“Do they have a work order?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, but like I said it ain’t anywhere on the schedule.”
The job schedule was Rob’s idea, a way to keep track of people inside the resort other than regular workers, residents, and guests. Not everyone was remembering to list their jobs yet, but Charlie enforced the system as if it had been in place for years.
“I’m outside the marina,” Rob said. “Be there in five.”
He could call Dexter from the guard shack as easily as he could from the marina.
They were young men with tans, wearing bluejeans and workshirts. Magnetic signs on their van said PANHANDLE MASONRY.
And they had a work order.
“Signed by Mr. Davis himself,” Rob said, recognizing the signature of the resort owner.
“I called Mr. Davis’s office,” Charlie said. “He’s out of town till next week.”
“You did just right,” Rob said. “Mr. Davis is in Atlanta for a resort owners’ convention.”
Rob leaned out of the guard shack, handed the work, order through the van window, and gave the driver directions to the yacht club.
“Thank you, sir,” said the driver. Charlie raised the guard barrier.
“Sorry you had to come all the way out,” the big guard said.
“I need to make a call anyway,” Rob said, reaching for the wall phone. No one answered at Dexter’s condo.
Back in the truck, Rob let his worries lead him in the direction of his new home, past the tennis courts and yacht club and toward the Sands golf course near his condo. As he made the big curve around the sixteenth green and seventeenth tee he saw the Panhandle Masonry van on the other side.
Rob turned on the emergency lights and stood on the accelerator. He caught the van within sight of his condo.
“I guess I didn’t pay good enough attention to your directions,” the young driver said sheepishly.
“Sign back at the cart crossing says ‘Residents Only,’ ” Rob said coarsely.
The driver shrugged and looked at his companion, who said, “We just never seen a place like this before, officer. Damn; it’s got everything!”
“Your turnoff’s a mile back,” Rob said. Newcomers often strayed into the restricted residential area, overwhelmed by the expanse and variety of this beautiful place. It did no harm to let them know that strict security rules came with the white sand and palms.
“This time watch for the grey condos on your right,” Rob said. “The yacht club parking lot will be right after that. Stay to the right of the clubhouse; the marina’s straight behind. Turn around in this next parking lot.”
As he pointed to his condo’s parking lot he saw them: Dexter’s Chevrolet and a Plymouth in the space that went with what must have been Sims’s place. He followed the van into the parking lot and pulled into his own space next to Dexter’s.
He found his neighbor and another man, obviously Sims, on the second floor balcony of the condo next to Dexter’s, two units down from his own.
“What a pleasant surprise!” Dexter called down. As usual, he wore slacks and a collared blue T-shirt contrasting with thick, silver hair. “This is Dave Sims. You’re just in time for iced tea.”
The men disappeared inside the upstairs room. In a minute Dexter drew aside the drapes of the sliding glass patio door and beckoned Rob inside. He pointed to a chair by the butcher block dining table in front of the door overlooking the pond.
Sims came out of the kitchen with iced tea glasses. He was younger than Rob had expected, maybe forty-five, bald, rangy, dressed in sports clothes like Dexter’s. Handing Rob an icy glass, he said, “Sorry, instant’s all I got.”
Rob didn’t feel like pleasantries. He looked at Sims. “Tommy mentioned something about a gun.”
Dexter snapped his head toward his neighbor, who said, “I didn’t know he’d seen it. I tried to be careful. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right about that,” Rob said. “I’m going to hire a real babysitter.”
Dexter looked back at Rob with sad eyes. “But I told you I’d be here every afternoon, and I have been. He’s the one thing I have to look forward to each day.” Rob knew Dexter liked their arrangement as well as Tommy did.
“Tommy sees enough guns with his father being a cop. After what happened to his mother, I’m afraid he’s... well, fragile.”
Dexter clenched his fist and looked down. “I understand your concern. But Dave can be more careful.”
Rob squared around at Sims. “About the gun. I’m listening.”
Sims folded his arms. “I have a permit.”
“And a reason to have a firearm where a kid can see it, I suppose.”
Sims nodded.
“I’m still listening,” Rob said.
“It’s part of my job. That’s all I can say.”
Rob slammed the table with his palm. “Damn it! I’m security director of this place, and I want to know why the heat. Now.”
Sims stayed calm. “You can write my superiors.”
Dexter interrupted. “I’ll explain everything.”
He leaned forward and held his head in his hands, speaking slowly, painfully. Sims, he explained, was a federal agent guarding a witness in congressional anti-crime hearings starting the next month. Dexter had agreed to testify in return for protection and immunity.
“Immunity?” Rob asked.
“I had a flying service in Biloxi,” Dexter said. “Some people — bad people — came to me when they needed secret transportation up and down the coast.”
“The mob.”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you knew they weren’t going to Sunday school.”
Dexter nodded. “They lent me the money to get started in Biloxi. I didn’t know who they were then. I didn’t know until I’d been flying them around for a long time. Then it was too late. They’d have killed me if I tried to sell out. My wife didn’t even know. I kept going to protect her, our livelihood, myself. She died a couple of years ago. I started looking for some way to break free. Then I heard about these hearings and got in touch with some people in the government. They promised to hide me so I could do what was right.”
Sims softened his tone, but he obviously didn’t like this divulgence to someone he no doubt regarded as an amateur. “Now you know. Alan knows a lot: where key people went at important times. He’ll be a valuable witness.”
A sweat broke out on Rob’s neck. “And he’s like a neon bull’s-eye until then. What in hell were you doing babysitting an innocent little boy?”
Dexter winced. “Joan — my wife — and I, we wanted kids. We wanted kids bad. It never worked out.”
Sims had stiffened again. “We have people on the outside. I have no reason to believe Alan’s enemies know he’s anywhere in the state. Your boy’s safer with Alan and me than he could be anywhere, especially if you do your job and watch the gates.”
Rob stood up. “Don’t worry about me and my job,” he snapped. “Dexter, do you realize the people you flew around may have been the same scum that killed my wife?”
Tears filled the old man’s eyes. “It couldn’t have been,” he said, his voice constricted. “The people in Biloxi never went east of Mobile. And the tragedy with your wife was... well, too clumsy. There’s no connection.”
“They’re all the same to me,” Rob said, standing up. “Thanks for the tea. And stay the hell away from my son.”
Two nights later, Rob took Tommy to his favorite drive-in restaurant for hamburgers. When they were finished, he said, “This arrangement we’ve had the last couple of days — me picking you up at school and taking you on patrol until the shift ends — how would you like to make that sort of an everyday thing?”