Big Goodbye, The (12 page)

I thought about it.

“Was the guy older, dark complexion, nose been broken, looked like a fighter?”

She was nodding before I finished. “Who is he?”

“Name’s Butch,” I said. “He’s Pete’s new partner. Was he alone?”

She nodded. “I called the station, but he hasn’t been booked yet.”

“That’s because he’s not going to be,” I said. “He’s not really being arrested. Butch is trying to square something with him. It’s personal.”

“What’s he gonna do?”

I shrugged. “Beat him up or kill him,” I said.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hi ya, Jimmy,” Pete said.

“Where’s your partner, Pete?” I asked.

He was having a late lunch at Carson’s, his plate piled high with fried seafood. He was sitting alone and had just gotten his food when I walked up.

“What?” he asked, his fork full of fish and cheese grits poised in front of his mouth.

“Where’s Butch?”

He shrugged to give himself time to chew and swallow. “No idea,” he said, talking around the food still in his mouth. “He’s off today. Why?”

“He just arrested Ray.”

“For what?”

“Revenge,” I said.

“He’s got to have a charge, Jimmy,” he said. “You know—”

“Not if he’s not taking him to jail.”

His eyes widened and he dropped his fork on his plate, knocking a hush puppy on the table. Jumping up, he all but ran out to his car. I followed him.

Leaving his door open, Pete sat in the driver’s side, feet on the ground, radio in hand. I stood over him, my left hand gripping the top of his door.

Radioing headquarters, he quickly confirmed that Butch had not taken Ray there. He then asked the dispatcher to radio Butch and have him contact his partner immediately. When he signed off, he tried repeatedly to reach Butch. There was no response.

“Where would he take him?” I asked.

He looked up at me, helplessness in his eyes. “I have no idea. He’s new. We just—”

“Think, Pete,” I said. “For your partner as much as Ray. This could end his career or worse. Where would he take him?”

Pete looked up and narrowed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling, bright red lines against his pale skin.

“It’d have to be somewhere secluded,” I said. “Where does he live?”

“Boarding house in Lynn Haven,” he said.

“What does he do?” I asked. “Any hobbies? Does he hunt? Fish? What?”

My voice was loud and intense, and several customers entering and exiting Carson’s stopped to look, catching Pete’s eye to make sure everything was okay, continuing after he nodded to them.

“I just don’t know, Jimmy. I’d tell you if I did. You know that.”

“You wanna go ahead and arrest me now?” I said.

“What?” he asked, his voice high and surprised. “For what?”

“Whatever he does to Ray I’m gonna square,” I said.

“You ain’t a cop, Jimmy.”

“Neither is he,” I said. “He’s off the book on this one, Pete, and you know it.”

“Wait,” Pete said suddenly, standing up only to sit back down. “Get in,” he added, and slammed his door.

Less than two weeks ago, Butch had been part of a group of cops who discovered and busted up a moonshine still in the pinewoods near Sandy Creek. Since moonshine had soared from eight to fifty dollars for a five-gallon jug, stills had sprouted up all over the Panhandle. Even employees of Wainwright Shipyard with good jobs were quitting to become ridge runners instead. Shootings, stabbings, and instances of lead poisoning had dramatically increased.

We raced down Highway 22 toward Wewahitchka, taking a left on Sandy Creek Road, then another left on a twin path logging trail.

“How we gonna play this, Pete?” I asked.

“Just like old times,” he said. “We’re gonna stop him all peaceful-like if we can.”

“And if we can’t?” I asked.

“He’s my partner, Jimmy,” he said. “Let’s try not to shoot him.”

“That’s totally up to him.”

As we reached the small clearing that held the hand-operated pitcher pump connected to the shallow well, the various metal vats and buckets, the hoses and hardware, and what was left of the overturned and smashed barrels, we saw Butch’s car. It was parked at an angle that partially blocked our view.

I jumped out before Pete had fully stopped the car.

Pulling my gun out of my shoulder holster as I ran, I came around Butch’s car to find Ray kneeling down in front of an open well, his hands cuffed behind him, Butch standing over him, his gun pointed at the back of Ray’s head.

“Drop the gun,” I said.

