“Here I thought it was my boobs.”
“Boobs are first-rate. But intelligence is more important.”
“By how much?”
“Maybe two or three percent.”
Lee punched Troy in the arm. “Ow,” Troy said. “Anyway, I've matured some since then. I'm more forgiving of people's foibles, less likely to want everyone to be just like me. And so far I'm really enjoying this job. I enjoy the people I work with. And I enjoy you.”
Lee stood. “Let's go back inside and you can enjoy me some more.”
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” Troy recited as he stood. “Or close the wall up with our English dead!”
“You do know,” Lee said, “that's not the most attractive thing to say to a girl, even if it is Shakespeare.”
“Sorry. I was reaching for the moment.”
Chapter 31
Sunday, July 28
Lester Groud was at the small boat ramp adjacent to the Guide Club on Snake Key, pulling his flats boat out of the water and onto a trailer, when he saw the Osprey Yacht Club dockmaster's launch coming across the Collier River towards the Guide Club's wharf. By the time he had his boat secured on the trailer and hauled clear of the boat ramp, Paul Ronson, the Osprey Yacht Club commodore, and George Trapper, the manager, had walked down to meet him. Both wore navy blue yacht club blazers with embroidered crests, white trousers and black loafers. Groud had on a torn tee-shirt with a stain of unknown fish species on the front, cargo shorts and battered deck shoes. He hadn't shaved yet today.
“How'd you know it was me over here?” Groud asked.
“Recognized the boat,” Ronson said.
Groud nodded. Boat people were like that, he well knew.
“Think the storm's coming our way?” Ronson asked. He had a New Jersey accent and a grin that never quite became a smile.
“Don't know. But ain't gonna have time for this later. Got a town to take care of. Storm might hit us, might miss by a little. With a hurricane, doesn't much matter. Best be safe.”
“Well, Les, you're a fishing guide. I guess you know the weather better than anyone.”
“What's on your mind, Paul? You come across the river to get your shoes filthy on Snake Key just to get a weather report?”
“Well, no. This is a little delicate. I came to talk to you about your choice for director of public safety.”
“Ah,” Groud said. “All becomes clear now.”
“Well, whatever. Chief Adam showed up Friday night at our monthly Hail and Farewell⦔
“Know that,” Groud said. “I introduced him, remember?”
“So you did. In your capacity as an honorary member yourself. Anyway, he got George, here, to let him in. George had accidentally sent him an invitation. I have already reprimanded George but we need a longer-term solution.”
“The director of public safety is always an honorary member, right?” Groud said. “Just like the mayor and councilmen.”
“Well, certainly, that has been the case in the past,” Ronson said, his grin still fixed in place. “But
the Osprey Yacht Club has long traditions to uphold. Standards to be rigorously met. Applicants are closely vetted for compatibility with our existing membership. It's a delicate balance
⦔
“You don't âvet' white wealthy Episcopalian Republican people; you only collect their membership dues,” Lester interrupted. “You never cared about Bob Redmond being a member. Talk straight at me and stop insulting my intelligence.”
“Well, what I meant to say⦔
“Fact is, you don't want any niggers, spics, slants or Jews. And our new guy is batting .500 there. I forgot to ask him what religion he is. He might score even higher.”
Ronson's grin vanished. “There's no need to be coarse about this.”
“Hell if there isn't. You should have integrated that place forty years ago.”
“We're a private club. The law says⦔
“I know what the law says. The law is stupid. So are you guys. It's not like there are a whole lot of black people here on these islands. We're too far away from the farms for there to be any migrant workers. If there's even one oriental in town I haven't seen him or her. But let me hire on a good cop who is a little too
international
for your taste and you crap your sailor suit.”
George Trapper choked and then had a coughing fit. He turned away, his hand to his mouth. “Sorry,” he said. “Inhaled a bug.”
“You got any reason to believe that Troy Adam can't do his job?” Groud asked. “I was there. I didn't see him do anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I didn't see him at all after I introduced him.”
Ronson looked at his manager. Trapper shrugged. “He drank one ice tea. He did his introduction. Then he left with Lee Bell.”
“The hot redhead pilot?” Groud asked. Trapper nodded. “Damn,” Groud said. “I didn't see that. Good for him. That boy is on the job like white on rice. Erâ¦so to speak.”
Ronson's grin resurfaced. “Lester, I would have thought you, being born and raised here, would be moreâ¦
sympathetic
to our position.”
“You assume all rednecks are bigots, you mean. Some are, some aren't. Like anywhere else, I suppose. The bigots seem to cluster together, don't they? Easy to spot them sometimes, by the uniforms. Old days it was sheets and pointy hats, today it's blue blazers.”
“Well. I can see we're going to have to agree to disagree,” Ronson said. “But I will be asking our board to rescind the honorary membership for the director of public safety, at least until you appoint someone more in keeping with our standards.”
“You do that and I will resign
my
honorary membership and so will the other two councilmen. I'll explain to Cilla Dowling, too, exactly why we did that. She'll put it on the town news web site and then you'll have TV trucks from Naples, Tampa, Miami, with big satellite antennae, parked around the yacht club. âYacht club kicks out the town chief of police for having the wrong skin color.' Juicy story. Reporters will be asking me why I quit, and I
love
to talk to the press.”
“You wouldn't⦔
“I would. I'll also have people out there checking for roaches in your kitchen and any chairs left in front of a fire exit.”
