Palm Beach Nasty (29 page)

“ ’Cause . . . now you can spoon-feed ’em information we want ’em to have. Frustrate them for a while, then once we’re ready, you lead ’em to Misty—”

Dominica nodded.

“So, you got her at that cheesy Econo Lodge? Nothing but the best for my sister, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Crawford, “low-budget operation we got here.”

FORTY-SEVEN

“S
o tell me again, why are we taking her somewhere else?” Dominica asked as they pulled up to the Econo Lodge.

“ ’Cause there are way too many exit points here,” Crawford said. “I want a place where we can watch her like a hawk. I got the perfect spot.”

“Where’s that?” Ott asked.

“Know that boat that got impounded on that drug bust—a twenty-six foot Mako down at the north dock?”

Ott nodded.

“Anyone goes near it, we can see ’em from a million vantage points.”

They pulled up to the Econo Lodge parking lot. Crawford led the way to the room where Misty was staying. He knocked.

“Who is it?”

“Your sister,” Dominica said.

Misty opened the door. She was wearing a low-cut yellow top and cutoffs.

She shaded her eyes and looked up at Dominica.

“Hey,” she said to Dominica, cocking her head, trying to get a read.

“Hey, I’m Dominica, but call me Jennifer.”

Dominica eyed Misty like she thought the kid was showing off too much skin. Like she needed to talk to her about it, get her in line.

“I like your shoes,” Misty said.

“Thanks,” Dominica said, checking out the messy room. “You never learned how to make a bed?”

“Okay, girls, feel the love,” Crawford said. “For the next couple of hours we’re going through the plan. Dress rehearsal. You don’t like your role, you can drop out. We’ll understand.”

T
HEY SPENT
two hours in the fourteen-by-sixteen-foot motel room. They went over different scenarios and crafted a rough script. Dominica seemed to get into it and, after a while, she and Misty began to hit it off. At five in the afternoon, all four of them got into the Vic, headed for Misty’s new digs. Misty asked if the new place had hi-def and a pool. Dominica rolled her eyes.

Even though he was way out on a limb, Crawford wanted to cover his ass as much as possible by bringing Norm Rutledge into the loop. He called him from the car and ran the plan by him.

Sort of.

He omitted a detail or two. Like their intended use of Dominica, Misty and the impounded drug boat. In fact, all Crawford actually told Rutledge was that he was going to fake a blackmail sting with a suspect. He also neglected to tell him the suspect was Ward Jaynes. When Rutledge started up with a barrage of questions, Crawford cut him off, saying he had an incoming call from an informer. Said he’d get back to him. He figured he could duck Rutledge’s calls until he either had Jaynes in jail or the whole plan blew up in his face.

When they got to the docks, Crawford took Misty aside and explained to her again the risk she’d be taking. It was the least he could do, he figured. She nodded and said she understood. Said she’d sign whatever papers were necessary to keep him out of trouble if something happened to her. He explained there were no such papers. Just stick to the plan, he said, and she’d be fine.

One thing he had to give the kid, she was long on guts.

On the way to the boat, Ott went over a basic code with Misty that she and Dominica would use in phone conversations. At first, Misty looked at him funny—like the old guy was giving her some Dick Tracy secret decoder mumbo jumbo. But Dominica, riding shotgun, turned and gave her a look. That was all it took. Ott, Dominica and Misty went over it a couple of times, just to make sure it had sunk in.

Misty wasn’t thrilled with her new quarters. It was a bare bones boat and had a distinct smell of marijuana and motor oil. Ott told her she’d be there a day and a half max. She groaned. Dominica told her to suck it up.

Then Crawford showed Dominica where he and Ott were going to set up. It was a small, enclosed area close to the drug boat. All they needed now was a vantage point for Dominica, where she could watch Misty and monitor the hitters’ arrival.

There were some nearby roofs which could work, but they ruled them out because tree branches partially obstructed their view. A hotel roof had a clear shot, but they were concerned that employees might spot Dominica and unknowingly tip the hitters. Finally, Ott pointed across the Intracoastal at the ghost-like 1515 Building on South Flagler Drive in West Palm. It was a skinny, twelve-story modern building that had apparently been built with substandard materials, by an incompetent builder, or both. In any case, it had been seriously compromised by Hurricane Wilma, three years ago, back in ’05. It had been condemned, but not yet torn down. Its tenants had all moved out back in ’06. The 1515 Building was empty except for some gulls that had gotten through the boarded-up windows.

“The front entrance is nothing but plywood held on by a bunch of two-by-fours,” Ott said to Crawford. “We sneak in, nobody’ll be the wiser.”

“Let me get this straight . . . so now you’re suggesting we add B & E to entrapment and blackmailing a prominent citizen?” Crawford asked.

Ott smiled back. “In for a penny . . . in for twenty mill.”

“Twenty-five,” Dominica said.

A
T EIGHT P.M
., Crawford, Ott and Dominica were on the balcony of an abandoned twelfth-floor apartment of the 1515 Building looking down at the boats in the marina. They had walked up using flashlights and carrying high-powered optical equipment and tripods. Ott said he was a little winded, Dominica said he was a wuss.

