Night Moves (Doc Ford) - By RandyWayne White Page 0,102
writes in dialect—they’re, like, hypnotic. Can’t help myself. It’s like reading Matthiessen—Far Tortuga—only not as authentic, which is weird if you really think about it.”
I said, “Tomlinson . . .”
“Okay! A guy out mackerel fishing towed him and his buddies to Punta Rassa. Little bastard had his feet on the ground just about the time the party was ending for Crunch & Des. That was the first message I got. The guy, this mackerel fisherman, turns out he’s also a mechanic and he squealed to Kondo that I’d loosened all the spark plugs.”
“The mechanic blamed you?”
“That someone did it, and was lucky the engine didn’t blow up. Kondo, he’s vicious, but he’s not dumb. Plus, he had to pay the mechanic like five hundred bucks, but he’s probably lying about that. You know, like I’m supposed to reimburse him before he cuts my nuts off—that was how the first message started. Next one was that he would feed me Epsom salts until I turned into a zombie and parade me around Port-a’-Prince on a leash. You know, let the kiddies have fun with his pet white demon.”
“Did anyone follow you to the hotel?”
“Wait, this is how I know he’s serious. Next ten texts, he’s apologizing, telling me, ‘Hey, mon, you doan know a joke when you hear your good frien’ Kondo tell a joke?’ Wants me to meet him for a drink at the Rum Bar. Then some bar on Fort Myers Beach. See? Guy’s smart. I call the cops, the only thing I got in writing is apologies and invitations to have fun.”
“Did you tell Cressa?”
“Upset her? You kidding?”
“But she knows who he is.”
“Turns out, yeah. You were right. Deano bought pharmaceuticals from the guy. She’d lied to me all along, but tonight finally told the truth. Bad as the acid was, it might have opened her up as a person.”
“Always a silver lining,” I said. “Cressa was buying drugs from the Haitian?”
“That part she was vague about. Me giving her a nickel baggie, I think it’s what put Kondo on my ass in the first place—that’s the way I met her, the two of us shooting the shit on the beach. Nice pretty married lady who wanted to have some fun for a change.”
“Cut your nuts off,” I muttered.
“Wear them around his neck, yeah, or make a bolo out of them.” Tomlinson’s voice softened, his way of becoming serious. “Kondo’s reputation on the party circuit, he’s a sweetheart. A fun little actor, but I knew he was bad. I just didn’t know how bad. Cressa’s gonna be okay, so what I think I’ll do is turn her over to her hubby, hop on No Más, and see a new part of the Old World. I haven’t transited the Canal in a while, and Panama’s got some of the best surfing in the world.”
I didn’t ask, What about the Avenger wreckage? It would only embarrass the man by forcing him to admit he was scared shitless. So I asked him again, “Are you sure no one followed you?”
“How would I know? On Middle Gulf this time of year, everyone drives fifteen goddamn miles an hour. A funeral could have passed us, traffic was so backed up.” Then he said, “I’ve got to piss, so don’t worry. It’s not your phone.”
Engines in neutral, the Zodiac’s hull vibrated beneath me and had drifted so I could see the marina a hundred yards away: streamers of silver water linked to security lights that showed A-Dock and the Stiletto’s empty slip. I waited until Tomlinson said, “That’s better,” before asking him, “Does Kondo own a boat? Not the rental boat, his own boat.”
“Hang on,” he replied, and I heard a door click shut. Then, sounding more like himself, “I don’t know. Probably. He’s got a condo on Naples Beach—Coquina Sands. There’s a steel drum ditty for you: Kondo’s Coquina Condo . . . no, Kondo’s Cosmic Condo . . .”
“Anybody you could check with?” I interrupted, then told him, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Did Cressa know you planned to go to Lostman’s River this morning?”
“The Bone Field, yeah. But I just told you, I’m not—”
“Does she know you’ve changed your mind?”
“Well, I’m right here with her, aren’t I? At the damn Holiday Inn, with my laundry bag and a shoeshine cloth.”
“Stay there,” I told him. “Order room service, don’t go anywhere—especially not her beach house.”
“What about the dog!”
“Between Janet and Hannah, that’s all taken care of.”