The Shop (9 page)

Long ago in a galaxy far away, Jolie was a sharpshooter. She’d earned three sharpshooting medals, attaining the designation “Expert.” Her instructor had a saying. Miss one day of practice, you know it. Miss two days of practice, your instructor knows it. Miss three days of practice,
everyone
knows it. Running wasn’t the same as shooting, but Jolie felt rusty when she started out on the street outside her house. It was still dark. Misty halos wrapped the streetlamps. Dew glittered on the grass. She smelled bacon and eggs coming from the bungalow on the corner of Conch and Highway 98. Crossed the deserted two-lane highway and took the easement through to the beach. Once on the sand, she picked up the pace. The regular sand, not the hard-packed. The scene before her grooved into her memory. The beach, the slow-heaving blackness beyond, the constantly rearranging fringe of surf in between. The rumble and sigh. Her calves felt like heavy bags of sand, hard to move. Being rusty bothered her, but only a little. The job got in the way, and since the job was her life, that was okay.

She got into a rhythm. Not the one she was accustomed to. Harder won, as if the sand she ran on sapped the blood straight out of her legs. She thought about going over to the hard-packed sand. On her left, buttoned up, were Cockatoo’s Fine Seafood and Beach Ware Gifts. The Quik Mart across the highway. She came to the place where she had to jump a rivulet of brackish water. Shoes hitting the sand, one-two, one-two, one-two. New construction. Space. More new construction. The little park. Her mind going back to Amy, asking for a safe house. Amy was going to run. She might have taken off already. Jolie ran past more new construction, just a frame and poured foundation. Amy’s boyfriend, Niraj Bandhu, had been released from the hospital. Maybe Amy was there, or maybe she’d packed up the rest of the U-Haul and taken off. Jamaican Pete’s ahead, kayaks stacked on their sides. A surge of water crawled up the sand in a long curve. Jolie ran around it. The other night, she’d observed the way men reacted to Amy—like they wanted to eat her up. They’d acted guilty and embarrassed about their behavior, reminding her of her dad’s old dog when he peed on the carpet. Guilt didn’t stop the dog, and it didn’t stop them. The dog couldn’t help his incontinence. The men were helpless, too, in their way. All of them, Skeet included. The deputies who were there that night—smitten.

Jolie couldn’t see it, herself. Amy Perdue was no bigger than a flea. She had freckles and weak eyes. Her eyes were pale green and dull as grapes—nothing to them. Limp red hair parted in the middle. No boobs whatsoever. But she had something. It came off her person, silent as a dog whistle. Pheromones?

Amy’s talk of “something bigger.” Her belief that someone had hired a lawyer just to get her back out on the street. Maybe Amy was paranoid, but it was clear she was in
some
kind of trouble. Jolie didn’t know what it was, but she knew Amy was in way over her head. It didn’t take much of a leap to think it might involve her brother Luke and the standoff at the Starliner Motel. That was the biggest thing to happen around here in a long time.

Jolie turned around and ran back, reviewing the events at the Starliner Motel. Luke taking the woman hostage, Chief Akers trying to talk him out, the FBI sharpshooter’s bad shot.

Did Amy really think the FBI shot Luke on purpose? But Amy wouldn’t be in a position to know about that. No one would. It wasn’t like she could phone the FBI and ask. Try talking to the FBI! Impossible.

Amy might be prone to conspiracy theories. Her brother was killed, the FBI shot him, she didn’t want to blame her brother, so she conjured up a scenario wherein the FBI shot Luke to…what? That’s where it all broke down.

Over the little rivulet. Past the Quick Mart, the incandescent light white against the indigo sky. And Riley—Riley had Jolie on her speed dial, constantly calling and texting about her boyfriend’s missing phone. Strange, Gardenia PD having no record of a phone. But Davy’d told her that the FBI was involved, which made sense. They had the snipers. So maybe the FBI had the phone.
Probably
the FBI. She jogged across Highway 98. Slowed to a walk on Conch. Home. The cat in the window, his cries silenced by the glass. Leaning with her hands on her knees, Jolie’s breath came in sharp gasps.

The FBI.

First thing she’d do today: go and talk to Luke’s landlady, Mrs. Frawley.

As Jolie unlocked the front door, she thought of something else.

As far as she knew, even in all the media coverage of the standoff at the Starliner Motel, nobody had come up with a reason why Luke Perdue had taken Kathy Westbrook hostage.

Most everyone she’d talked to had thought he’d “just snapped.”

But no one, it seemed, wondered
why
.

“All I know is there was two sets of police that came here that day,” Mrs. Frawley said. They were standing on the porch outside her house. Mrs. Frawley rolled a stroller with a baby in it, back and forth. The doors to Mrs. Frawley’s Saturn were open, a child’s car seat on the walk. The little girl was skipping back and forth across the driveway. “I’m on disability, and with Luke gone, that’s seven hundred dollars less I get a month. These are supposed to be my golden years, and
this
is what I’m doing when I should be on a Caribbean cruise, meeting the man of my dreams. Babysitting.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jolie said. “There were two sets of investigators? Are you sure?”

“Yup. And they came in twos. Two plus two.”

“Two plus two equals four!” called out Charly, who was now pushing the car seat down the walkway.

Jolie asked, “Did they identify themselves?”

“They said police. But they didn’t have to—I knew it by looking at ’em. All that black Velcro stuff they wear.”

“Did they give you their names and badge numbers?”

“Two of ’em did. Those were the regular cops. The first set, they were FBI.”

“Did they say FBI?”

“Can’t remember if they did or not.”

