Ocean Prey (A Prey Novel #31) - John Sandford Page 0,31
would take you out in a tender.”
“Okay. You got anything else?” Lucas asked.
“Nope. I really don’t. Listen, don’t tell Roger I brought up his name, huh? He’s a friend,” Gentry said. “I only told you about him because I hated the idea of those Coasties getting shot. I really did. They’re water folks like me. And I’m not really getting him in trouble, because he wouldn’t have anything to do with those assholes on the Mako. He’s not a dope guy. He works hard and he’s a straight arrow.”
“Except for smoking more weed than everyone else in South Florida put together,” Bob said.
“That’s not even a traffic ticket anymore,” Gentry said.
“As we’ve found out,” Lucas said.
Gentry nodded. “Here, I’ll sweeten it up for you. You don’t tell Roger and I won’t give that fuckin’ Morris a hard time about giving me up.”
“We don’t know any Morris,” Lucas said. “We’d like to.”
“Have it your way,” Gentry said, rolling his eyes.
Bob: “What’d you do with your ten million?”
Gentry waved his arm around, taking in the house. “Does this look like ten million?” He shook his head. “There never was any ten million. I was completely, totally innocent.”
Bob: “You’re sure you don’t have a yacht tucked away somewhere? Maybe under a BVI corporate name? Maybe over in St. Pete, or Naples, or Lauderdale? Or two blocks from here? At the marina where your wife is?”
“You guys are so suspicious,” Gentry said. He looked sad, thinking about it, then ruined it with a sly smile.
They heard the front door open and Gentry turned and shouted, “We’re back here, Helen.”
He asked Lucas, “Can we be done now? She knows all about Blue Tuna, but she’d freak out if she thought I was still being watched by cops.”
“We’re done,” Lucas said. “We won’t tell Roger Quinn where we got his name. If anything bad happens to this Morris guy—we’re gonna look him up—we’ll be back.”
“Yeah. You’re gonna find a Morris in Miami without knowing his first name? Good luck with that,” Gentry said. “Oh, wait, I forgot: you don’t need any luck, you got him on speed dial. Tell him, ‘Hello from John, you fuck,’ next time you see him.”
Neither Lucas or Bob bothered to deny it.
* * *
They were all on their feet when Gentry’s wife came through, a thin, sunburned woman in a white golf shirt, slacks, and white visor, pretty, maybe seventeen years younger than Gentry. She looked at Lucas and Bob, then at Gentry and asked, tension in her voice, “What’s going on?”
Lucas said, “We’re federal marshals and we’re investigating a man named Morris, who your husband knew years ago. We thought he might be able to help us.” He shrugged. “It was too long ago, I guess. Nothing really to do with your husband, if you’re worried about that.”
Gentry said to his wife, “The last time I saw Morris was about two hours before Hurricane Andrew, back in ’ninety-two. I never heard of him after that. He’s probably dead.”
Lucas said, “Thanks for your help, John. We’ll get out of your hair.”
Helen Gentry stayed in the house, watching from the door, as Gentry walked them out to the truck.
“Thanks for that, but there’s gonna be some serious drama tonight,” Gentry said.
Lucas asked, “You never heard another single thing about that Mako?”
“I didn’t. I’d tell you,” Gentry said, shaking his head.
Lucas walked around the truck and got in the driver’s seat and Gentry said to Bob, as he was getting in, “You look like the kind of guy who’d be on the water.”
“I am, but small water, in Louisiana,” Bob said. “I share a bass boat with a friend.”
“Shoot, you gotta try the Islands,” Gentry said, with a toothy grin. “You go down there once and you’ll go down there all the time.”
“Like you and your yacht?”
“Maybe see you there,” Gentry said, and he pushed the door shut. “Down in the Islands, it’s all willing women and the chicken dance.”
“Things usually come down to that,” Lucas said, as he buckled in. “One way or another.”
“Yeah, they do,” Gentry said. “Hey—good luck, guys.”
* * *
As they drove out to the freeway, Bob asked, “What do you think about Gentry? You think we got it all?”
“Campbell was probably right. Gentry’s got a bundle salted away somewhere. I don’t care about that,” Lucas said. “He sounded sincere about the Coasties getting shot . . . so . . . I think we got what he had.”