least, the television news last night had said foul play was suspected; that Marvin had been beaten to death. Not blown up. He'd had his neck broken.
Into Sutter's mind came the glittering image of Marvin standing up in that little boat during a lightning blast, holding something in his hand. A weird-looking thing to see across two hundred yards of waves and rain, and then the ocean gave a great belch—an explosion—and he never saw Marvin again. Just found the rental boat about an hour later, the scats broken and everything a mess but empty, so Sutter had taken care of that.
So why in the hell did the police think Marvin had been beaten to death? Shit, the police doctors would know the difference between a guy who got blown to pieces and a guy who'd had his neck broken, right?
So what the hell had happened?
Maybe a boat had followed them out there—Sutter didn't like that thought. Gave him the creeps, the idea of someone following them through all that darkness. But it was possible. With all those clouds over the moon, they never would have known it.
Or maybe the cops were wrong, and Marvin had just been blown up and it looked like he'd been beaten. Fucking cops were so stupid, but he knew they'd want to paw through Marvin's things looking for clues —dumb asses — so he'd better hurry.
Sutter was reading the last part of the contract, the one concerning Mayakkatee Estates.
It read:
Whereas both parties are in agreement as to the terms of the sale of the described properties known as Mayakkatee Estates, and whereas the terms of this sale have been duly recorded, it is also agreed and entered into willingly by both parties the following, hereby known as addendum clause A: It is agreed that, if the aforementioned properties are sold in toto. then a full sixty percent (60%) of realized gross profits revert back to the original seller, or party of the first part (Griff, Inc., or Robert M. Griffin), to be paid upon demand by the original buyer, or party of the seeond part (Mayakkatee River Development, Inc.. or Marvin A. Rios). It is also agreed, willingly and faithfully, that copies of this clause. Addendum Clause A, shall not be publicly filed or duplicated, though it also be agreed that all matters pertaining to this contract and the aforementioned described property shall not violate any custom of the industry....
Sutter pondered over that, wondering: If Marvin decided to sell the land and not develop it, why the hell would he agree to pay the original owner 60 percent of the profit?
That was weird; didn't sound like Marvin at all. fucking little shyster. But maybe it was the only way he could talk this Robert Griffin guy into selling.
Robert Griffin? Shit, he'd heard that name before ... Robert Griffin ... Robert Griffin the goddamn state senator, that's who this guy was!
Sutter banged his big fist on the desk, pleased with himself for remembering.
Hell, he'd met Griffin at one of Marv's famous assholes and high-fliers parties. Tall guy in a suit, with dark hair, like he'd used a whole can of hair spray. Smile like it was painted on by a PR firm, but a lot of nastiness in that weak Florida-southern accent when he didn't think anybody was listening.
"Senator, this is Karl, was married to my late sister. Anything you want, just tell Karl. He's the marina flunky."
Well, fuck you, Marvin. Look who's sitting at your desk now....
Sutter reread the clause, not understanding it all but certain there was something stinky about it. Marvin and the senator had entered into some kind of seeret agreement—that copies "not to be publicly filed or duplicated" said as much. And that business about "shall not violate custom of the industry" was just some kind of legal out. Yeah, that was it. Something to say they had no plans to break the law, but they sure as shit did have plans, because why else would they want to keep it seeret? And why else would a tightwad like Marvin ever agree to give away 60 percent of his
Into Sutter's mind came the glittering image of Marvin standing up in that little boat during a lightning blast, holding something in his hand. A weird-looking thing to see across two hundred yards of waves and rain, and then the ocean gave a great belch—an explosion—and he never saw Marvin again. Just found the rental boat about an hour later, the scats broken and everything a mess but empty, so Sutter had taken care of that.
So why in the hell did the police think Marvin had been beaten to death? Shit, the police doctors would know the difference between a guy who got blown to pieces and a guy who'd had his neck broken, right?
So what the hell had happened?
Maybe a boat had followed them out there—Sutter didn't like that thought. Gave him the creeps, the idea of someone following them through all that darkness. But it was possible. With all those clouds over the moon, they never would have known it.
Or maybe the cops were wrong, and Marvin had just been blown up and it looked like he'd been beaten. Fucking cops were so stupid, but he knew they'd want to paw through Marvin's things looking for clues —dumb asses — so he'd better hurry.
Sutter was reading the last part of the contract, the one concerning Mayakkatee Estates.
It read:
Whereas both parties are in agreement as to the terms of the sale of the described properties known as Mayakkatee Estates, and whereas the terms of this sale have been duly recorded, it is also agreed and entered into willingly by both parties the following, hereby known as addendum clause A: It is agreed that, if the aforementioned properties are sold in toto. then a full sixty percent (60%) of realized gross profits revert back to the original seller, or party of the first part (Griff, Inc., or Robert M. Griffin), to be paid upon demand by the original buyer, or party of the seeond part (Mayakkatee River Development, Inc.. or Marvin A. Rios). It is also agreed, willingly and faithfully, that copies of this clause. Addendum Clause A, shall not be publicly filed or duplicated, though it also be agreed that all matters pertaining to this contract and the aforementioned described property shall not violate any custom of the industry....
Sutter pondered over that, wondering: If Marvin decided to sell the land and not develop it, why the hell would he agree to pay the original owner 60 percent of the profit?
That was weird; didn't sound like Marvin at all. fucking little shyster. But maybe it was the only way he could talk this Robert Griffin guy into selling.
Robert Griffin? Shit, he'd heard that name before ... Robert Griffin ... Robert Griffin the goddamn state senator, that's who this guy was!
Sutter banged his big fist on the desk, pleased with himself for remembering.
Hell, he'd met Griffin at one of Marv's famous assholes and high-fliers parties. Tall guy in a suit, with dark hair, like he'd used a whole can of hair spray. Smile like it was painted on by a PR firm, but a lot of nastiness in that weak Florida-southern accent when he didn't think anybody was listening.
"Senator, this is Karl, was married to my late sister. Anything you want, just tell Karl. He's the marina flunky."
Well, fuck you, Marvin. Look who's sitting at your desk now....
Sutter reread the clause, not understanding it all but certain there was something stinky about it. Marvin and the senator had entered into some kind of seeret agreement—that copies "not to be publicly filed or duplicated" said as much. And that business about "shall not violate custom of the industry" was just some kind of legal out. Yeah, that was it. Something to say they had no plans to break the law, but they sure as shit did have plans, because why else would they want to keep it seeret? And why else would a tightwad like Marvin ever agree to give away 60 percent of his
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