“You know what the FBI looks like?”

“Of course I do. I watch
NUMB3RS
, all those shows. Char, come here!” she bellowed. Charly came hopping up and turned her back so Mrs. Frawley could help her with her My Little Pony backpack. Little kid wasn’t seven years old, and already in a harness.

Jolie asked, “When did they come?”

“Mid morning? The first set. The FBI agents.”

“Did they have a warrant?”

“Didn’t ask ’em. Just handed them the key and stayed out of the way.”

“They say anything to you?”

“They said Luke was in trouble, he was a danger to himself and others. I heard it on the news right before they got here, someone taking that lady hostage. At the time I didn’t make the connection because I couldn’t see Luke doing something like that.”

“Did they take evidence?”

“Both batches of ’em did. Walked out with bags of stuff.”

“Did you see what they took?”

“I was in the middle of dyeing my hair. I didn’t want to leave it on too long.”

“Did they take a cell phone?”

“Could’ve been in one of them bags.”

“Granny?” Charly said, tugging on her grandmother’s sleeve. “When’s Luke coming home?”

“Sorry, baby, he’s moved on to a better place.” Mrs. Frawley rolled her eyes.

“Why doesn’t he come back? He just went on a playdate.”

Jolie hunkered down on her heels. “He went on a playdate? When was this, sweetheart?”

Charly chose that moment to turn shy. She pushed herself behind her grandmother and stared up at the trees.

“Charly!”

“It’s okay,” Jolie said.

Mrs. Frawley’s voice softened. “Sweet pea, answer the nice lady.”

“Do you know when Luke went on the playdate?”

“When he went away with that man.”

“What man?” Jolie asked gently.

“The one that…” She stopped, looking confused. “The one in the black car.”

“You mean the FBI car, honey?” Mrs. Frawley said. “Those men weren’t here then.”

“It was like a movie.”

“Movie’s her favorite word. Everything’s a movie.”

Jolie said, “Did Luke get in the car with him?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, fidgeting with the straps of her backpack.

“When was this?”

“
Jeremy
just came on.”

“Honey, that’s early,” said Mrs. Frawley. “There were two men, Charly. They came here later. Luke wasn’t here then.”

“What time does
Jeremy
come on?” Jolie asked Mrs. Frawley.

“Ten in the morning on Disney.”

“But you didn’t see anything.”

“I was busy. I work from home, doing mailers.”

“You didn’t hear a car?”

“My printer’s really noisy. Plus, I never miss
The Today Show.
Have to turn it up because I’m deaf in one ear.”

Jolie bent back down so she was face-to-face with Charly.

“You said you asked Luke where he was going?”

The little girl squirmed. “I called to him. I was in the door.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was going with Will.”

“Will?”

Mrs. Frawley shrugged. “She’s got Will Smith on the brain. I have all the
Men in Black
DVDs.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“The man got out.”

“Got out? Of the car, you mean?”

She nodded gravely. “He scared me.”

“Why?”

“Because he looked like a bad guy in the movies.”

“Movies again!” Mrs. Frawley snorted.

Charly said, “When he lifted his arms, I could see a
gun
.”

“Where was the gun?”

“It was under his arm.”

“Do you remember what color his hair was?”

“It was yellow, like Granny’s. Only real short.”

“Anything else you can remember?”

“He stood like this.” She spread her legs slightly and put her hands on her hips. “He was right over there.” She pointed to where the walk met the driveway. “I asked him if Luke was going to be in a movie, and he said yes. It was a secret, and I couldn’t tell anybody.”

Then her face lit up. “Is Luke going to be in
Men in Black
?”

Davy Crockett met Jolie at Bizzy’s Diner. He sat down, placing his hat with deliberation on the table. The top of his skull gleamed in the low lights of the diner. When he turned to look for the waitress, Jolie noted the shar-pei folds where his head met his neck. Despite his massive proportions, his bare head made him seem vulnerable, like a newborn. “What’s so important you had to interrupt me in the middle of my Lean Cuisine?” he asked her.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t plan to eat out, but now I’m here, I believe I’ll have the Manhandler Breakfast. They’re still serving breakfast, aren’t they?”

“Far as I know. But what are you going to tell your wife?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. A man’s got to have some kind of life. It’s not like I’m sleeping around or anything. So what’s up?”

“It’s about Luke Perdue.”

He frowned. “The one-man wrecking ball. Yup, he sure did raise our profile at the Gardenia PD. Made us look like a bunch of clowns. FBI didn’t come off looking too good, either.”

Jolie told him about the man she believed picked up Luke Perdue on the morning of the standoff. “It was right before ten a.m. What time was the call-out?”

Davy thought about it. “Between ten a.m. and eleven. If you pushed me, I’d guess right around ten thirty. You’re saying just before Luke showed up at the Starliner Motel, he left with an FBI agent?”

“That’s what the little girl said. The FBI showed up at Luke’s apartment around ten forty. I know that’s true because Mrs. Frawley was looking at the clock. She was dyeing her hair.”

“Jesus, that’s fast.”

“Around ten, some guy—Frawley thinks FBI—picks Luke up. At ten thirty you get the call-out to the Starliner Motel—”

“And fifteen minutes later, the FBI’s searching the premises.”

“Without a warrant,” Jolie said. “I’m sure they’d claim ‘exigent circumstances,’ if Mrs. Frawley had asked.”

“Which she didn’t,” Davy said.

“When did the standoff end?”

“Around dinnertime. I remember seeing the chief when he came in.” He shook his head. “The man was shell-shocked.”