“I lost the eye in Vietnam,” Burr said, experienced and sensitive enough to suspect what Carver was thinking. “Stepped on a Claymore mine.” He crossed his arms and looked directly at Carver. “What about the leg? How did it happen?”
“A holdup kid’s bullet,” Carver said. “I got careless. I should have checked the back room in a store that was being robbed. A kid with a gun was back there.”
“Don’t flog yourself about it,” Burr advised.
“I don’t,” Carver said. “Everybody gets careless now and then, and usually gets away with it. My timing was off.”
Screaming and squawking from the beach made both men pause and watch a couple of gulls fight over a dead something that had washed up onto the sand. They watched until one of the gulls flapped away with an object grasped in its beak. The defeated gull flew off in search of easier offerings from the sea.
“The way of life, huh?” Burr said.
“Some lives.”
“The way it is in our line of work, with the people we deal with. Maybe the way it is in most lines of work.”
Carver wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t think most assembly-line workers had to worry about being met on the road by a man with a knife. Burr walked over and stepped down off the porch. Carver envied him his two good legs.
“Don’t be careless again,” Burr cautioned. “You might be onto something bigger than you know. Be on the alert, think before you jump, be careful.” He made it sound like a Boy Scout oath.
Carver nodded to Burr and watched him round the corner of the cabin. A few minutes later a car engine about a hundred yards away racketed to life.
As Carver listened to Burr drive up the road toward the coast highway, he understood why the DEA man had parked so far away and come up on the house quietly. He wanted to demonstrate to Carver that his advice was sound. Be careful; you’re not as secure as you might think.
Carver decided to be careful. But he knew that being careful wouldn’t have made any difference on the road with Silverio Lujan. People like Burr fooled themselves about how much control they could exercise over events. So much of what happened in life, good or bad, was the result of luck. Or if you weren’t a gambler, you could call it fate. Carver didn’t think it made much difference what it was called; people had to learn to fend it off or roll with it in order to survive.
He went inside out of the sun, sat for a while gazing at the sea beyond his hanging plants, then called Edwina and made a date for lunch.
CHAPTER 24
Carver showered, then dressed in worn jeans, gray sweat-socks, his moccasins, and a black sportshirt with a riotous pattern of colorful tropical birds splashed over it. Edwina had an afternoon appointment to show some citrus-grove property outside of Del Moray, so she and Carver were going to meet where she recommended, a restaurant called Orange We All, on Highway 17 near Sanford.
Orange We All was quintessential central Florida. It was built to resemble a huge half-orange, complete with a stem and artificial leaves on top to hide the air-conditioning unit, and had laughing Disneylike characters painted all around it halfway up.
As he parked the Olds in the crowded lot and saw a family with half a dozen kids tromp into the restaurant, Carver had misgivings about agreeing to Edwina’s choice of a place to eat. He liked kids, but he didn’t care for the idea of eating lunch within range of a two-year-old’s highchair. His own kids, Fred Jr. and Anne, had seen spoons more as launching devices than eating utensils at that age. Carver remembered thinking that was cute, but that had been Fred Jr. and Anne.
Edwina had gotten there ahead of him and had somehow secured a quiet booth near the back of the restaurant. She had on the gray tailored business suit she’d worn when Carver had first seen her, and a large blue leather briefcase was next to her leaning against the back of the seat. The attractive, modern career woman, taking time from her busy schedule to meet someone for lunch. She looked like an ad for The Wall Street Journal. What would the conversation cover today? Carver wondered. Missing lovers, the sweet agony of passion, or tax-free municipals?
“Do they serve orange juice here?” he asked, sliding into the seat across the table from her.
Edwina smiled. “And good food. And they see that adults by themselves are seated away from the kids. You shouldn’t judge things solely on the merits of their exteriors.”
“You and Burr are throwing worldly philosophy at me today too fast to comprehend,” Carver said.
She sat forward, interested. “Where did you see Burr?”
“At my place this morning. He wanted to warn me that what we’re involved in might be a big drug operation, with accompanying danger. He thinks Willis might be a low-level player in a high-stakes game.”
A large-busted young waitress in an orange uniform and wearing a hat with Mickey Mouse ears on it approached the table. A balloon twisted into the shape of some animal Carver couldn’t identify bobbed after her with helium buoyancy on the end of a long string attached to her belt. No wonder the place had tourist trade.
Edwina ordered the Dieter’s Delite. Carver asked for a hamburger, French fries, and something called an Orange Sloshy.
“I bring clients here sometimes,” Edwina said. “I’ve closed several deals at this table.”
“It’s probably the Orange Sloshy that gets them,” Carver said.
Edwina ignored his wisecrack. She was looking at him with an interest he hadn’t seen before in her gray eyes. The intensity of that look scared Carver. It suggested that they had turned a corner. Now their fates were linked. She was a little bit afraid, too, and curious about where this was all carrying them. The three of them, Carver, Edwina… Willis. Or was he gradually displacing Willis, becoming what Willis had been to Edwina? Willis the perfect, gentle lover; she’d moaned his name beneath Carver. Carver didn’t want to be Willis, not to that extent. Is that where this would end? How it would end?
“He’s a thief,” Carver said softly. She knew who he was talking about. Willis. Always Willis. “He ran out on you; he didn’t have to do that.”
“I don’t know the circumstances. You don’t, either. Maybe he had to leave. Maybe he did it for me.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I have to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she said earnestly.
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Carver said.
She sighed, toyed with the menu, then placed it back in its metal clasp at the side of the booth, near the miniature orange salt and pepper shakers. “I should have guessed it would go wrong for Willis and me,” she said. “There were signs, but I couldn’t see them, not knowing what I know now.”
“Signs involving drugs?”
“No. Nothing like that. Like the time Ernie Franks caught him going through his, Franks’s, desk. That happened right after Willis started working at Sun South. He explained to Franks that he had a customer on the line and needed some information fast on one of the new units, thought he’d find it in a hurry in one of Franks’s drawers. Franks believed him; he’s kind of a gullible sweet bastard despite the business he’s in. I wanted to believe him too. And Willis is convincing. Nobody thought much about it after a while. Then there was the time Willis disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Only for a few days, not long before he moved in with me. He stood up some customers, cost the company at least one deal. Franks was furious, but Willis, being Willis, was able to smooth things over.”
“How? What did he tell Franks?”
“I don’t know, exactly. He told me he had to go to Miami unexpectedly.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. Only that it concerned some past business. You see, Willis went to Miami before he and I… became close.”
“I thought you became lovers before he went to work at Sun South.”