Okay, Manny, cut the shit. What’s in the goddamn box?” Detective Paul Tubman shifted so his gut rolled off the Glock model 23 on his right hip. It was the extra layer of fat that made him so self-conscious he wore a sport coat to cover his pistol even in the stifling heat of South Florida.
The wiry man behind the counter was about twelve years older than Tubman, probably just over fifty, with the lean, hard look of a runner who’d spent a little too much time out in the sun. “That an official inquiry, Detective, or interest from a prospective customer?”
Tubman frowned and said, “Both.”
Manny shook his head and said, “Sorry, I can’t tell you. It’s a trade secret.”
Tubman gave him a laugh and looked away to show his general disgust at the squirrelly clinic operator. “This is bullshit and you know it. Why’d you even have to move back to Boca Raton, where every cop knows you?”
“My parents live here.”
“Everyone’s parents live here.” Tubman shook his head as he mopped the sweat off his forehead with his midmorning handkerchief. “It just makes my life a little more difficult. I have to explain to my bosses why there’s one of the most prolific fraud assholes of all time working in Boca Raton.”
“I’m telling you, Detective, you got me all wrong. I’ve changed. I see a therapist and everything. This clinic is absolutely legit. We got nutritionists, exercise physiologists, and a plan designed to make anyone lose weight. The box is more of a gimmick. We tell people it’s the last resort, but we really only had to use it one time.”
“Only one of your clients failed to lose weight?” He couldn’t put enough skepticism in his voice, so he threw in a good head shake and then turned so his wide shoulders would have at least a little intimidating effect on the short scam artist.
“I didn’t say that. Most people who don’t lose weight drop out long before we resort to the box.” Manny looked Tubman up and down and even carefully pulled one side of his sport coat open to get a view of his belly. “You’re still a young man and can handle some serious exercise. I think this program would be perfect for you. And if you didn’t lose”—Manny looked down at the application Tubman had filled out before he realized who ran the clinic—“forty-five pounds by April, after following everything—the protein shakes, exercise, counseling—then you might realize that the box is plan B. But most people don’t take plan A to its logical conclusion.”
“So you’re saying if I sign all of these releases, agree to follow your rules, sign the contract, and do everything and still don’t lose every pound I want to, then I could find out what’s in the box?”
Manny nodded his head. “Only if all else fails.”
“You can see my concerns. Given your history and the number of people in Boca Raton who bought condos you didn’t own, paid you to sell their time-shares, or bought into your investment schemes, I’d be crazy to just pay your initiation fee.”
“In that case, Detective, unless you have other business here, you need to move on because I have a lot of clients waiting to sign up. Five hundred dollars to start is a tremendous deal. After that, you pay by the pound. No other program gives you that option.” Manny focused his dark eyes on the taller detective. “Three years in prison changes people.”
Tubman said, “It changes druggies or killers, not common fraud artists like you.” He didn’t care if he hurt the man’s feelings. Guys like that could hardly be offended. But he needed to do something drastic if he wanted to lose enough weight to satisfy Maria. She didn’t think he had it in him to accomplish a goal like that, and she insinuated he was a lazy mama’s boy and that was why she wouldn’t marry him. He had to do something, and this was the clinic everyone was talking about.
The detective said, “And I lose forty-five pounds by April, even with the holidays coming up?”
Manny just nodded his head.
“And if I haven’t done it by, say, March, we’ll consider using your super-secret box over there?”
“You won’t need it. The only questions are, when do you want to start and how do you want to pay?”
“I’d never trust you with my credit card info, so I’ll be paying cash.” Tubman couldn’t take his eyes off the two-foot-by-one-foot box behind the counter as he slid his wallet out of his back pocket and slowly pulled out three twenties for a down payment. “I’ll bring the rest by later this afternoon.” He was excited by the possibility of changing the recent direction of his life.
Paul Tubman stared down at his salad with dressing on the side, using some of the tricks the counselor at the weight loss clinic had taught him. He took a drink of water before and after each bite, focusing on the sensation of food in his mouth, and tried not to think about all the stuff on the menu he would’ve preferred to order. To make matters worse, his friend, Carl Spirazza, perpetually lean and fit, gobbled down a plate of lasagna like it was an appetizer.
