Chapter 9

In case you couldn’t tell by my clever use of subtlety, I do not like Marlin Gaetano. I say this, despite the fact that what he does for a living, and what I do for a living, are uncomfortably similar. The main difference is that I use my knowledge of the city of Tampa, and the people who live in it, to help your average Joe get what he needs and save a buck. Marlin uses his knowledge and information sources to make rich people richer—generally at the expense of the same average Joe I’m trying to help.

Another big difference is that I actually try to stay within the law when I’m working. Marlin couldn’t care less about little things like that. His clients demanded results, and he delivered.

“So, what’s with the cop, Lester?” Marlin began. “Are you here to arrest me, or do you want me to ’fess up all my bad, bad sins and save you the trouble of getting a warrant for whatever it is I’ve done? I know! It’s time for the policemen’s ball charity drive. Let me get my checkbook—sign me up for twenty boxes of cookies.”

If Boyer was annoyed by Marlin’s little joke, he didn’t show it. It was annoying the hell out of me, though.

“It’s fine, Marlin. Boyer’s not local, and he’s not here officially. He’s helping me out on a sticky situation,” I explained. It irritated me to do it, because Marlin knew damn well that if I were really helping the cops on something that involved him, I wouldn’t be so stupid as to show up at his door. The fact is, I had enough dirt on him to send him away for a very long time if I ever really wanted to go to the trouble. But, as much as I hated to admit it, he and I had a bit of a mutual agreement regarding that. It was a chip that I held in case I needed a favor. Today, I needed a favor.

I suppose I was spending too much time trying not to be angry, because Marlin broke the silence as he addressed Boyer directly.

“You’ll have to pardon Lester. He never got over the fact that I make a lot more money than he does, because I’ve got better clients.”

“Actually,” I responded, “you make more money because you’re not as choosy about who your clients are.”

“I prefer to see it as a case of differing priorities. You like to feel good about the people you work for. I prefer to know I’m going to get paid.”

I had a particularly good comeback for that one, but I didn’t get to use it. I got cut off by Boyer.

“Enough!” he snapped. Apparently, while Marlin’s goading wasn’t enough to bother the man, the two of us squabbling was.

“Calvin, I’ve just spent two hours with a guy who smelled like he had been bathing in patchouli and Drakkar Noir, and three bimbos who spent the whole flight talking about nail polish, so I think I have suffered enough without hearing the two of you explain why you don’t like each other. So let’s cut to the chase, find out what we have to, and get the hell out of here. I’ve got better places to be.”

That caught me off guard a bit, mostly because it might just well be the longest sentence I’d ever heard the man utter.

“Alright,” Marlin said, visibly impressed. “This guy, I like. What do you need, Calvin?”

I was still getting myself together a little bit. After all, up until two minutes ago, I had been thoroughly in charge of the situation.

“You have a list,” I finally managed, “and I want it.”

“A list? Are we doing the ‘spy versus spy’ thing? Is it on microfilm, or is it encoded in a crossword puzzle?” Marlin said playfully.

“Cut it out!” yelled Boyer. “I may be off-duty, but I can still pound the crap out of you, so cut the cutesy stuff, already!”

If Marlin was bothered in the least by Boyer’s threat, he didn’t show it, but he did acknowledge the request.

“Fair enough. What list, Lester?”

I don’t know why, but there was just something about the way he used my first name that always set my teeth on edge.

“You were approached by someone a few months ago—maybe less—about getting a list of people who would be able to park large sums of money off the books.”

Marlin thought a moment.

“How large?” he asked.

I should have figured that such a request wouldn’t be that unusual for him, and that I would have to be more specific.

“About $500,000 a pop,” I answered. There was a pause as the gears started to turn in Marlin’s cold-blooded little brain.

“That’s a big pop.”

“Yeah, and this person was looking for about 40 of them.”

Marlin, from the observation of almost any person on the planet, looked completely calm and resolute as I delivered this last bit. I’m not any person. I could see the telltale flinch at the corner of his left eye that told me that I had hit on something.

“I’m not saying you would take the job—ethics and all. But I’m willing to bet you were approached,” I suggested, utilizing my most political voice. I inclined my head toward my new cop partner, indicating that I wasn’t expecting Marlin to incriminate himself.

