My next call was to Chief Black Cloud, leader of the Seminole Indian nation. The Seminoles owned the Hard Rock Casino and were one of the richest tribes in the country. Chief Black Cloud had single-handedly built the casino and made his people rich. Recently he’d been forced to step down as president, but his smiling photograph remained on the tribe’s website, and I knew that he still ran things.
I had visited the Hard Rock plenty of times as a cop. Its glittering casino was a magnet for runaways, and I’d pulled many off the casino floor and returned them to their parents. I had done this without disrupting the casino’s business, or alerting the press. I’d respected the tribe, and as a result, I had a good relationship with Black Cloud.
A secretary patched me through, and Black Cloud picked up on the first ring.
“Good afternoon, Jack,” Black Cloud said.
“Good afternoon, Chief,” I replied.
“Che-Han-Tah-Mo, Ah-hee-tho-sta.”
“Shtongo, edama-he-do.”
The Seminoles had two traditional languages. The chief had greeted me in Creek, and I had responded in Miccosukee, a few lines of which I’d learned growing up.
“Not bad for a half breed,” Black Cloud said.
I would have taken offense, only I knew Black Cloud was a half breed himself.
“So what can I do for you today?” the chief asked.
“I’m calling to ask a favor.”
“Are you looking for a job? I heard you were no longer a policeman. I could set you up right now to run our security team. You would fit in well here. Say yes, and I’ll make the call.”
Black Cloud had offered me several jobs over the years, all of which I’d turned down. It had nothing to do with the money, which was excellent, or the people, whom I liked. His casino had no windows, and being stuck inside a building without sunshine for eight hours a day was for me the equivalent of going straight to hell.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m on my own now,” I said.
“Still finding missing kids?”
“Yes.”
“You were good at that. What can I do for you?”
“Two nights ago, a man was spotted in your casino stalking three women from the Florida State women’s basketball team. One of those women was later abducted from her motel room. With your permission, I’d like to visit the casino’s surveillance control room, and see if I can spot this man on your surveillance tapes. If I can identify him, it might lead me to the missing girl.”
“I don’t know, Jack,” the chief said. “The surveillance control room is off-limits to everyone but a handful of people. Even I have a hard time getting in there.”
“I need for an exception to be made. A girl’s life is at stake.”
“How soon would you like to come in?”
“Right now.”
“Will you be bringing any policemen with you?”
“No, I’ll be by myself.”
“Do the police know about this man who was in our casino?”
“The police have another suspect in custody who they’re going to charge with the crime. I told the police about the man in your casino, but they refused to listen.”
“This sounds personal, Jack. Is it?”
Through my mind flashed Sara Long’s abduction and the beating I’d taken, the police’s unwillingness to listen to my story, and finally Karl Long’s blistering accusations that I was lousy at my work.
“Yes, it’s personal,” I said.
“I will see what I can do. Give me a number where you can be reached.”
I gave the chief my cell phone number and thanked him for his help.
CHAPTER 13
I decided to grab lunch while waiting for Black Cloud to call me back. A number of fast-food restaurants were located around the arena, and I opted for a McDonald’s Value Meal, a twelve-hundred-calorie artery-clogging feast for a mere six bucks. Normally, I tried to stay away from fast food, except when I was on a case. Then it was practically all I ate.
As I was pulling out of the drive-through with my grub, my cell phone played its familiar song. The caller ID said SUNSET. It was Sonny.
“How’s it going?” I answered.
“Not so good,” Sonny said. “You need to get over here on the double.”
“Can it wait? I’m working.”
“It’s your dog.”
Something hard dropped in the pit of my stomach.
“Is Buster okay?”
“Oh, he’s just dandy.”
Buster wasn’t hurt, and I felt myself relax.
“What did he do?”
“The bar got busy, so I stuck him upstairs in your room. The next thing I know, it sounds like World War Three is going on up there. He was going bonkers.”
“Did you leave him something to chew on?” I asked.
“No, was I supposed to?”
Buster was a herding dog, not a house dog, and would gnaw clean through a table leg if locked up for too long. I said, “How serious are the damages?”
“Catastrophic.”
The bad feeling returned to my stomach.
“Throw him a bone. I’ll be right there,” I said.
I took the Sawgrass Expressway south, then got onto 595, and raced east toward the ocean. Of all the dogs I could have rescued from the pound, Buster hadn’t been the nicest, nor the prettiest dog sitting on death row. But he’d tugged at my heartstrings, so I’d adopted him. The fact that he occasionally gnawed on a bad person didn’t bother me, but when he started destroying furniture, I got concerned. My room at the Sunset had come furnished, and I wasn’t looking forward to replacing the things he’d ruined.
I pulled into the Sunset’s parking lot with a rubbery squeal and hopped out of my car. I ran up the staircase beside the bar to my room.
I opened the door expecting the worst. Buster sat in the center of the floor, surrounded by fluffy white mattress stuffing. He had pulled the mattress off the bed, eaten a hole through its center, and distributed the stuffing across the room. He’d also attacked the dresser and night table, and chewed on the legs so viciously that they now resembled toothpicks. Seeing me, he howled happily, and ran into my arms.
“You stupid dog,” I said.
“Holy shit,” a voice said.
I glanced over my shoulder. Sonny stood in the doorway, wearing his trademark Guns amp; Roses T-shirt with holes in the armpits. His face was white.
“I thought I asked you to give him a bone,” I said.
“I gave him a knuckle bone. He must have eaten it.”
I quickly assessed the damage. Had I still been a cop, I would have strung yellow crime-scene tape across the door, the place was such a disaster. Along with ruining my bed, plus the dresser and night table, Buster had chewed a hole in the wall through which the ocean air was now blowing. All of the furniture would have to be replaced, the wall fixed, and the room repainted.
“How much do you think this is going to cost?” I asked.
