“No, it’s just that we’re starting to dwell.”
The cruiser turned off the highway and pulled up to a bright new mobile home on Cudjoe Key. The sheriff’s substation.
Gus and Walter went inside with the full-occupancy expressions of men who had reports to write. The only other person was Sergeant Englewood, sitting at a desk under an air conditioner that made the whole trailer vibrate with an oscillating hum.
“Hey, Sarge,” said Walter. “What’s the word?”
Englewood hunted and pecked. “Someone took a bunch of plants last night from the nursery.”
Gus handed Walter some papers, and they split up. Gus walked to his desk. There was a photo of a bearded Al Pacino sticking out of the typewriter. Someone had drawn a bra. Gus crumpled it and got to work.
You could honestly say Gus was one of the good guys. Nice to a fault. When Gus started at the department, he made a strong first impression. Deference, respect, dedication. Gus didn’t have any connections in the department. Didn’t want any. He was determined to make his own way in the world through hard work and character. His supervisors immediately took notice and fast-tracked him into the category of new recruits who needed to be kept down.
“Hey, Serpico,” yelled Englewood. “How do you spell bougainvillea?”
“His name’s Gus,” said Walter.
“It’s okay,” said Gus. “B-o-u-g-…”
It had started as a proud nickname. And it had a nice snap. That was in the eighties, when Gus was a young stallion of a cop. Then his back went out, and he got fat. There was no exact moment in time — more of a gray transition — and the nickname gradually drifted into derision. After twenty years, it was a complete joke. Actually, it had been kind of a joke all along.
Nobody was talking in the substation, just the air conditioner and three chattering typewriters.
The front door opened. “I just heard the funniest story!” said Deputy Valrico. “This woman I stopped for speeding told me Serpico’s wife once—”
Englewood cleared his throat. Valrico turned. “Oh, hi, Serpico. Thought you were on a call.”
“Just got back.” Gus pulled a completed report from his typewriter and walked to a filing cabinet. The fax machine started up. Gus tore the APB off the spool and walked over to Walter’s desk.
“Remember those bodies up in Fort Pierce?”
Walter nodded and typed.
Gus set the fax on his desk. “Metallic green Trans Am spotted at a Key Largo gas station.”
“So it
“There’s more,” said Gus. “See this list of victims? All named in the same indictment as the guy we found on the bat tower.”
9
THE PETITE WOMAN sitting in the rear of the No Name Pub didn’t take off her sunglasses. An untouched cup of coffee on the table. Her back to the wall.
After a few minutes, Anna’s eyes rose slightly. Someone she’d been watching at the bar was coming over. He pulled out the chair across from her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Thanks for agreeing to meet.”
“Of course I’d meet you! Can’t tell you how worried I was when I saw the reports on TV. What the hell happened?”
Anna opened her mouth, then crumbled into silent crying. Her shoulders bobbed. The man turned around to see if anyone was looking. The people at the bar were laughing about something. The man reached across the table and put a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Anna sniffled and gathered composure. “No, I have to tell someone….”
ANNA SEBRING SCURRIED around the kitchen as the sun went down. She looked up over the sink. A big yellow daisy said six-thirty. She opened the oven and took a chicken out. She was wearing a waitress uniform.
It was a duplex, a plain white rectangle with no landscaping in a sub-blue-collar section of Fort Pierce, about two hours north of Miami. It had been another sparkling Florida development — “from the low forties” — when it first went up thirty years ago. Now the yards were dirt and weeds and disabled cars, the lawns orphaned in the mid-1980s, when the neighborhood collapsed all at once like the fall of Cambodia, and the Middle Class fled for the next new development farther inland.
Anna tensed when the front door opened. She hurried into the living room and searched Billy’s face for clues. She went to kiss him. He walked by.
“I made your favorite…”
He didn’t answer. Just sat at the dinner table. It was one of those days she knew to leave quickly. Anna grabbed the strap of her purse. “I’ll be home same time….”
She went out the door.
She came back in.
“My car’s gone.” Anna grabbed the phone. “Somebody stole it.”
When Billy didn’t react, she knew. She put the phone down.
“Repossessed again?”
Billy stared ahead.
“But we’re up on the payments this time. I deposited my check from the restaurant….”
Billy took a hard breath. Bad territory.
“You didn’t make the payment. You’re gambling….”
Crack. Right across the nose.
She stumbled, off-balance. Billy slowly pushed out his chair and stood.
Anna began backing up.
