"I see him at the food stand. Not talk to nobody. Sit and watch. Just watch."
I wondered if Hix had seen me with Rodrigo and his friend the week before, if that had been enough to put him on to me by someone who had hired him to look big and ugly in front of the workers.
"I watch him follow the, the, what you say?" Rodrigo said, putting his fingers to his thumb and finger to his mouth.
"Smokers," I said. "He followed the guys when they went for a smoke?"
"Yes, to the alley."
Bat Man liked the alleys.
"And he hit someone?"
"No hit. Push and threaten. With huh! Huh! Mouth not work."
My cell phone rang and I took the folder and replaced it while answering.
"Yeah?"
"Freeman? It's O'Shea."
"Don't tell me you're already in jail."
"No. Not yet. I took a few days off work and I'm trying to lay low. Did you ask your man Manchester about me? I mean, I don't have a lot of cash, Freeman, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I had some back-up on this."
Rodrigo was staring out at the tree shade, trying to be invisible. Unlike in the new American cell phone society, conversations between individuals were still considered private events in his world.
"I talked to him. You can call his number if they arrest you," I said to O'Shea.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But he doesn't do this thing often, O'Shea. So it's a favor to me and since you've got some time, you might be able to help me to help you."
"Name it."
"Meet me in the parking lot in front of Big Louie's in the Gateway Shopping Center at eight," I said.
"All right. You, ah, need me to be carrying?"
"Not that kind of help," I said.
"I've got a carry permit, for the security job," he said, getting defensive.
"You really think it's a good idea to be carrying a gun when you're waiting for the sheriff's office to pick you up on an arrest warrant?"
He didn't answer and Rodrigo was cutting an occasional look at me. He knew enough English to be uncomfortable with what he was overhearing.
"Just meet me, Colin. I'll give you what you need to carry."
I punched off the phone and apologized to Rodrigo, who now had his hands folded on his thighs, holding his nervous fingers down as if he were trying to keep a small bird from fluttering off his lap.
"OK. If you see the big man again, stay away," I said. "And try to call me or Mr. Manchester. All right?"
He was nodding like a bobble-head doll.
"OK, Mr. Max. OK."
I smiled at him and told him to be careful and he nearly sprung out of the seat when he popped the door. I watched him walk away with the same gait, but using a different route. I sat staring out at the empty lot in front of me and two more spent blossoms of flame hit with a wet smack on my hood and I wondered if I was doing O'Shea or anyone else any favors with the next plan I'd concocted. I took US Highway 1 to Fort Lauderdale. In South Florida US 1 is boringly homogeneous. Driving south you can pass through a dozen municipalities and never tell when the string of car dealerships, strip shopping centers, pastel business buildings and gas stations fall into another jurisdiction. It matters little to anyone except maybe a speeder whose city P.D. pursuers will actually give up the chase when he crosses into another town's turf. The sameness of the landscape and the parochial attitudes of the cops are a dichotomy for a road named US 1, which Billy the historian points out stands for Unified System 1 and not United States 1.
I'd called ahead and stopped at Billy's office and Allie had one of the firm's cell phones with a digital camera on it waiting. I then went on to Fort Lauderdale and swung down to the beach and parked near the Parrot Lounge and walked out to the sand. In the salt air and purpling sky I sat on the low beachfront wall and tried to figure out the cell phone camera. I took a shot of the Holiday Inn by mistake. I got a nice shot of a couple walking their pit bull on a silver chain leash. A young woman came off the sand and propped one foot on the wall near me and bent to wipe the grains from her ankles and calves. While faking a call I covertly took a photo of her. She looked up once at me and smiled politely and I said something about refinancing a mortgage to my nonexistent phone caller. Hey, it was a test.
By sundown I had the camera figured out. I attempted a couple of low-light shots that were adequate. When the darkness deepened I tried to capture "the disappearing blue." But even the digital quality couldn't do justice to the mystery of the melding colors and at seven thirty I walked back to my truck and drove back across the intracoastal bridge. At the shopping center I parked in the lot, facing Kim's, and did a quick eyeball. Plenty of cars. Busy over at the Thai restaurant across the way. Pickup orders coming out of Big Louie's. And a patrol car parked nearly in the same spot as last time. My angle was better, but still I could only see a silhouette of the officer's head. He appeared to have a phone to one ear and he was facing the other way. A knuckle to metal rap on my truck bed fender made me jump. O'Shea was in my side mirror and then at my window.
"How's it hangin', Freeman?"
"Take a seat, O'Shea," I told him, reaching over to pop the lock on the passenger door.
I had not seen him pull in. Maybe he had walked. I realized I still didn't know where he lived or what kind of vehicle he drove. And still I was taking his side in a possible string of homicides. Maybe I was the one who wasn't being a very thorough cop.
O'Shea got in and settled. He had a three-day beard and was wearing jeans and a dark windbreaker. He had on a Phillies baseball cap and black soft-soled shoes, like an umpire would wear. I reached back behind the seat and brought out a thermos. He looked through the windows.
"What, you're on surveillance?" he said, trying to guess ahead.
"Yeah, in a way," I said, pouring him a cup. He blew across the top before taking a sip. I was matching his unfocused look outside, waiting, like I was at the edge of some cliff, unsure how deep the water was if I jumped.
"I was up in Philly for a couple of days," I finally said, still not looking at him. "I talked with your ex. She wanted me to tell you she wished you the best and didn't think you had anything to do with this or with the Faith Hamlin deal."
He didn't react, just kept looking forward, but I could see blue veins at the side of his forehead starting to bulge. He was holding something in. But after a few beats of silence, I knew it was going to stay there.
"You going to give me any kind of inside on the grocery store clerk missing up there?"
"No. I'm not," he said, and the veins pulsed back down.
"Christ, Colin. You can carry the old loyalty to the blue brotherhood a little too far, you know," I said.
"It's not loyalty to them," was all he said and then put the cup to his mouth and went quiet again.
"Look, Colin. I don't think you're in on these disappearances. Maybe I'm missing something, because IA in Philly and Richards down here are on you like stink. But I'm on your side on this, man. For some reason, I'm trusting you."
He stayed quiet but then turned and faced me.
"You said you needed me to help you help me," O'Shea said. "That kinda gave it away, Freeman. So let's get to it."
"Right."
I took out the cell phone and handed it to him.
"You know how to use the camera in one of these?"
He flipped the set open, looked at the face and turned it over once.
"Yeah."
"Yeah?" I said, thinking of my hour-long self-lesson.
"Yeah. What? You think I've been living in a fuckin' cave down here, Freeman?" Or a swamp, I thought, but didn't respond.
"But they don't have any range to 'em," he said. "Pretty useless for covert work."
"This is close-up," I said. "That's why I need you to do it."
I told him about my visit to Kim's and as much detail as I could about the man I'd seen slipping out the back way. I didn't mention Richards's presence.
"I'm thinking drug dealer," I said. "He and the new girl have something going. If he's got women bartenders selling over the counter for him, maybe they get caught up in the action, try to skim him or some shit. If he's ruthless enough, maybe he gets rid of the ones that he's partnering up with."