His friend looked at Paul and said, “I’m impressed, Tubby. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you focus on a diet for this long.”
Tubman ignored the unfortunate nickname he’d had since childhood. He attributed it more to his name than his size. He hadn’t really started to expand horizontally until his midtwenties. “It’s only been three weeks and I still got the holidays staring me in the face, but I’ve lost almost ten pounds, and even though I had reservations, the clinic certainly seems to be legit.”
“They may be helping you lose weight, but their cost is way out of line.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been losing weight. I know Manny is a crook, but maybe he really did stumble into an honest-to-goodness business. It still kills me to see that box every time I walk through the door. You’re a doctor, you don’t have any idea what it could be?”
Carl shook his head. “Probably some kind of a gimmick, like an ancient saying written on a piece of paper. The way you describe the box, oblong, about two by one foot, it could hold anything. Or nothing. But there’s no special device that could trim off weight you don’t lose after four months of dieting. Unless it has something to do with liposuction.”
“That’s one of the things the clinic is very specific about. No cosmetic surgery. They leave open the idea that it could be a medical procedure, but who the hell knows what kind of procedure it is. They swear it’s not a stomach staple or anything like that.”
“You’re doing good. You’re ahead of schedule. Why even worry about it? The way things are going, you’ll never have to worry about what’s in that box.”
Tubman shook his head. “If it were anyplace but Boca Raton. Why do I have to live and work in the fraud capital of the US?”
“Is it really that bad?”
“You have no idea. This place attracts con artists like Mormons attract wives. Thirty percent of the office space in the city is devoted to some type of illegal activity. It’s been estimated that half the car accidents are staged. There’s no reason for me to be optimistic about the clinic. I was blinded by a chance to impress Maria.”
Carl frowned at the mention of Tubman’s girlfriend. Most of his friends weren’t happy about the relationship and thought the sexy Venezuelan took advantage of Tubman. Carl didn’t say much about Maria. He just didn’t want an asshole like Manny Katner taking advantage of him.
Tubman sighed and took a sip of water before shoving a piece of romaine lettuce with a spritz of vinegar on it into his mouth. “Maria hasn’t even commented on it yet. The only thing she noticed was that I didn’t eat much at dinner last Saturday night.”
“Did she really tell you she wouldn’t marry you until you lost weight?”
“She beat me to the punch. She said it before I even popped the question. It’s really good motivation.”
Carl shook his head and said, “Why do you put up with that shit? You’re a great guy. People love you. I’ve got a couple of nurses in my practice that would go out with you in a heartbeat. You don’t need to be bullied into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“You sound like my mom. Maria isn’t bullying me. She’s encouraging me.”
Now Carl lost all humor and looked at his friend. “Are you kidding me, Tubby? The only thing she encourages you to do is buy her gifts. I’m glad you’re taking an interest in your health, but I think Maria is more likely to kill you than your weight problem.”
“Then I’ll die happy.”
Paul Tubman purposely didn’t wear a sport coat today. Instead, he wore a shirt and tie with his Glock on his right hip and his gold badge clipped on the belt next to it. It was the style most detectives in the coastal cities liked to wear. They weren’t hiding the fact they were cops. They weren’t undercover.
Palm Beach County had a clear divide between “the coast” and “western communities.” The coast, at least in the minds of most the residents, was where everything happened and the cool people lived. The rest of the county was apparently created to service them. Tubman didn’t feel that way. He was just happy to be able to shed the hot sport coat. It was also a chance to show off his frame with twenty-two less pounds only three weeks into the new year.
No one said anything at first, and he wondered if anyone really cared. Then his sergeant strolled down the aisle between the four desks used by the economic crime detectives and said, “Tubby, if you keep losing weight we’re going to need a new nickname for you.” The sergeant flashed one of her famous perfect smiles and gave him a wink. “I know you’re going to that clinic run by Manny Katner on Dixie Highway. You think the whole place is legit?”
