Contraband

20

Max cleared out her mailbox in front of her new home and took an armful of envelopes inside, depositing them on the desk in Aunt Maxine’s study. Going through them, she realized that every piece of the mail, save one, was a plea for funds from either charities, politicians, con artists, pet shelters, or those with sorrowful stories to tell. It was as if she had won the lottery and was forced to appear on TV to accept a six-foot-long check with her name and address on it in large letters. Who says people don’t read the obits? she asked herself.

The final envelope, postmarked Opa Locka, contained a handwritten note with the engine and fuselage serial numbers of a Cessna 206 aircraft. There were no sentiments expressed, and it was unsigned. She started making phone calls.

In the middle of all this, Tommy Scully rapped on the screen door, yelled her name, let himself into the house, and found her in the study.

“Fan mail?” he asked, indicating the pile of paper on the desk.

“In a manner of speaking,” Max replied. “They all want money.”

“It’s the human condition,” Tommy said sadly. “Everybody wants money — and not just money, but somebody else’s money.”

Max found an envelope in the desk drawer and handed it to Tommy. “There you are,” she said, “a lifetime lease for your new house with no rent — that’s yours and your wife’s lifetimes, not mine. You get to pay the taxes.”

“I thank you,” Tommy said, stuffing the envelope into an inside pocket. “My wife thanks you and my current neighbors, who will be glad to see us go, thank you.”

“All of you are welcome.” She handed him the aircraft information. “This arrived from Opa Locka, no signature.”

“I guess ol’ Burt really does crave your body,” Tommy said.

A dozen phone calls later, Max hung up. “The aircraft’s owner is South Florida Import & Export, a Delaware corporation. The address of record is the name of an attorney at a P.O. box in Wilmington, Delaware.”

“Well, that takes care of that. I can tell you from experience that no phone calls will be returned and no mail forwarded or replied to.

“The only thing left to do is to persuade our captain to post a twenty-four-hour guard on the hangar until somebody shows up, but I don’t think he will be able to find it in his budget to do that, unless sex is involved.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Max said. “Why don’t you offer to fuck him?”

“I’m not his type,” Tommy said, “but you sure are.”

“It appears I’m everybody’s type,” Max said. “All I can think to do is to wait for Al Dix to surface.”

“Funny, that’s all I can think to do, too,” Tommy said. “Why don’t I just call the office and see if there are reports of any stolen bicycles?”

“Why don’t we just go to lunch,” Max said.

Another lunch, more than a thousand miles away, was just concluding. After a few mimosas over their steaks, Stone said, “Robbie, I believe I have misjudged your intentions about taking the needed steps to permanently separate yourself from your husband. I believe you are sincere and will take those steps immediately after we remove your name from the adultery-bait list.”

“And how do we do that?”

“We go to my house, instead of yours.”

“Never mind dessert,” she said, picking up her handbag.

“You are dessert,” he replied.

The shadows were growing long in Stone’s bedroom when Robbie gently shook him awake.

“Give me a few minutes,” Stone muttered, yawning.

“You can go back to sleep, sweetie,” she said. “I just want to know where my underwear is.”

“Strewn about the master suite, I should think.”

“Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and call a locksmith.”

“Good girl,” he said. “By the way, one of my partners at Woodman & Weld, Herbert Fisher, will be handling the details of your divorce.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because it is considered unethical, in legal circles, for an attorney to have carnal knowledge of his client. If your soon-to-be ex-husband should suspect, he could make a lot of trouble for me, and from what you’ve told me about him, he would not hesitate to do so. So, if we are to continue to enjoy each other’s company, Herb Fisher will be your attorney of record. All I did was give you some informal advice and refer you to him. I’ll have Herb call you tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll have worked through your checklist by then,” Robbie said.