glasses.
The bartender sat on a stool, smiling at a girlie magazine. 'Help you gents?' he asked reluctantly, raising his head.
'Beer all around,' I said, making a circular motion with my index finger. We sat at one of the tables.
Lee looked at me and smiled. 'I ain't got no money, Matt.'
'Beer's on Logan,' I said.
Logan raised his head, a resigned look on his face. 'What the hell. I'll uy.
The bartender brought three bottles of Bud and placed them on coasters on the scarred tabletop. 'That'll be nine bucks,' he said.
Logan dropped a ten on the table, and said, 'Keep the change.'
'Wayne,' I said. 'Do you know a Clyde Varn?'
Lee chugged half his beer, set the bottle down on the coaster, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
'Nope.'
I showed him the picture of Varn.
'Sure. That's Jake Yardley. He's an old buddy.'
'From where?'
'I don't know. Just around.'
'Around where?'
'Around here.' His voice was taking on a whiny quality. 'I don't remember a lot sometimes.'
'Wayne,' I said, 'it's important that you remember where you first met Yardley.'
'Oh, I first met him at his house.'
'In Tampa?'
'No. At the trailer park on Cortez Road, out near the fish houses.'
'He lived there?'
'Yeah, with some young girls.'
'Girls? How many? How old?'
'There was two of them. Probably twenty or so. Well developed, if you know what I mean.' He held his hands in front of his chest and tried for a leer, but didn't quite make it.
'Who were they?'
'I don't know. He never said.'
Talking to drunks is difficult. Logan often complains about it after I've had too many.
'How did you meet Yardley?' I asked.
'I help out in the trailer park sometimes, raking stuff up when the boats ain't running. I was working out there one day last summer, and Jake invited me in and offered me a beer.'
'And the girls were there?'
'Yeah, but they didn't stay long. They was gone within a couple of weeks.'
'Do you know where they went?'
Wayne took another long swallow of his beer, shook the bottle, and held it up to the sparse light from the bar. He stared pointedly at its emptiness.
'No. He never said. I figured they got tired of hanging out with an old man and took off.'
'I heard that you and Yardley go out drinking together a lot.'
'Yeah, when he's around. Which ain't much anymore. He moved out of the trailer park. Can I get another beer, Matt?'
'When?'
'Now'
Logan stood. 'I'll get it,' he said, and walked toward the bar.
'What I meant,' I said, 'is when did Yardley move out of the trailer park?'
'Months ago.'
'Where'd he move to?'
'Don't know. But he shows up sometimes and buys me beer.'
'How does he know where to find you?'
'Don't know. He just comes into the bars where I like to go:'
Logan returned with another beer for Lee. Mine was still untouched.
'Who'd want to kill Yardley?' I asked.
'Nobody. He's a nice guy.'
'Somebody killed him yesterday. Planted him in Durante Park.'
'You're kidding.'
'Nope. He was shot.'
'Wow.'
'And his name's not Yardley. It's Clyde Varn.'
'Son of a bitch,' Lee said, taking another long pull on his beer.
'What else do you know about him?' I asked.
'Nothing.'
'Did he ever say where he was from?'
'Not really. South Florida, I think. Maybe the Keys. He used to talk about the fishing down there.'
'Did he ever say anything about the girls who were living with him?'
'No. But they were sisters.'
'How do you know that?'
'Because they always called each other `sister.''
'And you don't know where they went?'
'No,' he said. 'One day they just weren't there anymore.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
'That's a spooky guy,' said Logan.
We were driving back to Longboat Key. It was near midnight and the streets were quiet. A rain squall had moved through the area while we were in the bar with Wayne Lee. The streets were wet, the lights reflecting off the sheen on the asphalt of Cortez Road.
'I feel sorry for him,' I said. 'He's a drunk, and he's getting worse. Pretty soon, they won't let him work the boats anymore, and he's going to end up on the streets.'
'He's almost there now'
'That's why Captain Cobol tries to take care of him. He won'tjeop- ardize his boat with a drunk, though. When Nestor won't take him out anymore, it'll be over for Wayne.'
'What do you think about what he said about Varn?' Logan asked.
'Not much to go on. Who were the two girls living with him last summer, and where did they go?'
'Yeah. And if Varn was hired muscle for the drug runners in Miami, what's his connection to the Keys? Maybe Wayne will remember something else and call you.'
I'd left my business card with him in case he sobered up enough to dredge more information from his booze- soaked brain.
'I'm not counting on it,' I said. 'I think I'll ask our friend Debbie to see what she can find out about Varn on the Internet.'
'Debbie? From Moore's?
'Yeah. She's been taking computer classes. She swears she can find anybody or anything. I think she's figured out how to hack into a lot of databases.'
I called Debbie at home early the next morning. She was a night owl, and I knew I'd wake her up, but I needed information. She'd forgive me. Sooner or later.
