looking.' LaBrava was looking down at sand on the beach side of the wall, close to his face, hoping for his head to clear. High overhead clouds moved and moonlight edged toward the wall--Nobles saying yeah, goddamn blindsider, I love to get me a blindsider--and now LaBrava was looking at the softball bat lying in the sand, the bat the same color as sand. His hands, hanging over the wall, went to the handle right-over-left to bat right-handed. He was about ready.
When he came up with it he pushed off the wall with his knees, came around from the left and saw Nobles doing a quick backstep jig, right hand going into his silver jacket--LaBrava seeing it and believing in that moment he should be hitting from the other side tonight. But it was all right. Nobles brought up his left arm for protection, instinct jerking it up, and LaBrava found it between wrist and elbow with a bone-cracking, line-drive swing that brought a gasp from the big guy, and his right hand out of the silver jacket empty to grab hold of the broken arm. LaBrava came back for good measure with a left-side, cross-hand swing to pound shoulder and muscle, getting a grunt this time, Nobles covering his head with his good arm. So LaBrava hit him across the shins and that brought him down to the grass with a scream, trying to curl up, cover himself. LaBrava was finished with the bat. He dropped it as he straddled the big guy, yanked the .357 Smith out of his belt and worked the blunt bluesteel tip, once again, into Nobles' mouth.
LaBrava said, feeling he should tell him, 'I think you're in the wrong line of work. You've got size and you look mean enough, but I believe you lack desire. Open your eyes.'
Nobles had them squeezed closed and seemed in pain. LaBrava slipped the gun out of his mouth, barely out, laying the sight under the lower lip, and Nobles said, 'Jesus Christ, I'm hurt. My goddamn arm is broke.' He turned his head to look at it, outstretched on the grass.
LaBrava said, 'I hope it is. But let me tell you what's more important, to your welfare as well as your health. You like to deal. I think you ought to make one, give the cops the boat-lifter.'
'The what?'
'Cundo Rey, your little buddy.'
Nobles stared at him, maybe thinking faster than he had ever thought in his life, but thinking within his limitations. He did appear dumb, the vacant look giving him away.
'Let the cops have Cundo... and whoever else you got. They'll make you a nice deal.'
Look at him thinking. Now trying to show some pain, going for sympathy.
'The cops have you made, Richard. You know that. They can put Cundo with your uncle and you with Cundo.'
'I never saw Uncle Miney. I told 'em that.'
'Doesn't matter,' LaBrava said. 'You don't give 'em Cundo Rey they'll pick the little Cuban up--guy like him, he's hard to miss--they'll offer him the same kind of deal and he'll give 'em Mr. Richard Nobles. He'd be dumb if he didn't.'
Nobles was listening closely to this.
'He gets something like five to twenty up at Raiford, you move up there for life. He'll do three out of the five, and if you don't get him in the yard, he walks.'
Nobles said, 'Wait a second. What one are we talking about?'
'Take your pick. Murder first degree or the threat of it, for money. Either one'll put you away.' LaBrava paused, looking down at him. Big dumb blond-haired clown. He did look mean. But deep down where it counted, all he could claim to be was a snitch. 'Go make your deal and let the state attorney get you a lawyer. You'll come out all right.'
He was so quiet now, staring up, moonlight catching his eyes.
'First thing in the morning,' LaBrava said. 'You don't want to spend the night locked up.' Keeping his tone mild, almost soothing. What a nice guy. 'You want, I'll tell the lady never mind about getting the money, and the trash bag. Say you changed your mind.'
Those eyes staring up at him.
'You want me to tell her that?'
Those dumb eyes in moonlight began to change, trying for a different look, creasing, getting a crafty gleam.
Nobles said, 'I know who you are. You and all them other copsuckers, you're about to get the surprise of your life.' That greasy tone sliding out and his mouth barely moving. 'Now get offa me or I'm gonna have your ass up on charges.'
See? Try to be reasonable what happens? He'd be talking about his rights next. Waving a Xeroxed copy of his Miranda sheet.
LaBrava cocked the Smith, for effect, for the sound of it, stuck the tip of the barrel into Nobles' mouth, hooking the front sight in behind his upper teeth and saw him gag as the gleam went out of his eyes.
He said, 'Richard, are you trying to fuck with me?' Getting that flat, effortless cop sound. He believed in this moment he would have been a good one.
He said, 'Richard, I got the gun. You don't have it, I do. But you threaten me. I don't understand that. What'd you think I was gonna do?' He drew the barrel out enough to lay it on Nobles' lower lip. 'Tell me.'
Nobles said, 'You don't have no right--'
See? LaBrava shoved the barrel back into his mouth. It was that goddamn Miranda thing. They packed, swaggered, picked on and scared the shit out of civilians, then ran and got behind Miranda.
He said, 'Richard,' wanting to make it clear but no big deal. 'If I got the gun, asshole, I got the right.' The way a Metro cop would say it. The one doing paperwork sniffing whiteout wanting to get back on the street so bad. He knew something the Metro cop knew. He could sit on Nobles' belly and feel him breathing in and out beneath him, feel the man's life between his own thighs, and be detached and deal with the man on a mutual basis of understanding. It was a strange feeling, but natural; like discovering something about yourself you never knew before. He felt that he could kill Nobles; in this moment he could. Pull the trigger. But he didn't know what he would feel the moment after, with the sound fading and hearing the surf again. Something was happening to him. The cop in him coming out. After all that waiting. Nine years or more of official waiting, hanging back steely-eyed and looking smart. He had heard Buck Torres say one time to a witness, pleading for information, 'I give you my word as a man.' Not as a policeman, a man. He would never forget that. It was what it came down to here, in this situation. Man to man he said to Nobles, 'Bullshit time's over. Are you dumb?'
He eased the barrel out and watched that all-American face, pale in moonlight, move from side to side.
'I can't hear you.'
'No, I ain't dumb. Jesus.'
'How do you know who I am?'
'I don't.'
'You said, a minute ago, 'I know who you are.' '
Look at him thinking, trying to be careful. LaBrava moved the barrel along the curve of Nobles' chin. 'They wire your mouth shut for a broken jaw. Talk while you can.'
'You already broke my goddamn arm!'
'See what I mean?... How do you know who I am?'
'I heard, around.'
'Where?'
'On the street. I heard you live at that ho-tel.'
LaBrava drew the barrel down the bridge of his nose. Look at those eyes, trying to be sincere.
'I heard you was a secret agent of some kind with the gover'ment. Listen, I know some of those boys. Maybe're friends of yours. Up in Jacksonville.'
'Who told you?'
'Nobody, I just heard. Was some guy, you know, in a bar.'
'What's the surprise?'
'What?'
'You said, 'You're about to get the surprise of your life.' What's the surprise?'
'I was just, you know, talking. Jesus, my goddamn arm hurts something terrible.'
'What's the surprise, Richard?'