“Right,” he agreed. “I would, of course, have to turn such a job down.”

“Maybe you laughed it off as a bad joke, something so ridiculous. Then, as you focus your attention on real business, you plum forgot all about it. I’d understand that. But, if you think about it for a moment, you might remember giving the guy a few names—just as a joke. Maybe the guy took you seriously and actually went to those people…”

Just so you know, I really hate going around in circles like this. I’m used to straight talk and honest dealings. This kind of runaround was one of the many reasons why Marlin and I would never be “best buds forever.”

“I’d have to give it some thought, of course,” he admitted.

“Of course. Why don’t you do that. If you come across some names, e-mail them to me.”

I turned and started down the dock without saying another word. Knowing Boyer as I did, I didn’t have to wonder if he was behind me. He would have sensed the direction this little exchange was taking and followed my lead.

“Oh, Lester?” I heard Marlin calling behind me. I didn’t turn.

“Lester, should I bill this as a professional exchange, or would you rather just keep it friendly? You know, we could just say that you owe me a favor.”

I had about a dozen rude, vulgar, and thoroughly unprofessional things to say about that, but I was spared the necessity.

“I’ll consider it full cooperation, and proof that you were not a part of multiple federal crimes, in addition to the murder of my friend,” Boyer said. The edge in his voice would have made the strongest will bend, I believe. It was not wasted on Marlin, either. As I looked back over my shoulder, I saw two things that I will never forget: the look of determined anger on Boyer’s face, and a look of sober fear on Marlin’s.

“Yeah. That’ll work,” Marlin replied weakly.

God bless Oso Boyer. The man was probably one of the most mild-mannered people I’ve ever met in my life, for the most part. He was so easy-going that you almost forgot that he made his living tracking down, arresting, and intimidating cold-hearted killers.

We made our way back to the car in relative silence. I wasn’t sure what to say, after that. As for Boyer, I imagine he was busy trying to keep the demons of his own soul at bay. For whatever reason, it wasn’t until we were in my car and pulling out of the O’Knight airport that Boyer finally said anything.

So, what’s your deal with this guy?” he asked.

“He’s someone that can get us some much needed info,” I replied, evasively. I knew what he meant by the question, but I didn’t want to go too far into it at the moment.

“Yeah, I got that. I mean what’s your deal?”

So much for not getting into it.

“Marlin Gaetano is a low-life bottom feeder who discovered that there is a lot of money to be made as a go-between for rich people. He doesn’t care about right and wrong, he doesn’t care about who gets hurt, and he doesn’t care about professional ethics. I don’t like him.”

I was hoping Boyer would be satisfied by that.

“So, I repeat the question. What’s your deal with this guy?”

He was not going to be satisfied. I took a long, heavy breath, then pulled over to the side of the road. I don’t do well with driving and sharing my feelings at the same time. It’s just a thing of mine.

“When I first got into this business, I was mainly just bringing in a few extra bucks, here and there. Then I ran into Marlin. He showed me the ropes, got me hooked up with a few influential contacts, and even lined me up a couple of really good gigs.”

“Gee, no wonder you hate him,” Boyer deadpanned.

“One of those gigs was supposed to be helping a man track down his son. You know, one of those sad sack scenarios where the kid runs away from home, gets hooked on whatever, and just needs the loving hand of his father to help him straighten his life out. Except, in this case, the kid wasn’t strung out on anything, wasn’t a runaway, and wasn’t even really his son. He was a witness to a murder, and the loving father was actually the guy he saw committing said murder.”

“Oh… Did he find him?” Boyer asked. I shook my head in response.

“I found him, and it took me all of ten seconds to figure out that something was off. I brought the kid into the police, filed a report on what had happened, and was checking my car for explosives for the next three months.”

“And Marlin knew the whole time?” Boyer asked.

“He swears up and down that he thought the case was legit, but I could never trust the guy. After all, isn’t it strange that of all the jobs he would pass on and hand to a rookie, that would be the one?”

Boyer considered this.

“I get your point. But, how are you so sure he has the list?”

