He stopped to shake the mayor’s hand. “Cam. Long time no see.”
“We seem to travel in different circles now,” he said.
“It’s all circles, isn’t it? ‘What goes around comes around,’ my dad used to say.”
“Your father was a good lawyer.”
“So are you, Cam. Señorita?” She nodded at him with a curious smile, and he followed Solo out the door.
“You’re pals with the mayor?” Solo said, opening the car door.
“Not exactly ‘pals.’ Remind me to wash this hand.”
“He’s a asshole,” Willy Joe said, getting in, “but he’s our asshole.”
The doors slid shut and the air conditioner’s roar abated. Solo, behind the wheel, pushed a button. “Address for Norman Bell.”
“This is lunacy,” Moore said. “Isn’t one murder a day enough?”
“He can’t fuck with me that way!”
The car told Solo the address. “Go there.” It pulled away from the curb, hesitated, and slipped into the traffic.
“Plenty of people saw us together. Saw him leave.”
“Shut up, okay? Just gonna check the fuckin’ thing out.”
“Just promise me you won’t—”
“I don’t promise you or nobody a fuckin’ thing,” he said quietly. “But Solo ain’t gonna kill him. Just rough him up a little. Put the fear o’ God into him.”
“Jesus. Listen to yourself.”
Solo turned around to face them. “Boss, I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you just push around.…”
“That’s right, you don’t think! You don’t think! You just do what I tell you.”
“What do you mean, Solo?”
“I mean beggin’ your pardon, Boss, but God knows I met all kinds a tough guys and phony tough guys, inside and outside. He’s not phony, and he’s pissed. I think he’d just as soon kill any one of us as look at us.”
“You’ve got a fuckin’ gun. How’s he gonna kill you?”
“You buy that shit about the trumpet oil?” Solo put a finger beside his nose. “Hoppes No. 9, I’ve smelled it all my life. He’s got a gun, all right.”
“So he’s got a gun. He’s a faggot professor twice as old as you.”
“Push the info button for me, Solo,” Moore said. He did. “Public records, military. Norman Bell.”
“I’ll need a service number,” the car said, “or current residence.”
“Gainesville, Florida.”
“Norman Bell volunteered for the draft during Desert Wind, in September 2031. For his service in the 101st Airborne Division, he was awarded the Silver Star with two clusters and the Purple Heart.”
“Silver Star,” Solo said. “Two clusters. Some faggot.”
“So? So you afraid of him?”
Solo didn’t move. “I’ll do what you want.”
“I want.”
Moore kept an eye on the road. There was a bike lane. But Bell probably would take a less direct route, avoiding traffic.
“He probably has a burglar alarm. House full of musical instruments.”
“Solo can take care of a burglar alarm.”
“Yeah, or run like hell.”
Moore shook his head. “You ought to wait until he’s home, if you have to do this. Knock on his door and push your way in.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Lawyer. We already gone over this in the restaurant.”
“It’s an unnecessary—”
“I don’t got a replay button. You clear on that?”
This could get them all into trouble. Too many people in that restaurant saw the four of them together. “It’s going to be an interesting trial. Calling the mayor as a witness.”
“Shut the fuck up. The mayor’s fuckin’ ours. Besides, he came in after the professor left.”
“This is going too fast.”
“Sometimes you gotta live fast. We got a chance for perfect timing here. Get them both, get the money, get the fuck out.”
After they dropped Solo off, he was going to go confront Aurora Bell. In theory, by the time she called home, her husband would be sufficiently intimidated. They would empty their bank accounts into Willy Joe’s coffers.
Again in theory, the Bells couldn’t call the police. This Qabil Rabin was still on the force, Willy Joe had said. But what if the jealous wife was not exactly fond of her husband’s boyfriend. Or her husband, for that matter. This whole thing could blow up in their faces.
The car turned right and went uphill for a couple of blocks, through a quiet residential neighborhood. Then left and right and they pulled up in front of the Bells’ house, a large rambler with conservative but well-maintained landscaping. There was nobody in sight.
“No burglar-alarm signs,” Willy Joe said. “People who got ’em advertise it.”
“Yeah; like me,” Moore said. “Someone stole my sign.”
“Move it,” Willy Joe said. Solo opened the door and got out.