I could not tell if that was a mocking tone in his voice, but I could hear the distant wail of sirens.
"Shit, somebody called it in, Maxey ole boy. Time to go," O'Shea said.
He got up and looked around for witnesses.
"Easy, Colin. They're a couple of leg breakers who were sent to scare me off a case," I said. I wasn't yet even close to being able to stand.
"Yeah, OK for you, Max. But in the current state of things with your local law, I ain't takin' the chance of a night in lockup. That detective bitch of yours gets me in, I'm stuck for the long ride."
The siren was louder. I thought I could actually feel it on the back of my eyes.
"You gotta get her off me," O'Shea said, backing away. "You know I'm stand-up from the neighborhood, Maxey. Get her off me."
The sound of him trotting away into the night was then overwhelmed by the siren that wouldn't quit and blue lights whirling onto the walls, and I had the sudden urge to wretch. I was in an office at the Oakland Park P.D., sitting in a metal chair, holding an ice pack to my head. I had refused medical treatment at the scene while paramedics loaded Bat Man and his friend into the ambulance. The big man had been able to walk with help. The other one was put on a stretcher. Neither of them was able to talk so mine was a one-sided explanation: Two guys tried to mug me with a baseball bat. Things got a little crazy.
I showed the officer my license, gave them my keys so they could check out the truck and registration. I repeated my story three times: I had a couple of beers at Archie's. I came out to find two guys trying to break into my truck. I tried to chase them off and they turned on me.
I almost thought I was going to walk away with one of those "We'll be in touch" deals when a shift sergeant by the unlikely name of Dusty Rhodes showed up. He talked with the patrol guys and surveyed the scene.
"How 'bout we take a ride into the station Mr., uh, Freeman," he said, looking at my license. "Let the nurse take a look at that wound and see if maybe your head clears a little."
So now I was stuck in the sergeant's office, my head was somewhat cleared, but my story wasn't gaining any more credibility.
"So you take on both these boys, uh, one with an extensive record of aggravated assault, battery on a law enforcement officer and attempted manslaughter," Rhodes said, reading from a sheet of printouts, "and the other one with possession with intent to sell narcotics, simple assault and some damn thing here that looks like conspiracy to be an asshole."
He shook his big, block-shaped head.
"And all by your lonesome?"
He was a veteran, a grizzled and old Southern shit kicker who didn't like things that stepped out of their logical order. I wasn't going to walk without giving up something. I told him I was an ex- cop from Philadelphia.
"I see," he said. "So this wouldn't have nothin' to do with some drug deal gone squirrelly?"
I told him I was a private investigator and showed him my license.
"I see," he said. "So you maybe worked with someone locally who could speak for your good standing, Mr. Freeman?"
I told him to call Detective Richards with the Broward sheriff's office. He looked at his watch.
"And Sherry is gonna vouch for you?"
"Yes," I said.
"I see."
He left the room and I shifted the ice pack, wondering immediately if I'd suffered brain damage. Then I rationalized. Favor for favor. She wouldn't mind. I looked at my own watch. After two in the morning.
In a few minutes Rhodes came back in with a cell phone in his hand.
"The detective would like to speak with you," he said, but stayed where he was after handing over the phone.
"Yes, Detective," I said.
"Are you OK, Max?"
She sounded legitimately concerned.
"Yeah."
"The sergeant says this mugging was down by Archie's and he's not convinced you were alone."
"Yeah."
"You were meeting with O'Shea?"
"Yeah."
"Did that bastard have anything to do with this?"
The intense anger in her voice took me aback.
"No. They were breaking into my truck."
"So one guy is still spitting teeth and the other had his ribs kicked in. Doesn't sound like you, Max."
"OK, sure. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow," I said, looking up at Rhodes and trying to look positive.
"Max, if that son of a bitch was setting up another girl…"
"Yeah. He's right here. Thanks. Call me tomorrow, I'll be home," I said and handed the phone back to the sergeant.
He left the room again and when he returned he had copies of my driver's license and P.I. license in his hand and a young patrolman at his side.
"We will be in touch, Mr. Freeman. Even though I suspect them other boys ain't gonna say much more than you when they're able," he said, handing me back the originals.
"Officer Reyes will give you a ride back to your vehicle."
I thanked him and dumped the ice pack into his trash can before standing.
"To be honest, sir," Rhodes said before stepping out of the way, "I don't like a stink in my backyard that I don't know the source of. So I hope this one blows away 'fore I step in it."
"That's honest enough, Sergeant," I said, and left with my escort.
CHAPTER 8
The new bartender's name was Marci and once he learned her shift he started hitting it regularly. He always tried to get the seat at the end of the bar, so he could use the mirrors. By now she would notice him coming through the door and have an open beer waiting.
"I'm impressed," he said the first time she remembered his brand. She'd given him that quizzical look, like she wasn't sure what the compliment was for. They liked compliments, he knew, unless they were rude.
"That you'd remember," he said, tipping the bottle. She smiled and he liked the shape of her mouth.
There was a knot of people at the middle of the bar, voices already cranked up with liquor, the one guy telling stories, impressing the others. He sipped his beer, looking up at the television for a minute and then watching Marci's legs when she went to the far end to wait on one of the old farts down there nursing their shots. He made sure he didn't let her notice him staring at her when she bent over the bar to hear a customer better and gave them all a better look at her cleavage. She wasn't dumb, he thought. Girl knows where the power is.
She came back his way, noticing the empty he'd slid into the trough.
"So, how was your day?" she said.
"Good. Kept busy. Met some new people. Made some money. No complaints," he said, being pleasant. They liked upbeat.
"How about you?" he said. They liked it to be about them.
"I went to the beach," she said proudly. "I swore that when I left Minneapolis I'd hit the beach every day."
He filed Minnesota away in his head. Long way from home.
"You, uh, do something different?" he said, waving his fingers around his own head but looking into her eyes. She gave him the quizzical look again.
"No. Oh, the ponytail?" she said, pulling the blonde whip of hair over her shoulder. "You like it?"
"Yeah, I think so," he said. "Shows off the new tan."
She smiled again and when someone motioned to her from down the bar she kind of bounced away, pleased.
He drank his beer, played it cool. An occasional customer would nod at him in recognition and he would nod back, but always turn away. He was only here to get to know one person. He wasn't here to make friends. He looked straight ahead, used the mirrors to watch the rest of the room. The storyteller down the bar had taken over, rooster in the house, he thought. The two women in the group were already a drink over their limit and he was working to impress them. That's when the brothers arrived.
He heard the motorcycle come rapping up outside, the driver giving the throttle an extra twist of rpm's to announce himself. The first one in entered with a grin, hair blown back, T-shirt and jeans, neither of them black. He worked his way past the group at the middle of the bar and took the stool next to the quiet man. The second one entered with an amphetamine smile. He went straight to the rail.