it until the bleeding stopped, and then used a mild antiseptic and pulled the edges together with narrow strips of tape. It was awkward having to work using the mirror, and the final product looked clumsy, but it was a lot better than where he had wanted to plant the blade-right to the hilt, six inches lower. And how had they planned to make that look like an accident? Maybe they had planned an accident so totally messy nobody would notice a knife wound.
I stretched out and unwound with a flagon of Boodles and ice. I had ruined one hand, one set of knees and the lower half of a face. Three men, one of whom was named Sully, taking orders from someone named Cappy. Reasonably competent professionals waiting for me in the dark, to inflict an accidental death. Maybe Jornalero had not moved quickly enough. Or had not believed me. At least I could give Jornalero a name now. And I could watch him closely to see what happened when I gave him the name.
On Friday morning Jornalero saw me immediately. He said it was a beautiful morning. No dispute. Bright and cool. He said he had been up very early for a sunrise sail on his catamaran. He said that his resolution for the new year was to do more sailing and get in better shape. I said my resolution was to keep breathing.
"Is there any reason to think you might not, Mr. McGee?"
I told him my three reasons. I could not give good descriptions of the men, but I had noticed that it was a recent dark-colored, four-door Pontiac, license USL 901. And the three men discussed giving me an accidental death on the orders of one Cappy. The only other name I had was Sully, who would probably never walk really well again. The expression on his face showed dismay and concern.
"I don't understand this at all," he said. "I was told there could have been a misunderstanding and I said that it would be wise to correct it, and I was told that it would be corrected right away. Would you please go back out to reception while I make a few phone calls."
It was a long fifteen minutes before he sent for me. He seemed depressed: "Sit down, Mr. McGee. Certain people found your performance last night impressive. I must say that I do too."
"I made a call last night to a friend to see if it was police business, but there was no sheet on it, so I guess they didn't check into a Lauderdale hospital."
"They managed to drive to… a different city. They're receiving medical attention."
"Why the foul-up?"
"I'm very sorry, but I have been told not to discuss this with you any further."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"They want to settle for you. And close the books."
"Look, does anybody disagree that Billy didn't order the killings and I didn't do them?"
"I think it's understood."
"Then why, damn it?"
"Let's just say it cleans up a certain situation."
"There are men doing life in the slam because somebody wanted to clean up a certain situation."
"Precisely."
"And you are not kidding me?"
"I am telling you more than I should. I will even suggest to you that you take the money you received for recovering that yacht, and go away for a year or two."
"Can you introduce me to somebody I can talk to about this mess?"
"Out of the question. Sorry I can't be of any more help." He stood up. My signal to go.
"I have the funny feeling, Arturo, you would have helped if you could."
"Sometimes there are no choices," he said.
I kept hearing him say that as I drove through heavy traffic out of the city and north on the Interstate. I could eliminate my choices one by one. Go to the authorities? And what seems to be the trouble, sir? Well, some people want to kill me. Why is that? Because I located a boat with dead people on it. Did you kill them? No, sir. Oh, I see. They think you did? No, they know I didn't. Then why do they want to kill you? I think because they have to kill somebody-just to show they're on the job. Okay, who are these people? I haven't any idea. How do you know they want to kill you? They keep trying. I
I stretched out and unwound with a flagon of Boodles and ice. I had ruined one hand, one set of knees and the lower half of a face. Three men, one of whom was named Sully, taking orders from someone named Cappy. Reasonably competent professionals waiting for me in the dark, to inflict an accidental death. Maybe Jornalero had not moved quickly enough. Or had not believed me. At least I could give Jornalero a name now. And I could watch him closely to see what happened when I gave him the name.
On Friday morning Jornalero saw me immediately. He said it was a beautiful morning. No dispute. Bright and cool. He said he had been up very early for a sunrise sail on his catamaran. He said that his resolution for the new year was to do more sailing and get in better shape. I said my resolution was to keep breathing.
"Is there any reason to think you might not, Mr. McGee?"
I told him my three reasons. I could not give good descriptions of the men, but I had noticed that it was a recent dark-colored, four-door Pontiac, license USL 901. And the three men discussed giving me an accidental death on the orders of one Cappy. The only other name I had was Sully, who would probably never walk really well again. The expression on his face showed dismay and concern.
"I don't understand this at all," he said. "I was told there could have been a misunderstanding and I said that it would be wise to correct it, and I was told that it would be corrected right away. Would you please go back out to reception while I make a few phone calls."
It was a long fifteen minutes before he sent for me. He seemed depressed: "Sit down, Mr. McGee. Certain people found your performance last night impressive. I must say that I do too."
"I made a call last night to a friend to see if it was police business, but there was no sheet on it, so I guess they didn't check into a Lauderdale hospital."
"They managed to drive to… a different city. They're receiving medical attention."
"Why the foul-up?"
"I'm very sorry, but I have been told not to discuss this with you any further."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"They want to settle for you. And close the books."
"Look, does anybody disagree that Billy didn't order the killings and I didn't do them?"
"I think it's understood."
"Then why, damn it?"
"Let's just say it cleans up a certain situation."
"There are men doing life in the slam because somebody wanted to clean up a certain situation."
"Precisely."
"And you are not kidding me?"
"I am telling you more than I should. I will even suggest to you that you take the money you received for recovering that yacht, and go away for a year or two."
"Can you introduce me to somebody I can talk to about this mess?"
"Out of the question. Sorry I can't be of any more help." He stood up. My signal to go.
"I have the funny feeling, Arturo, you would have helped if you could."
"Sometimes there are no choices," he said.
I kept hearing him say that as I drove through heavy traffic out of the city and north on the Interstate. I could eliminate my choices one by one. Go to the authorities? And what seems to be the trouble, sir? Well, some people want to kill me. Why is that? Because I located a boat with dead people on it. Did you kill them? No, sir. Oh, I see. They think you did? No, they know I didn't. Then why do they want to kill you? I think because they have to kill somebody-just to show they're on the job. Okay, who are these people? I haven't any idea. How do you know they want to kill you? They keep trying. I
Similar Books
