She called back, “And I’m Bettie Brice from Staten Island! Mr. Kinder, the manager here, said you’d be arriving. I hope you enjoy Sunset Lodge, Mr. Stang. Do you have friends here?”

I let out a chuckle and nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Oh, yeah, I have quite a few here already.”

“That’s nice,” she said. Then she frowned and added, “For some reason your voice is familiar, but I’m sure we haven’t met before.”

“Well, we’ve met now,” I told her, “and that’s what’s important.”

“Yes, it certainly is,” she answered, then gave me an airy wave and went down the steps to the sidewalk, Tacos, the greyhound, leading the way. He almost hugged her legs, alert to her every move.

When she stopped for a second it was as if she were going to retrace her steps, then she made a tiny shrug and went toward the end of the street.

Chapter Four

The new black Ford was identified with a lettered logo on its front doors that read

SUNSET LODGE

SECURITY

Beneath it in smaller letters it said,

Darris Kinder

Captain/Manager

All very simple. Nothing ostentatious. The only difference was the sound the engine made. It wasn’t an ordinary Ford vehicle at all. This was a highly refined chase car that could match any vehicle the state of Florida had on the highways. The sound wasn’t noisy. It radiated power. Maximum power.

Darris Kinder came out from under the wheel, scanned the area quickly and quietly and shut the door very softly. No dome light had gone on over his head when the door opened and I felt a touch of identity with the “Captain/Manager.” He was a rangy, fifty-ish guy with a dark crewcut, light blue eyes and Apache features. When he walked up the path to my porch, it was with a military tread.

I held out my hand and said, “Semper Fi, Captain Kinder.”

He grinned back at me and answered, “It shows?”

“Only to another old gyrene. Come on in.”

Before he walked through my door he gave another long glance around the neighborhood, then walked in and parked himself in the big rocker.

I said, “How long were you a cop?”

“Fifteen years in Newark. Made Lieutenant before I got this deal offered to me down here. Instant Captain, a fivefold increase in pay and a budget bigger than a lot of cities set aside for their police departments.” He paused, his eyes searching my face, “You had a great record, Captain Stang.”

“Call me Jack. I’m retired, Captain.”

“I think you know better than that,” he said. “We never really retire, do we?”

My answer was silence and a grin.

“I always make courtesy calls to new arrivals, but you are not new to me at all. When Dr. Brice purchased Miss Brice’s house, he made me a confidant in the situation that had occurred, and to what would happen... if any word of this leaked out.”

“And?”

“It’s not very comfortable,” he told me.

“She’s been here years,” I stated, “and there’ve been no leaks.”

“That damn pack of hoods never gives up. You know that. They aren’t dumb, either. They were able to tuck old Jimmy Hoffa away in a place where all the resources of the U.S. Government couldn’t find him. They influence political activity and control industrial actions through union membership and they don’t take too kindly to anyone throwing a wrench into their machinery.”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “How thoroughly did you research the facts?”

“I didn’t raise any red flags. The organized crime bunch haven’t shown any interest. Yet. According to all recorded information, Miss Bettie Marlow died in the wreck of that truck in the Hudson River.”

“Than you’re the only one who knows she’s still alive.”

“You do,” Kinder said softly.

“So?”

“I understand that she has something heavy that could wreck mob operations.”

“That’s what the ones who grabbed her suspected, not knew.

Kinder wiped his hand across his mouth and stared hard at me. He said, “I found out a certain Mafia family kept a close watch on all your activities for twelve years after her supposed death to see if you had acquired any information she might have had.”

“I didn’t acquire shit,” I said, “and the mob boys know it. They’re pretty efficient. We have our own sources inside their operations.”

“They haven’t given up, you know.”

I asked him, “What good would it do them to poke around here, even if they knew enough to? Bettie Brice has lost every trace of her memory. There’s nothing she can say or do that could implicate organized crime any more. All that was twenty years ago.”

“But it isn’t over yet.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You’re here now.”

“Retired.”

“Noted.”

Invisible fingers seemed to walk up my back, nails leaving little dents in their trek, not hurting, barely annoying, but indicating something was there that I should recognize.

My voice didn’t quite sound like me when I half-whispered, “What do you know, Darris?”

A few seconds passed before he said quietly, “Nothing that would hold up in court.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

“You know how cops are, Jack.”

“They’re all retirees here.”

“Sure. That doesn’t stop them thinking. They don’t say much, but they think, all right. They aren’t under orders here any more than you and I are. But we’re still cops and you don’t shake all that training and action. We still obey some rules that were never written.”

I grinned at him.

He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“How come we’ll never be plain old civilians again?”

A faint grin twisted his mouth. “Would you want to?”

When I shook my head, the grin reached his eyes.

Then Kinder reached into his back pocket and brought out a small leather pad. He opened it, wrote a few things in it, took down some personal information related to my police work, then handed me the three sheets to sign.

I frowned at what I saw.

Kinder only smiled and nodded again. “I am authorized by the state of Florida to issue permits to carry a concealed weapon to properly trained personnel. I assume you have your own personal pieces with you.”

“A Colt Combat Commande... .45 caliber, a Colt 1911 model and a regulation old fashioned Police Co... .38 revolver. If you want samples of fired slugs, I’ll get them to you.”

“Nice, but not necessary. However, I’ll appreciate the effort. There’s a range on the west end of the village.”

I studied the ice-blue eyes. “How come you don’t trust me, Captain Kinder?”

“They used to call you the Shooter, didn’t they?”

“Only the ones who stayed alive.”

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