The Alligator Man (18 page)

T
hirty years ago when he first started representing drug dealers and making a boatload of money, Bernie Stang bought several acres of land northwest of Miami near Route 41. The land was dirt cheap back then and Bernie eventually built a warehouse on the site where he stored all his files. Bernie liked to consider himself a hip, modern guy with the latest computer gadgetry. With his files, however, he was old-fashioned, hanging onto every piece of paper.

It fed into his paranoia.

David Lefter felt good about helping Kevin out. Kevin had been a friend—his only friend—who came to his defense when nobody else would. He was scared at first, but eventually, he became comfortable with the idea.

The procedure for looking at old files was rather innocuous. You had to get the key to the warehouse from Bernie’s secretary, Mary. And you had to sign a log that she kept, indicating the file you wanted to look at. It all seemed to be based on an honor system.

After working up his courage and identifying one of his old files as a decoy, David went to Mary and signed out the key on a Monday morning. He then drove out to the warehouse, found the two files that Kevin had asked him to get, and removed them. He took the files to a copy place nearby that he had located beforehand, copied them, and returned them to the warehouse within an hour. It was easy, or so he thought.

There was another aspect to the procedure that neither David nor any other attorney who ever worked at Bernie’s office knew about. Once David signed the key out, Bernie was notified. Bernie then called the security agency that monitored the hidden cameras at his warehouse and notified them that somebody would be coming and when. The security company was never told the identity of the visitor. Bernie personally left instructions that could not be misinterpreted: He wanted to know what files were looked at and whether any files were removed.

After David’s visit to the warehouse, the security agency called Bernie and told him David had taken the files of Bobby Joe Sellers and Randy Winters. The agency did not tell him that David had come back to the warehouse and returned the files after copying them because they did not monitor that event.

Even though he was feeling pretty good about himself after his caper, David was still nervous that something bad was going to happen. Somehow he was going to be discovered. He pulled into the parking lot at work right next to Sal Trivigno’s beat-up old pickup truck, which gave him an idea. He took the copied files and put them in the back of the pickup under one of Sal’s painting tarpaulins. If any questions were raised about the files that day, his car would be clean
if they came to search it
. If nobody said anything, he’d pick the files up that night after work.

Unfortunately, the plan went awry. Sal happened to be leaving the building as David was coming in. The two men never saw each other and Sal left the premises ten minutes after David had parked his car. When he couldn’t find Sal anywhere in the office and subsequently discovered that his pickup was gone from the parking lot, David thought about driving to Sal’s home.

You’re getting too worked up about nothing,
he finally told himself.
The files will keep till the morning.

David had been married once, many years back. He and his wife had bought a rather large, extravagant home in Coral Gables. Three years later, she left in the middle of the night. Speculation among David’s fellow workers at the time was that she left with one of Bernie’s rich clients she’d met at the office. Some folks claimed that they had actually observed the flirtation. It was pure speculation, although she had abandoned everything, including the house. David waited three years before filing for dissolution. He got all the marital property in the divorce plus a case of irritable bowel syndrome. Years later, he still lived alone with his illness in the big house.

The night of his caper he was sleeping upstairs in the master bedroom when he heard a noise coming from the floor below. For a moment, he was crippled with fear. Then he remembered his gun. A while ago somebody had told him he needed a gun if he was living alone, so he bought a semiautomatic at a gun show and got a free lesson to boot. He hadn’t fired the damn thing since the day he bought it.

He reached into the nightstand and pulled it out. The gun was fully loaded. There was no need to keep it unloaded when he was the only person living in the house. David slowly walked down the stairs. He had an advantage if there really was a burglar because he knew the terrain. He went from room to room, turning the lights on as he entered, ready to shoot. He covered the entire downstairs including the garage (this was a Florida home, there was no basement)—nobody was there. David relaxed.
I’m just a little jumpy because of today,
he told himself.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he was again forced to move quickly, this time making a mad dash for his bedroom and the bathroom. Sitting on the bowl, he wondered why he had been so cool when he thought there was a prowler in the house, only to have to run to the john as soon as the crisis was over.
I need to get rid of this damn disease.

