Contraband

12

After a half hour of working their way around each other’s bodies, Stone and Max lay, panting and trying to talk.

“I’m going to stop worrying about Al Dix,” Max managed to say.

Stone didn’t have enough breath to get through a sentence that long. “Good,” he replied.

“I mean, he’s this scrawny little Key West rat who got himself into whatever he’s in, and dammit, he can find his own way out of it.”

“Very good,” Stone said, having recovered a little more of his breath.

“I mean, it’s not like he’s tied to a chair somewhere being waterboarded, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why would anybody torture him, anyway? They already know what he knows.”

“Then why didn’t they leave him in his hospital bed?” Stone asked, now breathing something close to normally.

“I don’t think anybody kidnapped him. I think Dixie went looking for the money they owed him for flying that airplane.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t pay him because he left the plane at the bottom of the lagoon, along with their cargo.”

“Well, they got their cargo back, didn’t they? And anyway, smugglers look at airplanes as disposable. I got sent to Colombia once on a case, a long time ago, and the beaches there were littered with airplanes that didn’t make it to an airport. It’s just their cost of doing business.”

“I think you’re forgetting that they’ve already tried to kill Dix once.”

“You’re just a theory-smasher, aren’t you?” she said, fondling him.

“I believe you’re going to find that equipment temporarily out of service.”

“No,” she said, redoubling her efforts. “It seems to be rising to the occasion.” She mounted him.

“What a nice view,” Stone said, looking up at her.

“I can tell you think so,” she replied. “Tomorrow, I’m going to shop for a coat.”

“You don’t need a coat for this,” Stone said, getting into the rhythm of things.

“For outside, dummy. It’s New York, not Key West. The thermometer here works in both directions.”

“So do you,” Stone said. They forgot about shopping and Al Dix and concentrated on the business at hand.

Three days into Max’s visit, Joan had already shipped three stuffed suitcases back to her house in Key West — and Max was packing a fourth. At dinnertime, wearing a new dress and a cashmere topcoat, she walked ahead of Stone into Caravaggio, a favorite of his and the Bacchettis’, who awaited them.

“Smashing coat, lovely dress,” Viv commented.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Max replied, slipping into her seat.

“That coat won’t come in handy in Key West,” Dino said.

“It may surprise you to learn, Dino,” Max replied, “that I do not live my entire life in Key West. Occasionally, I travel north, and I want to be ready.”

“Well, we do seem to be in the throes of an early autumn,” Stone contributed.

“Be ready for anything, that’s my motto,” Max said.

“How’s your Al Dix case coming along in your absence?” Dino asked.

Stone groaned. “You had to bring that up? I’ve finally managed to make her forget it for a few minutes.”

“I have forgotten it,” Max replied, “and we’ll say no more about it.”

“Thank you,” Stone said.

“I did talk the Coast Guard into getting me an engine number off the airplane, the next time they’re out there,” Max said.

Stone groaned again.

“Just something to think about when they get around to it.”

The maître d’ arrived and issued them menus.

“What’s osso buco?” Max asked the table.

Dino held up a forearm and pointed at it. “This,” he said, then made chopping motions, “except it’s from a small cow.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, “and I’ll start with the Caesar salad.”

The others ordered, too.

Max’s phone rang, and she rolled her eyes.

“Go ahead, answer it,” Stone said.

“I won’t be a moment,” she replied, taking her phone to the ladies’ room.

“Not another word about her case, Dino,” Stone said after she was gone.

“I was just curious. The case intrigues me.”

“It intrigues me, too,” Stone said, “and that’s the problem. We’re not going to solve it in New York, and I’d just as soon not flog it to death.”

“Dino,” Viv said, “shut up about the case.”

Dino raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, we don’t have anything new, anyway.”

Max came back from the ladies’ room and sat down. She said nothing about the call.

“No emergencies in Key West, I hope,” Stone said.

“No, just a chat with my partner, Tommy Scully.”

“Oh.”

Their salads came, and they began to eat. Nobody said a word, and soon the salads had disappeared.

“Anything new?” Dino asked.

“Dino!” Viv said. “Shut up.”

“Well, there was kind of a development,” Max said.

“All right,” Stone said resignedly. “What did Tommy have to say?”

Max said nothing.

“Please,” Dino said, and Viv jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Come on,” Stone said, “cough it up.”

“The Coast Guard sent a cutter to Fort Jefferson,” she said, “on sort of a training mission.”

“Sort of a training mission?” Dino asked.

“Dino,” Viv said, picking up a knife. “Next is a blade in the knee.”

Dino clapped a hand over his mouth and raised the other in surrender.

“Go on,” Stone said finally.

“They put a diver overboard with a cable from their boat crane,” Max said. “The idea was to bring the wreck aboard and take it back to Key West.”

“And?” Stone asked.

“It wasn’t there.”

“What wasn’t there?”

“The airplane.”

“The wreck was gone?”

“Their diver couldn’t find even a piece of it. It was like the seafloor had been vacuumed,” Max said. “Nothing there at all. They searched the whole lagoon. Gone.”

The others stared at her. Dino finally spoke. “Now that’s interesting.”

Viv reached for her knife again, and he shut up.