“It just dawned on me this morning while I was going over my notes. Whoever our guy is, he had to get rid of the money fast, but keep it somewhere where he could get to it when he needed it. Spreading it around to bookies and money launderers was a good way, but you need to know who to contact—who you could trust. Marlin is the logical choice to put such a list together, since he knows every crook worth any kind of money in town,” I answered him.

“You trust this guy to get you the names he promised?”

I nodded again.

“Absolutely. The man is, at his very core, a self-serving bastard. He knew the moment he took that job that it could turn around and bite him on the butt. That’s why he’ll come through. That list is his get-out-of-jail-free card. He’s already been paid, and that’s what he cares about. Loyalty means nothing to him.”

Boyer paused for a moment after that.

“You know, we could have just asked him who his client was,” he reminded me. “That could have saved us a lot of legwork, right there.”

“He would never give up a client. With the kind of people he works for, that’s the kind of thing that will get you killed—and not in the ‘quick and easy’ way, either,” I told him.

“But he’ll happily give you a list of heavy-hitters, just because you asked?”

“It would have been different if he had actually made the introductions. But, all he did was make the list. After that, his involvement was done. So, it can’t really come back on him,” I replied.

“And how do you know this?” Boyer asked, looking at me with his head cocked like some kind of Spaniel.

“Timing, my friend. Formal introductions take time and preparation. Our guy had to act fast. So, he probably went with something a bit more direct than that.”

“And what would that be?”

I smiled, mainly at the idea that this hadn’t occurred to Boyer.

“Intimidation. There is only one thing more scary than a fed at your doorstep, and that’s a dirty fed at your doorstep. Once he had the list of names, all he had to do was show up and demand their cooperation.”

I pulled back onto the road, indicating that that was the end of the discussion.

The ride was easy enough. We were in that comfortable, yet all-too-brief period between lunch hour traffic and the afternoon rush home. Boyer told me what hotel he was at, which caused me to shake my head. It was the same hole that he had been at when he first came down two years ago. I guess he figured the dive you know was better than the dive you didn’t.

“You know, just because you’re keeping a low profile doesn’t mean you have to live in squalor, Boyer,” I informed him. He didn’t understand, so I showed him. I completely bypassed his chosen hovel and drove him over to a nice little executive retreat just a few blocks away from the Humidor, and by default, my house.

It was perfect for several reasons. Firstly, it was always filled because it took overflow from all the local conventions, sales meetings, and other business related party atmospheres. Second, it was close by, so I wouldn’t have to drive far to pick him up or drop him off. And, thirdly, it was ideal because I had a friend who ran the front desk, and had already confirmed that there was a spare room waiting for him.

I told Boyer all this, but he still wanted to run over to his flea-trap because he had made a reservation. However, my double arguments of a free room and the fact that I refused to drive over to the place he had chosen eventually won out. Within half an hour, Boyer was dropping off his modest little garment bag in a luxurious suite overlooking the heated pool.

I could tell by the look in his eye that the thought of a dip into that pool was going to be playing against the screen of his mind all day. I promised the man we wouldn’t get back so late that he would be too tired to do anything but set his travel alarm before dropping off to sleep.

As he got back into the car, I asked if he had eaten anything on the flight.

“I was offered something. I think it was food, but I wasn’t too sure, so I passed,” he told me. I had suspected as much. I, myself, could definitely deal with something to eat, so I dropped in at a local drive-in pizza joint and grabbed us a large pepperoni and black olive, before heading off to the Humidor so we could get caught up on what each of us had come up with on the case.

There were just two rules about bringing food into Tampa Humidor. First, clean up after yourself. Second, don’t be stingy when someone came wandering over.

You’ll note I said “when,” and not “if.” There was always someone hungry, and a good natured offer to share was expected. As a result, Boyer and I found ourselves quickly surrounded by friends once we stepped into the room.

Because neither of us are complete idiots, we waited until everyone was done and gone before we started talking business.

“Okay,” Boyer started, a string of cheese hanging from his fingers. “You first. What other clandestine activities have you gotten yourself into since we last talked?”

I looked up at the ceiling, as if I had to think about that one. Part of me just wanted to see if it was possible to actually rattle the man. From the mildly irritated snort that signified his response, I got my answer.

