Hot Rocks (15 page)

thirty-five

Later that day, as
I drove Military Trail toward Boca, I realized I hadn’t spoken to my lawyer, Sylvester Bergstrom, in several days. He needed to know what had occurred in case the worst happened. I dialed my cell phone and after talking my way past Donna—no easy task—briefed him.

He proved my faith in him by asking, “Is there anyone we can sue?”

“No. I have no idea how to find these people and prefer not to ever see them again.”

“I see,” he said in his legal voice. “Is there anyone who might sue you?”

“Sly,” I screamed into the phone. “I don’t think legal action has anything to do with their intentions. These are not the kind of people who want to appear in court.”

“Yes. You may be right, but a suit is always a possibility. You’ve had quite an adventure. Did they hurt you?”

New proof of how his mind worked—money first, then my health.

“No. They didn’t hurt me. They just put me in a world of hurt, but I’ll handle it. I only called to keep you updated.”

He said he was glad I called, then asked if the police had levied charges against me. I told him they appeared to have lost interest in my case. Other priorities had replaced Jacobs’ death and my part in it. He let me know he’d spoken to an excellent defense attorney who was willing to represent me. I thanked him and hung up, feeling like I had assuaged some societal requirement to involve an attorney.

Approaching Bob’s corner, I slowed and squinted, bothered when I didn’t see him on the median. I felt an overwhelming urge to talk to him. He was the only rock in this turgid mess, and I needed him. Hell, why not? He’d already seen my bare ass. What else was there?

He stepped from between two cars, newspaper in hand. I smiled, feeling more relief than was logical. He must have seen me because he waved and moved in my direction.

“Buy you a beer?” I said when he came alongside. “Lots to tell you.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I ain’t no touris’ bureau. You gonna have to buy me lunch if you want to know. There’s a place up the street what makes a good gumbo. Real spicy.” He winked.

“I love spicy,” I said. “Meet you there.”

I took a space in the parking lot of Bobby’s Bar and looked around, remembering the last time I was there. No white Toyota Avalons in sight. That made me feel more secure as I hurried toward the entrance. I continued my sweep but didn’t see my bodyguard, Street, either. I hoped he’d be there so I could buy his lunch. Little enough payment for his assistance. Before this was over, it looked like I would owe most of the homeless in South Florida—if I lived through it and could find them.

Judy greeted me like a long-lost friend. “Good to see you. Bob said you were on your way. Sit where you sat yesterday, and I’ll ladle up the gumbo. Hope you like it spicy. I’ll bring a bottle of Tabasco Habanero in case it’s not hot enough. That’ll heat it up.”

I didn’t let her see it, but I felt a grimace cross my face. Spicy and on-fire had different meanings for me. However, she had answered one question. Bob must have a cell phone. I’d have to remember to get the number. I dropped into the booth in time to see him walk through the entrance.

He headed in my direction and settled across from me. “Reports say you’ve been a busy girl since I saw you yesterday.”

“Oh, you mean that car thing in the parking lot? Guess Street told you about it. No big deal—well, not now anyway.”

“Aren’t you leaving a few things out? Like the guys in your house last night, your boyfriend’s trip to the hospital, and your disappearance this morning? Not to mention where you slept.”

I felt myself blush. “You’re thorough. I’ll give you that.”

“I told you I’d help. That includes keeping you alive if I can. You have attracted some nasty people. When you didn’t come home last night, Luther got worried and called.”

“Luther?”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah, he’s the one who chased off the thugs at your place. Don’t let on I told you, though. He prefers his homeless-name of Blister. And before you ask, it’s because he burned his feet on the beach his first day in Florida.”

“Well, whatever his name is, I owe him. He arrived in the proverbial nick of time.”

Bob stared at me a moment. “Tell me about them. Who were they?”

“First, I’d like a bowl of that gumbo. It’s been a long time since breakfast—and that was Fruit Loops.”

He grinned, then turned toward the bar. “Judy. When you have time, we’ll take our lunch.”

