The Alligator Man (3 page)

C
arlisle Buchanan’s knowledge of the Everglades ecosystem was only surpassed by his ability to maneuver his airboat through the saw grass prairies and the mangrove corridors. He didn’t need a compass, although he always carried one. He knew exactly where he was at all times.

Once he was out of the canal and into the saw grass, the devastation wrought by the winter drought was visible everywhere. Land that was normally submerged under two or three feet of water was bone-dry in spots. One could actually see the cracks. It was as if the earth was opening its mouth and crying out for water.

Carlisle was used to the scene. As someone who spent a lot of time on the water, he accepted it all as part of the ebb and flow of nature. He knew that the rains would eventually come and restore the balance, although it was April and they were long overdue.

Carlisle passed through the saw grass to the mazes created by the red mangroves. The mangroves grew in such a way that there was a path through them, their roots protruding from the sea like the legs of the great blue heron. The water was deeper here and Carlisle upped his speed. The path, however, was not always straight and at times became very narrow with the tops of the mangroves meeting to create a cylinder-like corridor with roots coming out of the water and branches closing in from the sides and the top. Carlisle flew along like a bat out of hell, slowing and turning on a dime, then speeding up until the next turn, which was visible only to someone who knew the terrain.

He went to the west side of Gladestown Road first. The trip took about fifteen minutes. There was a canal right next to the road and the water was at its deepest there, reaching five, seven, sometimes ten feet deep in spots. The mangroves were thick and especially close together and movement was slow and hazardous, even for Carlisle who was totally in his element.

Some egrets and herons were wading in the shallows. Others were perched on branches that reached out over the water, oblivious to the sound of the engine and so close it seemed as if Carlisle could have reached out and touched any one of them if he had a mind to. Their attention was totally focused on the water, searching intently for a fish or a stray insect while at the same time warily watching for the predatory gator.

Carlisle was searching too, in the water and the thicket, for a sign of Roy Johnson,
or any part of him
. It took an hour and a half to cover the west side, and by the time he reached the east side, which involved retracing his initial route and going around the southern tip of the town, the sun was up and it was hot, although it was only April and the blistering humidity of the summer had not yet arrived. Carlisle didn’t seem to notice. He was on a mission.

It was well past the third hour when he spotted it, a large piece of black cloth hanging on a mangrove root close to the water. He grabbed it from the branch and cut the engine so he could inspect it. None of the edges were smooth and it appeared to have been ripped on all sides. Carlisle stepped out of the boat and, after wedging it between two bushes, started climbing along the roots of the mangroves, diligently searching for any other piece of evidence that might exist. He was a hundred and fifty yards away from the boat when he saw something white in the water. It was a much bigger piece of cloth.

The white cloth had the same rough edges as the black one. It appeared to be the front quarter of a man’s shirt with the pocket still in place. And the material was
silk
.

B
ernie Stang was a salesman and a fixer in the business of criminal law. His clients were men and they were mostly drug dealers. Bernie had a suite that took up the twenty-first floor of an office building in downtown Miami, but that’s where the similarity to his business neighbors ended. The reception area was overstated and gaudy, with dark mahogany paneling on the walls, thick gold lettering on the door, and a huge crystal chandelier in the entryway. It also came with Rhonda Hamilton, the receptionist with a bedroom voice, a provocative smile, and a body that made grown men salivate.

Bernie’s inner office was also over the top—complete with an American flag, the Florida state flag, a thick blue rug with the state seal in the middle, and pictures of Bernie center stage with presidents and senators. It was impossible to tell from the décor that Bernie represented lawbreakers.

“This is a man with a monumental ego and no taste,” Susan told Kevin the first time he brought her into Bernie’s office. Kevin just laughed.

“I think the pictures are all fake too,” she added. “I can’t see presidents, senators, and movie stars all lining up to have their picture taken with Bernie.”

“You’re probably right about most of them,” Kevin replied.

One picture in particular struck her. Bernie was standing with his arm around a man dressed in a white suit with a full head of thick white hair. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Kevin said. “His name is Franklin Rutledge and he is one of the most prominent criminal trial lawyers in the country. He lives here in Miami. He and Bernie are friends, although I think Bernie envies Rutledge’s reputation, which far overshadows his own.”

“Why did you say, ‘Funny you should ask’?”

“Well, Rutledge once told me that his white suit is his trademark. He always wears it into court because it stands out so much and people remember it. I never really bought into that theory until now. Out of all these pictures on Bernie’s wall, the only one you asked about was Franklin Rutledge.”

The rest of the place was pedestrian. Individual attorney offices were situated on both sides of a long hallway. Outside each office was a secretarial station. The walls were white and the carpet was commercial-grade gray.