“Expensive, but legit. Look at the results. I’m halfway to my goal and I’ve got a couple more months to get to it.”
“So what’s the secret to the clinic?”
“It’s a full-service clinic with a nutritionist, an exercise physiologist, and a counselor. The only secret is this box about the size of a small footlocker that has the words LAST RESORT written on the top. It’s some kind of promotional gimmick but supposedly will work if all else fails.”
The sergeant paused and looked at him. “What’s in it?”
“I have no idea. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t try to figure it out every time I walked in and I didn’t think about it ten times a day. But it doesn’t look like I have to worry about it now, thank God. But curiosity is eating at me.”
“You know what makes a good detective? Curiosity and patience. Luckily, you’ve always had both. Otherwise we got a couple of missing kids that would never have been found, whole bunch of Ponzi scammers who would still be ripping people off, and a string of unsolved robberies. Your curiosity is something I never want you to lose.”
All the detectives noticed when the youngest sergeant in the history of the detective bureau entered her office. It not only meant the danger had passed, but she kept in shape like no one else. There were a slew of jokes about the pretty sergeant, but when it was time to get things done, everyone looked to her.
Tubman considered the rare praise from one of the tougher cops he’d known in his fourteen years with the Boca Raton Police Department. The agency had a difficult role in the community, which was dominated by demanding rich people but still populated by middle-class families. There were only a couple of bad spots in the whole city, and most of the cops were smart enough to know they had nothing to complain about—especially compared to some of the rough towns just a few miles up US 1. But the city had the unfortunate reputation among law enforcement for being the capital of economic crime. That was what kept Tubman’s mind on little things like the box at the clinic.
Paul Tubman stretched his legs out onto the coffee table while they watched America’s Got Talent. For the most part he tuned out the show, which, along with American Idol, often gave him a migraine. But he didn’t care just so long as he had a chance to smell Maria’s hair or admire her delicate wrists, which at the moment were obscured by the wide gold bracelets he had bought her for the anniversary of her arrival in the United States from Venezuela.
One of Boca’s biggest jewelers gave him a fantastic deal on all the jewelry he bought. The jeweler loved Tubman after he had found the jeweler’s missing daughter eight years ago. Tubman had gotten so involved in the canvass of the neighborhood, looking for the missing six-year-old, and his curiosity had driven him so hard, he’d forgotten to go off shift and had found the girl, lost and hiding in an abandoned store, after more than twenty hours on duty. The jeweler’s wife had made him feel like Superman. Tubman had hung on to that feeling for as long as he could, and sometimes it was similar to how Maria made him feel special. It wasn’t what she said or did. It was more how the other cops looked at him with her on his arm. The thirty-year-old former swimsuit model positively shone. She attracted attention wherever they went.
Now she turned her head on his shoulder and slid her arm onto his belly. As soon as she paused for a moment, then patted his stomach, the excitement grew in him. He’d been waiting for her to comment on his steady weight loss.
Maria sat up and looked him in the eyes. “You’re really losing weight, aren’t you, Paulie?”
“You like?”
“Yes, I like.” He loved the way she made a “Y” sound like a “J.” Her accent wasn’t unusual here in South Florida. It was just unusual for a girl like this to be with a guy like him.
Tubman said, “You wanna see the new me in the bedroom?” He playfully wiggled his bushy brown eyebrows.
She gave him a crooked smile and said, “Not tonight. I want to see who moves on to the next round.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
She said, “How much more are you gonna lose?”
He considered his answer. The chart at the weight loss clinic said he only had ten more pounds to go. All Tubman said was “Some.”
Two weeks later, in early February, as Tubman banged through the front door of the weight loss clinic, Manny sat up straight behind the counter and said, “You’re looking slim, Detective.”
Tubman found it hard to be civil to a guy he’d arrested for everything from check fraud to stealing an old lady’s social security.
Manny said, “The clinic director says you’re almost to your goal and we can cut you loose soon. Very nice. Now do you believe we’re not a scam?”
