Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (15 page)

“You think the marshals grabbed you and, who knows, you could be right,” he said without any sign of emotion. “My gut says no, it was someone else, so I wondered who else cares about a washed-up hood.”

I didn’t say anything and he continued.

“I couldn’t think of anyone at first.”

“Now you have?” I broke my silence out of frustration.

“Yeah, I did. I know the intelligence community is curious and they’re coming hoping Walsh is someone else.” He moved about on the seat trying to keep out of the flashes of reflective light off the water. “But I kept thinking back to Boston as I finished the report on Walsh and an off-the-wall idea came to me. A longshot,” he said.

“You know I like to bet the long shots.” It didn’t come out with the humor I’d intended.

“How much of Bulger’s history do you know?”

“A book I read by the Globe reporters that someone gave me.”

“That it?”

“I followed reports for a while on the Internet as more of his henchmen turned on him and told where the bodies were buried.”

“Anything seem unusual?”

“Everything,” I said. “The FBI closing down the Mafia dons because of Bulger’s information, his planting bugs on the hoods, and then the FBI turning a blind eye while Bulger took over the same illegal businesses and the killings, he seemed to have had some kind of immunity.”

“You remember the get-togethers his handler arranged with the boys from D.C.?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been a long time since those parties, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t see where Norm was leading me.

“His handler is the only FBI agent to get charged and the only one doing time.”

“Can you get to the point?”

“If twenty years ago I did something unethical, maybe even illegal, to do my job and I was getting ready to retire with a healthy pension, I’d be concerned about any weak link. Wouldn’t you?”

“Bulger’s been arrested.”

“There are two thoughts that no one officially admits to thinking,” he said and straightened up. “The FBI knew where Bulger was but he has evidence against some of them and, two, they kept the search for him under their control so he wouldn’t be found because of that evidence. Maybe he’s got a record book of who got what.”

I nodded my head.

“If anyone knows where Bulger’s records are, it’s Walsh or whatever his real name is, but the marshals have lost him. Maybe these retiring FBI agents want to make sure no one testifies at Bulger’s trial so they need to find Walsh and eliminate him.

Bulger’s an old man and wouldn’t be much trouble to deal with in court.”

“Kill Walsh?” I said, surprised at the idea. “They’ve lost track of him then.”

“Be my guess,” Norm said. “They thought they knew who had Walsh.”

“Okay, I can buy into that, but what does it have to do with me?”

“Maybe Walsh saw some of these old FBI agents in Key West and panicked,” Norm said. “Maybe they were here or vacation. Maybe he’s paranoid and it gets worse when he sees them. He runs, thinking they are out to get him. He might know where Bulger’s records or money are. He’s gone, hiding somewhere. Or to get the money for himself now that Whitey doesn’t need it.”

“And I might know where Walsh is…”

“You hit the long shot, hoss,” he said with a grin.

“They grab me and try to get the information, using a

Taser,” I said with a little too much excitement in my voice. “But they are careful not to kill me. You think?”

“I think it only adds to your problems,” he said.

Chapter 35

“Y
ou’ve gotta help me out here, Norm,” I said, frustrated with the lack of control I had over the situation. “Talk to these people, you know ‘em, tell ‘em everything I know is in the police reports. I’m sure they’ve seen copies of the reports. It’s all I know.”

“They can get their hands on anything, Mick, you know that.” He pushed his chair back further into the shade. “No matter what’s in the report, you’re going to be the starting point because you’re the last known contact anyone had with Walsh. You would be if it was me.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I was surprised he brought himself into this. Was he here looking for the old Cold War agent, or maybe the diamonds—my frustration was turning to mistrust.

“I’m here ‘cause your name popped up and I have you flagged,” he drawled. “I saw a shit storm coming your way and wanted to warn you and maybe help you avoid falling into the sewer.”

“You’re not interested in the diamonds?” My skepticism did not go unnoticed.

Norm laughed. “Who wouldn’t be? Wouldn’t you like to find them? Imagine, even a small share is worth millions. You could buy a waterfront condo in Boston and be with Tita.”

