By the time the track made the mainland just north of Key Largo the wind had roused and was swaying the trees. The clouds had gone dark and swelled to thunderheads and swiftly closed landward and now rain came sweeping over them in great blown sheets and clattered against the coach windows like flung gravel. It fell for ten minutes and then abruptly abated to a sprinkle.
From the depot they took a taxi through congested streets and a continuing gray drizzle to the Ford dealership and there had a long wait before anyone could attend them. The receptionist smiled wearily and told them they were in luck—a new shipment of autos had just that morning arrived by flatcar from Detroit. The Boom was bringing in so much business they could hardly keep up.
It was that way all over town. Miami had seen booms before but nothing like this. Half the men in town dealt in real estate. They wore white boaters and seersucker suits, rolled toothpicks in their mouths and extolled the wonders of South Florida like evangelists describing Eden. South Florida real estate was being hawked in newspapers and magazines all over the country and every day’s mail brought fresh money from people avid to buy their portion of earthly paradise. The sharpies were pulling in profits like croupiers. Contract binders on property lots changed hands a dozen times a month and each time sold at higher price. Once again they were selling swampwater lots to the fools—and every wised-up sap was a newborn con foisting his folly onto the next sucker in line. The town abounded with hustlers of every stripe. The streets were an incessant cacaphony of klaxons and traffic-cop whistles and corner newshawks. Cargo ships crammed the bay. A skyscraper courthouse was going up next to the Florida East Coast depot where hundreds of newcomers stepped down daily. The population had tripled in the last five years and stood close to 100,000. The city was a clamor of construction projects. The air smelled of dredged muck and limerock dust and ready money.
“I’ll tell you what,” Hanford Mobley said, staring out the dealership window at the heavy traffic on the rain- sheened streets. “I bet they’s deals being made in this damn town like you wouldnt believe.”
John Ashley nodded and said, “Likely so—just like always.”
A harried salesman finally took them in their turn and twenty minutes later they drove away in a new sedan.
They bought two pump-action shotguns at a gun store and then went to a Miami Avenue jewelry store they’d heard about in Key West. John Ashley told the manager they’d been sent by General Lee and the man smiled at the code phrase and led them into a backroom. A few minutes later they emerged and Ray Lynn now had a .45 automatic under his shirt and John Ashley carried under his arm a paper package containing a brand new Browning Automatic Rifle and three full magazines.
They drove over to the Blue Heaven Dance Club. It was late afternoon and the place had just opened its doors for the evening and the parking lot held but three cars. The sun had come out again but was down almost to the trees. The long low clouds in the west looked on fire at their core. Roosting birds clamored in the high branches. The ground yet steamed from the rain. They entered the coolness of a large dim room about half of which was given over to a polished dance floor fronted by a bandstand. Tables with white cloths and already set for dinner were arrayed along the walls. They were approached by a man in a tuxedo who introduced himself as the manager and asked if they wanted a table. John Ashley said he wanted to see Ben Tracey.
In that moment—as if the action had been cued by mention of Ben’s name—the door at the rear of the room banged open and Ben Tracey came backpedaling through it and ran into a table and upset it with a crash of dishware and fell hard on his ass and slid on the slick floor. Hi mouth was bloody. A huge man in overalls and a sleeveless shirt came stalking through the door after him and a young woman right behind him and yelling in Spanish. As Tracey scrabbled to his feet the man grabbed him by the collar with one big fist and drove the other hard into his stomach and the breath blew out of Tracey and he sagged in the man’s grip. The woman jumped on the big man’s back and clawed his face and the man cursed and bucked her off onto the floor. He still held Ben Tracey breathless in his grasp as he wiped at his scratched face and the woman scrambled to her feet and came at him once more. He hooked her in the jaw and set her tumbling unconscious on the floor, her skirt riding up high and exposing much of her fetching legs.
Hanford Mobley laughed and cried out, “
John Ashley pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the back of the big man’s head and cocked the piece and said, “That’ll do, bubba.”
The big man went still and let Ben Tracy fall, Tracey braced himself on all fours and vomited loudly. The man in the tuxedo muttered, “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Ray Lynn went to Ben and helped him to his feet and led him away toward the front door. Ben was still struggling for breath.
The big man slowly turned and John Ashley had to look up to meet his eyes. “You best get that thing out my face before I make you eat it,” the big man said.
John Ashley brought his knee up hard into the man’s balls and the man grunted and lunged forward at the waist with his eyes wide and John Ashley held his thumb tight over the hammer and hit the man across the nose with the pistol barrel. The man’s legs gave way and he dropped to the knees with a great moan and both bands clapped to his nose and blood running through his fingers. John Ashley kicked him in the chest and he fell over on his side and curled up protectively, still clutching his face.
Hanford Mobley went to the woman and knelt beside her and checked her pulse at her neck. He looked at John Ashley and said, “She’s all right.” He looked on her legs for a moment and then lifted the hem of her skirt to peek at her white panties and the little black hairs curling out from the underwear’s edges at her pubic mound. He looked up at John Ashley and grinned.
“Oh man—you’re bad as that damn Tracey,” John Ashley said. “Let’s go.” He turned and headed for the door.
Hanford Mobley hastened outside after him and got behind the wheel of the car and John cranked up the motor. In the backseat Ray Lynn said to Ben Tracey, “Didnt I
Ben Tracey wiped with his shirttail at the vomit and blood on his mouth. “That wasnt him,” he said. Hanford wheeled the Ford out of the lot and headed for the boulevard.
“That wasnt the dredger fella the gal warned you about?” Ray Lynn said.
“Nuh-uh,” Ben said. “He’s with a crew over to Ford Myers right now and wont be back for a coupla weeks yet.” He nodded at John Ashley and said, “Good seein you, Johnny,” the gestured at Hanford Mobley and said, “Who’s the youngster?”
“My nephew Hannie,” John Ashley said. “So who the hell was
Ben Tracey shrugged. “Big honker come tearing in through the kitchen door just as I had her up against the bar and was kissing on her and copping me some tit. Hollerin he was gonna break my neck for snakin his girl. You know what? I believe the bitch got her a few more boyfriends than she let on.”
John Ashley laughed. “You think so, hey? You really dont know who the fella was?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Ben Tracey said.
“He damn near did,” Ray Lynn said, “if that gal you called a bitch hadnt lent you a hand. Her and Johnny here.”
Ben Tracey laughed along with them.
The deskman of the McAllister Hotel told them he was sorry but the hotel was completely booked. John Ashley slid a fifty-dollar bill across the counter and asked him to check his book again and the clerk found that, oh yes, there
They repaired to the Elser Pier dancehall but it now had a bouncer at the door and he recognized Ben Tracey for trouble he’d caused in the past and would not permit him to enter. Hard words ensure but Ray Lynn pulled Ben away before a fight broke out. “Who’s that son of a bitch think he’s callin a troublemaker?” Ben said. They went out to the sidewalk and stood there smoking cigarettes and Ray Lynn suggested they go to Old Hardieville and get laid. Ben seconded the idea. Hanford looked at John and shrugged and said, “Why the hell not? I’m engaged but I ain’t
