“Don’t get any stupid ideas,” Mica warned softly.
I was moving away from him when Birdy, whose internal clock runs fast, called back. I touched Speaker and turned the volume loud so Mica wouldn’t miss a word.
“Ms. Smith? Deputy Tupplemeyer here. We’ve got a couple of K-nine units in the area, and I know how much you like dogs. Mind if we stop and say hello?”
When my eyes shifted to Mica, he was waving his hands to focus my attention and mouthing the words Okay!… Okay! meaning he would open the storage barn, answer my questions, anything I wanted. I didn’t believe him but the K-9 unit was a fiction, too, so I went along with it, telling Birdy I would call back in a few minutes.
Mica was lying, as expected. But it gave Harris Spooner time to appear, the ZZ Top giant who moved methodically despite the pit bull that was pulling him along by its leash.
“I’m betting on that Chevy again!” he called to us, grinning. “Or she can pay me twenty bucks and walk out like a lady. Her choice.”
The man had added an extra ten as interest, apparently, but it was actually extortion because I was terrified of the dog, which he could read in my reaction. It caused Spooner’s grin to broaden, a grin so wide and wild it spread his beard like a curtain and laid his teeth bare on a face that was the size of a yeti and just as hairy.
I didn’t freeze but didn’t argue back either. Just stood there numbly while Harris knelt to slap the dog’s neck while saying to Mica, “You talk too much, dickweed.”
Mica feigned indignation. “You know I wouldn’t do that!”
“I heard you, boy. Piles of money and unpaid taxes. You didn’t say that?” Harris’s head pivoted slowly until his eyes found Mica. “You ever bring another stranger back here, keep flapping your lips way you do, I’ll turn you into something Vixxy can lap from a bowl.”
Mica’s expression became glassy, but he tried to save face by saying, “This girl, she’s almost like family. You knew her people!”
Spooner nailed him with another look that read I’ll deal with you later, then got back to me and his wager, saying, “I don’t see no money in your hand, girl, so you must be real proud of those legs of yours. Well, if that’s the way you want it.” He reached to unsnap the dog’s collar. “You get a five-second head start. Damn it, girl, better run!”
The threat shocked me out of my daze and I replied with a threat of my own. “Mister, I’ve got a sheriff’s deputy waiting outside-ask Mica, if you don’t believe me. A whole team, plus a K-nine unit!”
It was the wildest of lies but didn’t matter. Before Spooner could respond, a familiar voice stopped everything by hollering, “Leave her alone, Harris! Mica, back away, and let me see your hands! I’ll shoot that damn dog, if I have to.”
Joel Ransler was there when I turned, a pistol in his left hand and ready but pointed at the ground. Then proved he could bully both men-possibly showing off for my benefit-by asking, “What’s the problem, you fellas miss showering at Raiford? Or just the strip searches?”
A few minutes later, in the parking lot, I told Joel, “Thank god you made me text the address!” which I had to yell out because Mica had resumed shredding tires.
The special prosecutor responded by asking me to lunch, then leading me to his Audi, which was a new A6, it turned out.
Best of all, the car was quiet inside.
19
That evening, just after sunset, I parked my SUV at the Lowe’s on Pine Island Road, and Birdy drove us inland toward Carnicero, a trip that took less than an hour but seemed longer because the woman enjoyed showing off her driving skills and the speed of her BMW convertible.
“We’ll keep the top down until we’re closer,” she told me, then pretended to respect traffic laws until we were on Route 17, a country road I didn’t remember as curvy, but it was curvy with Birdy Tupplemeyer at the wheel. As she drove, she questioned me about what had happened at the junkyard-especially Joel Ransler’s role-but often interrupted my answers to demonstrate driving advice, such as, “The trick is to maintain speed into a curve… then accelerate.” And, “You never want to surprise a drunk from behind, so I’ll flash my high beams before passing that asshole. Then downshift… always check your mirrors… then floor it!”
Finally, I had to ask, “Are we in a hurry? I thought the later we searched that field, the better.”
I was referring to our destination. It was a rectangular lot between the rehab clinic and a church the deputy had located on Google Earth. She had printed out copies for both of us. The photos suggested that cypress trees screened the field from the clinic, which made me more optimistic about trespassing on property owned by Dr. Alice Candor but no less nervous.
“I’d hardly call it a field,” Birdy said. “It’s less than a quarter acre. We hop out of the car, take a quick look, then we’re out of there. This far inland, even a few big conch shells will tell us we found the right place. After that, we’ll get serious.”
When I didn’t reply, she laughed, “You are so uptight! Next time Rance the Lance asks you out for dinner, you’d better say yes before you explode.”
Apparently, assigning nicknames to people she’d never met was something else the woman enjoyed. Even with the top down, the BMW was fairly quiet, but I still had to raise my voice to ask, “How’d you come up with that?”
“From the look on your face when you talk about him. He shows up out of nowhere, like a knight in shining armor, and saves your butt. Rance the Lance, see? Admit it. You’ve got the hots for the guy.”
“Oh,” I said, “that kind of lance. No… all we did was stop at Denny’s for iced tea. We talked, it was fun, sure. I figured I owed him at least that.”
“At the very least,” she scolded. “You said he scared the hell out of those rednecks. So he must be a pretty big guy, a hardass but classy, you said. The guy knows how to dress, how to behave around women, but you turned him down anyway. How many times you think he’ll ask before saying to hell with you?”
I said, “He’s tall, but not big compared to Harris Spooner. You’d have to see Spooner to understand. That man’s got something missing in his brain, and he’s a bully, too-until Joel showed up. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“One of the rednecks, yeah,” Birdy said. “That’s my point. The guy’s intimidating when he needs to be. But also an attorney, a man who’s made something of himself.”
I was reviewing the scene in my head, trying to understand why Mica and his uncle had reacted so meekly. “Joel didn’t wave the gun around or threaten to have them arrested. He even cracked a joke about them taking showers together-you know, after he sends them back to prison. I grew up around hard cases like Harris Spooner and I’ve never met a one who would tolerate being called a homosexual.”
“They just stood there and took it, huh?”
“Hardly said a word until Joel made them apologize.”
“Apologize?” Birdy slapped the steering wheel, delighted. “I’ve got to meet this Rance the Lance.”
“You mind not calling him that?” I said. “It wasn’t until we were at Denny’s that I mentioned there might be a meth lab on the property. Oh, and that Spooner supposedly cut his wife into pieces.”
“What?”
I said it again, and added, “Or put her in a tire shredder-I didn’t want the details.”