'He put his gun in my mouth--and you know where he got that. And then that gave him the other idea.'
'He hit you?'
Two people talking who knew about violence.
'He pushed me around. I tore his epaulets and he got mad. I tried to run in the bathroom and lock the door, but he came in right behind me, banged the door in, and I fell over the side of the tub and cracked my head against the tile.'
'He had his uniform on.'
'Yeah...'
'Were you knocked out?'
'I was sort a dazed, you know, limp, but I wasn't out all the way. He put me on the bed and sat down next to me--listen to this--and held my hand. He said he was sorry, he was just goofing around.'
'Did he look scared?'
'I don't know, I wasn't all there.' She shook the ice in the paper cup, raised it to her mouth and paused. 'Wait a minute. Yeah, he tried to take my blouse off, he said he'd put me to bed, and I grabbed one of his fingers and bent it back.'
'Then what?'
'Nothing, really.'
'He touch you?'
'Did he give me a feel? Well, sorta. He gave it a try.'
'You tell the police that part?'
She hesitated and he thought she was trying to remember.
'I didn't tell them anything.'
'You didn't call the cops?'
'I called South County, my office. I got Mr. Zola's name and number and I called, but there was no answer. Last night.'
'How'd you get my number?'
'I had your name. I took a chance you lived in South Beach, near Mr. Zola, so I called Information, this morning.'
'You haven't told the cops anything.'
'No.'
He waited a few moments. 'Why not?'
Now Jill waited. 'He really didn't do anything. I mean you have to consider the kind of creepy stuff I run into every day, at work. A guy making a pass isn't all that much.'
'How'd he get in your apartment?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't think he broke in.'
'No.'
'What he did comes under attempted sexual battery. In this state it can get you life.'
She said, 'How do you know that?'
'But you say he really didn't do anything. What would he have to do?'
'You want to know the truth?'
'I'd love to.'
'I'm going to Key West for ten days. It's my big chance to get out of that place and nothing's gonna stop me.'
'What do you think he wanted?'
'I sign a complaint, I know damn well what'll happen. Get cross-examined at the hearing--didn't I invite him over? Offer him a drink? I end up looking like a part-time hooker and Mr. America walks. Bull shit. I've got enough problems.' She coaxed ice into her mouth from the paper cup, paused and looked up at him. 'What did you ask me?'
'What do you think he wanted?'
'You mean outside of my body? That's why I called--he wants you. 'Who was that boy, anyway?' ' Giving it the hint of an accent. ' 'What newspaper he with?' About as subtle as that crappy uniform he had on. He's a classic sociopath, and that's giving him the benefit of the doubt. I know his development was arrested. He probably should be too.'
'But you're going to Key West.'
'I've got to go to Key West. Or I'll be back in here next week playing with dolls. I don't think that asshole should be on the street, but I have to put my mental health first. Does that make sense?'
LaBrava nodded, taking his time, in sympathy.
She said, 'He thinks you hit him with something.'
'I should've,' nodding again, seeing Mr. America in his silver satin jacket. The shoulders, the hands. 'But there wasn't anything heavy enough.'
'I told him you didn't hit him, you put him down and sat on him.'
'Oh.'
'That's when he got mad. I should've known better.'
'Well, I don't think it would take much... Let me ask you, did he mention Mrs. Breen? The lady we picked up.'
'No, I don't think so... No, he didn't.'
LaBrava was at ease with her because he could accept how she felt and talk to her on an eye-to-eye level of understanding without buttering words to slip past emotions. She was into real life. Tired, that's all. He wouldn't mind going to Key West for a few days, stay at the Pier House. But then he thought of Jean Shaw and saw Richard Nobles again.
'How did he get in your apartment?'
'If I tell you I think somebody gave him the key, then we're gonna get into a long story about a naked Cuban who thinks he's Geraldo Rivera.'
'Well,' LaBrava said, 'even Geraldo Rivera thinks he's Geraldo Rivera. But I could be wrong.'
'Do my eyes look okay?'
'They're beautiful eyes.'
'I see giant red things all over your shirt.'
'I think they're hibiscus,' LaBrava said. 'What naked Cuban?'
Joe Stella said to Joe LaBrava, in the Star Security office on Lantana Road, across from the A. G. Holley state hospital, 'You believe you can walk in here and start asking me questions? You believe I'm some wore-out cop's gonna roll over for you? I put in seventeen years with the Chicago Police, eight citations, and I've been here, right here, seventeen more. So why don't you get the fuck outta my office.'
'We got two things in common,' LaBrava said. 'I'm from Chicago too.'
Joe Stella said, 'We aren't over in some foreign country on our vacation. Gee, you're from Chicago, uh? How about that, it's a small fucking world, isn't it? I run into people from around Chicago every day and most of 'em I just as soon not. You could be, all I know, from the license division, Secretary of State, come in here you don't have nothing better to do, see what you can shake loose.'
'I'm not from the state, not Florida,' LaBrava said. 'I'm asking about one guy, that's all.'
'See that?' Joe Stella said, the spring in the swivel chair groaning as he leaned back, motioned over his shoulder at the paneled wall.
LaBrava thought he was pointing to the underexposed, 5:00 P.M. color photo of a bluish Joe Stella standing next to a blue-black marlin hanging by its tail. The marlin looked about ten feet long, nearly twice the length of the man, but the man was about 100 pounds heavier.
'That's my license to run a security business,' Joe Stella said, 'renewed last month.'
LaBrava's gaze moving to the framed document hanging next to the fish shot.
'I've posted bond, my insurance is paid up, I know goddamn well I am not in violation of any your fucking regulations 'cause I just got off probation. I spend a whole week running around, get the stuff together, make the
