Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (23 page)

I took hits from two sides. One wanted Walsh because he was Doyle Mulligan, the other wanted him because they thought he was a Cold War spy and they both believed I held the answer to where he was. Greed drove both inquiries—Whitey Bulger’s millions and diamonds. All this because of a missed phone call and Amanda’s fluff piece on a Key West character that was picked up by the news services because it was a slow news day. That day the press couldn’t find any Republicans hanging out in airport restrooms or Democrats fathering children out of wedlock. No, but they found a crazed killer escaping to nowhere on a Jet Ski and turned him into a mythological Key West character. So much for the rumor that people don’t read newspapers.

“If you’re driving I can’t serve you another,” Susan said, breaking into my morbid daydream.

“I’m walking, make the next one a double,” I said and we both laughed.

“Same?”

“Please. I’ve gotta keep a clear head today.”

“Just so today doesn’t turn into tomorrow.”

“It always does.”

“I’ll be out of a job if people follow your example,” she said with a chuckle and walked away.

“This seat taken cowboy?”

Pauly materialized out of nowhere. That or I wasn’t paying attention.

“Saving the seat for Cote de Pablo,” I said.

“I would’ve saved it for Angie Harmon.” Pauly sat down. We have an ongoing debate about the actresses. Some have phantom football leagues, Pauly and I have phantom affairs with television stars. “I saw Norm leaving.”

“Met with the Limeys. Norm thinks I’m Key West’s Rodney Dangerfield.”

Pauly grinned. Susan brought my drink, took Pauly’s order, and nodded her approval when he asked for a beer.

“You could do worse,” he said. “Did you ever see Dangerfield in
Back to School
?”

“A long time ago.”

“Did you appreciate his reading of
“Do not go gentle into that good night
?”

“Kind of.”

“He showed his serious side for that, something he didn’t often let people see. But I get the feeling Norm was talking about the clown side,” Pauly said accepting his beer. “I noticed his performance because that’s my favorite poem. The only one I can recite. Believe that?”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t have thought of you as a reader of Dylan Thomas.”

“Lot of things about me you wouldn’t have thought of,” he said. “You okay?”

“Hell, I don’t know, you tell me. Am I?”

Even in the shade of an old banyan tree, it was hot, I was sweating, and my shirt stuck to me. I felt uncomfortable and wasn’t sure if it was because of the weather or the improbable situation facing me.

“The guys at the bar are following the large Russian,” he said without taking his stare from me. “He’s following you. Two other Russians are following him, but they’re keeping back. I’ve got two men on them. The only thing I can think of is they’re waiting for you do to something and then they’re gonna grab you…or whatever.”

“It’s the whatever that scares me.”

“It should,” he said. “But you’ve got four good men backing you up. Did Norm have anything constructive to say?”

“Yeah, he said if the Russians wanted me dead they would’ve shot up Schooner that day and not tried to take me for a boat ride.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“That’s comforting.” I rattled the ice in my glass. “I’m concerned something will come down when I’m with Tita.”

“Get out of Dodge.”

“Can’t.”

“I had lunch with Nathan the other day.” He lit a cigarette. “He’s taking most of her cases. She trying to sell the house?”

“No. For a while she’s keeping it.”

Pauly smoked. He looked around and checked the menu on the table, stalling. “You want me to put more men on you?”

“You know how stupid all this is?” I said instead of answering him. “I don’t think there’s a fucking brain between the whole bunch of ‘em.” The anger that came with the words scared me.

“The Russian mob brings out the best in people, don’t they?” He stubbed out the cigarette.

“I thought I left all this shit behind me in California,”

I said. “Pauly, if I thought getting out of Dodge would solve my problems, I’d be gone. I really would.”

“You’re lying to yourself, Mick,” he said. “You and me, we’re a lot alike. I guess Norm’s in our club too.”

“Pauly, the three of us couldn’t be more different.” I wondered how a drug smuggler and I could be alike. Add Norm to the mix and it was almost laughable.