Kevin, who was easygoing and cool in the courtroom, cocounseled with Bernie on many of his high-profile cases and, next to him, was considered the best trial lawyer in the firm. Still he was given no special treatment when it came to office space.

His office, like those of the other nine attorneys, was a box with room for a desk, two client chairs, and nothing else. The wall behind Kevin’s desk was filled with various diplomas, licenses, memberships, and awards—one of Bernie’s requirements, like Rhonda’s dresses, to impress the criminals. There were two pictures of fruit on the other walls and a small picture of Susan on Kevin’s desk, and that was it.

Kevin’s undoing at the Stang law firm started with a simple phone call from a client named Bob Dunning, a drug dealer.

“What’s up, Bob?”

“Kevin, I can’t get a hold of Bernie and I need a hundred grand today to close this deal I’ve got going. Can you authorize that for me in Bernie’s absence?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me to do, Bob.”

“It’s very simple. I need the money. You’re Bernie’s right-hand man. Get me the money.”

“We’re your lawyers, Bob, not your bankers.”

“That’s news to me and it’ll be news to your fuckin’ boss too. You playin’ a game with me? I need this money now. If I don’t make this deal, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I’m not playing any games and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kevin heard the phone click dead on the other end of the line. He immediately tried to get Bernie on his cell phone to no avail. He left a message on Bernie’s phone that he needed to talk to him, and he left the same message with Rhonda and Bernie’s secretary, Mary.

Mary didn’t call him back until the next morning.

“He wants to see you right away,” she told him. Kevin went directly to Bernie’s office.

Bernie was sitting at his desk as Kevin walked in the door. He had his chair turned sideways so he was looking at his wall of plaques and awards rather than at Kevin.

“Sit down,” Bernie said before Kevin could even mention the call from Bob Dunning. “My sources tell me you’re looking at office space.” Bernie continued to look at the wall as he spoke. “Are you considering making a move?”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” Kevin replied.

“Nope.”

“I’ve been checking out space just to get a feel for what the market is out there. I don’t plan on making a move in the near future.”

Bernie was feeding himself grapes as he leaned back in his power chair still facing the wall. “But you do plan on making a move eventually?”

“Yeah. I’d like to start my own practice eventually.”

“Doing what, criminal defense work?”

“That’s what I do.”

“And you plan on taking some clients with you?”

“I don’t plan on it, but I imagine some of the people I’ve represented will come to me in the future.”

“And send their friends to you?”

“And send their friends to me—yes. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”

Bernie ignored the question. “So you plan on competing against me?”

“In the sense that I’ll be doing the same type of work like hundreds of other criminal lawyers in this town. My going out on my own is not going to affect your operation at all. Do you have a problem with me eventually starting my own business?”

“I have a problem with you working for me and looking for office space behind my back.”

“I wasn’t doing anything behind your back. I was checking out the real estate market. If I make a decision to go, you’ll be the first to know.” Kevin stood up and walked around. He was mad and he wanted to leave, but he had a feeling Bernie wasn’t through yet.

Bernie didn’t respond right away. He kept looking at the wall and eating his grapes. “That’s nice of you to let me know and all. However, it’s not enough. I don’t mind you going back to the state attorney’s office or over to the public defender. I don’t mind you practicing civil law and making a fortune. I just don’t want you doing criminal defense work and competing against me.”

Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. “Is that right? You don’t want me stepping out from under your thumb? In case you haven’t noticed, that is an American flag next to you. You know, the land of the free—capitalism, competition, the American dream, and all that shit. I’m going to do everything aboveboard, but when I leave I’m going to practice criminal law in this town and I’m going to compete against you, so get used to it.”

It was Bernie’s turn to stand up. Although he was fifty-plus, Bernie was still in good shape. He was a tall man with a barrel chest and thick arms. He had a few scars on his cheeks from teenage acne and a thick black mustache.

He walked over to where Kevin was standing. Inches separated the two men. Kevin was a little over six feet himself but Bernie was taller.

“I read in the paper a couple of weeks ago that Charlie Willis was killed during a robbery. They said he had an accomplice with him who got away. Charlie and your buddy Sal were inseparable, weren’t they?”

Kevin didn’t move even though Bernie was literally in his face. Sal Trivigno was the closest thing to a regular client Kevin had. He was a small-time hood who couldn’t seem to get his act together and go straight no matter how hard he tried. Sal was not part of the Charlie Willis robbery and murder but he was a suspect, and Kevin had talked to him and met with the state attorney on his behalf.

“What are you driving at, Bernie?”

