Choke (8 page)

They stopped beside a pretty little motor yacht tied up alongside. “That’s nice, huh?” Tommy said, indicating the boat.
“Choke,
she’s called. I wonder why?”

“That’s pretty nice, too,” Daryl said under his breath, nodding toward a girl in a bikini sunning herself on the next boat.

“We’re talking business here, Daryl,” Tommy said. “Concentrate!”

“I’m concentrating,” Daryl said. “We’re back to square one. We’ve got nothing to tell us who Carras is; we’ve got nothing on him; we’ve got nothing on the tennis pro, except your intuition. In short, we’ve got nothing.”

“Great oaks from small acorns grow,” Tommy said grumpily.

“Takes a long time, though,” Daryl replied.

“Everything is still too confused to make any sense of all this,” Tommy said, sighing. “There’s a thread here somewhere, but I’m missing it. It’ll come together, though, you wait and see.”

“Have I got a choice?” Daryl asked.

T
ommy looked at his wife in the car seat next to him. “Tell me again how this invitation happened,” he said.

“I already told you, Tommy,” she replied, sounding exasperated.

“No, I mean
exactly
how it came up. It’s important, Sweets.”

“Okay,” she said. “I was in the pro shop looking at some new tennis shoes, and this Clare Carras struck up a conversation. She was nice, I guess, and I kind of liked her. Later, as she and her husband were leaving the court, she came over and asked if you and I would like to do some snorkeling on Monday and have lunch on their boat.”

“How did she know that Monday was my day off?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know that she did; she just asked. Why is all this so important?”

“Come on, babe, you remember that we saw them at Louie’s the night of the yacht explosion, right? And I mentioned that I thought there was something funny about him? That he might be connected?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Well, I don’t think the guy is who he says he is. I’ve done some checking on him, and things just don’t add up.”

“Then I would have thought you would welcome the chance to get to know him better,” Rosie said, “instead of giving me a hard time about accepting the invitation.”

“I didn’t mean to give you a hard time, babe, really I didn’t, and you’re right—I do want to get to know him better. Matter of fact, I’d be real happy if you’d try to get to know
her
better, find out something about her background. By the way, is anybody else coming?”

“She didn’t say; I assumed just the four of us.”

“Weird,” Tommy said. “If Carras is somebody else, you’d think he’d want to stay as far away as possible from a cop.”

“So, maybe he’s who he says he is.”

“If he is, then he’s paid cash for everything he ever bought since high school,” Tommy said, “and you can’t get any weirder than that.”

The Carrases were waiting for them aboard
Fugitive,
and so were the two tennis pros, Chuck and Victor. Rosie started to introduce Tommy to Carras, but Carras threw up a hand. “We’ve already met,” he said. “It’s Tommy, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Tommy replied.

“And I’m Harry,” he said. “Well, shall we get under way?” He ran up the steps to the bridge, cranked the engines, and expertly backed the sixty-footer out of her berth, then headed for the entrance to Key West Bight.

Clare produced Bloody Marys for everybody, and they took seats on the broad afterdeck and sipped their drinks, chatting idly and enjoying the winter sun.

They had traveled perhaps ten miles when Tommy noticed smoke coming out of a ventilator. He stood up and shouted, “Hey, Harry! You got a problem down here.”

Harry stopped the engines and looked over the railing at Tommy. “What is it?” he asked.

“Looks like smoke coming from down below,” Tommy called back.

Harry came down to the deck, looking worried. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the mechanics of this vessel,” he said.

Chuck spoke up. “Looks like exhaust to me, Harry. Have you got a tool kit aboard? I’ll be glad to take a look at it.”

“Sure, Chuck, right under the seat, there, in the locker.”

“Let her drift for a few minutes, and turn on your blower. We’ll give it a chance to clear out down there.”

Harry followed Chuck’s instructions, and after a few minutes, Chuck went belowdecks.

“Gosh, I hope it isn’t serious,” Clare said. “I’ve been looking forward to getting out on the water.”

“Chuck sounds like he knows what he’s doing,” Tommy said.

Shortly Chuck came back on deck. “Harry, nothing to worry about, just your exhaust tubing for the starboard engine came loose from the overboard vent. I put it back on and put a second hose clip on real tight. You shouldn’t have any further problems.”

