Imperfect Contract (3 page)

4

I lived and worked in a Fort Lauderdale suburb with about 115,000 residents that's located in the northwest corner of Broward County.  It's bordered on the west by the Sawgrass Expressway and the Everglades.  The toll road is also part of the northern border since the road takes a big curve to the east.  Fort Lauderdale beach and the Atlantic Ocean are twelve or thirteen miles due east. 

Long time residents have told me the city was once cozy—a small town where everyone knew everyone.  Now, to get to the mall, I had to drive by houses ranging in price from under two-hundred grand to a million.  And, there are so many apartments.  It's as if the city planners—if there were any—threw a handful of colored marbles over a map of the city and let them drop.  Yellow attracted yuppies, rich folks built by the green ones, businesses and multi-family units got the main roads, and middle class and low-income folks staked their territories near the multicolored marbles landing in between. 

I passed a huge high school.  The school system is excellent.  Parents from the nicer neighborhoods demanded a lot of involvement and rewarded the schools by donating time and money.  The portable classrooms next to the main building reminded me of small, square warehouses lined up to store the city's burgeoning youth population.  I stopped for the traffic light.  Several tough looking kids leaned against the fence, cigarettes drooping from their lips.  The high schools had gang problems—bored, thrill-seeking rich kids rather than the ghetto gangs common to inner city areas. 

I was hungry and wanted a serving of the sesame chicken at the Chinese place in the mall's food court.  Then, I'd shop for a new swimming suit to wear to Fort Lauderdale beach tomorrow.  Connie and Vanessa had the day off, too, and we planned to spend the morning in the sun.  We work twelve-hour shifts and enjoy four days off a week. 

While waiting in line, I accepted a bite of chicken a young Asian woman offered to passersby.  It was a golden brownish-red color and coated with a thick, sweet sauce.  After I swallowed the morsel, I stood there sucking on the toothpick that had absorbed the flavor.  My mouth watered.

I selected a table for two outside the Barney's and in view of the huge circular fish tank—my favorite spot in the mall—and arranged my two dollar, ninety-nine cent special and a large container of iced tea.    

One evening a few months earlier, Ray and I noticed a large puffer stuck in the coral.  The inflated fish couldn't extricate himself from the crevice.  Ray, a humanitarian when it came to animals, spent twenty minutes finding someone to rescue the fish.  Later, we watched a couple of klutzes poke the fish's eye out with a stick while attempting to free him.  I thought the fish would die, but it swam the perimeter of the tank, seeing the world through the thick glass with his remaining eye.

I munched my dinner and watched the puffer make periodic passes in front of me.  Smaller fish darted in and out between the coral.  I was engrossed.

"Sophi, it's nice to find you here checking on our fish," Ray said, coming up behind me.  He's the only person in the world who ever got away with calling me Sophi.  The use of the name made him recognizable—even without the familiar rumble of his bass voice, his soft southern accent, or his reference to the fish. 

"Ray, I was wondering if we did the poor thing a favor.  Do you think he might have relaxed and gotten out with his eyeball intact?"  I met his gaze then looked away, avoiding his probing blue eyes.  His navy blue Dockers rode low on his narrow hips and his blue and red-striped golf shirt skimmed his thick chest.  A Craftsman cordless drill/driver label was visible through the Sears' bag he carried.

"Maybe.  I never thought the clowns would blind him.  That wasn't my plan."

"Yes, I know."  I conceded the point.

"Are you going to offer me a seat?"  He pulled out the vacant chair and dropped his long frame onto it.

"No.  I'm done.  You're welcome to the table."  I picked up my tray and pushed my chair back with my feet.

"Sophi, wait.  You don't need to rush off."

"Why not?  I figure it's my turn.  No?"  I stood up.

"Please relax.  I was meaning to call you." 

"Sure you were."  For something to do, some place to look, I took a sip of the dregs of my tea.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him snitch a piece of chicken off my plate.  "I think they have more."  I pointed to the food stand.

"I'd rather eat yours."  He licked his fingers, helped himself to one of my napkins, and cleaned his upper lip.  He was meticulous about keeping his mustache and goatee clean.  His hair is dark brown and he's well tanned, outdoorsy.  He's handsome in a tough-guy sort of way.

I avoided his eyes.  "Ray, what is it you want?"  The smell of his Nautica drifted toward me.  I remembered why I loved it.  I tried to block out the aroma.

"I was planning to ask you to get some information on a case I'm working."

"Hutchinson?"

"How did you know?"

"His wife talked to me about the case."  I told him about Hutchinson and his family.  There was a release on Hutchinson's chart allowing the police to review it without a subpoena, so I knew I could talk to Ray.  It didn't seem to me Amelia thought there was anything to hide.

"What is your impression of the kid?" Ray asked. 

Now I knew why he was going to call me.  He wanted to pick my brain, again, and take advantage of my working with the crime victims and their families.  I wanted to take advantage of what he knew, too.

"Jamel?  He's a real pickle.  My first impression was he looked old for a teenager, then I found out he's a twenty-eight year old goofball.  Amelia revealed he had trouble in the past, but it was a mistake, and the charges were dropped."

"He started himself a nice little rap sheet," Ray said.  "He has one conviction for possession.  The judge gave him probation.  He's had a couple more arrests, also for narcotics, but no other convictions."

"Intent to sell?" 

