you know how old lags talk, and I thought he was just blowing smoke. He got out a couple of months before I did and told me to look him up and maybe we could work a deal together. So when I was sprung, I decided to do it. Right now he's got a little printshop in Lakeland. We killed a jug one night, a bottle of schnapps that tasted like battery acid, and he showed me his great invention.'
'And?' Rathbone said. 'What was it?'
Tommy withdrew a small white envelope from his inside jacket pocket, lifted the flap, took out a check. 'Take a look at that.'
Rathbone examined it. It appeared to be a blank check printed with the name and address of a California bank. 'So?' he said.
'Got a pen?'
Rathbone handed over his gold Montblanc ballpoint. Tommy made out the check to David Rathbone for a thousand dollars, dated it correctly, then signed 'Mickey Mouse.' He slipped the check back into the white envelope, sealed it, handed it to Rathbone.
'Keep it for a week,' he said, 'then open it. I'll come back here in ten days or so and we'll talk about it. Okay?'
'If you say so, Tommy, but why all the mystery?'
'You'll see. Just leave the check in the envelope for a week and then open it. David, this could be our ticket to paradise. See you around.'
Tommy left a sawbuck on the bar, then went out the side entrance. Rathbone put the sealed white envelope in his side pocket and rejoined the crowd at the big table.
'Who was that?' Jimmy Bartlett asked. 'The guy you were talking to at the bar.'
Rathbone laughed. 'You didn't recognize him? That was Termite Tommy.'
'Never heard of him.'
'He organized a great gig in south Florida. Guaranteed termite extermination. Traveled around in a van offering free termite inspection to homeowners. He also carried ajar of live termites and a bag of sawdust. After he made his inspection, he showed the mooch how his house was about to collapse unless he signed a contract for total termite control. Then Tommy would pocket the up-front deposit and take off. He had a nice thing going for almost three years until the gendarmes caught up with him. He drew eighteen months. But as he said, it's just part of the cost of doing business.'
'What's he up to now?' Cynthia Coe asked.
'Who knows?' Rathbone said. 'Probably selling earmuffs to south Floridians. The guy's a dynamite yak.'
Frank Little leaned across the table. 'Hey, David,' he said, 'catch who just came in. Ever see her before?'
4
Rita Sullivan figured that if she dressed like a flooze, Rathbone would make her for a hooker arrived in south Florida for the season, and he'd be turned off. At the same time she didn't want to look like Miss Priss. So she settled for a rip-off of a collarless Chanel suit in white linen with a double row of brass buttons. The newly shortened miniskirt showed a lot of her long, bare legs. Her white pumps had three-inch heels.
When she got out of her rented Honda Civic, the parking valet caught a flash of tanned thigh and said, in Spanish, 'God bless the mother who gave birth to you.'
'Thank you,' Rita said and, chin high, marched into the Grand Palace.
The maitre d' came bustling forward, giving her an admiring up-and-down. 'Ah, madam,' he said, 'I am so sorry but the kitchen is closed.'
'That's all right,' she said. 'I just wanted a nightcap. You have a cocktail bar?'
'But of course!' he cried. 'The Palace Lounge. Through that back doorway, if you please.'
The Lounge was jammed, noisy, smoky. Rita swung onto a barstool, turned sideways, crossed her legs. She ordered a vodka stinger from the baldy behind the bar.
It was served in a glass big enough to float a carp. She took a sip.
'Okay?' Ernie asked.
'Just right,' she said. 'Busy night.'
'It's always like this. On Saturday we have a three-piece jazz combo.'
'I'll have to catch that.'
'You can't go wrong,' he told her.
'In that case I'll skip it,' she said, and he gave her a knowing grin.
She turned and surveyed the Lounge casually. It wasn't hard to spot David Rathbone. He was seated at the head of a big table in the corner. He was even better-looking than his photograph, a golden boy, and he was staring at her.
She turned back, waited until baldy was down at the other end of the bar, then opened her shoulder bag and took out a pack of Virginia Slims. She kept rooting in her bag as if looking for a match. It was a corny ploy, but she reckoned if the guy was on the make he'd catch the signal and come running. He did. A gold Dupont lighter was proffered.
'May I?' he said.
She liked his voice. Deep, throaty, with a burble of laughter.
'Thank you,' she said, and lighted her cigarette.
He looked at the pack. 'You've come a long way, baby,' he said.
'So they tell me,' she said.
'Can I buy you a drink?' he asked.
'I've hardly touched this one.'
'So? The night's young. May I join you?'
'If you like.'
He took the barstool alongside her, not too close.
'First time here?'
She nodded.
'You'll like it. Good crowd. Big drinks.'
'Uh-huh. And not exactly cheap.'
'They're expensive,' he acknowledged. 'But there are a lot of fringe benefits.' He gave her a dazzling smile. 'I'm one of them.'
She laughed and worked on her stinger.
'Where are you from?' he asked her. 'I've been in Florida for years and I've never met anyone who was born here. Everyone's from somewhere else. I'm from Boston originally, then New York. You?'
'New Orleans originally, then Tallahassee.'
'Work down here?'
'Hope to. I just arrived. I'm a schoolteacher.'
'Oh? And what do you teach?'
'Spanish.'
' 'A otro perro con ese hueso. ''
Rita laughed again. 'Do you know what that means?'
'Not really. But I once told a Spanish lady that I loved her, and that's what she said. I always thought it was the Spanish equivalent of 'And I love you, too.' '
'It's the Spanish equivalent of Tell it to the Marines.' '
Then he laughed. 'I better stick to English. Ready for a fresh drink? I am.'
'Sure,' Rita said. 'Why not.'
Ernie brought them a vodka gimlet and a stinger and left them alone.
'I love your Chanel suit,' Rathbone said.
'It's a cheap copy.'