Tubman eased up to the counter and leaned on it so he could look Manny directly in the eyes. He did notice that his gut wasn’t hanging down like a cow’s udder anymore. “I’ll testify you’re not a scam if you tell me what’s in the box.”
Manny motioned him closer, and when their faces were only a few inches apart he said, “It’s motivational.”
Tubman stood up straight and said, “So it’s empty.”
“Not really, but no one uses it. It’s too much effort.”
“What do you mean?”
Manny shrugged his thin shoulders and said, “Come on, Detective, admit it, the program works. Give your inquisitive mind a break. You’re never gonna need to know what’s in that box.”
He heard the voice and knew it was the sergeant before he even turned from the stand-up copy machine. She said, “Definitely can’t call you Tubby anymore, can we?” To emphasize her comment, she slapped him square on the butt.
Tubman jumped and turned to see his pretty sergeant smiling at him. She’d always acted like one of the guys, and he didn’t take offense at her action. Life was too short to be politically correct every minute of the day. He said, “I wouldn’t mind it if no one ever called me Tubby again.”
“Ever figure out what’s in the box?”
“I talked to one of the assistant state attorneys about the possibility of probable cause for a search warrant to look in it. The clinic claims it’s the ultimate cure. But the attorney said I had nothing. Also, there haven’t been any complaints on the clinic since it opened. I guess the box is a gimmick, but it’s awfully hard to just let it go.”
“Let it go, Tub… Let it go, Paul. Enjoy your life. You shouldn’t let outside influences affect you so strongly.” She threw him a wink as she strolled away.
He knew the sergeant was right. She was smart, a good cop, and had good common sense. But he couldn’t let go of the idea that there was something like that box in his town, and it drove him absolutely crazy. He’d always been by the book and didn’t go for any shortcuts in law enforcement. He wasn’t sure there was a shortcut for this one. He’d been worrying about it for months now. But it had gotten considerably worse the last few days. He realized it had something to do with his continued weight loss. Every pound that disappeared piqued his interest in the box that much more and put him closer to proposing to Maria. Technically, he was already at his goal. There was no reason for him to ever discover the contents of the box at the weight loss clinic.
Then he noticed something on the table next to the copy machine. A Snickers bar. Extra large. Detectives were always leaving candy around the office. It was a staple of police work. He couldn’t help glancing around the D-bureau like he was about to commit a crime. He had the candy bar unwrapped and shoved down his gullet as fast as a kung fu master could throw a punch, but like an alcoholic, he felt himself sucked back into the wonderful world of food.
Two weeks. That was all it took to wreck four months of work. He hadn’t put back the entire forty pounds, but by twenty-one, Maria was pissed. She’d ordered him to get back on the diet or go on a “No-Maria Diet.”
Tubman decided he didn’t get that much from her anyway, so he let his girlfriend put herself off-limits. Until she screamed, “No más. I need someone fit and firm.”
Tubman sipped a beer as he watched her collect a few things from around his apartment, then march out the door for the last time.
Now he was on a mission.
It was late March when he rolled back into the clinic, twenty-six pounds away from his goal. He couldn’t admit to anyone at the clinic that he was tired of his attempt to put the weight back on and would be happy to quit stuffing his face with anything he found. But he was looking forward to slimming down again once he knew the contents of the box.
Manny’s eyes bulged when he said, “What the hell happened to you? You miss a couple of appointments and blow up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day float.”
Tubman shrugged and said, “You know how it is, Manny, anything can happen on a diet. But now I only have a few weeks to get this excess weight off. There’s got to be something we can do to get me to meet my goal.”
“You bet there is. We’re going to put you on a diet of nothing but protein shakes and work the living shit out of you at the gym.”
Tubman held up one hand and shook his head. “No, Manny. I’m going to need the box.”
“No, you’re not. You proved you can lose weight.”
Tubman picked up on the anxiety in Manny’s voice.
Manny said, “You’re just doing this ’cause you’re crazy. You can’t let it go.”
“Then tell me what’s in the box.”
“I can’t. I signed more nondisclosure agreements than you did.” Manny’s frustration was obvious and growing. “Look, Detective, I know you think I’m a douche bag.”
