Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

25

The boys from Seagrass PD were polite enough to let us follow them to their office in our own car. I didn’t challenge the invitation, as that was the point of the exercise. I’d been there all of ten minutes when Chief Jimmy Goodyear strolled in and took a seat in a rolling leather chair. Being a trained detective, I had noted his name on the door.

Mattie sat outside the glass office, annoyed that the chief wanted to talk only to me. I explained it was probably not an issue of gender but age.

Goodyear appeared about as old as me and looked like most cops I knew. Potbellied, big-mustached, with sandy, thinning hair and the ruddy face of a guy who liked one too many whiskeys after a short day of work. He laced his hands atop his desk and looked up.

“So,” I said. “I think this is where you tell me that you don’t take too kindly to strangers around here.”

“Why were you and that young lady parked outside Mr. Steiner’s compound?”

“I’m an eccentric billionaire,” I said. “I heard Steiner had the Midas touch. Lately, I’ve been thinking of investing in orange groves and pork bellies.”

“Funny,” he said. “You don’t look like a millionaire. Not with that mug.”

“I earned my money the old-fashioned way,” I said. “I inherited it.”

“Nope,” he said. “Not buying it. Who’s the girl? And why were you driving her to see Mr. Steiner?”

I leaned back in my chair. It was chrome and black and designed with all the comfort of the Spanish Inquisition.

“Am I being charged with something?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “This is a private community, Mr. Spenser. It appears you entered our gates under false pretenses.”

I smiled. “Not buying the eccentric-billionaire story?”

He shook his head. “Not one damn bit,” he said. “I’ve been around enough of those assholes to know one when I see one.”

I nodded. The wall behind Goodyear and the wall behind me were made of glass. The two walls that sandwiched us were filled with many framed photos of ball players and fishing trips, cheap golden plaques handed out at annual rubber-chicken dinners with the Jaycees.

“How old is that girl?” he said.

“Old enough to work for me.”

“And what do you do, sir?”

I told him and told him that we’d just arrived from Boston that morning.

“Bullshit,” he said.

I pulled out my wallet again to show off my shiny official license. He took it over the desk, studied it, and returned it.

“And she is your—”

“Assistant,” I said. “Although technically this is her investigation.”

He smiled and leaned back into his chair. “She looks like she’s fifteen.”

“She’s twenty-two,” I said. “And in college.”

“Studying to be a gumshoe?”

“Haven’t heard that term in a while,” I said. “But yes. With a minor in the art of the low country masters. Why did you think we were here?”

Goodyear let out a long breath and scratched at the stubble on his cheek with his right hand. His big sandy mustache drooped over his upper lip like a walrus. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Lots of people come and go from that place. Sometimes we try and persuade them to rethink their life choices.”

“Ah,” I said. “You thought I was a pimp.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said. His ruddy face colored even more. “No, sir. I didn’t say that.”

“If I were a pimp, I’d wear a white suit and straw hat,” I said. “And I’d drive a big car with a horn that played ‘Flying Down to Rio.’”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Goodyear said. “Older man showing up with a young girl at Steiner’s place. Obviously, you know his reputation.”

I told him I did and offered a few select details of what Steiner had been up to in Boston.

“You won’t be able to catch him,” he said. “Sorry. Not now. Not ever.”

“That’s a bit pessimistic,” I said. “I’m more of can-do kind of guy.”

“Yeah?” Goodyear said. “Stick around here awhile, and you’ll be cleared of that.”

I crossed my left ankle over my right knee. I’d removed my ball cap and rested it on top of my shoe. “What can you tell me?”

“Sounds like you know the story.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Steiner has more money than Jay-Z and Beyoncé and keeps quite a stable of pals who’ve become accustomed to his lifestyle.”

“And what is that lifestyle?”

“On the record?” Goodyear said. “Or off?”

“I’m not a reporter,” I said. “We flew down here to learn more about Steiner.”

“I hear that man has parties that would make Caligula’s goat puke.”

“Caligula had a goat?”

“Oh, come on.” Goodyear nodded. “You know he did.”

“Any formal charges?”

“A few.”

“Any stick?”

“Nope,” he said. “Funny thing. The victims come to recant their stories pretty fast.”

“How many of the victims were kids?”

“Two,” he said. “One was sixteen. Her parents wouldn’t allow her to testify. The DA backed away faster than a four-alarm dumpster fire. Besides, what had allegedly happened didn’t technically happen in Seagrass.”

“I sense some sarcasm in that ‘allegedly,’” I said. “Where was the girl assaulted?”

“I’ve seen bigger men than you get waylaid by this fella,” he said. “You sure you want to take these people on?”

I nodded.

“You do look like you’d be fair to middlin’ in a fight.”

“A little better than that.”

Goodyear let out a long breath. His eyelids drooped heavily as he weighed his next thought. He pulled at the walrus mustache and leaned back in his chair. “Ever heard of Cerberus Security?”

I shook my head.

“Big-time outfit out of Miami,” Goodyear said. “No offense, but they’re not like you. I’m talking hundreds of employees in lots of different countries. They work for Saudi princes and professional ballplayers who shoot their career to hell in one night. Cerberus has computer hackers, financial specialists, bodyguards, and people that make people like you disappear.”

“Eek.”

“Steiner has Cerberus on speed dial,” he said. “This is the place where cops go when they decide to make some real money. Ex-military, maybe some ex-spooks, too.”

“I’ve dealt with men like that before.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Goodyear said. “But my advice to you is have a nice stay in Boca. Have a piña colada or two by the pool and then fly on back to Boston. Tell your client that you didn’t get what you need.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“For all we have and are,” I said. “For all our children’s fate.”

“Is that from a book or something?”

“Or something.”

“Good luck,” he said and tossed me back my license. “Snoop all you want. His people might get in your way. But I won’t. I can’t stand the cocky bastard. I’ve had so many threats by his people, the city keeps a lawyer on retainer. You’ll never catch him. Not here. Seagrass is just a waystation for him. He stays here just one night or maybe two and then he’s gone.”

Goodyear knew how to string out a tale. I turned around and saw Mattie pacing back and forth in the small police department lobby. When she spotted me, she relayed a look of great annoyance. I held up a hand to wave, and she turned her back.

“Steiner flies down here and then jumps on a private jet to his island.”

“What island?”

“His fucking island,” Goodyear said. “Remember when I said this son of a bitch had more money and clout than you can imagine? Peter Steiner bought an entire island in the Bahamas. No law. No rules. That’s where he takes these girls. God help them.”