He grinned widely and I could almost see him imagining the diamonds. I also wondered what he knew of Tita’s and my problem and how it involved Boston

“And that was their value twenty years ago,” he said, cutting off my negative thoughts. “But I’m not here for them. Hell, if I wanted to get rich at your expense, I would’ve left your ass in Central America years ago and retired.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant but his Cheshire cat smile told me there was something there that I had missed long ago.

“So what’s your advice?” I pushed my chair closer and realized I was at his mercy—again.

“Meet these people at lunch and tell them the truth, maybe include a little white lie here and there that you’re famous for, and hope they’ll spread the word and this will go away,” he said but couldn’t lose the smirk.

“You don’t think that will work,” I said.

“The truth shall set you free.” He joked because he couldn’t say it with a straight face. “Look, you have no idea of how deceitful the people coming to see you are or how vicious they can be. They expect you to lie, because that’s what they’d do. A Taser is amateur time to them. These are men who ran secret prisons in foreign countries long before nine-eleven and waterboarding is their welcoming gesture.”

“Stop right there.” My words came out harsh, as I stood. “If you wanted to scare me, you have. These are your people. Put a stop to it or I will. I’ll go to the cops, to the Feds. Hell, the marshals are already here.”

Norm motioned for me to sit and I did.

“If I could’ve avoided any of this, I would have,” he said. “Right now
you
cannot trust the FBI or the marshals. I’m telling you, some of them, if not all of them, are involved in this and for different reasons. Save pensions, find the diamonds, it’s a snake with too many heads. The FBI and marshals think this has to do with Bulger and maybe they’re right. The CIA and the intelligence agents think it has to do with an operative that walked off with millions in diamonds and maybe they’re right. And maybe they’re all wrong and it’s about some paranoid jerk-off.” He stretched his legs and arched his back. “None of this matters because, for whatever reason, before anyone believes anything, they need to question you.”

“So I am fucked either way,” I said. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Norm frowned. “But let’s see what we can do to grease the situation.” He stood up and stretched some more. “We need to arrange lunch.”

“Louie’s Backyard,” I said.

“Yeah. That the place with the afterdeck bar on the water?”

“Yes. I know Phil, the owner, and maybe he’ll give us the secluded, outdoor table he saves for Jimmy Buffett.”

“Make the reservations and I’ll call the CIA.”

Chapter 36

L
ouie’s Backyard is a well-established, fine-dining restaurant in the Casa Marina neighborhood where a young Jimmy Buffett hung out, drank at the waterfront Afterdeck bar, and then reminisced about this lifestyle in his early songs.

Phil returned my call a little before the restaurant’s lunch-hour rush and assured me Buffett was not in town so the secluded table was reserved for me. His concern was that I was meeting a married woman and her husband would come in and shoot up the place. Why else would I want the seclusion. He laughed at his own taunt and hung up.

The dark blue Atlantic, with old shrimp boats and other vessels moving across the horizon was the panoramic scene from the table, while Jet Skis, driven by guests of the Casa Marina Resort next door, sped along the water, jumping small waves, splashing down hard, accompanied by screams of excitement a few feet from the bar’s railing.

Colorful, aromatic plants and bushes shielded the table for six from the other restaurant guests. I sat alone, waiting for Norm and his CIA associates, nursing an iced tea, shaded by a large umbrella and a warm breeze.

I hadn’t dealt with CIA operatives since my days in Central America where more often than not, those I met were with the US government. Sometimes I thought there were, more operatives than guerillas in the villages. That was to be expected, since the Agency ran the dirty little wars, but was not supposed to work within the USA, so I wondered what these guys were up to.

The outdoor section of the restaurant has three split-levels of seating that customers walk to from the air conditioned, indoor restaurant or walk up to from the Afterdeck bar. I saw Norm and his three associates march out of the air-conditioning. I was surprised to see a woman with them. All three men were six feet or taller, but the redheaded woman was about five-foot-six. She looked like a red hibiscus between three coconut palms.

I stood so they could see me and waved. Norm pointed in my direction and headed my way.

“Mick, this is Chris Stone,” Norm said, introducing the woman who nodded without smiling. She wore a colorful print, strapless spring dress and sat. Of the three agents, she was definitely the youngest.