Harry placed a hand on his heart. “Thanks so much, Chuck; I thought I’d burned up an engine or something.” He turned back to the controls, started the engines, and they were immediately under way again.

They layed anchor off Sand Key, on the reef, and finished their second round of Bloody Marys.

“Anybody for a dive?” Harry asked.

“Sure,” Chuck said. “I brought my gear, and I see you have a compressor down below. I was working right next to it.”

“I sure do; I hate lugging tanks back and forth from the dive shop. It’s much more convenient to be able to fill them myself aboard. Tommy, do you and Rosie dive?”

“Nope,” Tommy said. “We’ll stick to snorkeling.”

Equipment was produced. The Carrases, Chuck, and Victor got into their diving gear and set off along the reef. Tommy and Rosie donned masks and snorkeled lazily along in their wake.

Rosie was in the galley with Clare, putting together lunch. “So, Clare,” she said, “how long you been in Key West?”

“Just a few months,” Clare replied.

“Where do you come from?”

“New York. Harry was in business there, and when he decided to retire, we came south.”

“We’re from New York, too,” Rosie said. “What part of town did you live in?”

“The Upper East Side,” Clare replied. “Park Avenue.”

“We were in Brooklyn Heights,” Rosie said. “We’ve put our house on the market, and I think we’ve got somebody interested.”

“It’s nice in Brooklyn Heights,” Clare said. “We used to go to the River Cafe. You and Tommy have any kids?”

“A boy, Tommy Junior. He graduated from NYU last spring. How about you?”

“No, Harry and I have only been married for a little over a year, and at his age, he’s not too interested in kids. To tell the truth, neither am I, much. We have an awfully good life the way we are.”

“I see your point. How’d you and Harry meet?”

Driving home, Tommy grilled Rosie about her conversation with Clare. “Is that it?” he asked. “I already knew all that part of their story.”

“That’s it, Tommy; I guess I’m not too good at the third degree.”

“Don’t you believe it, babe; you’ve grilled me often enough.”

“Well, I asked her all the girl questions, and that’s all she told me. It didn’t seem to me like she was hiding anything.”

Tommy shook his head. “Those two have one hell of a lot to hide. And believe me, before I’m done, I’m going to know it all.”

“Tommy, when you own a boat that big, aren’t you supposed to have some help on it? I mean,
I
made the tunafish. That girl doesn’t have a clue about food.”

“Maybe they like to do for themselves.”

“Or have their guests do for them,” Rosie said grumpily.

C
lare Carras looked across at her companion. They were sitting, naked, in the back seat of the Mercedes in a grove of trees on Stock Island, near the huge lump of garbage the locals called Mount Trashmore, and they had just made love. “We’re going to have to cool it for a while,” she said.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“This cop, Tommy Sculley, has been too much in evidence the past week or so—on our diving trip, for instance. It was Harry’s idea to invite him and his wife.”

“Maybe he just liked them.”

“It’s not like Harry to like cops, let alone socialize with them.”

“What’s Harry got against cops?”

“Maybe his mother was frightened by one when she was pregnant. How the hell should I know?”

“You’re married to him.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know him much better than anybody else. Oh, I know what he likes for dinner and what he likes in bed, but beyond that, I’m on the outside.”

“Nobody can keep his wife on the outside; wives know too much. Mine did, anyway. She always knew fucking everything.”

“Maybe I’m not the ideal wife then, okay? Harry’s by nature an enigma; he doesn’t tell anybody anything he doesn’t have to, not even me.”

“But you sign on the bank account; you’re the sole beneficiary of his will, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but the will doesn’t say what there is or where it is. I know he deals with some foreign banks. Once in a while I catch part of a telephone conversation from his end, but I don’t know which banks or how much is in them. He’s promised me that if anything happens to him, his executor will handle everything. I can hardly press him on this.”

“Who’s his executor?”

“A lawyer in Naples.”

“You have his name?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get the money; there isn’t anybody else to leave it to. Harry’s life is as devoid of friends and relatives as if he had just arrived from another planet.”

“Strange.”