“Listen, I’ve kinda invested a lot into making a happy ending to this crazy little story of ours, so I need to know everything. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

So, I told him all about my extended weekend. Starting from the moment Anita McGuire walked in out of the rain, I laid it all out up to my stop downtown just a few hours before. I glossed over, once again, the details of how I found out about Agent David being the one who ordered the first search into McGuire’s financial records. I also skimped a little on the details on who got me a copy of the memo Agent David sent to local law enforcement.

I could tell that it irritated Boyer that I was purposefully hiding things, but that didn’t bother me. His record of straight shooting on this misadventure so far wasn’t exactly pristine. So, when I was done, I simply sat back, lit a new cigar, and waited for Boyer to begin his story.

Taking my cue, he started from the beginning, with a frantic and hurried phone call from Anita McGuire. He explained, again, how he had called in a number of favors to get as much information as possible about the investigation, and who was heading it up. When he came to the part about deciding to send her down to Tampa, he at least did me the courtesy of telling me the true story, this time. Originally, Boyer’s plan was to hide her in the last place anyone would think to look until he could figure out what the next move was. When it was clear he was hitting nothing but dead-ends, Bishop suggested bringing me into the loop. Boyer admitted that he didn’t want to include anyone else, but he realized that all he was doing was putting the Bishop and his wife at risk by doing everything himself.

It was kind of cute, the guilty look on his face when he tried to explain that he wanted to just come out and ask for my help, but the Bishop insisted I have the opportunity to say “no” without feeling like I was abandoning a friend.

I already knew this, of course, but Boyer obviously felt bad about it. So, I let him know that it was okay, even though I was nursing a grudge big enough to choke on.

Boyer continued his tale, giving me a recap of his efforts at finding a link between agent David and John McGuire. And here is where he paused for a moment.

“Calvin, I’m not really sure if this is right… The cop in me is screaming out that everything I have is circumstantial, but when you add it all up, it sure as hell makes a nice little arrow pointing straight at David,” he finally said.

“Tell me,” was my only reply.

“John McGuire and his partner had been deep undercover up in South Carolina for a long time, infiltrating some small time White Supremacist idiots that had somehow gotten in with some heavy hitters. It was just a stroke of amazing luck that they happened to impress one of the gun-runners enough to land a gig acting as go-betweens in Florida. They could see what a huge opportunity this was, immediately, and got in contact with the local office down here to get something in the works.”

“Something is a bit of an understatement,” I quipped. Boyer nodded.

“Go big or go home, I guess. They wanted a big score, and were willing to take the risks to do it. Here’s the thing, though. All McGuire and his partner were supposed to do was make the intros and get out. But when they tried to hand off the deal, someone insisted they handle the money themselves. Take a big fat old guess who.”

I would have given anything at that moment not to know the answer.

“Agent David,” I said.

“None other. He claimed that the operation would be jeopardized if new agents were introduced this late in the game, and then convinced McGuire and his partner to do the drop themselves.”

“You’re kidding! David has that kind of pull?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“He’s the big man in charge, down here. The whole Edgewater thing was his operation, and from what I’ve heard, he had no problem reminding people of that fact.”

I let this new information soak in for a moment. I was starting to get a very clear image of the man, now. The arrogance certainly fit in with what I had personally experienced from the man, and he was certainly in the perfect position to grab the money…

“You look like your brain’s doing somersaults right now,” Boyer commented dryly. He was right of course. I was trying to figure out what was missing.

“There is just so much of this that fits together perfectly…” I began.

“Yeah,” Boyer agreed, in a way that screamed out that he didn’t agree at all.

“It’s the big fat ugly hole in the middle of the puzzle that bothers me. We don’t seem to have enough pieces to fill it.”

Boyer nodded. I knew that this case bothered him. Cops don’t like hunting other cops, for a lot of reasons. The fact that there was no way around another agent being behind those two deaths was weighing on him badly. I knew this, just like I knew that he would run through every brick wall between here and Miami if he had to in order to catch the SOB who had killed John McGuire.

We still had ground to cover, as far as the recap went, but I could tell that my friend needed a break.

