Geezer Paradise (8 page)

             
"Come in, Mary," I said.  Mary was somewhere in her sixties, but she looked just fine. 

             
"Hi, Willey, you old goat," she said.  "What kind of trouble are you getting into now?"

             
"Who said I was getting into anything, you cranky old bat."

             
"I'll give you a bat," Mary threatened him. 

             
Willey gave me a grin.  "I love violent women," he said.

             
Willey and Mary are distant cousins.  They're Crackers, which means they're native Floridians.  Their people came here shortly after Stonewall Jackson drove the Seminoles into the everglades, and out west.  Sometimes I think all the crackers are related to each other.  They're called Crackers either because of their early diet of cracked corn and mullet, or because of the cracking sound their whips made after they evolved into cattle ranching.  Personally, I think they're called Crackers because they're cracked.  I handed Mary a beer.  She popped the top and made herself comfortable on the sofa. 

             
"What we've been up to," Willey said, "is breaking into Flaherty's offices."

             
"You're kidding," Mary said.  Mary turned to me.  "Barney, tell me he's kidding."  I just shook my head. 

             
"Oh, my God."  Mary couldn't believe it.  "You two are lucky you didn't end up in jail."

             
"We did end up in jail," I said.  "But for being drunk and disorderly.  Willey fell off the fire escape." 

             
"Don't tell me you tried to break-in while you were drunk?"

             
"It wasn't my fault," Willey said.  "I didn't get much help from Barney."

             
I broke into Willey's whine.  "What have you found out, Mary," I asked. 

             
"Well, first," Mary said, "they now have Freddy's death down as a homicide.  Somebody held Freddy's own pillow over his face and smothered him."  That sent a chill up my spine.  "Second, we were notified today that the court has dismissed Freddy's motion on our behalf now that he's deceased." 

             
"Damn.  Well we found out something today that might help us," I said.  "We found out that Senator Buckland and Flaherty are good buddies.  He goes out on Flaherty's boat on the weekends."

             
Mary wasn't impressed.  "Buckland and Flaherty have been tight for years.  Everybody knows that.  Buckland is on Flaherty's payroll but nobody has been able to prove it so far.  Just being on Flaherty's boat isn't enough proof that he's crooked."

             
"They shot a spear gun at us and missed by inches," Willey said.

             
"Damn, they did that?" 

             
"They sure did."

             
Mary said, "I've heard Flaherty and his crew are bad actors, but trying to kill somebody in broad daylight--they must be out of control."

             
I said, "It sounds like they're not afraid of the law."     

             
"They're dangerous people, Barney," Mary said.  Just be careful and don't give up." 

             
I would have told Mary about almost being run down by a car, but I didn't want to get Willey all worked up.

             
"Any luck finding someone to represent us in court?" Willey asked

             
"None at all," Mary said.  "I've been calling around to all the big law firms to see if any of them will take our case pro bono.  So far I haven't had any luck, but I'll keep trying."

             
"I hope you're being careful," I said to Mary.  "You know, we're all in danger from these cockroaches."

             
Mary reached into her pocket and pulled out a small semi-automatic pistol.  "I'm always armed these days," she said.  "And I'd suggest that you two get armed, too.  These people aren't fooling around." 

             
After Mary left Willey said, "She's a fighter, Barney.  I'm glad we have her on our side."

             
"Yes, we need her . . . and we need lots of luck, too."  

Chapter Five

****

JOHN FLAHERTY LEFT his office and stepped into the humid Clearwater afternoon.  He stopped and rubbed his temples trying to dislodge the headache that had been with him all day.  Senator Buckland kept demanding more money to bribe the local officials, but Flaherty knew most of the money was going into Buckland's pocket--or up his nose to be more accurate.

             
And now that Stevens had taken care of that trouble-making lawyer from the park, and things were finally moving along, there's those two old nitwits creeping around spying on him.  That's just what he needed.  He was already behind schedule, and if he couldn't close the deal on the park property soon the banks would renege on the loans.  They were already saying the economy was slowing down and condos just weren't selling as fast as they used to.  He opened the door to his BMW, started the engine, and waited for the air conditioner to do its magic.  

             
A group of Scientologists trooped by.  Boys and girls in their twenties, each of them dressed in tan slacks and green shirts.  From the opposite direction came another group dressed in black slacks and yellow shirts.  What the hell was that all about?  And why did they all have fat asses?  Flaherty shook his head.  Florida just got screwier by the day. 

             
He climbed into his car and drove up 19 North toward his favorite watering hole.  A few scotch and sodas would set the world straight again. 

             
Damn, he hated this place.    

****

              The Night Stalker moved quietly through the shadows toward the target's trailer.  That's how he liked ta think a hisself--as the Night Stalker.  In his back pack he carried the bomb.  He built it hisself, and he knew it would do the job.  The target tonight was Barney McGee's trailer. 

             
When the Night Stalker hadda' leave the shadows an cross an open space, he tried ta duck-walk like they do in the movies, but his creaky old joints jest wouldn't let em.  And the damp night air weren't helpin' his asthma any, either.  The best he could do was walk bent over.  Everything depended on this mission.  It were the answer ta all his problems--a ticket ta the good life.  And he had ta admit, he got a thrill outt'a doin' it.  If Mary hadn’t a told him these Barney and Willey guys was holdin' up the sale of the park, he never woulda' knowed.  It was then that it came ta him.  It was so simple--jest plant the bomb and let it do its job.