On top of the building, Crawford took in the view of the Intracoastal, then Palm Beach and the ocean beyond. The view beat the hell out of the parking lot his condo looked down onto. They set up the equipment and tested it. Then they reviewed the plan.

Afterward, Crawford looked through a pair of binoculars, then motioned to Dominica.

“That’s the place I showed you,” he said, pointing, “where me and Mort are gonna hang out.”

He handed her the binoculars. “You can fit in there?”

“
I
can.”

She looked at Ott. He smiled.

“Gonna be a little tight,” he said.

Crawford and Ott had checked it out earlier. It was about fifty yards from the impounded boat.

Ott handed Dominica the photos he had taken of the suspected hitters.

“Coupla real dreamboats,” she said. “Short, scrawny mutt and a tall, creepy-looking guy.”

“Yeah,” Crawford said, “but don’t go underestimating them.”

“I won’t. They look like a pretty nasty duo.”

“Yeah, and when they hear where Misty is, they’re gonna swing into action fast, guarantee you.”

“First thing they’re gonna do, once we tip ’em to where she is, is come here, check out all the boats,” Ott said.

Dominica nodded.

“Probably go around, try to figure out how to bust through one of those gates. But it ain’t gonna happen, it’s like getting into Fort Knox,” Ott said.

All the docks had locked metal gates and around them sharp rods that pointed out. They were as welcoming as razor wire on the walls of a penitentiary.

“So then they’ll be figuring where to take their shot from,” Ott said.

Dominica nodded.

“You okay?” Crawford asked her, fighting an urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She nodded again.

“We’re going to run these guys around a little,” Crawford said. “Make it too easy for them, they’ll smell something.”

“So, their plan’s gonna be to first take out Misty,” she said, “then . . . they come after me?”

Crawford nodded, then looked over at Ott, who was taking in the view. He gave Dominica a soft pat on the shoulder. It bordered on the unprofessional, but he could tell she liked it. Ott turned and looked over at them.

“You ready?” Crawford said to Ott.

“To go back down?” Ott groaned.

“Yeah,” Crawford said, “it’s downhill, for Chrissakes.”

When they got to the bottom, Ott wheezed out something about going up and down Everest and gimped toward the car.

S
O FAR
Fulbright had listened to a couple of conversations between the two sisters. They didn’t sound much alike. Different accents even. He hadn’t gotten anything useful yet. No location. Nothing.

At one point he got frustrated and lashed out at Donnie, the way he always did if things didn’t go quite right. But Donnie was one of those guys who just stared back at you, then slowly shook his head. He never lost it or got crazy. Unless, of course, he was paid to.

Finally, at eleven o’clock that night, Fulbright listened in on the call he’d been waiting for.

“So what’s happening?” Misty said. “Heard from Jaynes yet?”

“I’ll let you know when I do,” Dominica said. “Meantime, stay right there.
Don’t
go outside.”

Misty sighed.

“You said it was gonna be a ‘slam dunk.’ ”

“Just let me take care of it, how’s the boat?”

“Sucks, stinks like old reefer.”

“Just one more night.”

“Better be.”

“Talk to you soon.”

Fulbright heard the click, turned to Donnie and gave him a thumbs-up.

“A boat,” Fulbright said, “awesome . . . she’s a sitting duck.”

He looked at his watch. Close to twenty hours left. Talk about slam dunks.

Problem was, since then, the sisters had only had two conversations and, though they made several references to “the boat,” hadn’t given any clue where the boat was. The older one, Jennifer, seemed to be holed up in her apartment off Flagler, based on the fact that the LoJack they put in her car indicated she hadn’t gone anywhere. The clock was ticking and Fulbright was edgy, ready to rip into Donnie again. They drove up a long stretch of Flagler Drive on the Intracoastal, stopping at five marinas along the way, with the picture of Misty taped to the dashboard. Donnie said something about a “needle in a haystack,” and Fulbright just glared at him. There were a lot of marinas, and besides, who said the boat was at a marina? Or in West Palm, for that matter? Could be down in Lake Worth, or up in Riviera Beach. Could be anywhere. There were a million boats in South Florida.

Finally they pulled into a parking lot and slept for a few hours.

It was seven thirty in the morning and they had decided to head over to Clematis and get a cup of coffee, when they heard Misty’s voice:

“Hey, a Palm Beach police boat just went by,” Misty said, “like they were looking for something.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not you,” the older one said.

“Heard anything?”

“Nah, not yet. Told you, I’ll let you know.”

Fulbright smiled, reached across the seat, cuffed Donnie lightly on the cheek.

“Bingo, let’s go, man. She’s at the Palm Beach docks.”

Right after going over the middle bridge, Fulbright signaled Donnie to take a hard right. A minute later they saw the Palm Beach police boat tied up at the dock, nobody in sight. They cruised the extra couple of blocks to the south end of the docks, getting a closer look at some of the most expensive yachts this side of Monte Carlo.

“Believe the size of these suckers,” Donnie said, shaking his head in awe.