Florida Firefight by Randy Wayne White

hand. I put it there.”
    The huge head turned as if on a turret. The shock-glazed eyes cleared momentarily. He nodded his understanding. “Thanks, James. But I didn’t kill him.”
    A baritone voice with a hint of drawl came from over Hawker’s shoulder. “Well, somebody sure as hell has been doing some killing around here. You boys wouldn’t be trying to put together some bullshit story for me, now, would you?”
    Chief Ben Simps, head of Mahogany Key’s one-man police force, came across the lawn adjusting his gun belt. He was a wide, military-looking man carrying too much fat. The leather holster creaked as he walked.
    Hawker had yet to meet him. He had hoped to get together, individually, with both Simps and Boggs McKay when he and the townspeople were ready to strike the Colombians.
    He had hoped that would be in about another month.
    Now he knew it would be sooner. Much sooner.
    â€œThe killer is dead, Chief Simps. He’s over by the rock wall.”
    Simps looked at him sharply. “Are you an eyewitness?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid you kill the man who you say is the killer?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen who appointed you spokesman? When I want something out of you, Mr.—”
    â€œHawker. James Hawker. I bought the Tarpon Inn from Buck Hamilton.”
    â€œWhen I want something out of you, Mr. Hawker, I’ll ask. Until then, just keep quiet, hear?”
    â€œSpare me the Marshal Dillion bit, Simps,” Hawker said softly. “I know a bit too much about you to let it slide.”
    The cop whirled, as if he welcomed the confrontation. But then he caught the look in Hawker’s eyes. It stopped him. He backed up a step, nervous under Hawker’s gaze. He noticed the weapon in Hawker’s hands and seemed thankful for the chance to be on the offensive again.
    â€œWhere in the hell did you get that?”
    Hawker toyed with the idea of saying he had found it on the lawn. He had been damn stupid to bring the Ingram submachine gun.
    â€œIt’s mine,” Hawker said. “With all the killing going on in this peaceful little town, I thought it was appropriate.”
    Simps held out his hand. “I’ll take it. Uncle Sam has a thing about private citizens carrying automatic weapons.”
    Hawker made no effort to give him the Ingram. “That’s right. I guess that’s why they make people in my occupation carry them.”
    Hawker had no permit. But he had given Simps the proper impression. He wanted him to think he was a federal cop. Hawker watched his reaction closely. Ben Simps didn’t seem the kind of man to be intimidated easily. But he was intimidated now.
    The meaty face swung around, checking to make sure the other two couldn’t hear them. Simps said, “What did you mean, you know too much about me?”
    Hawker strung together the list of facts he had gotten from his computer check on Ben Simps. It was an impressive list. Simps had once been a cop in Miami, a crooked cop who knew how to play the game. He had won some commendations. Hawker named the commendations. Unexpectedly, Simps had resigned from the force. Hawker guessed at the reason why, and he could see in Simps’s face that he was right.
    â€œYou got caught taking payoff money, Simps. Until then your record had been pretty clean—but only because they’d never caught you before, never caught you shaking down whores and bar owners and pimps. So they gave you a choice: Quit the force, or hang around and be indicted. So you stuck your tail between your legs and ran—ran right here to Mahogany Key.”
    â€œAnd I’ve been trying to do a good job,” Simps said quickly. “But Christ, this place has gone crazy in the last year. You know where the county seat is? Key West! The damn county seat is a hundred miles by water or two hundred miles by car, so I’m stuck out here in the damn ’Glades without any