watches and purses. So I’m always looking over my shoulder. If I see a suspicious car, there’s a friend of mine who can run the plate. If I see a suit approaching my stash, I wrap it up, real fast. I can be gone in about twenty seconds. I have a healthy respect for the cops and especially the FBI.”
“I didn’t realize you had job hazards like that.”
“That and shoplifters. I hate those people. No respect for what I go through to get the merchandise in the first place.”
Em looked up under the brim of his hat. “I suppose you could go legit. Get a real job? No?”
Styles turned his head and ignored her.
“So you think they killed Michael Bland because he was an FBI informant.” This was getting to be very surreal.
“I do.”
“And this Bland, he trusted you to call the FBI. What were you supposed to say?” I couldn’t imagine trusting Styles with anything.
“We never discussed it.”
“What did you say? When they answered ‘FBI Miami’ what did you tell them? That he’d died. That you suspected he was killed?” Em was on the same page as I was.
“I said ‘wrong number,’ and I hung up. Are you kidding me? I can’t have anything to do with those people.”
It was obvious that Styles was not going to be a help from this point on. He was paranoid, possibly with good reason, and he’d told us most of what we needed to know. If it was true. And I still wasn’t sure if any of his stories had one element of truth.
“Guys, if these people here think that James and I are FBI, what’s to stop them from doing the same thing they did to Michael Bland?” I tried to figure out how they would give James and me a drug overdose.
“Nothing. Nothing would stop them.” Styles walked a couple of steps from the truck then turned. “There is nothing stopping them from finding a way for you two to have an accident. Or, just shooting you.”
Em patted my leg. “You know, Skip, we’ve given them a great reason to shoot you.”
“What’s that?”
“Somebody broke into their office. I suppose in the course of trying to find the culprit they might have to shoot — ”
“My God. Have you both lost your minds?” This just wasn’t registering. “I’ve played cards with these guys. While I wouldn’t trust any of them, any more than I’d trust Daron, I don’t think they are murderers.” Really.
“Well, there’s a chance you could be wrong.” Daron kept his gaze steady, looking at me through narrow slits. “And I think we should all be worried about James. Let’s make that the primary focus. James. I don’t want to find him this morning with a needle sticking out of his arm.”
James would be proud. He’d elevated himself to a top-tier position, and he’d had nothing to do with it.
“I can tell you with some certainty, that someone on the full-timer roster is a killer. Bland was killed to protect that person’s identity. He apparently had information about the senator’s killer.”
“You don’t know that. Not for sure.”
“Skip,” It was the first time he’d called me Skip instead of Skipper so I figured he was serious, “Michael Bland died not twenty feet from my tent. It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t that he accidentally took too many drugs. Someone fed him too many drugs. And I have a good idea of who it was. A newcomer to the group. Someone who was brought in to get rid of the plant. They knew Bland was the plant. And remember, they think you are a current plant.”
“Who was it?” I had my favorites, but I wanted to hear it from him. “Who fed him the drugs? Who was brought in, because whoever it was, they’re still here? There aren’t any new full-timers are there? And whoever it is might be planning my demise.”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Come on, Daron. Who do you think killed Bland? If we know who to look for, we might pull James’s ass out of the fire. Jesus. I’ve just told you that my life is on the line. James’s life is on the line. And you can’t give me a hint?” I couldn’t believe I said it. My best friend was in a whole lot of trouble, I was in a whole lot of trouble, and I had no idea how to save us.
“I’m sure you’ve figured it out. I can’t get any history on this guy, but he’s on the top of my list.”
I knew nothing about Sailor. I knew nothing about Stan. I knew, surprisingly little about Crayer even though we’d talked. He said he’d made a lot of donuts in his day. That was about all I could remember. No history. Henry was a former tool and die maker, Dusty was a schoolteacher, and Mug had three felonies. I had no idea how long Mug had been with the group, but my money was on him. It made sense. Unless you knew that Crayer was in South Beach when the radio host was gunned down. Unless you knew that Stan seemed to run the full-timers. Almost like a mafia organization. Unless you figured that Sailor was quiet, lurking in the background. And then there was Dusty. Styles figured he was a schoolteacher and couldn’t be involved. But I wasn’t sure. And what about the tool and die maker? I knew nothing about him.
“I’ve figured it out.” I turned to Em. She looked at me with wide-eyed expectation.
“Who? This is great.”
“After working it over in my mind, I’ve got it.”
Styles shook his head. “I don’t believe you know squat.”
“Wrong. I’ve narrowed it down.”
“Ahhh.” Styles smiled a sly smile.
“One of six.”
“Smart move, Skipper.”
“But one of those assholes has James.”
“But there’s Cashdollar or LeRoy. So let’s narrow it down to eight.” Styles pulled one of those brown little cigars from his patterned shirt pocket and struck a match. The ember glowed in the dark. “Can I say something that is the truth but won’t set well with you and your beautiful girlfriend?”
I nodded, looking at Em. She nodded. Anything at this point. Anything that would help us find James.
“I don’t want to upset anyone, but three years ago, in those three days I was here, a lot of shit happened.”
Lies or truth, I knew that a lot had happened three years ago when Styles sold his trinkets.
“And I still remember all of the players here. Stan, Henry, Crayer, Sailor, Mug, and Dusty. And of course, Michael Bland, may he rest in peace.”
“Get to the point.” My head was aching and every time I raised my eyebrows I could feel the stiffness in my forehead where the blood was drying and the skin was already trying to knit.
“Somebody killed Michael Bland. If that person suspects James is trying to find him, and he has James as a prisoner, there’s a good chance he’ll take care of him too. And if he takes care of him — ”
“Oh for crying out loud.” Em was exasperated. “No one is going to ‘take care’ of anybody. James is probably having another beer with one of the vendors. And if all of this crap is true,” she shot a disapproving glance at Daron, “if they believe that Skip and James are with the FBI, then there’s an easy way to fix it.”
My eyes snapped open, causing my forehead to wrinkle, causing me to wince in pain. “And what is that?”
“Convince them that you’re not.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
T he idea had merit. Go down and tell them that we know what they think. But there were a couple of problems with the concept.
“All we know is that Thomas LeRoy suspects you.” Styles had jumped up into the truck and was sitting on James’s upside-down pickle barrel. “We don’t know that the full-timers even have a clue.”
“Although you think they do.”
“I think they probably do.”