“This is Ted Williams,” Norm smiled at the introduction.

Williams was in his sixties, about six-three with thinning brown hair. His prescription glasses turned dark outdoor in the sun, and he wore a gaudy print shirt from one of the Israeli T-shirt shops on Duval. The best part, I thought, laughing to myself, was he wore white socks with sandals. He nodded and sat.

“This is Jimmy Piersall,” Norm said and I could tell he tried his best not to laugh because of the silly grin on his face.

I looked at Piersall, six-foot, balding, sunglasses, a T-shirt with obscene wording and president’s photo, cargo shorts and white socks with his sandals. They must have been wearing their tourist’s disguises. Piersall grunted and sat down.

I tried not to laugh as I sat—Ted Williams and Jimmy Piersall, names from the ‘50s Boston Red Sox. Did they choose the names because of my background? What was the likelihood the names were really theirs?

A waiter delivered the menus and took their drink orders. It seems everyone was on an iced tea diet.

When the waiter returned we ordered. After he left there was silence. We could hear the excited yells from the Jet Skiers as well as the engines’ screech, we felt the soft breeze that came off the water and smelled the tropical scents from the plants. Norm looked at me and smiled. The three agents were stone-faced.

“Your first time in the Keys?” I wanted to hear something other than silence.

“I was here as a child,” Chris said. “A family vacation.”

“A lot of changes,” I said.

“You want to tell us where this Walsh guy is?” Ted Williams said. “It’s too god-damn hot to be outside.”

“Ted,” Chris scolded him, “we are in the tropics, on a beautiful day, at a famous restaurant, so behave yourself.”

He pouted and gulped from his frosty glass of tea.

“I apologize for the abruptness,” she almost smiled. “Can you answer the question? Please.”

I turned to Norm, who continued the smirk, but said nothing.

“Have you read my report to the marshals?”

“Oh yes,” Chris said. “Interesting more for what was left out than what was in it.”

“Nothing was left out.” I protested to protect my lie. “I told them everything and washed my hands of it. The guy is a psycho and I want nothing to do with him.”

“You don’t know where he’s at or how to contact him?” She spoke casually, but never smiled.

“No idea,” I said, figuring less was more.

Jimmy Piersall grunted and Ted Williams slouched in his seat. Must have been a tough inning.

“Why should we believe you?”

Chris asked the questions, as the two men sulked and picked at their lunch. She was the boss and I must be sexist because it surprised me. Maybe they were the muscle and she was the brains—they certainly weren’t the brains.

“Why would I lie? He wants a biographer and I want a million miles between us.”

“There could be many reasons for a lie,” she said looking at Norm and not me. “Couldn’t there, Norm?”

Chapter 37

“H
ow much did he tell you,” Chris said turning to me.

“About what?” I picked at my lunch, but knew she meant Norm.

“About the man we’re looking for.”

“I’m talking about a career criminal, a killer and you’re looking for a spy…”

“Did he tell you that?” Ted Williams said as he pointed toward Norm. “Did he?”

Chris stared at Ted Williams and then we all did. His hands were on the table and his lips were bitten tightly between his teeth.

“You’re CIA, you ain’t looking for an American criminal.” I laughed, hoping to alleviate some of the growing hostility. “You’re looking for a spy of some sort, or maybe you’re after the diamonds, and I’m wondering why you’re looking here, in the United States. Isn’t that the FBI’s job or are you planning on keeping the diamonds for yourself?”

“Before this goes to a game none of you can win,” Norm growled and got everyone’s attention. “I’ve explained to Mick what you’re looking for…and who. You can drop the act, y’all are retired CIA, so anything being done here is a courtesy because I asked Mick to talk to you. So quit the hardball shit.”

“Working for the agency is like being in the Marine Corps,” Chris said without missing a beat. “There are no ex-Marines; there are no ex-agents. We don’t have assignments, but that doesn’t mean we can’t receive a phone call and be back in service.”

“We need to know for ourselves,” Jimmy Piersall said while he ate. “By our calculations, his age, height, when he went into witness protection all coincides with our missing man.”