Next morning, back at my desk, MacBook Pro open, big slider open, big cup of coffee in my hand. I was revising my case notes, adding what I now knew in crisp, simple bullets. But also looking back over the whole narrative. I looked at the line that first mentioned Prestige Fish.
• Craig Helton tells me Keaton Fuller worked in the tropical fish business, company name: Prestige Fish.
I imagined for a brief second all the players in my story as tropical fish swimming around in an enormous tank. I saw their faces on the various species. There was Jackie Fuller swimming about. There was Dave Treadway gliding around. There was Lee Graves sliding by.
I think I took too many mushrooms in college.
I was imagining this, eyes no longer on my case notes but instead out the slider, when my phone started once again shaking frenetically, spazzing out, snapping me out of my reverie. Marlon the Marlin.
“Marlon.”
“Johnny boy, I had a thought.”
As you may have noticed, sometimes Marlon calls me “Johnny boy.” I’m not sure I like it, and I’ve thought about it quite a bit. But I let it go, because it’s Marlon the Marlin. Not because I think he’s going to shoot me if I tell him to stop, although I guess it’s possible. No, I let it slide because it’s Marlon the Marlin, that’s how he talks, that’s who he is.
“Yessir,” I said. “What’s happening?”
“I made some calls. Nobody I know knows anything about Graves or Prestige Fish. But, as I said, I had a thought.”
“Right, you did in fact say that.”
“Well, here it is. There’s always the possibility that this is a Pendella Situation.”
“Right, that’s very true.” And then I took a long pause. “What’s a Pendella Situation?”
“Good one, John. Good one. Smart-ass. You realize I’m trying to help you, right?”
“Oh, right, yes. Marlon, please continue.”
He calls me “Johnny boy.” I tease him a bit. You know, give and take.
Marlon said, “See, I was tired when you showed up yesterday, or else I might have thought of this right then. Lot of sun and booze comes with living on a boat.”
“Yes, particularly sun. I ran into Hunter Clavana, the Aussie at your marina, yesterday. He’s been essentially scorched by the sun.”
“Right.”
“Like, he might actually catch on fire at some point.”
“Right.”
“Like, just be walking along and burst into flames.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“I mean, he’s a deep gray. Like slate. He’s almost black. He’s basically black.”
“I got it, Johnny boy. I got it.”
“So,” I said, recalibrating. “The Pendella Situation.”
“Lenny Pendella,” Marlon said.
“Lenny Pendella,” I repeated.
“Zip it. Okay? Zip it.”
“Right,” I said, meaning it. Sort of.
“So,” Marlon continued. “Lenny Pendella was a guy we all knew back in the neighborhood. He was a short little guy with a little white beard, and he had this homely little wife to go along with his homely little white fucking beard. Her name was Liza. Lenny and Liza Pendella. And Lenny and Liza had a knickknack shop.”
“A knickknack shop?”
“Porcelain dolls. Ornaments and shit. Gnomes and trolls to put in your fucking garden. Tchotchkes.”
“Ah, okay, right. Got it. I’ve never been into one of those places. They scare me.”
“You and me both, friend. You and me both. Anyway, so Lenny and Liza have this little shop. It’s a tiny little place and the rent’s pretty low. And there are enough weirdos out there who actually fucking like places like that, so it does okay. Better than okay. It does pretty goddamn well.”
“Okay,” I said.
“But the truth is,” Marlon said with some excitement in his voice, “they are actually running numbers out of Lenny and Liza’s Fucking Knickknack Shop. And they are making a shitload of money doing it. But nobody ever looks into them. One, because they have a way to hide the profits—they have a business. But two, the bigger reason—everybody just buys that Lenny and Liza are these fucking fringe characters. So there can’t be anything going on there. Shit, Lenny looks like one of the trolls you can buy in his store. So does Liza, for that matter. See, the whole thing’s so weird, and even weirdly legit, that it’s got to be real. Their knickknack shop can’t be a front for something else. You see what I’m saying?”
I stroked my chin pensively and said, “A Pendella Situation.”
“Right,” Marlon said. “That’s what we came to call stuff like this. A business that’s one thing. But a kind-of-strange thing. But a kind-of-strange thing that’s actually doing pretty well. Which makes the people doing the strange thing seem like experts in this niche fucking world. But ultimately, of course, it’s a business that is, or could be, a front for another thing, a criminal thing, that’s more lucrative than the first thing.”
“Because after a while, being in the vending-machine business gets too obvious.”
“That’s right, Johnny boy. But if you sell garden gnomes or tropical fucking fish, you might not be all that obvious. Especially if you know a shitload about garden gnomes or tropical fish. And especially-especially if the fucking garden-gnome or tropical fish business starts doing well. Then you don’t just have a business to hide your profits, you’ve got actual profits to hide your profits. If you get looked into, that is, which you won’t, because the first business is weird as fuck and it’s doing well and you can prove it. Now, I’ve got no clue if your thing is in fact a Pendella Situation, but, you know, maybe. You said you were on a murder case, a serious fucking case, and if this guy at the fish place is somehow involved in a killing, then in my mind it increases the chances of the Pendella. My guess? Drugs. Blow. Oxy. Maybe heroin, but I doubt it. Not weed, of course. Shit’s legal now.”
Marlon paused, and I could hear him taking a sip of a drink with lots of ice in it. First big, stiff rum drink of the day. Guy was still nice and sharp.
He continued, “You also said you thought something was happening with this guy. You know, you felt something. And you’re good at your job, I’ll give you that. A smart-ass sometimes, but good at your job. So I advise you to look around for the Pendella.”
“Thanks, Marlon.”
“You bet, John. Just tell me what happens, in full, when you have some time. It’s the only action I get these days.”
Marlon always wants the story. I thought, Well, I’ll be happy to give it to him. If I can find it.
We hung up.
I sat there at my desk, now thinking about what Marlon had said set against all the other people and other possibilities in the mix. Again, what next? What next?
I found my answer when a vehicle, a very new-looking Jeep Cherokee, slid in front of my open slider, then parked just around the corner in one of my guest spaces.
I heard the car door shut, then saw Greer Fuller appear. He took in the lot a bit, then swung his eyes over to me, sitting there, looking right at him. I waved him in.