Randy White - Ten thousand isles

You tell Mr. Bauerstock or Ted, either one. You tell them Detective Parrish is here with Doctor Ford for the second time, and we ain't waitin' no longer. I think they'll invite us right on in."

We were sitting in Parrish's unmarked squad car, a white Ford, a shotgun racked in a standup clip between us. I'd met Parrish at Port of the Islands, then tied my skiff at a public access dock a quarter mile or so from the guardhouse where we now sat. The first time we'd pulled up, the guard had told us that Mr. Bauerstock was in an important meeting, no way he could see us, but if we came back at three, that'd be fine.

I found the hour delay maddening, but Parrish was right when he said, "What you want me to do, bust in there without a warrant, get us arrested for trespassing?"

Now we were at the gate for a second time.

The guard shelter was a single roofed room, common to most gated communities. The only difference was, this narrow road could be sealed off by an electronic, steel-mesh gate, surveillance cameras positioned on galvanized posts high above.

The guard, in his gray uniform, went into the room, picked up the phone, then came back out carrying a handheld metal detector. "You can go in, but you got to leave your weapons here. It's an insurance thing, liability."

Parrish chuckled, said, "Liability? I'm a sworn officer of the law. You think I'm handing over my weapons, you can kiss my black ass." He was wearing rumpled brown slacks, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He didn't look like a cop.

The guard didn't seem to know what to do for a moment. "Then I need to see some identification." When he'd handed Parrish's billfold back, he said, "What about the other gende-man? Is he a police officer, too?"

Parrish slapped the steering wheel. 'Jee-sus Christ!" Looked at me. "Ford, you ain't carrying a weapon are you?"

Actually, I was-the little Colt I'd taken from Rossi. I had it in the briefcase with the totem. Both were too valuable to leave on a boat. But I said, "Why would I need a weapon when I'm hanging out with a cop?" hoping the guard wouldn't ask to search me.

He didn't.

We drove a quarter mile through sawgrass and sabal palms, the road snaking back and forth. Then there was high pasture land, Brahma cattle grazing, everything industrially fenced. Then much higher fencing, where I was surprised to see exotic animals, mostly African. There were ostriches, several water buffalo dozing in the mud, some kind of delicate horned animal, kudus, maybe. Off by themselves, a pack of hyenas sat beneath a banyan tree, staring at us with their telescopic eyes, testing our odor with their noses. No state is infested with more dangerous exotic feral species, plant and animal, than Florida. Bauerstock, apparently, was trying to contribute his share.

Parrish said, "This is what I heard about the man. He like to go big game hunting, but he does it on his own property. Never invites guests over, just does it all by himself. That's probably why they got the thing about guns back at the gate. Delivery people come in here and take potshots at his lions and shit."

Now I could see the house, though at first I thought it was some kind of manufacturing plant. It had the size and geometric harshness; a massive square building of stucco so gray that I wondered if the psilocybin mushrooms were still affecting my color perception.

Truth was, they probably were.

"No one ever gonna call the big man tasteful. That fucking thing looks like a shopping mall."

Except for the red tile roof, the porch, the black Humvee sitting outside the five-car garage, it did, too. A shopping mall is exactly what the Bauerstock home resembled. Some careful landscaping; the same sanidzed open space, lots of galvanized light poles and a concrete blockhouse down by the river where there was a dock. The main house sat atop a massive mound that had been cleared and sodded; several acres of Bermuda grass bolted down with a sprinkler system.

We rounded a final curve and Parrish said, "Well, looky, looky there. All our eggs in one basket. Two white ones, one great big brown one. Man, am I looking forward to this!"

There was a pavilion of tile and wood on the shore of a small lake. The lake was as round as a moon crater, the water inside a stunning purple rimmed with green: a cenote, fed by an underground river. Sitting at a table beneath the pavilion were three men: Ivan Bauerstock, Ted Bauerstock and B. J. Buster. They were wearing swimsuits and robes, except for Buster, who was letting his muscles show.

By the time Parrish parked and we were getting out, Ted was already at the car, a big smile on his face, hand outstretched. I heard him say, "You just missed the girls. Nora and Delia, they headed back to the Keys not half an hour ago!"

I stared at him until he took his hand away. I said to him, "We need to have a little chat, Teddy."

I noticed that Buster was shepherding my movements. He always kept himself between me and his two employers. He did it quiedy, trying not to draw attention, but there was no doubt what he was doing. I hadn't realized how huge the man was until I was next to him. Not tall, but double-wide from his hands to his head, trapezius muscles pyramiding up to his tiny ears.

Now he sat between Ted and myself at a glass-topped table beneath the pavilion, Ivan Bauerstock and Parrish across from us. Bauerstock in his white robe, silver hair darker because it was wet; his metallic eyes stoic, showing nothing as Parrish lighted the cigar he'd been offered. Parrish, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself.

In the center of the table was the little tape recorder, everyone staring at it but Ted, who seemed bored. He kept looking out toward the line of trees, which marked the river bank where the Hinckley was moored. He did a lot of heavy sighing, too, showing his impatience.

We all listened to the voice of Frank Rossi say:

Then I realized the girl was tied to a rope. It was tied around her neck, and Bauerstock was holding her arms down, using his weight. What he was doing was killing her. And he did. He murdered the teenage girl, then he started to play with her a little bit. Reminded me of a cat. But then his old man come along and stopped him.

Ivan reached, punched off the recorder with a long finger as Ted began to laugh.

I heard the first warning sounds of anger roaring deep within me as I said, "You think that's funny?"

"Dr. Ford, Detective Parrish, let's be serious. You really believe that old drunk's story? My father and I, we tried to save Dorothy. I liked her. You know what it is, fellas? It's like a few years back, that housewife accused my father's political friend, you know who I'm talking about; she accused this very great man of rape. People can say anything. We're easy targets, for God's sake." He began to laugh again. "We all know he didn't do it, and now I'm in the same situation."

Parrish blew a cloud of smoke Ted's way. Said, "Do we?"

Ivan Bauerstock wasn't laughing. He was still staring at the recorder. "How many copies of this tape are there, Dr. Ford?"

"Several. I took all the precautions. Let me guess, Mr. Bauerstock, next you'll ask who else's heard the tape, or maybe who was with me when Rossi confessed. It doesn't matter. Frank Rossi's talked once; he'll talk again. There's no statute of limitations on rape. You think he's going down just to save you? He doesn't strike me as the selfless type."

Ted began to say something, but Ivan cut him off, saying, "Shut up, Teddy." Then Bauerstock lifted his eyes; looked into mine and said, "You realize, of course, if this terrible lie gets out, my son's political career will be ruined. That would be a tragedy, Dr. Ford. We have great plans for Teddy. Tallahassee, then Washington."

"Dad, don't worry about it! Talk to your friends at the network. All I've got to do is get on camera and tell people I didn't do it. They'll believe me. You know they'll believe me. Set it up so we turn the tables. I've been falsely accused. Isn't it about time that innocent people like me fought back? Make it work to our advantage. Why are you getting so upset about this bullshit?"