“What’s wrong?”
“Ralph came by and saw the damage Buster did to your room,” Sonny said. “He figures there’s about three thousand bucks in damages to the walls and furniture.”
“Come on, that stuff was old.”
“You know how Ralph likes to inflate things. He wanted to call the police and press charges, seeing how you never gave him a deposit when you took the place.”
“Oops.”
“I talked him out of it, thank you very much. We went downstairs to the bar, and I got him liquored up. I thought Ralph was going to forget about it, but then this asshole attorney named Frank Yonker came in. He had a subpoena for you.”
“Let me guess what happened next. Ralph and Frank Yonker got to talking, and discovered that they both had a shared interest in tracking me down. Yonker offered his services, and Ralph accepted.”
“Very good.”
“Did Ralph file a complaint with the police?”
“He sure did. Yonker now has two subpoenas with your name on them.”
My exit was up ahead. I flipped on my indicator and drifted into the right lane. Cars around me blared their disapproval, refusing to slow down.
“You on I-Ninety-five?” Sonny asked.
“How did you guess?”
“I’m a mind-reader. I tend bar for laughs.”
“Look, I want to ask you a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Is Ralph gone?”
“Yeah. I took him to the airport an hour ago. What’s the favor?”
“Can I sleep in my room tonight? I haven’t had time to find a place to stay, and I’m low on funds. Just for a couple of days until I find a new place.”
A long moment passed. Sonny had a comment for just about everything, and finally I pulled the phone away from my face, and looked at the screen.
The line was dead.
I pulled into the Bank Atlantic Center and killed several minutes looking for a parking place. Buster was not happy at my leaving, and crawled into my lap. I scratched his ears until I saw his tiny tail wag, then got out.
I approached the Center’s main entrance. A small mob of people congregated by the doors, chatting away while puffing on cigarettes. I called to them to find out what the score was.
“Florida State is down by six at the half,” a woman called back.
“How are they playing?” I asked.
“They’re holding their own,” the woman said.
I went inside. It was only natural that the Lady Seminoles would play poorly, considering the circumstances. Hearing that they were toughing it out made me proud of them.
I spotted one of the other player’s dads. He was a podiatrist named Robin Schwartz, and his daughter was the team’s star center. Schwartz carried a flimsy cardboard tray holding several cups of beer.
“Need some help?” I asked.
“Hey Jack, we were starting to worry about you,” Schwartz said.
I took three of the cups out of the tray, and held them between my fingers.
“Sounds like the game is close,” I said.
“The girls are playing great,” Schwartz said. “Your daughter is the top scorer.”
“Yay,” I said.
We headed toward the arena’s entrance. The sound of angry male voices carried from the other side of the lobby. People were hurrying away from the voices, which sounded ready to escalate into a fight.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Karl Long is being interviewed by one of the TV stations,” Schwartz replied.
“What’s he yelling about?”
“The TV stations heard about Sara’s sex tapes. A reporter tried to ask him some questions in the stands. I thought Long was going to take the guy’s head off.”
I stood on my toes, and spotted Long talking to a TV newsman named Chip Wells. Chip was one of the reasons I was no longer a cop. He had done a series of unflattering pieces after I’d beaten up a suspect, calling me “a stain on the conscience of the community.” It hadn’t mattered that the suspect had murdered eight women, and would have killed more had I not stopped him. I’d stepped over the line, and Wells had made me pay for it. I handed Schwartz the beers.
“I need to talk to Karl,” I said.
“Be careful,” Schwartz said.
I sifted my way through the crowd. Long was shaking his fist in Chip Wells’s face, and looked ready to punch his lights out. Wells was the picture of calm, and kept politely nodding his head.
Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the smug look on Wells’s face that bothered me. Or maybe it was Wells’s cameraman, a smarmy guy with a limp ponytail. The cameraman had his camera down by his side, and appeared not to be filming. Only the red light on the camera was blinking. I hurried toward him.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The cameraman looked my way. “What’s up?”
“Got a light?”
“Don’t smoke.”
I pretended to trip and fell forward. The cameraman let out a startled yelp, and we went down together in a heap. His camera banged on the floor. I grabbed it, and stood up. “Sorry about that,” I said.
The cameraman got up, and dusted himself off.
“Give me my camera,” he said.
I feinted giving the camera back, then opened up the back, and pulled out the film.
“You can’t do that,” the cameraman said angrily.
I shredded the film in front of his disbelieving eyes. Then I looked at Long. He was staring at Chip Wells, and the murderous look in his eyes told me that he understood what had happened.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Long swore.
“Now wait just a minute,” Wells said.
Long smacked Chip Wells in the head. It was a glancing blow, but I sensed that he was going to unleash all his rage on the newsman if I didn’t stop him. I grabbed Long by the arms, and steered him toward the men’s room.
“Let go of me,” Long said angrily.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I’m going to rip that shit stain’s head off.”
“Come on. It’s about Sara.”
Long snapped out of his rage and looked me in the eye.
“You know something?” Long asked.
“Yes, but I don’t want them hearing it.”
The anger left his body almost instantly.
“Of course,” Long said.
During the drive over, it had occurred to me that Long needed to hear the things that I knew about Sara’s abduction. He was a rich man with powerful connections, and that power might prove useful down the road. I didn’t like the guy, but that wasn’t going to stop me from using him any way I could.
We stood in front of the sinks, and Long crossed his arms.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.
I glanced beneath the stalls to make sure they were empty. I tended to be overly cautious, and I turned on the water in the sink before I spoke.
“Despite what the police are saying, Tyrone Biggs did not abduct your daughter last night.”