Suddenly, there was a creak in the hardwood floor in his bedroom. He didn’t imagine it. Instinctively, he turned his head toward the sound, looking through the open door into the dark room. There was a figure in the doorway—more sounds—
ping, ping, ping
. Then he felt a throbbing in his head followed by a calm, peaceful feeling like he was floating on air.

They found him the next day sitting on the bowl, slumped over, with three bullets in his brain.

Kevin was just sitting down for lunch at the ranch with his father and Kate when he got the call from Julie, his old secretary at the firm.

“Kevin, it’s Julie.”

“Hey, Julie. What’s up?”

“It’s about David,” she said rather suddenly. There was an urgency to her voice.

There was only one David she could be referring to. “What about David?”

Julie broke down on the other end of the line. “He’s dead, Kevin. David’s dead.”

“No.”

“Yes. He missed a big meeting this morning with Bernie and a client—something he would never do. When David’s assistant couldn’t get him on his home phone or his cell, she called the police. Apparently he woke up while somebody was burglarizing his house and they shot him three times in the head. I’m sorry I have to be the one to give you such bad news. I know how close you and he were. The funeral is Thursday morning, at ten. I’ll e-mail you the details. Is your e-mail still the same?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Julie.”

“I’m so sorry, Kevin.”

“I know.”

“What happened?” Tom asked when Kevin had hung up the phone.

“David Lefter is dead.”

“Was he a friend of yours?”

“Yeah. He was the guy who was going to get me copies of the criminal files of Bobby Joe Sellers and Randy Winters.”

“Jesus. Do you think there’s any connection?” Tom asked.

“There’s gotta be, Dad. It’s just too coincidental.”

“What the hell was in those files?” Tom asked.

Kevin didn’t respond. He remembered David sitting in his office, complaining about something or other and all the time squirming like he had Mexican jumping beans in his pants. He had sent this nervous little man to his death.

They ate lunch in silence.

“There is a funeral on Thursday. I’m going to go to it,” Kevin finally told his father and Kate as they were clearing the table. “I owe it to David to pay my respects.”

“I know how you feel,” Tom said. “But keep in mind that whoever killed your friend David might want to kill you as well.”

“They have no reason to kill me. I never got the records.”

“Do they know that?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s my point, Kevin.”

Kevin knew his father was being the voice of reason but he didn’t want to hear reason at this point in time. He had to go to the funeral.

“I’m going,” he told his father. “There’s no sense discussing it anymore.”

Tom Wylie could hear his own voice thirty years before, telling his wife he was riding shotgun with Alex and he didn’t care about the consequences. It was something he had to do.

Kevin was just being his father’s son.

K
evin left for Miami very early on Wednesday morning. He didn’t plan on going to the wake that evening. There would be too many people milling about and he didn’t want to run into Bernie. The funeral was a more somber affair and he could leave right after the burial service at the cemetery. He was heading south early so he could stop in Verona and spend some time with Billy.

Billy was still at the county jail. Kevin had called while on his way to let them know he’d like to see his client and they gave the two men a room when he arrived. Billy looked a little thinner but he seemed to be holding up pretty well.

“So, how’s it going?” Kevin asked.

“Not too bad. They let me call the kids once a day, which is good.”

“I talked to your sister last week. She says they’re doing fine.”

“For now,” Billy said, looking at the floor. “I just don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Hold on there,” Kevin interrupted. “Remember where you are. This is not the time and place to ruminate about what could have been or what should have been, do you understand?”

“Yeah, it’s just that—”

“Let it go, Billy. We’ve got three weeks until trial. Focus your efforts on making it to that point. Take it day by day.”

“Do we have a chance?”

“We have a good chance,” Kevin told him. It wasn’t a lie, although it wasn’t exactly the truth. They had a chance, but not necessarily a good chance. Billy was down, though. Kevin needed to give him some hope so he could get through the trial. If they lost, what he said that day wouldn’t matter one way or the other.

When he was an hour out of Miami, he called Susan.

“I read about David’s death in the paper this morning. I’m so sorry, Kevin.”

“It’s very sad. Thank God he wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. Listen, Susan, let’s have dinner.”

