good."
He watched Joe Stella push up from his desk. The man moved with an effort to get a bottle of Wild Turkey and glasses from a file cabinet, ice and a can of Fresca from a refrigerator LaBrava had thought was a safe. Pouring double bourbons with a splash of Fresca Joe Stella said, "First one today. What time is it? Almost ten-thirty, that's not bad. Long as you had breakfast." He handed a drink to LaBrava and sat down with the bottle close to him on the desk.
LaBrava took a good sip.
"Nice drink, huh?"
"Not bad."
"Refreshing with a little bite to it." Joe Stella took down half his drink. Poured another ounce or so of bourbon into it, and added a little more. He said, "Ahhh, man..."
"I bet he's been arrested," LaBrava said, "but never convicted, uh?"
Joe Stella said, "Richie's from upstate. Some of the boys here call him Big Scrub when he's in a good mood, call him Big Dick he'll grin at you. Otherwise nobody talks to him. You understand the type I mean?"
"I know him," LaBrava said.
"He was arrested up there, you're right, for destruction of government property. The son of a bitch shot an eagle."
"I understand he ate it," LaBrava said.
"I wouldn't be surprised. Richie'll eat anything. He'll drink almost anything. He came to work here he gave me a half gallon of shine with peaches in it, whole big peaches... That's a good drink, isn't it?"
"Nice."
"He shot the eagle he was living up around Ocala, the Big Scrub country. Richie was a canoe guide, he'd take birdwatchers and schoolteachers back in the swamp, show 'em nature and come out somewhere up on the St. Johns River. He wasn't doing that he'd run supplies for a couple of moonshiners, few hundred pounds a sugar a trip. These two brothers he knew had a still in there. So when he got busted for the eagle he traded off, gave the feds the two brothers and they got two to five in Chillicothe. I asked him, didn't it bother him any to turn in his friends? He says, 'No, it weren't no hill to climb.' " Joe Stella drank and topped it off again, the color of his drink turning clear amber in the window sunlight. "No, it weren't no hill to climb. He's around here more'n ten minutes I start to sound like a fucking cracker." Joe Stella took another drink and sat back. "You ever hear of Steinhatchee?"
"Sounds familiar."
"Way up on the Gulf side, where the Steinhatchee River comes out. Sleepy little place, the people there, they cut timber for Georgia-Pacific or fish mullet outta the river, use these skiffs they call bird-dog boats, make ten thousand a year, top. Till they saw their first bale of marijuana and found out they could make ten thousand a night--buy it offa shrimp boats'd come in there and wholesale it. These hardshell Baptists, all of a sudden they're getting rich in the dope business. They never smoked it, you understand, they just ran it. Well, Richie Nobles had a relative living over there and found out about it. So what do you think Richie does?"
"If he got rich," LaBrava said, "I know he didn't declare it."
"No, Richie believes marijuana is for sissies. But it bothers him these people that don't know shit're making all that money. So he tells the DEA and they send him in, see if he can join the business."
"Professional snitch," LaBrava said.
"Kind you people love, huh?" Joe Stella said. "Once he was in tight there, part of the deal, the feds wired him. Richie comes back with enough to bust all his new friends. Testified against 'em in Jacksonville federal court, change of venue to protect his ass, and put enough on his own rela-tive, some cracker name Buster something, to send him up to Ohio for thirty-five years. Second flop's the long one, the first time the guy only drew three."
"What's Richard get out of it?"
"Enemies. He knows anything he knows how to piss people off." Joe Stella hesitated, about to drink. He stared over the rim of his glass. "None of that's familiar?"
"Why would it be?"
"You don't know an old guy name Miney, huh?
He watched Joe Stella push up from his desk. The man moved with an effort to get a bottle of Wild Turkey and glasses from a file cabinet, ice and a can of Fresca from a refrigerator LaBrava had thought was a safe. Pouring double bourbons with a splash of Fresca Joe Stella said, "First one today. What time is it? Almost ten-thirty, that's not bad. Long as you had breakfast." He handed a drink to LaBrava and sat down with the bottle close to him on the desk.
LaBrava took a good sip.
"Nice drink, huh?"
"Not bad."
"Refreshing with a little bite to it." Joe Stella took down half his drink. Poured another ounce or so of bourbon into it, and added a little more. He said, "Ahhh, man..."
"I bet he's been arrested," LaBrava said, "but never convicted, uh?"
Joe Stella said, "Richie's from upstate. Some of the boys here call him Big Scrub when he's in a good mood, call him Big Dick he'll grin at you. Otherwise nobody talks to him. You understand the type I mean?"
"I know him," LaBrava said.
"He was arrested up there, you're right, for destruction of government property. The son of a bitch shot an eagle."
"I understand he ate it," LaBrava said.
"I wouldn't be surprised. Richie'll eat anything. He'll drink almost anything. He came to work here he gave me a half gallon of shine with peaches in it, whole big peaches... That's a good drink, isn't it?"
"Nice."
"He shot the eagle he was living up around Ocala, the Big Scrub country. Richie was a canoe guide, he'd take birdwatchers and schoolteachers back in the swamp, show 'em nature and come out somewhere up on the St. Johns River. He wasn't doing that he'd run supplies for a couple of moonshiners, few hundred pounds a sugar a trip. These two brothers he knew had a still in there. So when he got busted for the eagle he traded off, gave the feds the two brothers and they got two to five in Chillicothe. I asked him, didn't it bother him any to turn in his friends? He says, 'No, it weren't no hill to climb.' " Joe Stella drank and topped it off again, the color of his drink turning clear amber in the window sunlight. "No, it weren't no hill to climb. He's around here more'n ten minutes I start to sound like a fucking cracker." Joe Stella took another drink and sat back. "You ever hear of Steinhatchee?"
"Sounds familiar."
"Way up on the Gulf side, where the Steinhatchee River comes out. Sleepy little place, the people there, they cut timber for Georgia-Pacific or fish mullet outta the river, use these skiffs they call bird-dog boats, make ten thousand a year, top. Till they saw their first bale of marijuana and found out they could make ten thousand a night--buy it offa shrimp boats'd come in there and wholesale it. These hardshell Baptists, all of a sudden they're getting rich in the dope business. They never smoked it, you understand, they just ran it. Well, Richie Nobles had a relative living over there and found out about it. So what do you think Richie does?"
"If he got rich," LaBrava said, "I know he didn't declare it."
"No, Richie believes marijuana is for sissies. But it bothers him these people that don't know shit're making all that money. So he tells the DEA and they send him in, see if he can join the business."
"Professional snitch," LaBrava said.
"Kind you people love, huh?" Joe Stella said. "Once he was in tight there, part of the deal, the feds wired him. Richie comes back with enough to bust all his new friends. Testified against 'em in Jacksonville federal court, change of venue to protect his ass, and put enough on his own rela-tive, some cracker name Buster something, to send him up to Ohio for thirty-five years. Second flop's the long one, the first time the guy only drew three."
"What's Richard get out of it?"
"Enemies. He knows anything he knows how to piss people off." Joe Stella hesitated, about to drink. He stared over the rim of his glass. "None of that's familiar?"
"Why would it be?"
"You don't know an old guy name Miney, huh?
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