“See no reason why you should,” I said.
Chook leaned to pat Arthur on the knee. “You have a dear face and I love you, but darling, forgive me, you aren’t terribly memorable.”
“I guess one of us is enough,” he said, making one of his rare little jokes, waiting then with no confidence anyone would laugh.
I got the evening weather news. As I had expected, the wind was swinging around into the north, and by dawn they expected it to be out of the east at three to five knots, clear weather, occasional afternoon thunderstorms. It meant that by early morning, with the Ratfink bailed and fueled, I could make a good fast run close in shore down to the little marina in Naples, tie it up there at that handy and useful location, then take the rented car back to Palm City. The evening was laundered bright, the air fresh, and Chook declined a chance for a dinner ashore, saying she had a serious attack of the domestics, a rabid urge to cook. After dinner, while the two of them were policing the galley I took the little battery operated Mirandette tape recorder into the stateroom I was using and closed the door. For some reason, I cannot perform the feat with people listening, and sometimes I cannot perform it at all. The little machine has astonishingly good fidelity, considering its size.
Try, playback, erase. Try, playback, erase. I learned that to get Waxwell’s tone quality I had to pitch my voice higher, and put a harder and more resonant edge on it. The slurs and elisions were easier to manage, along with that slight sing-song cadence of the swamp lands. When I got a reasonably satisfying result, I left it on the tape.
I went up on the sun deck for the long slow evening pipe. When one is down to this mild reward for abstinence, there is only one way to cheat. I found an oversized pot in the pipe drawer, a massive Wilke Sisters product, and nearly sprained my thumb packing Black Watch into it.
We all sat up there in the warm night, marina lights sparkling on the water, traffic moving across the distant causeway. They sat together, about ten feet from me, off to my right. They rustled a little now and then. And whispered. And several times she made a furry and almost inaudible chuckle, as sensuous as a slow light stroke of fingernails. It began to make me so edgy I was grateful when they said their early, husky goodnights.
I think it was becoming a little more for her than she estimated. I hoped it would get big enough to pry her loose from Frankie Durkin. But any kind of future for Chook and Arthur would depend on my making a pretty solid recovery for him. If she had to support him, or share the job of supporting the two of them, it wouldn’t work out so well. It would make him restive. And this was her time to have kids. And it wouldn’t mix well with her strenuous brand of professional dancing. She had the body for kids, the heart for them, the need for them, and love enough for a baker’s dozen.
So if you don’t recover enough, do you need to clip a full fifty percent of it, McGee?
Next there will be a choir of a thousand violins playing I Love You Truly. Or perhaps, Paddlin‘ Maudlin Home.
Back in my empty lonely nest, I turned the recorder on, and with the larynx memory of how I did it before, became Boo Waxwell giving a sour little talk on the joys of love and marriage. Then I played the tape from the beginning. The part I had previously approved sounded just about the same as the new addition. That meant I had it nailed well enough to risk it.
EIeven
IT WAS a little after nine in the morning when I tied up the Ratfink as before in the little marina. I went over into town in the green sedan, ordered drugstore coffee, and, as it was cooling, shut myself in the phone booth and called Crane Watts’ office number.
He answered directly, sounding remarkably crisp and impressive and reliable. “Crane Watts speaking.”
“Watts, this Boo Waxwell. How about you give me that number for Cal Stebber in Tampa. Caint lay my han on it.”
“Now I don’t know as I’m authorized to…”
“Lawyer boy I git it fast, or in five minutes I’m right there, whippin yo foolish ass down to the bone.”
“Well… hold the line a moment, Waxwell.”
I had a pencil ready. I took down the number he gave me, 613-1878.
“Address?” I asked.
“All I’ve ever had is a box number.”
“Nev mind. Lawyer boy I plain don’t like the way you give that McGee the whole story.”
“Don’t you think you made that plain enough last night, Waxwell? I told you then and I’m telling you now, that I didn’t tell him half the things he claims I told him.”
“Too dog drunk to know what you told him.”
“I’m doing my level best to get a line on him, and as soon as I learn anything useful, I’ll get in touch with you. But I don’t know why you’re upset about it. It was a perfectly legal business arrangement. Another thing, Waxwell, I don’t want you ever coming to my house again, like last night. You upset my wife, the way you acted. See me here if you have to see me at all, but I’m telling you now, I’m no more anxious to have any future association with you than you are with me. Is that quite clear?”
“Think I’ll come by anyways and bounce you some.”
“Now wait a minute!”
“Talk sweet to ol‘ Boo.”
“Well… maybe I did sound a little irritable. But you see, Viv knew nothing about… that business arrangement. You said too much in front of her. She cross-examined half the me night before I could get her quieted down. And she still isn’t satisfied. I’d just rather you wouldn’t come to the house again. Okay?”
“I swear, lawyer boy, I never will. Never again. Unless something comes up all of a sudden.”
“Please, just listen to reas…”
I hung up, sweating lightly, and went back to my coffee. Boone Waxwell had wasted very little time getting to the only man who might know anything about me. And had charged that man with digging up information. Watts could get my Bahia Mar box number from the club records. That wouldn’t be much help. But there was a new factor. Waxwell did not seem like a patient man. Perhaps no later than this afternoon he would be phoning Watts to find out what he’d Iearned. And he would be very intrigued to know it was his second call of the day, and interested to know that he had asked for Stebber’s unlisted number earlier. He would work that out in short order.
I aimed the Chev north up through light traffic, keeping a watch front and rear for State Police, who object violently to any speed approaching three numbers. I pulled into a marina parking space at Palm City at ten o’clock. The Flush was locked. A note on the rug inside the rear door to the lounge said they’d gone grocery shopping. I went hunting and found them in a Food Fair two blocks away, Arthur trundling the basket, Chook mousing along, picking out things, wearing that glazed look of supermarket autohypnosis. Eleven minutes after I located them, I had a protesting Arthur locked aboard with instructions to stay put and out of sight, and I was backing out of the parking space with Chook beside me, hitching at her skirt and buttoning the top buttons of her blouse.
If the feeder flight out of Fort Myers hadn’t been ten minutes late coming in from Palm Beach, we would have just missed it. And I had been too busy driving to do more than fragmentary briefing. I bought two round trip tickets to Tampa. With stops at Sarasota and St. Pete, the ETA was twenty past noon.
Once aboard, I gave it to her in more detail. “But with just a phone number?” she asked.
“And a little jump. And a prayer for luck. And the name of a yacht.”
“Golly, suppose you worked all this hard at something legitimate, McGee. No telling how big you might be.”
“A state senator, even.”
“Wow!” She checked in her mirror and fixed her mouth. “What good am I going to be to you?”
“I’ll figure that out as we go along.”
At Tampa International, with Chook standing outside the booth looking serious, I tried the number. As I was just about to give up and try again, a cool, careful, precise female voice said, “Yes?”