Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“Hear, hear,” Dino agreed.

“I was thinking of doing jumping jacks or running,” she said.

“Do you think those activities burn more calories than my usual methods?”

“Well, considering the frequency with which you practice your methods, you may have something there,” she admitted.

“And Max certainly seems to be fit, too,” Dino pointed out.

“We subscribe to similar regimens,” Stone said.

“Yeah, the tango isn’t all that takes two to do,” Dino replied.

Breakfast arrived just in time.

Later, taking the sun on the top deck, Stone asked, “Dino, have you heard from AIC Baxter today?”

“No, and I don’t expect to until they have exhausted every avenue of questioning their suspects and determined that sharing with me won’t interfere with their investigation. It takes federal officers a while to get around to sharing, and even then, they can be parsimonious with their divulgences.”

“Of course. Do you have any other lines of inquiry to follow in the meantime?”

“I do not, and neither do my people. It appears that Roberta Calder is off the hook for the two homicides, and the other two people involved are no longer walking and talking.”

“So, if Robbie done it, she’s going to skate?”

“Right now, I can’t see another result.”

“Herbie Fisher will be pleased.”

“Pleasing Herbie is not in my line of work, unless it’s entirely coincidental.”

“Maybe the execution of Hedger’s will might open some other avenue.”

“You think he’s made a bequest to Pino Pantero or Al Dix?”

“I very much doubt it, but one never knows, do one?”

“It’s far too nice a day in Florida for you to be lecturing me with Fats Waller quotes,” Dino said.

“Dino,” Viv said, “are your people questioning Robbie’s friends or employees? She has a lot of both, and one of them might come up with something.”

“Thank you for that observation, my dear. I’ll get right on that in two or three days,” Dino replied.

“Just a suggestion,” she said.

“Suggestion heard and digested,” Dino replied.

“I suppose we have to wait for it to pass,” Viv muttered.

Max stepped into the interrogation room where Al Dix sat, glumly scratching himself.

“Well, Dixie,” Max said, sighing. “Here we are again. Who’d a thunk it.”

“Did somebody call my lawyer?”

“Do you have one on retainer these days?”

“Yes, but I can’t remember his name.”

“Well, if you called the guy who pays you, he could probably help you with that.”

Dix brightened for a moment, then resumed his previous mien. “Nah.”

“Then I take it you do not wish to have an attorney present at this little tête-à-tête?”

“Nah.”

Max pushed a form across the table. “Then read and sign this statement to that effect, and I’m all yours for the duration.”

Dix cut her a sly glance. “I wish.” He signed the form without glancing at it.

“Now,” Max said, “I have some life-changing news for you.”

Dix’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Yeah?”

“Let me elucidate: not life-changing for the better.”

Dix thought about that, then looked glum again.

“The whole thing is busted up.”

“What’s busted up?”

“The smuggling ring that has kept you in booze these many weeks is being dismantled. Your airplane has been seized by the feds, the shrimper is being towed into Naples, its skipper and crew are under arrest and the cargo will be impounded on arrival at the dock. The FBI is chatting with the boat’s owner as we speak.”

“Two things: It’s not my airplane, so who gives a fuck? And if you’re doing so great, what do you need me for?”

“Did I mention that we’ve turned over your current apartment and found your safe? Your cash has been seized as ill-gotten gains. And, as I’m sure you know, the FAA frowns on felony arrests among its certified pilots.”

Dix rested his forehead on the cool, steel tabletop. “Jeez,” he said.

“Exactly. Now, how would you like to hang on to your freedom and the cash?”

Dix lifted his head and gazed at her questioningly. “Can that be done?”

“All that is my gift,” Max said. “A whisper into the shell-like ear of the D.A. and you’re back on your barstool at the Lame Duck, maybe even with a valid pilot’s license.”

“Who do I have to kill?”

“A few mosquitoes,” Max replied.

“How do I do that?”

“You tell me how you got involved in this ring. You start at the moment you were recruited, and you give me every name you heard from day one to the present, leaving out nothing and no one.”

“I walk?”

“Just as soon as I’m convinced you aren’t lying to me or holding anything back.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“I don’t know. How fast can you talk?”

“Okay, deal,” Dix said, holding out his hand to shake.

“When I’m convinced,” Max said. “So start talking, and don’t leave anything — anything — out, especially names.”

Dix took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I’m sitting on that barstool you mentioned, having a breakfast beer, and a guy sits down a couple of stools away, and—”

“Describe him.”

“Taller than me, but almost everybody is. Six feet or better, black hair, slicked back, clothes that were probably expensive but looked cheap — oh, and blue alligator shoes.”

“‘Blue alligator shoes’? C’mon.”

“I shit you not. Lace-ups.”

“Go on.”

“He says to me, ‘I hear you fly light aircraft.’ I says, ‘I fly all kinds of aircraft; if it’s flyable, I can fly it.’”

“No bragging, Dix.”

“You want a blow-by-blow here?”

“All right, go on.”

“He says, ‘How’d you like some regular work?’

“I says, ‘How regular?’

“He says, ‘Two, maybe three times a week.’

“I says, ‘Do you speak money?’

“He says, ‘Five hundred a day.’

“I says, ‘I get two hundred an hour.’

“He says, ‘A thousand a day, and that’s it. All cash, though. No taxes to pay.’

“I says, ‘Where do I fly and with who?’

“He says, ‘A round-trip with two landings.’

“I says, ‘Landings where?’

“He says, ‘On water, then back to land.’

“I says, ‘In what?’

“He says, ‘In a nice, fairly new Cessna.’”

“What was his name?” Max asked.

“Chico.”

“Chico what?”

“Chico Who Cares. He gave me a grand in cash.”

“How did you contact him?”

“Cell. Throwaway, buy ’em at Publix. He gave me one with his number in it.”

“What else?”

“That’s it. I made twelve, fourteen flights, then I damaged a pontoon and dumped it into the water. I think that’s where you came in, right?”

“Then what?”

“A few days later, I’ve got a new Cessna, nicer than the one before. We continue.”

“Tell me about the boats you met at sea.”

“First stop was an old cabin cruiser, but fixed up, you know? Cubans are good at fixing up old cars and boats.”

“The crew was Cuban?”

“Oh, yeah; choppy English. Maybe twenty-five miles off Havana.”

“And at the other end?”

“A shrimper, Lucy Ann , always the same one. American.”

“Names?”

“The skipper was Carl. I heard the crew call him that. The owner was aboard once.”

“His name?”

“Mister, ah, mister something.”

“‘Something’ doesn’t cut it, Dixie.”

“Williams — no, McWilliam.”

“Why was he aboard?”

“I think he just wanted to see how it all worked.”