Contraband

6

Max spun out of the hospital parking lot while Tommy Scully gritted his teeth.

“You know they were fucking, don’t you?” Max said.

“What? Who?”

“That young resident, Keith, and Julie, the nurse. They were fucking when somebody tried to kill Dix.”

“That sounds like a great leap into the dark,” Tommy said, chortling.

“C’mon, Tommy — have you no instincts about these things?”

“Instincts, yeah. About ‘these things,’ maybe not. Those have been dulled with the passing years.”

“They were using an empty patient room somewhere when she got an alarm on her wristwatch.”

“What is it with the wristwatch?” Tommy demanded.

“Dix is hooked up to a monitor, and his heart rate went up when somebody tried to kill him. Her wristwatch picked it up.”

“A broadcasting heart monitor? Well, that’s a new one on me. From down the hall, too.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Tommy, though you’re a little late arriving.”

“I’ve got instincts about other things,” he said.

“Which ones are those?”

“You’ll find out when the time comes.”

“I can’t wait.”

They pulled up at the Lame Duck; the parking lot was already half full and it wasn’t even noon yet. Sometimes called the “Other Parrot” in comparison to the Green Parrot — which was bigger, more crowded, and had better bands — the Lame Duck catered to Conchs and regulars who start drinking at breakfast, not so much to the tourists, who uniformly found it and the clientele smelly and unattractive.

They took stools at the bar and waited for the bartender to finish making a mojito for someone to have with his eggs.

“Hey, Max,” the bartender said cheerfully, when he was done. “A little early for you, ain’t it?”

“He dragged me here, Danny,” Max said, jerking a thumb at Tommy, who rolled his eyes in response.

“What can I get you?” Danny asked.

“Ice water with nothing in it — in a clean glass,” Max replied.

“Make that two,” Tommy said.

“Big spenders,” Danny said, serving them. “You hear about Dixie?”

“I heard something. What did you hear?”

“I heard they unloaded him from a chopper at the hospital, and he’s in critical condition.”

“From what?”

“I heard he got beat up.”

“Well, you can stop spreading that rumor. He was in a small airplane crash, and he’s doing fine. Be out in a few days.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“From the horse’s mouth. I left him fifteen minutes ago.”

“Okay, I’ll file that with our editorial department.”

“Was Dixie in here for breakfast two days ago?”

“No, he usually is though. He was here the day before.”

“Anybody with him?”

“No, but he got a phone call that went on for a while. His eggs got cold, and he had to reorder.”

“What time was he here?”

“Oh, eight to eight-thirty, I guess. He’s usually here most of the morning when he’s not working.”

“You know a girl, maybe a nurse. Tall, slender, shortish dark hair — oh, and nice tits?”

Danny grinned. “I wish. We don’t seem to get many of that type in here. Especially not nurses. They’re picky about germs.”

“Has Dixie been meeting the same person more often than others?”

Danny thought about it. “Nah, he just sits down with whoever’s here, or them with him. Nobody I don’t know.”

Max took a swig of her water and hopped off her stool. “Well, thanks for the free water,” she said.

“Who said it’s free?” Danny protested.

Tommy put a five on the bar. “Calm yourself,” he said, then followed Max outside.

She started the car. “So, Tommy, what did your instincts tell you about Danny?”

“That he had a shot of Irish before opening up, and that he was telling the truth.”

“You’re right about your instincts,” she said. “I missed the Irish. Is there a germ-free zone around here where we can get some lunch?”

He directed her to a small Cuban place off Duval Street, where they ordered Cuban sandwiches.

“So,” Tommy said, “did you really spend some time on a fancy yacht at Fort Jefferson?”

“You bet your sweet ass I did, and it was the most gorgeous thing you ever saw, called Breeze.”

“I know the boat. It was around last year this time. Guy named Barrington, from New York, owns it. He took the secretary of state, what’s her name, to Cuba for a secret meeting with somebody or other.”

“Holly Barker,” Max said. “Running for president now. Expects to get the nomination next week at the convention in Miami. I remember the story last year, now. I just never saw the yacht.”

“Most gorgeous thing you ever saw,” Tommy said.

“Well, the Coast Guard put me aboard to get Mr. Dix hauled up, and then they blew the winch and couldn’t get me up without chopping up a couple of tenders on the top deck.”

“So, you made yourself at home?”

“Let’s just say that, dealt a poor hand, I made the best of things.”

“Where’d you sleep? If I’m not being too nosy.”

“Too nosy is your nature, Tommy. I slept alone in a cabin nearly as big as my house.” She didn’t mention the second night.

“That doesn’t sound like you, Max.”

“Tommy, are you saying I’m a slut and a bed-jumper?”

“Naw, I don’t think you’re a bed-jumper, but my wife thinks you’re a slut.”

“What’s with her?”

“She’s a good Italian Catholic girl, who thinks that a sidelong glance at a man is a ticket to hell.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll never meet her standards,” Max said, laughing.

“That’s okay, nobody does.”

“How about you?”

“Especially not me,” Tommy replied.

They finished their lunch. “Well,” Max said, “I guess we’d better go let the captain know what’s up.”

“It’s the only way he’ll ever find out,” Tommy said, “since his leg is grafted to his desk.”