             
He crouched behind McGee's trailer, and pulled out some'a the white

foundation blocks that ran around under the trailer.  It weren't hard, they weren't

ce'mented together, jest stacked up on top'a each other to make it look like a foundation. 

             
He made a openin' jest big enough fer him to crawl through. Then he took the bomb outta' his backpack, and a roll of duct tape.  And under the trailer he went, crawlin' on his stomach, his white beard draggin' in the dirt.  It weren't easy for a man his age.  He crawled until he found a good place ta plant the bomb.  Then he ripped tape from the roll and taped the bomb ta the underside of the floor overhead.  It was hard goin', what with the headroom bein' only 'bout two foot high.  When the job was finished, he crawled back outside.  He took a red crayon outta his pocket an' wrote, The Night Stalker on the side of the trailer.  Then he picked up his backpack an' stepped over the foundation blocks that were scattered across the grass.

             
It were important that the blocks stayed right where they were fer the plan to work.  An after he got ridd'a McGee, he'd git ridd'a McGee's buddy, Willey, next door.  Then he'd finally git his reward.  He moved off inta the shadows again and headed fer the park's rear gate, where he come in.  Now all he had ta do was wait.  The Night Stalker was pooped.  He was goin' home and straight ta bed.

****

             
I knew it was time to face the Electric Company.  The last couple of overdue notices had been quite nasty.  You can only ignore their notices for so long.  They're not supposed to shut off your electricity.  That would mean no air conditioning.  In South Florida, in August, that could be deadly.  But they keep sending those notices.  I drove down 19A and turned into the Citrus Bay Electric Company's parking lot.  I parked and went inside.  I had my checkbook in my pocket and the overdue notice in my hand.  I walked up to the reception desk, gave my name, and sat down to wait my turn.  I was hoping they would let me pay half of what I owed.  I looked around at my fellow debtors.  They were a sorry looking lot.  The worst part was, most of them were better dressed than I was. 

             
When I finally got into the office there was a boney, old woman waiting for me behind a desk.  The nameplate told me her name was Agatha.  She motioned me to a chair.  I sat down and waited while she read my rap sheet. 

             
"I see you've had trouble paying your bill in the past, Mister McGee."  She had a smoker's voice.  "And, as you know, you're payments are in arrears at the present time."

             
"Well, sometimes it's hard trying to live on a pension," I whined. 

             
"That may be true," Mister McGee, but that isn't the Electric Company's fault, is it?"

             
"No, I suppose not," I said.  "But I can pay half of the bill today, and the rest of it in two weeks when I get my check.  Then I'll be almost caught up."

             
"No Mister Mc Gee.  Then you'll owe half of your last bill and the next bill on top of that."  Then she proceeded to stare me down.  She didn't know who she was dealing with.  I've stared down the best of them.  It turned into a Mexican Standoff.  Then she threw me a curve ball.  She put her tongue under her lower plate and pushed it up so it sat on her lower lip.  It distracted me so much I forgot my list of excuses.  She wasn't playing fair.  I was about to plead for more time, when she slid her lower plate back and popped her top plate onto her lower lip.  I almost cracked. 

             
She returned her teeth to their proper place and said, "Mister McGee, you've been making partial payments for almost a year and you keep falling further behind," she said.   

             
"I understand," I said, "But I . . ."   She popped both plates together onto her bottom lip.  The effect was so startling my mind went blank.  I couldn't think.  Knowing I was out-matched, I reached for my checkbook and wrote a check for the full amount.  It wouldn't leave me with much to live on for the next two weeks, but I just couldn't take any more.  I had heard stories about elderly people living on peanut butter sandwiches for weeks at a time.  If they could do it, I could do it, too.  And if I suffered a little brain damage because of it, nobody would notice the difference. 

             
I handed her the check.  "There you are," I said.  As I got up to leave she asked, "Are you married, Mister McGee?"

             
"Yes," I said, a little too loud.  "Two months now.  Still on our honeymoon."

             
I got out of there as fast as my arthritic legs could carry me.

              When I got home the house was warm, but the air conditioning was running full speed.  I bent down to feel the air coming out of the floor vent--warm as spit.  Another bill I didn't need.  The day was heating up quickly.  I went around back and listened to the unit.  The blower fan was working but the compressor was silent.  Willey came over to find out what was wrong.

             
"The compressor isn't running, Barney." 

             
"I know.  It's the same problem I had before." 

             
"You need am new unit," Willey opined.  The heating and cooling systems are inside the same unit.

             
"Do you have three thousand bucks you can lend me?" I asked.

             
Willey said, "If I had three thousand bucks I wouldn't talk to you."  Then Willey bent down and pushed a button.  The compressor roared to life.  I was saved.  Willey looked past me.  "Who took your foundation apart?"

             
A half-dozen of my foundation blocks were scattered across the lawn.  "The Night Stalker" was scribbled in red crayon on the side or the house!  "Who the hell did that?" I asked.

             
Willey went over and squatted down to peer through the opening in the blocks.  "Something's stuck to your floor," he said. 

             
"What's stuck to my floor?"  I knelt down and looked through the opening.  Sure enough, there was something there.  Willey scurried through the opening and crawled toward whatever it was.