Without moving the gun, Butch turned slightly and looked at me, shaking his head as he did.

“How the hell did you find me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Drop the gun.”

He shook his head. “How good a shot are you with your left hand?” he asked.

“Be easier for me to show you than tell you,” I said.

He smiled.

“I don’t think you could hit me from there,” he said.

“Fail to drop your gun, you’ll find out.”

I was beginning to wonder where Pete was until I saw him step out of the woods on the other side of Butch with his gun drawn.

“We got the drop on you, Partner,” he said. “Put your gun down now so nobody gets hurt.”

Butch slowly turned to look at Pete, and I edged closer to him. He was right about my left-handed shooting skills—even after nearly a year of practice.

“How the hell can you call me partner?” Butch asked. “You’re pointing a gun at me, and you brought the one-armed dick over there to—what? Take me out?”

“I’m doin’ my best to help you, Partner,” Pete said. “Jimmy’s here for his new partner and I’m here for mine. You don’t want to do this. It’s not too late. Just drop your weapon.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Butch said. “I just can’t let a civilian put his paws on me and not . . .”

“I know,” Pete said. “But this isn’t the way.”

“I just wanted to scare him,” Butch said. “I wasn’t gonna really hurt him.”

“I know,” Pete said.

I didn’t know it, and I doubted even Butch knew it, but if it got us out of this standoff, let him say it all he wanted.

Butch nodded, holstered his weapon, and reached down and uncuffed Ray. “No hard feelings,” Butch said. “I’m glad my partner came along and kept me from doing something stupid.”

If I doubted Butch was insane before, I didn’t now. He was certifiable, which made him far more dangerous than if he were just mean. I’d be willing to bet that a call to Miami PD would get a story of an unstable cop who transferred out to a podunk department just ahead of a reprimand or termination or even an indictment.

“Let’s all leave friendly like,” Butch said. “Let bygones be bygones, and if you don’t want to do that, then just remember I still have my gun.”

Butch backed up to give Ray plenty of room to stand.

“Everything jake there Raymond?” Butch said.

“Far from it,” he said. “But we’re done for today.”

Butch nodded. “You calling a truce?”

Ray nodded. “A very temporary one,” he said, took a quick step forward and popped Butch’s scarred face with a hard overhand right.

It was a clean, well-delivered shot that didn’t just knock Butch down, but out.

“Keep him away from me, Pete,” Ray said. “Next time I’ll kill him.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“Be a good idea to get him out of town,” Ray said. “Early retirement or something.”

“We’ll take your car back to town, Pete,” I said. “You can drive Butch back in his. I’ll leave it for you at the station. And thanks for your help.”

“Sure thing, Jimmy,” he said. “And I’m very sorry for what happened, Ray.”

“Thanks to you and Jimmy,” Ray said, “it was what almost happened. I won’t forget that Pete.”

Chapter 26

The Lodge at Wakulla Springs was a popular recreational spot for servicemen, so I was surprised when the man who greeted Lauren at the room door wasn’t in uniform.

I was following Lauren again.

I had a pocket full of ration coupons for food, but I had used my last one for gas. If Lauren was going to continue to lead me all over the Panhandle, I’d have to turn to bribery or the black market.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to tell me what was really going on, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t find out. All this had started with her coming to my office because she thought I was following her, and now I was. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

One of the world’s largest and deepest freshwater springs, Wakulla Springs hosts an abundance of wildlife, including alligators, turtles, and many species of birds. Its clear, cool waters, complex cave system, and surrounding forests make for recreation that’s as beautiful as it is refreshing.

Located just south of Tallahassee, the springs have been of scientific interest since 1850 when Sarah Smith saw the bones of an ancient mastodon on the bottom. Over the past ninety years, scientists have identified the remains of several other extinct Ice Age mammals. But that wasn’t why most people came to the springs. It was for swimming, boat rides, relaxation, and the observation of wildlife—mostly relaxation, to forget about the war, and the hopes of amorous activities.

Built in 1937 by railroad magnate Edward Ball, the Mediterranean Revival style Wakulla Springs Lodge has hand-wrought iron, marble, and hand-made ceramic imported tile. Its twenty-seven rooms are luxurious and spacious.