“So, how did you and Agent McGuire meet?” I asked. Boyer looked up and was about to protest that we weren’t done, but then realized what I was doing. Smiling, he took another drag on his Conquista.

“John was running a special weapons and tactics class for law enforcement” he answered.

“SWAT? I always took you for more of the Columbo type, Boyer. You know, sauntering in and chatting the perp up, then announcing how you figured it all out and have them in cuffs before they actually realize they’re being arrested. That kind of thing.”

If Boyer was impressed, annoyed, or amused by my little barb, he didn’t show it.

“Gables Crossing PD doesn’t have the big budget for a SWAT unit. Don’t really need one, thank God. But we like to be ready in case something happens, so several of us volunteered to take the course every year, and act as a ‘special unit’ in case we’re needed. So far, it’s just been a free weekend in South Carolina every year…” Boyer stopped there. I knew why. It just suddenly hit him that he wouldn’t be going back to that class.

“So, you met McGuire at this class?” I reiterated, giving Boyer a chance to collect his thoughts.

“Yeah. It turns out we had a lot in common, professionally, as well as personally. I’ve kept in touch ever since,” he finished.

It was a nice little story, and I almost bought it. In fact, I was just about to let him go back to filling me in on what he had been looking up the past few days when it hit me. The story was too nice. John McGuire had told his wife that she could trust Detective Boyer. He had, in essence, placed her safety and well-being solely into his hands from beyond the freaking grave. And I was supposed to believe that this depth of trust was inspired by a couple of conversations struck up in a classroom?

“You are so full of crap, Boyer.”

He was about to protest, but I held up my hand. I was not about to sit through any more smoke and mirrors garbage. Not after the week I’d been having.

“The man told his wife she could trust you—your exact words. You don’t say something like that about someone you talk to every once in a while. That’s the kind of thing you say about someone you know. That’s the kind of thing you say about someone who has proven that they will throw themselves in front of a bullet for you. So, considering all that I have gone through, so far, let’s dispense with the lies and tell me why John McGuire would trust you so much!”

I was expecting guilt. I deserved guilt. This man, who was supposed to be such a straight shooter and a man of his word, had been keeping me in the dark about one thing or another from the start. I had been led down a dark, dangerous path, and I should be able to count on the person who sent me down on there for a little trust and honesty.

So, yeah, I was expecting guilt. I didn’t get it. In fact, the look that crossed his face, as I confronted him with his bold-faced lie was more like a set, determined anger.

“It’s personal, Calvin. And, it has nothing to do with what’s going on.”

Okay, maybe you haven’t picked up on this by now, but unanswered questions just do not sit well with me.

“Like hell it doesn’t. You lied. In fact, you lied when you didn’t really have to. All you would have had to say is that the two of you go back a long way, and you met professionally. But you didn’t. You started to say something personal, then decided against it. So I figure, either you lied because it’s embarrassing for you, or you lied because it’s embarrassing for him. Which is it?”

“Seriously, Calvin, you just need to drop it. John trusted me. That’s all you need to know,” he insisted

“No freakin’ way. I’ve committed Lord-only-knows how many crimes protecting this woman, largely on account of your assessment of her character. So, I’m supposed to be satisfied that the basis of your trust is a couple of phone calls and a yearly class with her husband? How stupid do you think I am, Boyer?”

The angry look left. He could tell I wasn’t going to let it go, so he dropped the defensive act.

“I’ll give you the quick edit, okay?”

Despite the fact that I hate being lied to, I really didn’t want to make a big thing out of this. So, I agreed.

“I told the truth about the classes,” he began, “and about the two of us becoming friends. What I probably should have added was that John got in a jam a few years back. Don’t ask what kind, I won’t tell you. Like I said, it’s personal. I can tell you that he was stuck between doing his job and doing what was right. He asked me for my advice, and I gave it.”

“That’s it?” I asked, knowing that it wasn’t.

“I also made a couple of phone calls, called in a few favors…”

There was a lot that Boyer was telling me by saying nothing. Whatever situation John McGuire had gotten himself into, it didn’t paint a very nice picture. But, whatever it was, Boyer saw past it enough that he helped the guy out. I could doubt a lot of things, but not Boyer’s judgment when it came to people.

