collectibles, old Hot Wheels—lots of guys got that stuff. You pay me anytime. We’ll work it out.”
I had assumed he’d want instant dollars. And I hadn’t expected to buy a thing. Four lenses were priced so low I’d be a fool not to get them. I also bought the OM-1 camera body and an old T-20 flash unit. I passed on the twenty-eight lens; I had one that I used rarely. I gave Ortega two hundred, told him I’d write him a check for the balance when I returned from Grand Cayman. He took his fritters to his Taurus. I called a taxi.
For a moment I stood on the porch and appreciated for the thousandth time the morning sunlight washing through my screens. I searched my mind, imagined the shoulder-height coffee window, the man in that window. The man had no features, no face. I couldn’t change my memory. My opinion of Cootie Ortega, however, had shifted. Not so much upward as sideways, to account for his memory and the fact that he’d cut me a deal on the lenses.
I was dumping out cereal mush when the phone rang.
Sam said, “Glad I caught you before you dusted off to the airport. Get a pencil while I piss and moan about you, down in Grand Cayman this evening, knocking back tall rum, staring at bare-breasted beach lovelies. I can almost hear the reggae music from here, you bastard.”
He’d read my mind, but I didn’t want to rub it in. “I got a pen in my hand. Paper, too.”
“Okay, I’ll quit the crap. I need some favors. I don’t know how you’ll do them on quick notice, but you’ve got sources in that graft-ridden city of ours, and the newspaper frowns on Marnie doing this stuff. Write down Florida tag XSW-252, on a puke-green Chevy Cavalier. I need full info on that one. This guy likes to play tag, likes to follow people, but I turned the tables. It’s a long story for another day. Next is MJC-547, a recent Toyota Camry, dark green or black. This dude was a fellow-followee, near as I could tell. Call Marnie if you get a hit on either one and give her what you learn. I’ll get it from her. You got those numbers okay?”
I told him I had them.
“New subject. These pictures my sister overnighted could’ve been taken any time from the late Seventies until Lorie disappeared. One’s a group shot. I’ve found people here who don’t recognize Lorie, but they say it looks like the crowd that hung at the Parrot, maybe in ’eighty-three or ’eighty-four. So I need names of bartenders who worked there, and anybody you can think of who might have been in Lauderdale then.”
“Nobody right off, but I’ll put my mind to it.”
“Damn,” he said. “Where is my head? Captain Turk used to bop back and forth, and I’ll bet he hung at the Parrot. He used to chase Gold Coast rich girls so he could get a sugar mama to be his ticket out of fishing. I’ll call him at the dock. You think of anything, tell Marnie and I’ll get it from her. Slurp a Cayman toddy for us working stiffs, bubba.”
I copied the tag numbers onto another scrap of paper and put them in my wallet.
A benefit of having a roommate was that I didn’t have to close up my house. I took one safety precaution: I left a note for my neighbor and close friend, Carmen Sosa. I told her that I’d be gone, but Teresa would be around. I also copied the tag numbers for Carmen, and asked her to get Marnie any info she could.
The cab showed, and I was out of there with a half hour to pick up my passport and hit the ATM. A stress-free exit.
I asked the cabbie to wait in a loading zone on Southard. I was inside the bank, lifting my passport from the lock box when I realized I had left Sam’s ten thousand stashed in my house. Whose memory was thinning in times of stress? I withdrew eight hundred for travel cash and decided Sam’s money was safe enough where I’d hidden it.
I hurried back outside. Whit Randolph had angled his yellow BMW to the curb, just ahead of the cab. He was at the money machine. I wanted to dodge him, tiptoe to the
I had assumed he’d want instant dollars. And I hadn’t expected to buy a thing. Four lenses were priced so low I’d be a fool not to get them. I also bought the OM-1 camera body and an old T-20 flash unit. I passed on the twenty-eight lens; I had one that I used rarely. I gave Ortega two hundred, told him I’d write him a check for the balance when I returned from Grand Cayman. He took his fritters to his Taurus. I called a taxi.
For a moment I stood on the porch and appreciated for the thousandth time the morning sunlight washing through my screens. I searched my mind, imagined the shoulder-height coffee window, the man in that window. The man had no features, no face. I couldn’t change my memory. My opinion of Cootie Ortega, however, had shifted. Not so much upward as sideways, to account for his memory and the fact that he’d cut me a deal on the lenses.
I was dumping out cereal mush when the phone rang.
Sam said, “Glad I caught you before you dusted off to the airport. Get a pencil while I piss and moan about you, down in Grand Cayman this evening, knocking back tall rum, staring at bare-breasted beach lovelies. I can almost hear the reggae music from here, you bastard.”
He’d read my mind, but I didn’t want to rub it in. “I got a pen in my hand. Paper, too.”
“Okay, I’ll quit the crap. I need some favors. I don’t know how you’ll do them on quick notice, but you’ve got sources in that graft-ridden city of ours, and the newspaper frowns on Marnie doing this stuff. Write down Florida tag XSW-252, on a puke-green Chevy Cavalier. I need full info on that one. This guy likes to play tag, likes to follow people, but I turned the tables. It’s a long story for another day. Next is MJC-547, a recent Toyota Camry, dark green or black. This dude was a fellow-followee, near as I could tell. Call Marnie if you get a hit on either one and give her what you learn. I’ll get it from her. You got those numbers okay?”
I told him I had them.
“New subject. These pictures my sister overnighted could’ve been taken any time from the late Seventies until Lorie disappeared. One’s a group shot. I’ve found people here who don’t recognize Lorie, but they say it looks like the crowd that hung at the Parrot, maybe in ’eighty-three or ’eighty-four. So I need names of bartenders who worked there, and anybody you can think of who might have been in Lauderdale then.”
“Nobody right off, but I’ll put my mind to it.”
“Damn,” he said. “Where is my head? Captain Turk used to bop back and forth, and I’ll bet he hung at the Parrot. He used to chase Gold Coast rich girls so he could get a sugar mama to be his ticket out of fishing. I’ll call him at the dock. You think of anything, tell Marnie and I’ll get it from her. Slurp a Cayman toddy for us working stiffs, bubba.”
I copied the tag numbers onto another scrap of paper and put them in my wallet.
A benefit of having a roommate was that I didn’t have to close up my house. I took one safety precaution: I left a note for my neighbor and close friend, Carmen Sosa. I told her that I’d be gone, but Teresa would be around. I also copied the tag numbers for Carmen, and asked her to get Marnie any info she could.
The cab showed, and I was out of there with a half hour to pick up my passport and hit the ATM. A stress-free exit.
I asked the cabbie to wait in a loading zone on Southard. I was inside the bank, lifting my passport from the lock box when I realized I had left Sam’s ten thousand stashed in my house. Whose memory was thinning in times of stress? I withdrew eight hundred for travel cash and decided Sam’s money was safe enough where I’d hidden it.
I hurried back outside. Whit Randolph had angled his yellow BMW to the curb, just ahead of the cab. He was at the money machine. I wanted to dodge him, tiptoe to the
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