Bernie turned his back to Kevin and began to walk away. “I figured Sal would be calling you if he was involved. You have to anticipate business when you run your own show, Kevin. Then I hear from my sources downtown that you are representing Sal and that you even went to a meeting with him and the state attorney. I checked your billing records and Sal wasn’t on there. So I asked myself,
Has Kevin started his own business already while I’m still paying his salary?
”

“You know that’s bullshit, Bernie. I don’t operate like that.”

“Really? You had to meet with Sal. Knowing Sal like I do, that was at least two hours. You probably had some conversations with the state attorney’s office and at least one other meeting with Sal before appearing with him downtown.”

“What’s your point?” Kevin interrupted.

“My point is I’m already out thousands of dollars and that’s just the beginning of your little game of stealing business from me.”

“Look, Sal didn’t have any money, that’s all. It had nothing to do with me looking for office space.”

“So besides leaving me, you decide you’re going to run a charitable organization without my knowledge.”

“It’s one client for Christ’s sake. The bar requires us to do pro bono work anyway.”

“That’s my decision, not yours.”

“Fine. But don’t accuse me of pilfering your clients or running my own operation behind your back.”

“I won’t be accusing you of anything anymore. You’re out of here as of right now.”

Bernie walked back to his desk casually, sat in his chair, and took out a big Cuban cigar from a wooden box on his desk. He clipped the tip and lit it up.

“What the hell are you doing, Bernie?” Kevin asked. He wasn’t talking about the cigar.

“I’m just quitting you before you quit me.”

Kevin was really angry now. He started pacing back and forth in front of Bernie’s desk.
Calm down
, he told himself.
Think about what’s really going on here and what you’re going to say next.

“This isn’t about me looking for office space or me representing Sal, is it? It’s about that phone call I received yesterday from Bob Dunning.”

“What phone call?”

“Come on, Bernie. I’ve been here for seven years. I’m your best trial lawyer. You’re not just going to up and fire me because I was looking for office space. I heard something yesterday that I wasn’t supposed to hear, didn’t I?”

It was Bernie’s turn to get a little fired up. “You know, Kevin, I never liked that holier-than-thou attitude that you have. You’re a damn good lawyer but you don’t get the big picture. We’re
criminal
lawyers. The big cases that come in this firm are drug cases. They support this business of ours. We support their business by keeping them out of jail. It is what it is.”

“Where are you going with this, Bernie?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“That’s right. I was just being polite, explaining something to you. The explanation is over. It’s time for you to go.”

“That’s it? Just like that I’m out the door? And you expect me not to compete with you after you do this?”

“Perhaps you didn’t understand me, Kevin. I didn’t
ask
you not to compete with me, I
told
you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“And what happens if I ignore you?”

Bernie stood up and smiled with the big Cuban still in his mouth. He walked around his desk toward Kevin once again.

“That’s where it would get interesting.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s just say that after your conversation yesterday with Bob Dunning some people are not happy with you. An opportunity was missed. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in profit was lost. I negotiated on your behalf—and I guess you could say on my behalf as well—and this is what we all agreed on. We’ll just let you go quietly into the night.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Bernie,” Kevin said as Bernie approached him.

“It’s not me you should be thinking about. You know the people I represent. Hell, you’ve represented some of them yourself. They don’t like mistakes, especially when it costs them money. You’re a handsome man, Kevin. You wouldn’t want that pretty face to get messed up—or even worse.”

“Why would they care if I opened my own practice?”

“They don’t. They’d rather do something to you right now. Since I negotiated on your behalf, I threw in a little something for myself.”

“This is crazy.”

“It’s a crazy world.”

“You’re serious?”

Bernie took another puff of his Cuban and blew the smoke to the right side of Kevin’s face.

“Dead serious. You’re a good lawyer, Kevin—best lawyer I know other than myself. That’s why I don’t want you competing with me in this city. You’ll have no problem becoming a civil trial lawyer or opening up a practice in bumfuck Egypt or some other place. I’d go as far away from these boys as I could if I were you.”

They were standing in the middle of Bernie’s office, toe-to-toe, Bernie still smoking the Cuban, Kevin barely able to breathe.

“So that’s it,” Kevin said.

“That’s it.”

Bernie walked over to his conference room door and opened it. His driver and bodyguard, a huge man named Vic, walked into the room. He’d been waiting there all along.

“Vic, would you walk Mr. Wylie back to his office, wait for him to empty out his desk, and then escort him out of the building?” Bernie asked in his most pleasant tone.

Kevin turned to leave. There wasn’t any upside to tangling with Vic at this point.

“Kevin,” Bernie called to him as he reached the door. Kevin turned and looked back at Bernie’s sarcastic smile. “Have a nice life.”