Read Online Magic City by James W. Hall - Free Book Online Page B

leaned forward, peering over the edge.
    Standing on the lawn beside the front walkway was a lanky man in a baseball cap and mirrored glasses. He had on tight black jeans and a light blue button-down shirt with the tail hanging out. Coils of smoky gray hair showed at the edges of the hat. His flesh was a chalky brown, the shade of cinnamon latte with a splash of extra cream. He was in his late forties, maybe older.
    â€œCan I help you?” Thorn said.
    â€œI’m trying to locate a Mr. Lawton Collins.”
    â€œLawton’s not here.”
    â€œMight you know where I could find him?”
    Thorn had been steeling himself for a heavy dose of the brusque manner he’d come to know from the Miami hordes who invaded the Keys each weekend, bringing with them the buzz and tension of the city. It seemed that this town was brimming with impatient, overbearing folks who were used to brushing past the likes of Thorn.
    So he was thrown off by the man standing in the yard below. His down-home drawl and the languor of his movements had echoes of the Deep South, as though he might be a throwback, one of those mannerly crackers who long ago populated the region, hacked away the dense native tangle and made South Florida habitable for the lesser mortals who would soon swarm its landscape.
    â€œWhat do you want him for?”
    The man gave the question thorough consideration, all the while looking up at Thorn with an impassive smile.
    â€œAnd who would I be speaking with?”
    â€œFriend of the family,” Thorn said. “And who are you?”
    Thorn heard another man’s voice come from below. He didn’t catch the words, but the tone was abrasive—more like the city voice he’d been bracing for. Apparently the second man was pressed against the front of the house.
    Acknowledging his partner’s words with a slight nod, the man in the mirrored glasses kept his face tilted up toward Thorn.
    â€œThis gentleman, Lawton Collins, he is in possession of an item belonging to me. I’ve come to have it back.”
    â€œAs I said, he’s not here right now. Won’t be home all day.”
    The second man’s coarse voice sounded again, but this time the curly-haired man ignored his comrade, staring up at Thorn with a steady concentration as if Thorn had finally merited his full attention.
    While the man himself was not openly threatening, the situation tripped a switch. The hidden partner, the studiously indifferent manner. Thorn felt the last vapors of his early-morning mellowness dwindle, his mood hardening into annoyance. He had promised Sugarman and Alex he would behave, and he’d prepped himself with calming thoughts, but all that flew away as the man in the yard and his hidden pal worked their game.
    The bony man removed his sunglasses and looked down as he cleaned the lenses with his shirttail.
    With no conscious thought, Thorn’s finger crushed the Makita’s trigger and the screw bit whirred. If the man in the yard heard, he showed no sign, just continued to clean his shades.
    A few seconds later he tipped his head up in slow stages and finally allowed Thorn a clear look at his eyes—doing it with such dramatic emphasis, it seemed likely he’d used this tactic before to unnerve an adversary. His eyes were an unnatural blue with the silvery glint of one of those expensive martinis made with a dash of Curaçao.
    As the man replaced the mirrored glasses, Thorn caught the second man’s shadow moving toward the front porch.
    Thorn took a step to his right, coming a foot closer to the ladder. It was a twenty-foot leap to the ground. Good chance he’d sprain an ankle or blow out a knee if he tried it. No tree limbs near the house, and no Tarzan vines to swing down on. If he was going to get back to earth without risking serious damage, the ladder was the only way.
    â€œTell your friend to step out where I can see him.”
    The man produced his smile again,