Jeanette had made it to the Green Reef almost an hour before Stan. A long visit to the ladies room to refresh herself after the long drive. Half of it while hung over. Cursing herself for her growing regret and guilt.
She felt dirty with her hair in a greasy ponytail. Sweaty inside her jacket. Feet hot in the heavy boots. But her outfit was like a uniform.
The damage in her knee years ago had healed, but it had never been right since. The calf was much smaller than the other one, and her foot was prone to aching. Scars from the injury and subsequent surgeries like jagged tracks burned in with a branding iron.
Boots for the cushion. Jeans to cover it all up.
She had what Haggis had said about Stan. The big question marks from Mallory Black. Nothing definitive. She ordered a Michelob Ultra and settled in to wait.
What was she supposed to do? Did Mallory Black want her to investigate Stan or help him? Were they telling the truth about Mickelson?
She wanted to hear it from Stan’s mouth. She finally got her chance on her fourth Ultra.
He slid in next to her and flagged the bartender. “Gimme a margarita on the rocks with salt.” Jabbed a thumb her way. “And another for the lady.”
She held up her hand. “This one’s good.”
He nodded. “Then let me get your tab.”
She considered turning him down, but she realized it was only because he was a man. She smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He twirled his finger over his head. “You like this place?”
“It’s nice. A little … old.”
He shrugged. “If you’re looking for business connections, you go to where the connections are. These old men don’t just know how to make money. They know how to hide it. Every loophole. Every trick. It’s like legal theft. Or more like becoming a magician. You can practice all you want, but if you can’t find anybody to tell you the secrets, you can never advance.”
“A pretty good gatekeeper.”
“That and being white.”
“Isn’t that more like the secret password to get inside?”
Stan paused as the margarita arrived. Took a sip before continuing. “That’s how generations get, and then keep, power. Limiting the access to a group that guarantees loyalty. White people hiding it from brown people. Men hiding it from women. So on and so forth.”
“Why celebrate such a sad view of the world?”
“I’m not celebrating. I’m taking advantage of it.”
“Isn’t that manipulating an existing system of oppression for personal gain?”
He nodded. “Yup.” Took a drink, crunching through some salt.
She leaned back from his honesty. He seemed regretful. Almost apologetic. “What am I doing here?”
“I’ve wondered that too. Not the existential thing. Wondering about my place in the universe, but … What are you doing here?”
She decided to lay her hand out first. “When you held me at gunpoint in my room, I told you I didn’t know who sent me. Just anonymous money. That was a lie.”
He smiled. “I suspected. I just didn’t know who it could have been. For a while, I thought it was the office.”
He told her about how the men following them were a state-run operation staffed with pedophiles.
“How do you know that?” she said. Signaled for the bartender with her empty bottle.
“A source I trust.”
“So I have to take your word for it?”
He shrugged. “You're already admitting to lying to me.”
“You had a gun pointed at me.”
“You pulled a gun on my girlfriend in the bathroom at that Irish pub on Duval Street. Followed us for days. Don’t act like you are the righteous one in need of a little proof.”
“Mallory Black sent me.”
He tipped his head in acceptance but didn’t say if he already knew it or not. “She’s not exactly an ally of mine. In fact, I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“And how do you feel about her?”
“She’s stubborn. Tenacious. Slow to admit when she’s wrong. Willing to ruin a man’s life on baseless accusations. Following an assumption built around blind feminism.”
Jeanette bristled. “She supports abused women. Protects girls in trouble. Sends me to watch out for the interests of victims by investigating you and your friends. That’s blind feminism?”
He licked the last of the salt off his rim. “We are talking about two different things. Instead of jumping down my throat for having the audacity to criticize a woman, ask me why I have that opinion of her?”
“I’ll excuse the mansplaining for now. I’ll even listen to what you have to say.”
“Thank you,” he said. Humility manifested in the way he said it. A real gratitude that disarmed her. She sat back to listen as the new beer showed up.
He told a quick story, starting with Mallory Black stalking his cousin, reflecting what Haggis had said. But that didn't prove anything. Haggis had heard the story from Stan too. He could be lying to countless people with this story.
A lot of it did sound like the Mallory Black she knew though. That plus what she knew about the case, and … she had to admit it was plausible.
Then the story moved up into conspiracy levels of speculation. Some that coincided with Mallory’s notes. Some that were simply unbelievable.
Then he talked about the evidence he sent to Mallory Black, something she had alluded to in her letter.
The story came back to reality, aligning with what she knew and suspected. She just didn’t feel right trusting him.
His plan sounded righteous, even possible. Get to Belling, Texas, to the bank that was secretly hiding the only other copy of the evidence against some very rich and powerful people. Intent to save more children from abuse.
Something she could certainly get behind. Just not something she could so easily believe.
“I haven’t seen any of these office operatives,” she said.
He shrugged. “Maybe you’re not as good as you think?”
He said it without malice, so she thought about it and shrugged. “Maybe I’m not.”
“Or maybe they just aren’t looking for you. Yet.”
She drained her beer and slid the bottle and the coaster away from her. “Should I worry about that?”
“I think you should. They seem to be jackass amateurs, but that doesn’t mean the office won’t step it up when they realize they’re losing one too many assholes.”
When Mo came up alongside her to interrupt, his sudden appearance made her stiffen in alarm. He was huge, and if he had come up with intentions to do her harm, there was nothing she could have done about it.
He handed Stan a note. Leaned into his ear with a whisper. Stepped back with a nod. Hustled to the end of the bar.
As Stan read the note, Mo leaned over the bar for a word with the bartender who then bent down to stand up to set a white phone on the bar.
Stan folded the paper up and slid it into his shirt pocket. His eyes were dead. Looking through her. “I got a room in the name of Patti Smith for two nights. Don’t go to a dirty Tranquility Inn. Or some other fleabag that would put you too far from us to follow if that’s what you decide to do. Have you?”
“Decided to follow?”
He nodded.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Then take the room. Let me complete my mission, or follow me to see what my word’s worth, but I’m going to be a little more clear than I was back in Key West.”
His eyes hardened as he leaned forward. She resisted the urge to flinch away. “If you try to stop me or get in my way, I guarantee you will regret it. If you hurt one of mine ...” He closed his eyes like what he was thinking was going to hurt to say. “There will be nowhere for you to hide that I can’t reach. And when I find you, there will be no room in your soul for regret. It will be too full of pain.”
He hopped off his stool, his prosthetic ankle clicking off the metal foot rail. He dropped a fifty on the bar and walked away.
She had been threatened plenty of times. Most of them were just air. This was not one of those times. She’d get him back though. She’d take him up on the room, but she was also gonna order as much room service as she could.