“Fair enough. But I want to know one thing before we move on,” I announced.

“And that is?”

“Which did he finally choose?”

Boyer stared at me blankly for a moment.

“You said he had a choice. Do his job or do what was right. Which was it? Which did he choose?” I explained.

“Why is that…”

“It’s important because whichever he chose to blow off, you helped fix,” I said, interrupting, “And, despite the fact that I’ve worked with you before, there is a whole lot about you I still don’t know. For example: Are you more likely to help a friend cover up a sticky situation at work, or are you the kind of guy who would jump in and put out the fires that his job creates? I want to know.”

I wasn’t being fair, I knew, but I didn’t really care all that much. All this “covert ops” BS was starting to grind on me a bit, and I wanted at least one straight answer today.

“I helped him do his job.”

It was far from a straight answer, but Boyer told me everything I needed to know just by the set of his jaw and the tension in his body as he spoke. They say that looks can be deceiving, but it’s been my experience that they can often be the only things that actually tell the truth.

John McGuire had chosen his job all right, and Boyer had volunteered for clean-up. Whatever the situation was, it had definitely been messy. Boyer’s soul bore the scars to prove it.

It didn’t take long before we got back to the business at hand. By silent but mutual agreement, we left any further personal details out of it.

Most of what Boyer told me was familiar territory. The only really new information was that Boyer was using medical leave to come down to Tampa.

“Medical leave?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t stepping into another personal landmine.

Boyer shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him, which was usually a sign that it did.

“I had a case get a little hairy a few months back. My Captain has been concerned about my mental health after it was all wrapped up, and has been bugging me to take some ‘mental health’ time,” he replied. His manner was easy and forthcoming, which was curious. Cops don’t like taking mental health time. It comes with a pretty heavy stigma attached to it.

“You’re telling me that you—the consummate workaholic—have already used up all your vacation and personal time?”

Boyer smiled slyly.

“Vacation has to be formally requested, which takes time. Personal time is limited to a few days at a time, and cops still have to be able to stay in contact. Mental leave, however… Nobody has any problems when a man with a gun and a badge says he needs a time out to deal with his emotional outbursts.”

Now I saw it. For this particular situation, that stigma was exactly what Boyer needed. It afforded him the luxury of taking off with no questions asked. Considering all the laws we were probably going to have to be bending, that was important.

“And how about this friend of yours—the one watching your back while you’re gone? Are you sure you can count on him to keep all this under his hat?” I asked. It was a fair question, personal as it may be. My butt was hanging just as far out as his was if we got busted.

“It’s her, actually. And yes, I know I can trust he,” he replied with confidence. I raised an eyebrow in question at that.

“She doesn’t mind keeping an eye out for new information, hiding the fact that you are going rogue, and aiding in an active plot to harbor a fugitive? Well, she’s quite a friend. And quite a cop, for all that.”

Boyer leaned back and took a deep drag of his cigar.

“She is quite a friend…but she is certainly no cop.”

That had my attention. I waited patiently for him to explain. He was clearly having fun with this, so he allowed himself a few more puffs before continuing.

“Actually, she’s a little like you—better looking, but like you. She prides herself on her ability to get information, and with good reason. She’s quite good at it. She owns a little place called 24-7. It’s a diner, a bar and grill, and a nightclub, depending on what time you stop in. But, no matter when you do go there, it is understood that a conversation with her or one of her staff is as sacred as confession. So, a real-life, honest to God funnel of information is constantly being pumped into her possession.”

“Okay, but… If she is really so committed to keeping secrets, why would she break that for your sake?” I asked.

“She won’t, technically. But she will, for reasons all her own, call me up from time to time and tell me about the weather up in Gables Crossing. She might let me know that our town has been hit by a heat wave, and I would be more comfortable staying away. She might fill me in on a cold front that has several of my friends looking for a warm, safe place. Perhaps, she will tell me about interesting sights to visit while I am in Tampa, such as the office of the FBI or ATF.”

I nodded.

“She ever just flat out and tell you something?” I asked.

“From time to time.”

“Must be nice,” I said. I wasn’t talking about the information source.

“It is,” he replied quietly.