The gumbo lived up to its billing. Rich with shrimp, scallops, and miscellaneous pieces of fish. There may have been other meats but I didn’t bother to identify them. The broth was thick with wonderful flavor. And spice? Enough that I didn’t touch the Tabasco sauce Judy set on the table, but I did drink three glasses of ice water along the way.

I took my time eating, my mind swirling around a plan that had begun to shape itself on my drive to Boca. On one hand I loved it, but on the other, it required people placing their lives in danger. What other choices did I have though? My least preferred option was to cooperate with Mr. T. I didn’t know what he imported, but suspected it wasn’t something that came with a customs tag. Plus, his heavy-handed techniques did not appeal to my softer side.

Mr. T and Bruce had both told me I’d be under surveillance at all times. That, in itself, irritated me. I planned to have a wonderful evening with David, and I couldn’t do that if someone watched my every move. Evading the surveillance was a priority. But when I evaluated everything, I had to accept that Mr. T knew where David worked—and maybe lived—so he could get to him at any time. And there was my mother’s well-being to consider. No matter how I juggled the facts, they tilted to Mr. T’s side. The one thing I refused to consider was that he might know about my brother. He couldn’t be that thorough—could he?

However, there was a way to level the board. Perhaps two could play the kidnapping game, two could play the badass game, and the worst badass would win. I planned to be the winner.

I took another sip of water, hoping to quench the last of the gumbo burn. “Bob, how much do you want to help me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Now, you know that’s the kind of question from a woman a man should never answer. It fits right up there with,
Does this dress make me look fat?
”

I smiled, then came back serious. “If you decide to help, it could get dangerous. The mess last night and the follow-up this morning upped the ante quite a bit. I may need some heavy work done, not just babysitting.”

He leaned back against the booth and gave me a hard stare. “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is headed. Why don’t you quit dancing and say what you’re thinking? I’ll either be in or out. Either way, you won’t have lost anything.”

Bob was direct, no doubt about it. And for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why I was being coy. Like he said, in or out, no loss to me. I spent a moment fiddling with my spoon, sorting through ways to approach it. Direct won out. “Fair enough. But first, you get to hear the full story about last night—well, the kidnapping part—and my whereabouts this morning.”

I went into as much detail as I could remember while Bob sat and listened. There was no doubt I had his undivided attention. On one occasion, Judy headed toward our table, but he waved her off before she’d taken three steps. When I finished, he said, “Is he outside now?”

“Probably. I don’t think they were bluffing.”

“Let’s find out.” He pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket and dialed. “Street, look around. Beth thinks there might be someone waiting for her to come out. Don’t be seen.” He closed the phone, laid it on the table, then sipped from his glass of water. “We’ll have an answer in a couple of minutes. There are advantages to being invisible.”

thirty-six

Without any urging, my
eyes ran to the clock above the bar. Big face with beer company advertising across it. Black hands on a white background with a sweep second needle that made an obvious jump between seconds. It jumped … and jumped … and jumped. On its third revolution, Bob’s phone rang.

“Yeah,” he answered, his gaze locked on me.

He listened, a frown growing while I squirmed. I was sure I knew what he was hearing, but still didn’t want it to be true. In retrospect, I suppose I hoped Mr. T did bluff.

“Stand by, but stay out of sight.” Bob closed the phone. “One man in a white Mercury sedan, engine running, parked where he can watch the front of the bar. Street says he’s making no attempt to hide.”

“That fits,” I said. “They want me to know they’re there.”

“That fits. What’s your idea?”

“You sure?”

“Spit it out, Beth. I’ve already seen and lost more in life than you can imagine. My wife and daughter were everything to me. Nothing you come up with can get close to that.”

I spent the next thirty minutes fleshing out the vague idea that had formed on the drive over. Bob’s contributions were tactful, appreciated, and sound. At the end of my dissertation, we shook hands.

“You understand,” he said, “these folks owe me nothing. They know that. So, if they walk away, don’t let it bother you. Most of them have had rotten lives and feel like the world spit in their faces. They’ll have a choice, and we’ll accept whatever they say.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Bob went onto his cell phone and worked it for the next twenty minutes. I lost count of how many calls he made, but he must have finally reached the end of his list because he flipped it shut and said, “That’s it. We’ll see how many make the scene. In the meantime, let me show you the back rooms.”