At the time, the lodge was managed by Newton Perry, a famous swim coach who brought Hollywood to the springs. Thanks to him the first Tarzan movie, featuring Olympic swimmer, Johnny Weissmuller, was filmed here a couple of years ago.

Lauren was in a room with a man who looked nearly as old as Harry. Maybe that was the problem. I was too young for her—we were the same age. I was sitting in the enormous lobby next to the massive fireplace reading the paper when I wasn’t looking out the tall arched windows at the bathers enjoying the warm sun (it was warm for October even by Florida standards) on the beach, in the water, and on the dive platform. Beyond them, the Tarpon Club, the synchronized swim team of Florida State College for Women, was training.

The paper was old, but I didn’t mind. I was using it for cover, and I had been too busy to read much of it lately anyway. At least it was full of good news for our side (the past several I had looked at were depressing—especially the one that announced that German forces were occupying Rome). In this one the allies were on a roll, and having recently captured Naples, we had now gained control of Corsica.

After nearly two hours, the man appeared on the stairs, walked through the lobby right past me, and continued into the dining room. He ordered a cup of coffee, and I violated every rule in the Shamus Manual by walking over to make a little conversation with him.

“Morning,” I said as I sat down at the table next to him.

“Hi ya, soldier,” he said. “How you been?”

He was a friendly sort, his face and eyes showing his openness. He had dark wavy hair beginning to go gray, a fleshy face, and a dark complexion.

“Been better,” I said.

He nodded toward my folded up right sleeve. “We appreciate what you boys are doing for us and the world.”

“God bless America,” I said.

“Amen,” he said.

We were silent a moment, as the waitress brought his coffee and took my order for the same.

“If you’d ever like to talk,” he said, “I’m a grand listener.”

I detected a bit of an Irish lilt in his voice I hadn’t heard before.

“Aren’t you after being kind?” I said, with a wee smile.

He gave me one of his own and said, “Tis true,” his accent growing much heavier. “I’m altogether Irish. And wouldn’t I be after missing my homeland terrible bad?”

“What brings you here?” I asked.

“Now isn’t that a long story?” he said.

“I meant to Wakulla Springs.”

“Just visiting for the day,” he said. “Live nearby in Panama City.”

“That pretty woman with you your wife?”

“Oh no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

I raised my eyebrows and smiled at him appreciatively.

A broad smiled spread across his face and I wanted to stand up and knock it off.

“Alas, I walk this weary world alone,” he said.

“She looks familiar,” I said. “I could swear I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

He didn’t take the bait and I let it go.

When my coffee came, I told him I was going to take it outside and said my goodbyes. It was just in time, too. As I reached the back door, I could hear Lauren’s heels clicking on the marble floor, crossing the lobby toward him.

From one of the large arched windows, I watched as she hugged him with more genuine affection than she had ever shown me, and turned to leave.

I ran around the outside of the lodge and was in my car when she walked out the front door, but to my surprise, she didn’t leave. She tossed a few things in her car and walked around the side of the lodge and down to the water’s edge in the back, where she captured the attention of a few of the young guys lying on the beach nearby.

I followed, giving her plenty of room. There wasn’t much to hide behind except an occasional tree.

Having left her house this morning too early to finish fixing her hair, Lauren had on a do-rag covering her curls, which had surprised me. She usually took better care before meeting lovers. Was she just that anxious or was she breaking apart?

When she reached the edge of the spring, she knelt down, took off her do-rag, cupped water in her hand, and sprinkled it on her head. She was wearing a dress. It wasn’t that hot. She looked insane. A few of the guys who had been eyeing her lasciviously were now laughing at her.

“You’re getting your dress wet, lady,” one of the guys said. “Why don’t you take it off?”

She stood and began to unbutton her dress. Before she could get very far or I could get to her, her current lover came running through one of the back doors and down to her.

“You okay, dear?” he asked.

She didn’t say anything, just looked up at him with a faraway stare.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me drive you home. I’ll come back and get my car later.”

Following Lauren and the older Irish man back to her car, I wondered if maybe the strain of the campaign or her double life was getting to her. It would explain why she was acting so strangely. Was that really what Dr. Rainer was treating her for?