“More of a scumbag.”
“Whatever. I understand our dynamic, but I need to strongly recommend against the last resort.”
“Why?”
“It’s unnecessary. You’ve already proved your willpower.”
“Then just tell me what’s in the box.” Tubman kept his tone calm and conversational, using his years of interviewing and interrogation to try to coax what he needed out of Manny.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Just like you, I’ve got ethics. I signed on as manager of this clinic, and a lot of people depend on me now. More than I ever realized. If I break one promise or go back on one commitment, I’ll start down the slippery slope. I’m like an addict. It’s all or nothing. I like this life and I’m gonna follow the rules and not tell you what’s in the box.”
“The rules also say it’s time for me to use the last resort.” Tubman was resolute and wanted to get that across in his tone.
Manny said, “This isn’t so much about what’s in the box as it is what’s in you. I think it’s your own issues that have made you fixate on this stupid box. You’re a head case.”
“I’m a customer and a cop. I want to use it. I’ve earned it.” Tubman wondered if Manny wasn’t right. All that flashed through his brain was his urge to see what was in the box. It was blinding him to any sort of rational thought. Could a con man change?
Manny looked around the empty clinic, then said, “I’ll set up an appointment.” The resignation in his voice said it all.
Tubman said, “Bullshit. Let’s do it right now.”
“I gotta make some calls. The medical director is supposed to be present.”
“Really? I thought you were in charge here. Come on, Manny, this sounds like a scam.”
Manny shrugged and slid a sheet of paper across the counter. “Okay. Here’s one last disclaimer.”
Tubman barely read it. It said that the clinic was not liable, that he’d been advised of all the dangers and all the other bullshit that goes along with lawyers getting involved in something simple. He scribbled his name. Then looked up at Manny.
Finally the lean, older man said, “Go ahead. There’s no one else around. I ain’t gonna stop you.”
Tubman took a deep breath as he slowly walked around the counter, savoring his victory. He stopped in front of the box and turned toward Manny. “What do I do?”
Manny tapped the top of the box, where instructions were clearly stenciled on. “Start by sticking your hands through the handles at the bottom of the box, then turn the knobs upward.”
Tubman noticed the seam longways down the box’s lid. He wondered why the box opened in such an odd manner as he twisted the knobs on each side. Turning the knobs with his hands through the straps at the bottom of the box was an awkward maneuver and forced him to lean down close to the box. He felt a series of clicks as some internal mechanism kicked in. As the excitement in him grew, he wondered if this was some ancient secret from the Far East. He loved solving puzzles, and this was one of his biggest challenges. He’d remember this drill for months.
Click, clack, the box was doing something. He could feel it as the knobs came to a stop. He glanced down at the instructions and saw that the last line said, TURN YOUR HEAD TO THE LEFT. Tubman complied.
Then he heard a noise like a heavy spring and out of the corner of his eyes caught the lid bursting open. Then the room swirled and spun as he went down on one knee and then flat onto his ass.
Manny rushed over as Tubman tried to recover his senses. Tubman leaned to one side and realized he was bleeding from his nose and lips, and the pain shot through his head and neck like electricity.
He stumbled back and slowly rose to his feet, staring at the wide-open box. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. It was just a simple, round leather pad on the end of a heavy spring dangling off to the side like a special-needs jack-in-the-box.
Tubman tried to speak, but he could only mumble. He recognized that his jaw was broken.
Manny said, “I’m sorry, but I promised the clinic owner I’d never reveal the secret. It was too valuable as a motivational tool. But the contract says it is available to clients. You see, Detective, I really do follow the rules now. But I wish you’d listened to me.”
Manny helped Tubman to a chair as he continued. “It’s no great technological advance, Detective. It just broke your jaw, and it’s going to be wired shut for three weeks. I figure you’ll lose about thirty pounds. It’s a tough way to go, that’s why it’s always been the last resort.”
Tubman glared up at Manny, but before he did anything rash, the detective remembered that he was the one who’d asked, “What’s in the box?”