He slid out of the booth, and I followed him toward an exit in the rear wall. As we walked, he called to Judy, “If any of our folks come in, send ’em around back to the outside entrance.”

We passed through the door into a hallway. Soft yellow paint coated the walls and recessed lighting lined the ceiling, giving everything a warm, cozy glow.

“There are sleeping arrangements on both sides,” Bob said.

I followed him, and he stopped at a doorway on the right. “Woman coming in,” he called, then opened the door.

Bunks, lockers, and small tables with lamps filled the area. I counted beds for ten tenants, each of whom would have a place to sleep, a place to sit, and a place to stare into space, if that was his choice. The walls were a pale blue, and a sturdy looking carpet covered the floor.

“Is this the dormitory?” I asked. “Judy said you have a place where people can flop with no questions asked.”

Bob smiled, a look of pride on his face. “One of them. This one’s for the men. Here, I’ll show you the other.” We exited, then he knocked on a door on the other side of the hall. “Anyone in there?” he said, then waited. When there was no response, he said, “Man coming in,” and opened the door.

It was the same as the other room except the bunks were covered in pastel covers and the walls were painted a pale pink. Silk flowers in vases adorned the tables.

“Very feminine—and very cozy,” I said.

“Yes. They might live on the street, but that doesn’t mean they’ve lost their femininity. Some really appreciate a break from the coldness of the outside world.”

I looked around. “No rules posted. Does someone meet them at the door with a lecture?”

“No. They come and go as they please. No one asks any questions. There are shower and laundry facilities through there.” He pointed toward the back wall on the far end.

“Who keeps it clean? Must be quite a chore cleaning up after they’ve been here.”

Bob frowned at me. “Your prejudices are showing. It’s quite the opposite. The folks who use it clean it, better than any crew I could bring in. All most of them want is a chance to show they’re not worthless.”

“Sorry. I suppose I stereotyped them, and that’s not fair to anyone.” I looked around. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but the upkeep has to be expensive.”

“The bar supplies some of the funds, and some of it comes from a trust fund I set up several years ago. Also, the homeless who stay here pitch in what they can. We have a contributions can by the door. It’s amazing how much accumulates over the course of a month. The secret is trust. I trust them, and they respond.”

His words made so much sense, I was surprised it wasn’t common practice. “You may have discovered the secret to homelessness in the country. Do you think this template will work in other areas?”

“I think most people respond to the way they’re treated. Some are incorrigible, but I believe they’re in the minority. Treat everyone like human beings, and the majority will act like human beings. Treat them like animals, and, like animals, they’ll cringe in the alleys and hide under the bridges. Tell them often enough they can’t make it without welfare, and they’ll believe it.”

He sighed. “It seems strange. When I see some of these folks, I see how much harm the do-gooders do. There is a segment of our society so bent on helping the homeless they take away their ability to help themselves. They don’t mean to, but that’s the end result. I mean, I meet men and women who take the path of least resistance—let someone do it for you. They sit back and become dependent on others. But when they come here, they get a bed and a chance to act human. The rest of life is theirs to live. And if the occasional ingrate decides to take undue advantage of my charity, someone—usually, several—explains the rules to him.”

Bob’s words fascinated me. Here was a man who had walked the walk and talked the talk. He knew of what he spoke. So different from the politicians who only considered indigents when there was a reporter with a camera nearby—those who wrote off the homeless as a campaign promise to be used over and over again. I promised myself I’d get involved once I dug myself out of my current predicament.

“Where do you sleep?” I asked.

“Across the hall in the men’s quarters—when I stay here. Most of the time, I prefer the street with the others. Nothing like being kicked by a passerby to remind me what I need to do. Before you ask, it’s part of the promise I made to Jupiter.”

That did it. I went speechless. Who was this man who befriended me? Or better question, why had this man with such a huge heart chosen to shelter me? With all he was doing, he didn’t need my problems.

“Okay, let me show you another room. I think it’ll be perfect for our needs.”