alone time to think before things start. Girls usually start when it’s dark.”
“Thanks,” I said.
The kid didn’t answer.
The Mel-o-dee was a little farther north and on the west side of the Trail. I’d eaten there a few times. Down-home food, small but good salad bar. The place was full. It was dinnertime. People in the neighborhood, low-budget tourists, men and women just getting off of work who lived alone or didn’t want to go home yet ate at the Mel-o-dee.
A quartet of elderly people, three women and one man, was waiting to be seated. I nudged past them, looking for Tilly. He was in a booth on the left next to the window. His back was turned to me but he was easy to spot. He was the only black customer in the room. There was another room in back, but I knew I had found him.
I walked past singles, doubles, trios and quartets of people eating and talking. A pair of families, both with babies in high chairs, one with two kids in high school, were seated at booths to the right of Tilly.
I sat across from him in the booth. He had a bite-sized piece of meat loaf on his fork and a newspaper next to his plate. He was wearing glasses. He was dressed in a white turtleneck shirt with a black jacket. He looked like a car salesman or a clerk at Circuit City.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked with exasperation, taking off his glasses and putting them in his pocket.
“You know Handford’s dead?” I asked, watching his eyes.
“No,” he said. “But as my grandmother would say, ‘Hallelu and Praise the Lord.’”
“Convince me you didn’t kill him,” I said.
He put down his fork and looked at me with even greater exasperation.
“Go away, man. I didn’t kill Handford. I wouldn’t go near him. I don’t kill people. Where’d the profit be in killing Handford? I’m a businessman.”
“Peace of mind,” I said. “With Handford gone you’d have a little peace of mind.”
“If I killed every motherfucker whose death would give me peace of mind, I’d rack up a better record than John Wayne Gacy. Now go away.”
“You convinced me,” I said.
“That makes me very happy,” he said. “Now, I want to finish my dinner and read my paper. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Adele is at the Juvenile lockup,” I said.
“She’s none of my business anymore.”
“If she ever tries to come back to you, I want you to call me.”
“You scare the shit out of me,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t take her back. Pirannes would have me disappear in a minute if he found out. Are you finished now? Can I eat now? My food is getting room temperature.”
“Where’s Pirannes?”
“Okay. I tell you, you go.”
“I’ll go.”
“Word is he’s on his big boat hiding out somewhere, probably Texas, maybe Mexico, waiting for his lawyer to clean up some stuff he’s into. I don’t know what.”
“That’s the word,” I said. “But where is he really?”
“You’re smarter than you look.”
“It helps in my business. Pirannes?”
“Tell me and I go,” I said.
“Just when I’m beginning to enjoy your company. He finds out I told you and I’m a dead man.”
“That’s what you said the last time we talked about Pirannes. He won’t know.”
“Word is he sent the boat out to make it look like he was waiting things out across the gulf. Cancun. He’s got business here. He leaves for three, four days and it all falls apart here. You know what I’m saying?”
“I know,” I said.
A waitress approached and asked if I was eating. I said no. She moved away.
“I’m not supposed to know it,” Tilly said, leaning forward, “Nobody’s supposed to, but a lot of people do. Pirannes likes to hang out at a place he owns a piece of out on Proctor, gated, town houses, big houses. Place is called New Palm Manors. Pirannes uses the name Steele. Now you know. Now you go. Looking for that man is a bad idea. I told you once. He boils over real easy.”
“I know,” I said. “He tried to kill me.”
“And you’re going to look for him again?”
“Yes.”
Tilly shrugged and put his glasses back on.
“Have a nice forever,” he said.
He looked down at the newspaper. Our conversation was over.
I drove south down the Trail past an endless line of malls small and large, gas stations, office supply stores and restaurants. Sarasota has lots of restaurants. People on vacation eat out. Retired people with money eat out. This is an eat-out town. There were no really good Chinese restaurants. I missed that. Chicago had more than a hundred first-class Chinese restaurants. My favorite Chinese restaurants in Chicago were in China Town. My wife and I had gone there at least once a month for dim sum.
I drove warily, slowly, watching other drivers, waiting for one of them to cross the line coming at me and hit me head-on, or one of the ancient drivers to sideswipe me into another car.
I turned on the radio. G. Gordon Liddy was answering a caller’s question about morality and loyalty. G. Gordon said he had gone to jail in the Watergate case because he refused to lie under oath. He praised Susan McDougal and said something about the importance of loyalty. You give your loyalty to someone and you don’t betray it even if the person you’ve given it to abandons you. At least it was something like that.
I had given my loyalty to Beryl Tree. I hadn’t given it to Carl Sebastian, but I was still working for him. I owed him what I had promised to give. I’d promised to find Melanie. But right now I was trying to bring Beryl’s case to an end.
I drove down Proctor, past walled-in and gated developments on both sides, across the bridge over I-75. The New Palms Manor was on the right. I drove up to the gate and waited. A woman in a gray uniform came out of the gatehouse. She wasn’t wearing a hat or jacket. She was slim, dark and serious. I considered asking her if she was Italian.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Steele. We have an appointment. My name is Dwight Handford. Is there a clubhouse, community house, here?”
“Straight ahead to the right.”
“Busy in there tonight?”
“Wouldn’t know for sure, but it’s Friday night and there’s almost always people playing cards, talking, having drinks or parties.”
“Good, will you tell Mr. Steele that I’ll be waiting for him in the clubhouse.”
She nodded and went back into the gatehouse. I watched her pick up the phone, hit some buttons and start talking. She looked over at me once and then talked some more. She hung up and came out.
“Mr. Steele will meet you in the clubhouse in a few minutes,” she said.
She went back in the gatehouse, did something, and the gate went up.
The clubhouse was easy to find and there were about thirty cars in front of it. I parked the Geo as far from the entrance as I could get.
Immediately through the doors I found myself in a large room full of couches, tables and chairs. Most of the chairs and couches were full. A few dumps of people were standing. There was a small bar to the right, behind which stood a small bartender in a white shirt and a red vest. The people of the manor were dressed casually, in simple dresses, skirts and blouses, slacks and short-sleeved shirts. The people of the manor were generally not young.
I found a vacant couch to the right of the door and sat.
