King of Swords

They worked through them in near silence, starring things of importance. Max chain smoked. When it got too much for Joe he opened up the garage to let the tobacco fog out.

Max was finding no trace of a master criminal in his section. All the names so far were mostly petty criminals home invaders, muggers, cheque forgers, non-fatal stick-up kids, car thieves — plus a few manslaughters and one-off murderers.

When he reached the first name at 'O', he did a double- _ take and burst out laughing.Ś 'Solomon O'Boogie,' he read out.Ś 'What's he in for?' Joe looked up.I 'SI. Murder in a club on Washington. Informant named him as a major-league drug supplier.'

'Yeah?'

'White male, six foot, grey hair.'

'Solomon O'Boogie, huh?' Joe said, then flipped back a couple of pages. 'I got a Solomon Boogie here. Named as an AS for the shooting of a drug dealer in Little Havana.

This one's described as Hispanic, nineteen to twenty-five — female.'

'Female?” Max frowned. 'What's the date?'

'2.13.77.'

33°Ś 'Yeah?' Max showed Joe. 'I got the same date.'

Remembering how Charles de Villeneuve was said to have had the power to change his appearance, Max looked across at the picture of the King of Swords.

'Joe, why d'you keep turnin' it around?'

'Shit was creepin' me out,' he said.

'Pussy!' Max chuckled. 'You sleep with the light on too?'

They carried on looking through their lists.

Solomon O'Boogie had four more AS and SI entries, two for drug-related murders, one for drug trafficking, one for prostitution, all in the same year, 1977. Every listing gave a different appearance, age and gender. O'Boogie was an old white man, a young white man of 'Jewish appearance', an old black woman with a ginger afro wig and an Asian male, approximately five feet tall, mid-thirties.

'Now this is some seriously strange shit here.' Joe turned over the pages rapidly. 'There must be over a hundred listings for this one guy — Solomon Bookman.'

Boukman — the Haitian witchdoctor slave who'd inspired the de Villeneuve cards.

' What did you just say?' Max looked up.

'Bookman.'

'Let me see.'

Max looked down the list.

'Bookman, Solomon,' he read. He turned the pages. Joe was right. The list went on and on.

Then he came to the right spelling. Boukman, Solomon.

And read on.

The list detailed AS and SI reports on murders (most of them drug-related — dealers, gangleaders, suppliers, all shot or stabbed), drugs, prostitution, extortion, all taking place between 1974 and 1980. BookmanBoukman's appearance changed every time. Male, female, old, young, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American. Spoke with a Spanish, French, Russian, German accent. Had long and

3 3'

short hair, an afro, cornrows, plaits, dreadlocks, was bald.

Had blue eyes, brown eyes, black eyes, green eyes, grey eyes.

'That's our guy,' Max said. 'Solomon Boukman.'

ŚWhich one?' Joe asked.

'All of 'em and none of 'em,' Max said. 'My guess is no one knows what he really looks like because they've never seen him. He uses decoys.'

'Then maybe Boukman ain't even his real name. Why go through all that trouble to hide your appearance when you're using your real name?'

'Maybe. Or maybe he wants people to know his name.

Cause his name ain't gonna turn up anywhere. Nowhere official. No record, no driving licence, no IRS, no utility bills. Man as myth.'

Joe took a deep breath.

'It's just you and me on this, right? If this guy's that organized we don't stand a chance.'

Way it always was.'

'We're talkin' someone with serious juice here, Max. Connected like the city grid, friends in high places.'

'We'll take it as far as we can on our own, Joe. Then we'll look at our options.'

4o

Back home Max called up the Department of the Interior for a list of Florida-based calabar-bean importers. He identified himself by name, badge number and date of birth and explained what a calabar bean was. He was told to hold.

He held for fifteen minutes. Then he was put through to the plants division.

The list was short enough to read out over the phone.

There were three importers - Mount Sinai Medical Center, Miami University School of Medicine and Haiti Mystique proprietor Sam Ismael.

Next, Max called Drake Henderson. They fixed a meet in the coffee shop in Burdine's department store on Flagler.

Max' shaved, showered, swallowed some bennies with coffee and headed out.

'I need the lowdown on three people — two I got names for, one I haven't,' Max said after he'd ordered coffee. They were sitting back to back. Drake had come in after Max, wearing golfing clothes — brown check pants and matching cap, black and white Oxford wingtips, a pale yellow polo neck and a pink pullover tied around his neck. Beside him was a bag of golf clubs. He was eating bright yellow scrambled eggs on rye with a slice of ham and a glass of orange juice.

'First name — Solomon Boukman.' Max spelled it for him.

'I heard that name around the way,' Drake said.

'Where?'

'Around. In passin'.'

'Next, Sam Ismael.' Max's coffee came. He lit a cigarette.

V?3 'Now, the third guy is a pimp with green eyes. He's about six feet tall, slim build, light-skinned black, freckles, sharp dresser. Not pimp clothes, more the businessman type.

Drives a dark blue Mercedes coupe. Now, this ain't your average pimp. He doesn't strike me as the kind out there on the track, tryin' to knock other pimps for their girls. This one's organized. Recruits 'em workin' in cafes, bars, restaurants.

He's got cards printed up with phony names. Poses as a photographer, music producer, film producer.'

'Corporate pimp, huh?' Drake snickered. 'I'll see what I can do. Call me in three days.'

What do you need?'

'I'm lookin' to rid myself of some competition — the entrepreneurial kind,' Drake whispered. 'I'm gettin' my ass undercut by these two guys outta LA. Ebony 'n' ivory team.

The nigga goes by the name o' T-Rex, or Tampa Rex. Real name's Reggie Carroll. The cracker's name is Micky Goss.

His streetname's Big Sur, 'cause that's where he came up.

Used to be some kinda pro-surfer.