“You’re a junkie, Mick.” He held up his hand to stop me before I began to differ with him. “Your drug ain’t coke, or grass. What gets you high is danger, the excitement. It’s an adrenaline rush. All those stories you did in Central America, firefights between the insurgents and government forces, it gave you a hard on like nothing else can. When it ended you couldn’t take assignments covering court trials; too tame, you were hooked, you needed that rush just like a junkie needs the next fix.” He finished his beer and lit another cigarette. “Nothing you might call exciting in a courtroom, not when compared to being in the middle of a firefight; it’s danger, life-and-death right there, facing you. It’s the ultimate thrill ride, not knowing if you’re gonna buy it. Come on, I know firsthand there’s no rush like outrunning the authorities on the water. They’re shooting, I’m ducking, maybe shooting back. I’ve done things that should’ve blown up in my face and got away with them. It’s better than a coke high. But coke is readily available, so how do you find that high again?” After a long last drag, he stubbed out the cigarette.

“I don’t miss that shit, Pauly. I’m slowing down and don’t know if I can dodge bullets as well as I used to.”

“If Tita wasn’t in the middle of this, you’d be enjoying the hell out of yourself and trying to figure a way to get at the Russian, the marshals, everyone. You’d use Norm, hell, you’d use me too and I’d gladly help. It’s who we are, Mick. We’ve spent too much time on the edge to step back and not want one more peek into the abyss.” He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“A poet and philosopher, who would’ve thunk it?”

“A realist, Mick. I’m a realist. I know a lot of people, all kinds of people, but I can count my friends, people I can depend on, on one hand. You’re one of those and if you’re gonna take a peek at the abyss; I’ll help keep you from falling in.”

Chapter 53

P
auly lit another cigarette. We had good views of the saloon, open sight of the bars, the entrances, staff and customers milling around. For Pauly and Norm, who were always aware of their surroundings, this was priority seating. Customers came and went. Pauly crushed out his half-smoked cigarette.

He stared at me. “Let’s see what they want, before we do anything.”

I looked toward the entrance and saw a man walking toward us with four bulky guys following him. Their tourist clothing did little to help them blend in. My anxiety level shot up. Pauly’s men went to where the large Russian sat and stood on either side of him. The man put his hands on the bar.

“Russians?” I asked but knew the answer.

“You think?”

I looked past the men and the entrance was empty. “I don’t see your guys.”

“They’re out there,” Pauly said. “Relax. They wanted to kill us the shooting would be over. Smile, we’re having a good time.” He waved to Susan, circled his hand in the air ordering us another round.

The man stopped a step or two from our table. The four men stopped. He stood about five-ten, was physically fit for someone that looked in his sixties. His styled haircut indicated expensive but his clean-shaven face couldn’t hide the heavy five-o’clock shadow. He wore designer jeans, pricey boat shoes and a Jimmy Buffett tropical shirt. Brown eyes stared coldly as he grinned and nodded when he saw he had out attention.

“Mick Murphy?” he said with traces of an accent.

“Yes.” I stayed sitting

“I am Alexei and owe you an apology.”

“Sit with us, Alexei,” Pauly said and moved a chair away from the table. I counted on his knowing what he was doing.

“Thank you.” He sat as Susan brought our drinks.

“Would you like something?” Pauly said.

“A double vodka. Do you have Russian vodka?”

“The bottle’s label says it’s from Russia,” Susan said.

“That will be fine, thank you.”

Susan left.

“What’s the apology for?” I sat back and tried not to look nervous. Pauly was as an iceberg. He appeared to give Alexei his full attention but I knew he kept watch on the four men only feet away.

“The other day at Schooner Wharf,” Alexei said and took his drink from Susan. “I am afraid the men that went there had a bad habit of forgetting they were not back home. They were supposed to ask you to come to a meeting, not threaten you. For this, I apologize.”

“They didn’t say a word to me. One minute I was waiting on a cigar and the next I was off my feet and heading to the dock.” It sounded too much like an apology, as I said it.

“Your friends came to your aid quickly. It is good to have such friends,” he said. “I would like to have been there to see it. Viktor and Yakov are no longer here.”

“I accept your apology.” I wondered if by
here
he meant this world or Key West, but thought best not to ask. “Thank you.”

“You know why the others seek you out,” he said and sipped his drink, getting down to the real business. “We all want the same thing, to find this Dick Walsh.”