“Kevin, I’ve said everything I have to say to you. I know you’re feeling bad but that doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. I just think we should end our relationship with a dinner rather than a cold, impersonal telephone call. Whaddaya say?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “All right. But not in South Beach.”

There were too many memories in South Beach, he knew. They agreed to meet at an upscale Spanish restaurant in Coral Gables, giving Kevin an opportunity to get to his hotel for a shower and shave beforehand.

He arrived before her, got a table, and waited. Susan came in fifteen minutes later and she looked ravishing in a short, tight black dress. She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek as if they had just met and were on their first date.

“I already ordered some calamari,” he told her. “And a bottle of your favorite wine.”

She gave him a scolding look.

“What? We’re just having a little wine at dinner.”

“You know what. I don’t want this to get ugly.”

“It won’t, honey. I promise.”

True to his word, dinner was pleasant. Susan talked about her father’s business and how well things were going. Kevin talked about the trial.

The little illusion they had created fell apart outside the restaurant when they were saying their good-byes.

“I loved you,” Kevin told her as they stood facing each other. “I still do with all my heart.” The enormity of never feeling her beside him again, of losing her forever, overwhelmed him.

“Kevin, stop.”

“We were going to get married, Susan. How could you just end it so abruptly?”

“I just saw that it wasn’t going to work. We’re too different. We want different things.”

“We could have worked things out. That’s what relationships are about—working things out, getting through the hard stuff, never letting go.”

She just looked at him. “The truth is, Kevin, I never had you to begin with. You were always somewhere else even when you were here. I knew when you left you weren’t coming back. And I knew I couldn’t go.”

She kissed him softly on the lips. “Good-bye, Kevin.”

He watched her all the way to the parking lot until she disappeared inside her silver BMW.

“Good-bye, Susan,” he whispered.

K
evin arrived late to the church for the funeral and sat in the back. He wanted to be there to pay his respects. He’d see everybody later on at the cemetery after the burial service.

Bernie confronted him on the street as they were loading David’s coffin into the hearse. “We all go eventually,” he said from somewhere behind Kevin. “Some of us quicker than others.” Kevin turned to see him standing there with his bodyguard, Vic.

“Hi, Vic. I see you brought Bernie out with you today.”

Vic didn’t say a word. He just clenched his jaw a little tighter.

“Very funny,” Bernie replied. “Although I hear it’s a little dangerous to be a comedian these days.”

“Is that right?” Kevin asked. “Is this the point where I’m supposed to run away again and hide? And maybe beg for forgiveness?” They were both facing the hearse as they talked.

“Why don’t you ride out to the cemetery with Vic and me? We can catch up.”

“I’d love to but I was planning to leave right after the service out there.”

“Change your plans.”

He looked at Bernie. It wasn’t a demand as much as it was a request. “Why should I?”

“We need to talk. Mine is the second car behind the hearse,” Bernie told him and walked away.

Why not?
Kevin thought.
Maybe I’ll learn something.

Bernie had a limo and Kevin slipped into the backseat. The window separating them from Vic was up so they appeared to have privacy in the back.

“Want a drink?” Bernie asked after the car started moving.

“No thanks.”

“You’ve got yourself a pretty high-profile murder case over there in Verona.”

“Is that too close for you? I thought you just didn’t want me in Miami.”

“No, no. Verona is fine. It’s just that—” Bernie paused, leaned over, and looked him right in the eye. “You need to stick to the matter at hand and not go digging up carcasses that need to stay buried.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t make threats. I like to stick with the facts.”

“All right, we’ll stick to the facts—how do you know I’m digging up old ‘carcasses,’ as you put it?”

“I know when somebody takes files from my warehouse.”

“So you had to kill him?”

“Whoa! Be careful what you say, pal. I didn’t kill anybody.”

“So you had Vic do it, what’s the difference?”

“Vic didn’t do it either.”

“Look, Bernie, we can argue about who did it from now until doomsday, but you and I both know the reason David was murdered.”

“Don’t use those files, Kevin.”

He thinks I have the files.

“And what if I do?”

“You’re playing with fire, Kevin.”

“So are you, Bernie.”

When they got to the cemetery he opened the door and exited the limo. Vic made a move to get out and follow him, but Bernie stopped him.

“Let him go. This isn’t the time.”