence a mug and sat opposite him. “Listen to yourself, man. Your house just got tossed. Somebody’s trying to slap your memory.”
His mouth formed a tight slit. His eyes lost focus as he juggled those years of secrets, shifted them to the present, readjusted his tolerance for instant profits and worldly adventure.
I gave it a shot: “You privy to an old investment partnership?”
His trancelike expression remained. “I never thought your Chicago friend would blab. I talked to him last week. Everything was cool. He was going to meet me in the restaurant yesterday. I gotta tell you, I got the heebie-jeebies when you showed instead of him.”
Bingo. Zack’s important lunch, a meeting with Spence.
“You didn’t get the heebie-jeebs when that player walked in, the one I asked you about?”
Jesse turned and looked me in the eye. “What’s he got to do with it?”
“Probably nothing.”
“This sudden interest … What’s in it for you?”
I shook my head. “Zack didn’t blab. He called me from Sloppy’s yesterday
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