“It’s just the way he is. He trusts me and nobody else.”

“He trusts you, but you know nothing about his financial affairs.”

She turned toward him. “Don’t get sarcastic, baby.” She took his testicles in her hand. “I’ll pull them off.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.

She changed her grip to his penis and began kneading. “You love it when I do this, don’t you?”

He sighed, then caught his breath.

“You want to fuck me again, baby?” she asked.

“You know it.”

She pulled him toward her and lay back. “Then come to me, lover. Do it to me again.”

It took him longer this time, but she brought him skillfully along until she was ready herself, then she tightened on him. He came in a rush of fast breathing and loud noise.

“There, dear,” she said, “is that better?”

“Boy, is that better,” he breathed.

“So, we’re going to hold off for a while, okay?”

“Why do we always have to fuck in the car or on a beach somewhere?” he complained. “There are beds available to us.”

“You love it in the car and on the beach,” she said. “Anyway, beds are risky. You never know when someone will walk in.”

“Are you fucking Chandler, too?” he asked.

“Baby!” she spat. “What a shitty thing to say to me!”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“If I am, it’s for us, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Always remember that.”

“I’ll try to remember,” he said.

She pushed him off her and retrieved a towel from the front seat, wiping them both. “So we’re going to cool it?”

“I guess.”

“Promise me, baby. I can’t afford another attempt—failed
or
successful—while this cop is hanging around.”

“Why do you think he suspects something?”

“Oh, he told Harry and me flat out, when he came to the house last week. He said somebody had tampered with the car and wanted to do Harry harm.”

“And what did Harry say?”

“He pooh-poohed the whole thing, just like I knew he would. But we don’t want to start him thinking about it; that would not be good for our plans. When it happens, it happens suddenly, without warning, and it has to be final; no screw-ups next time.”

“Yeah, the screwing will have to be between you and me.”

“You want to screw me again, lover?” She stroked his penis.

“I can’t, baby, you’ve worn me out.”

“Bet you aren’t worn out yet,” she said, bending over and kissing the organ. It twitched in her hand. “See?” she cooed, and took it into her mouth.

“Jesus, how do you do it?” he moaned. “You’ve got me going again.”

“I have, haven’t I?” she said, stopping for a moment.

“Don’t stop!”

“We’re cooling it, then?”

“We’re cooling it!”

“Until I say we’re ready?”

“Anything you say.”

“Good boy; now here’s your reward for being good.”

“Oh, baby, baby, baby!” he yelled as he came again.

“There,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”

C
huck first saw the man as Harry and Clare drove up in the Mercedes. He was riding a red rental motor scooter, and he entered the parking lot half a minute after the Carrases, parked in the shade of a tree, switched off the scooter, and watched while Chuck and Victor played three sets with Harry and Clare.

Chuck looked up from time to time to see if the man was still there, and he always was. He was swarthy, very Mediterranean—Greek or Turkish, Chuck thought; tallish, solidly built, with thick, stylishly cut hair and what might be called bruised good looks. He wore jeans, a yellow polo shirt, white running shoes, and Porsche sunglasses, the ones with the big lenses. When the match was over and Harry and Clare moved toward their car, the man started the scooter and drove away. Chuck thought it odd, but he put it out of his mind. There were thousands of tourists in town, hundreds of them riding rented scooters. Then it occurred to him that the man had probably seen Clare somewhere in town and had followed the couple to get a better look at her. Nothing strange about that; all men looked at Clare.

Chuck thought no more about it until after work, when he was leaving Wooley’s, a grocery store on Roosevelt Boulevard. He pulled out of his parking space and, as he stopped for traffic at the exit to Roosevelt, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the man on the scooter two cars back. He stared at the man, the Turk, as he was beginning to think of him, until the driver behind blew his horn impatiently. Chuck looked both ways, then pulled onto Roosevelt, but instead of turning left toward Key West Bight, he turned right. The scooter turned with him.

What now? He was headed away from home, toward the upper Keys. Should he try to lose the man? If so, where? Key West was one mile by four, and its streets were ill suited for car-scooter chases; he could turn north on Highway 1, but there was only one road all the way to Miami. Anyway, there was ice cream melting in the bag beside him.