"They thought so at the time but couldn't prove it.  We think he's still dealing, but we can't prove that either.  He was running with a gang a few years back, doesn't hang with them anymore.  The word on the street is he's moved on to a tougher crowd."  Ray took another piece of my chicken.  I pushed my plate in his direction.

"Here, I'm finished with it."

"Don't you want to share?"  He had an annoying smile, ringing with self-satisfaction and sex appeal.

"No," I snapped.

"Sophi, lighten up."

"Stick with the business at hand, would you?  I'm not enjoying this."  I pushed my chair back and stood.

"Are you willing to help on the case?"  He was all business.

"I guess.  What is it you want me to do?"

"Keep an eye on things at work."

"You want me to be a snitch?"

"No, you're a friend of mine who's in the right place at the right time."

"Okay, okay."  Sure, I thought, a friend when it's convenient.  I headed in the direction of Barney's. 

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"  I felt his hand on my shoulder.  I turned and found him standing closer than I realized.  I nearly pushed my nose into his chest.  Again, the smell of the Nautica.  I backed away about three feet.

"Why not?  I'm can't get rid of you until you're finished with this conversation."

"You're perceptive."  He guided me toward the line of customers waiting to buy coffee. 

Barney's had a window opening onto the food court as well as an entrance into the store.  I pointed, indicating there were fewer customers waiting at the inside counter.  While we waited, I scooped a bag of chocolate-raspberry flavored coffee and had the beans ground.  I'd take it into work on Monday.  It was my turn to supply the good stuff.

 Ray, the southern gentleman, ordered the coffee and even paid for my purchase.  At least I got some benefit from the encounter.  We left the store, and Ray guided me to a bench in the corridor.  It was a quiet night in the mall, and it was obvious he wanted a quiet place to chat.

"Ray, I came here for dinner and to shop for a swimming suit.  The mall closes in thirty minutes."

"How about I come with you to get the suit, then we can talk for a few minutes outside?"

"I guess."  I resigned myself to his company.  As we walked through the wide corridor separating the two rows of stores, it felt like old times.  He walked with his arm resting on my shoulder.  I felt his firm muscles against my skin.  I headed toward a department store.  "Ray, why don't you wait here?  I'll try to hurry."

"No rush.  I'll tag along."

Ray liked to shop with me, and he had great taste.  He possessed a knack for picking the perfect thing off the rack. 

"Fine.  It'll speed me up." 

Ray and I trekked through the racks to the swimwear department and stood side-by-side sorting through the suits.  He selected three, French cut and black with various parts missing.  I grabbed the one with the most fabric and headed for the dressing room.  It fit like a glove.  When I came out dressed in my jeans, he had a disappointed expression.  I suspected he wanted me to model the suit for him.

In the parking lot, we leaned against my Mini Cooper, finishing our conversation.  I scanned the lot and didn't see his 1992 Dodge Viper.

"Where did you park?" I asked.  I wanted to know if he had spotted my car and come looking for me or had followed me to the mall.  I thought it was the latter.

"Over there."  He pointed to a 2009 Honda S2000.  It was red and would have been my choice.

"Nice.  Where's the Viper?"

"Totaled.  Some jerk plowed into it when it was parked." 

A flicker of anger crossed his face.  He had loved the car.  "I see you recovered from the loss."  I pointed to the S2000.  "Ray, what do you think about the case?  What's going on?  Amelia thinks you're not aggressive."

"We recovered several nine millimeter shells.  We'll ID the weapon or weapons when we get our hands on them."

"I think you're looking for one shooter, one weapon, an automatic or semi-automatic."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Why?"

I dug into my purse, extracting the paper towel with my scribbling from earlier in the day.  I pointed to my sketch.  "Based on the entry and exit wounds the doctor mentioned in his operative report, I'd bet it was one guy who made an arc like this."  I demonstrated the motion, using my left arm for the automatic rifle.

He took the drawing, studied it, and slipped it into his shirt pocket.  "Thanks.  I'd like to discuss this with the Medical Examiner if you don't mind."  He paused a moment, maybe waiting for me to object.  "My notion is it was a hit.  There is no evidence he associated with people who are in the habit of personally blowing away business associates, so I figure it was a contract." 

"Contract?  Sounds a bit far fetched to me."  I stepped away from the car and faced him.  "He's a small time realtor, and from what his wife said, he hasn't been doing a big business.  He doesn't appear to have been a big player in anything."

"That remains to be seen.  In truth, we haven't uncovered much.  Passersby and paramedics trampled the outside part of the crime scene.  The realty office is a couple doors away from a bar, but no one saw anything.  They managed to come out and gawk and destroy the evidence though.  We dug bullets out of the walls and netted several cartridges off the street.  We figure the rest of the spent rounds landed in the vehicle."

"Pretty thin.  What else?"  I gestured with my hands, encouraging him to continue.

"Amelia Hutchinson hasn't been helpful.  Her neighbors claim they heard the couple fighting and say Barry came and went at all hours of the day and night.  It's been going on for as long as they remember.  Amelia says they reconciled and are in love.  Doesn't jibe."

I considered his comments.  "I think the truth is she thinks she's in love, and he doesn't—didn't give a damn.  Being alone scared her.  She figured she was better off with him, rather than plunging ahead into unknown territory."

Ray raised an eyebrow.  I repeated Amelia's comments about her marital problems and my opinion that Hutchinson emotionally neglected and abused her for years. 

"See what else you can get out of her."  He tapped his fingers on the roof of my Mini.  "Interested in stopping by
Patty's
for a beer?"  He checked his watch.  "It's early."