“Because you think he’s the agent that got away with your diamonds.”

“Exactly.” He showed no surprise at my knowing. “The Soviet Union is no longer, so the diamonds belong to the person who finds them and, with your help, I am planning to be that person.”

“My turn to apologize,” I said.

“For what?” He took another sip of his drink and frowned.

“You’re not going to like what I know, or to be honest with you, what I don’t know.”

His frown grew. He didn’t like his vodka or my answer.

“Go on.” The rudeness of his words surprised me.

“First, I don’t believe Walsh is the Cold War agent you’re looking for and before you say it, let me,
you want to make that decision for yourself
.”

“Yes.” He didn’t waste words. “You believe the Whitey Bulger nonsense.”

“Yes. Walsh told me all about it.”

“And what convinced you?”

“At the time I didn’t know about the diamonds, so there was no convincing necessary. He spent a long time talking about his past in Boston. He ended by telling me about Natasha and how she’d mixed him up with someone else.”

“If Olga finds him…” He shook his head and grinned as he mentioned the dead woman’s partner, not sharing with us. “You believed him?”

“Yes,” I said. “If I knew where he was I’d tell you, I’d tell everyone, including the marshals. I’ve not heard from him since and that’s fine with me.”

“I would like to believe you…”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all. Okay, here’s what
I think.
If it were me, I’d be gone, long gone. My opinion is, he’s in either Cuba or Brazil. Brazil’s a big country, but, again, if it were me I’d be on the beach, Copacabana in Rio. That’s what I told the others, so now you know what they know.”

“I wish I could believe you.” He grinned like the Cheshire cat, reminding me of the attitude of the men who used the Taser to make sure I’d told them the truth.

“Why would I lie?”

“Diamonds.” He stared at me with dead eyes. “They would tempt anyone.”

“If I believed Walsh had them, maybe,” I said. “But I don’t. He’s not smart enough to fool everyone and his background with Bulger is well documented.”

“I am sure.” He looked toward the bar. “Creating a history for someone is easy. Easier today than it was in the past.”

Why did I bother? They all believed what they wanted to. They wanted, or maybe needed the search for the diamonds. Chase a ghost whisper or stay blanketed in the emptiness of retirement. Norm could be right, the search made the excitement, finding the diamonds would be anticlimactic. The search for the elusive Maltese Falcon came to mind. Maybe this was more about the search than money for them.

“The computer age,” I said. “It makes locating people easy with the Internet.”

“And it is easy to manipulate the Internet.” I saw a trace of another smile forming on his lips. “Today, people believe what they read on the Internet without questioning. Especially the young, those that know no better. As a journalist, you must understand. No more searches through musty files in a cramped office to find out who owns this or that. No need to read through old newspapers to find forgotten facts from stories.”

“College degrees off the Internet,” I said. I had a feeling Alexei and I shared the experiences of searching musty old files in cramped offices.

“Whole histories,” he said. “So you understand why I find it hard to believe Walsh’s story and why I doubt you.”

“Alexei.” Pauly put a chill to the name. “We can’t be responsible for what you believe or doubt. This is a small island and knowing where anyone is at a particular time isn’t a problem. Mick’s problem is having so many following him and being so obvious about it.”

Alexei turned toward his four men. “Yes, we do stand out, even in a crowd.” He turned toward the bar and signaled the Russian.

The man stood and looked toward the two Americans. Pauly nodded and his two men returned to their seats.

Alexei spoke to the man in Russian. He didn’t answer. He nodded and left. With a short nod of his head, Alexei’s four men standing by the entrance walked away.

“Is that better?”

“They will be around when Mick leaves?” Pauly lit a new cigarette.

“Yes.” Alexei stood, leaving his drink almost untouched. “Until we find Walsh or,” he dropped a business card on the table, “you call and want to lead me to the diamonds. Leave a message and I will return the call.”

“Alexei, I am not looking for the diamonds,” I said.

His face broadened with the cat smile again. It might have been something he practiced in front of a mirror it came so naturally. It was a warning, not a comforting sign. “Of course you are. You and Norm want them.” He pointed to Pauly. “Maybe he does too, but it doesn’t matter who finds them. They are mine.” He pranced away, satisfied we understood his message.