“Can you actually do that?” Ronson said. “I thought that was a county responsibility.”
“Don't know. But do you really want me having to find out? And Chief Adam can use the town police boat to check every yacht coming up the Collier River, yonder, for Coast Guard and state law boating violations. Hope nobody out there is drinking more than two beers or, God forbid, snorting any Columbian nose potions. I sure know that we can check all
that
. Hope all your members have the right oil-pollution placards in the engine spaces and no overside-pumping heads. Life jackets must not only be on board but readily available or, in the case of kids, worn.”
Ronson shook that off. “You're just being obnoxious.”
“Nope. Just a law-abiding type. I'm sure you and George here are in favor of law and order too.”
Ronson looked at Trapper a moment. Trapper shrugged. “I run a clean club, Paul. But anyone out to get us can always find some little thing here or there to cite us for. And I have no idea what's the situation out on all those boats.”
“I guess we're in favor of law and order,” Ronson said. “I'll explain to the board that we're temporarily stuck with Chief Adam, at least until you get rid of him.”
“You'll be the very first to know,” Lester said.
Chapter 32
Monday, July 29
The stalker upped the ante Sunday night, flattening all four of Wanda Frister's tires as her car sat parked in the employee lot at the yacht club. Troy only learned of it when he came to work and read the patrol log. “Why wasn't I told of this when it happened?” he asked June Dundee. “And why are you here on your day off?”
“It was that or kill Bob. He needs a hobby of some sort. Or a job. Retirement is boring to him.”
“Maybe he could learn to play golf.”
“Be a good idea,” June said, “if the nearest golf course wasn't thirty miles away.”
“Good point.”
June looked at the patrol log. “She called us at one a.m. this morning. Juan was on and took the call. It's some fucking flat tires, for God's sake⦔
“You owe the jar two dollars,” Troy said.
“Hey. Those were both in the same sentence. And I bet that Juan just saw no need to bother you.”
“Two bucks. And it's a judgment call, I suppose, but this wasn't some drunk we toss into a cell and deal with in the morning. This was a frightened young woman, being harassed by a stalker and alone in a dark parking lot with a disabled car.”
“I guess it didn't seem important enough. You're working on a homicide, for God's sake.”
“I am. I'm also the police chief for everyone, not just dead people. And there is nothing more important to me than Wanda Frister's safety and her feeling secure in her person and property. I think we can roust the chief out of bed to tell him about it. Another dollar.”
“I only got a five. I'll pass the word along to everyone not to be so concerned that they may be interrupting you at, you know,
other
work.”
“Make change, then. What do you mean âother work'?”
“You and Lee Bell.”
“Jesus Christ! Is everyone's private lives public business in this town?”
“You owe two bucks. And no, not everyone. Only you. You're new. You're the police chief, you're the big cheese. You're even exotic looking.”
“It's one name. That should be one dollar.”
June shook her head. “Technically, it's a name and a title. Two bucks, Chief.”
“Don't you have to go lift weights? I'll cover.”
“Yeah. Hope I don't have to take off too many of those plates first. Go in there after Jeremiah and you can hardly roll the barbell around on the floor. He uses every plate there is. Should just send him outside, tell him to pick up cars until he feels tired.”
“Do what you can. Come back in an hour.”
Sitting at June's desk in the lobby, Troy sent Milo over to Wanda Frister's trailer to see what he could do. Apparently the car was still in the yacht club lot and Juan had given Wanda a ride home. Troy sent Bubba out to the yacht club to get the tire size needed and the number of lugs on the wheels. Then he called Rudy Borden at the town's service station and garage, used his credit card, and asked Rudy to take four mounted tires and a hydraulic jack out to the yacht club and replace Wanda's tires. Rudy called back in ten minutes.
“I'll do the cheapest I can, but the best I can do is maybe four hundred bucks,” Rudy said. “It's not like I got a lot of inventory here. Those were all I had of that size.”
“Just do it, Rudy. Put it on my card.”
“I hope they pay you well, to be doing this sort of thing.”
“So far they haven't paid me at all and I'm running in the red. At this rate I figure I'll be flat broke in another week.”
Rudy laughed. “Well, least I can do is put the tires on for free. Want me to tow the car to her house after?”
“That would be great, Rudy. Do that for me and I'll personally see that you get the business next time we need some car towed out of a no-parking spot.”
“That would be good, seeing as I have the only tow truck in town anyway,” Rudy said as he hung up.
Troy was still sitting at June's desk when the front door to the lobby opened and almost his entire off-duty staff came in. “What's going on?” he asked.
“Painting detail,” Juan said. “We're going to do it all today. The guys decided.”
“Who decided? Sure wasn't me. Not that I mind at all.” Calvin Smith, he noticed, was not part of the team.
“Juan decided,” Angel Watson said. “He called us all. Shamed us into it.”
“I can't pay you overtime for this.”
“Did we ask?” Angel said.
“Carry on,” Troy said, waving an arm towards the hallway.
“Follow me,” Juan said, and they all trooped off down the hall to the storeroom that doubled now as a gym.
“Follow me,” Troy said aloud. Then he laughed.
When June came out to the front office she was wearing her new khaki shorts and shirt. It was the first day for all of them for the new uniforms. “Looking STRAC, June,” Troy said.
“Feel like I'm in some fucking Hemingway novel,” June said as she stuffed another dollar into the Bad Words Jar. “There appears to be an entire police force back there painting.”
“You in on this rebellion too?”