J. Black - The Shop

He wasn’t tired, but he wasn’t at his best, either.

Franklin was still feeling the effects of the drug. The triptascoline, in combination with the Remy Martin, rendered him incoherent. He seemed content to drift off. Good for him and good for Landry.

Landry went up on deck and made his nightly phone call. For the call he used a throwaway cell phone he’d bought at Target for $29.95 plus tax—it didn’t have to be expensive to preserve his anonymity. A friend of his, a fellow racehorse owner who was also a tech genius (he’d named one of his horses Phreaker), had created an invisible voice mailbox for him. The mailbox was situated inside a major phone system, but no one knew of its existence. Landry’s contact number remained the same, but the box had been designed to erase itself every twenty-four hours, then migrate to a different location. Even Landry had no clue where the voice mail was. It could be in Vegas. It could be in Keokuk. All he knew was that it worked. It was the perfect way for him to contact the Shop every night without revealing his location.

Usually, he received an automated response. “There is nothing at this time. Please check back tomorrow. Thank you, and have a nice day.”

The “have a nice day” line was a little over the top in Landry’s opinion.

But tonight, he did not receive that message. Tonight, the message was different.

He closed the phone and thought about it for a minute. It was a beautiful night. Warm, but there was a breeze. Panama City stretched out before him like a diamond-studded crescent. He looked east, toward Cape San Blas, a black spit of land that jackknifed out into the Gulf and created the bay. He could see a smattering of lights there too, up to where St. Joseph State Park started and the private houses ended.

He didn’t spend time pondering the deeper meaning of the message. Right now he needed to make arrangements. He opened the phone and called his younger brother.

Gary answered on the second ring. “Did you see him? Eleven and a half lengths! Jesus! Rafael was wrapping up on him at the end. Could have been twelve, thirteen lengths if he’d let him go.”

“The foot okay?”

“Colder than Cruella De Vil’s titties. Did you see the way he exploded when Rafael asked him? Did you see that ? Holy Jesus take-me-to-the-ballgame-and-buy-me-a-fucking-hotdog Christ , he’s the real thing. The Kentucky Derby, man. The First Saturday in May.”

For a moment, Landry let that hang in the air. It was like the notes of a distant trumpet calling soldiers to battle, sweet and pure.

A thrumming started up in his gut, a combination of excitement, anguish, and desire. The First Saturday in May was like the Holy Grail, except the Holy Grail wasn’t anywhere near as good.

He tried not to think about it. “Hey. You like Ocala?”

“Ocala?”

“You want to go to Ocala and check out the stud farms? All expenses paid?”

Skepticism crept into his brother’s voice. “What are we talking here?”

“All you have to do is fly in to Panama City and rent a car.”

It took him a moment, but then he said, “Sure, I can do that.”

“Use the Amex. Try Orbitz first. You have to be in Panama City by four p.m. tomorrow at the latest. Don’t forget to use—”

“Your driver’s license, gotcha.”

“The one for Peters. That’s important, it’s got to be under that name.”

“Hey, bro, haven’t I done this before? I know what I’m doing.” A pause. “So, what kind of car? It’s a long drive to Ocala.”

His brother. Always pushing the envelope. “Anything you want.”

“A Hummer?”

“Almost anything you want. I’m paying for the gas, so be considerate.”

“A Caddy, then. I guess I could get away. A week?”

“If you want.”

“Shandra won’t be happy.”

“Take her with you. All I’m saying, use a different card for her.”

“Nah, she’s got something going. It’ll be just myself, I guess.”

They had breakfast at anchor in the bay. Franklin cooked—eggs Benedict, chopped red potatoes with onions, and a garnish of fresh fruit. Frank took his breakfast cooking seriously. He wore a barbecue chef’s apron with a drawing of a spatula and a barbecue fork.

Landry was impressed by Frank’s resilience. In fact, he enjoyed Frank’s company, once the unpleasantness was out of the way. Landry was surprised by this. As one of the architects of the Shop, Franklin would pay the ultimate price. It was clear Frank thought he was going to ace this, that he would come out unscathed, once he delivered Mike Cardamone to the FBI. Landry let him think that. It made for an interesting hour of wide-ranging conversation, not to mention delicious victuals.

Frank stood over him in his chef’s apron, holding a real spatula, which looked a lot like the one emblazoned on his chest. “You like the eggs?”

“I love the eggs.”

“There’s more. Want another?”

“Absolutely.”

“The hollandaise is an old family secret. That lemony zing? Do you taste it?”

“I like the zing.”

“Thought you would.” Franklin replaced Landry’s plate with a fresh one filled with more eggs Benedict and cottage potatoes, and sat opposite him. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. Landry’s mother would call that bad manners, but times had changed and even Landry put an elbow on the table now and then.

“You really think this is going to work?” Frank asked.

“If you can get Cardamone here.” The hollandaise really was zingy. He’d have to remember to get the recipe.

“And he’ll end up in supermax?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Good. He’s a dangerous guy. Not only is he a spook, but he was special forces. You know how those guys are. They’re nothing but glorified assassins. I’ve heard that once they get a taste for it, they can never go back.”

Landry shrugged.

“What I’m really worried about is Grace. She’s not part of this.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“You see, she was just being supportive. You know how husbands and wives talk about everything? It was like that. Are you married?”

“I have a wife and a daughter.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about. I’d really like to keep her out of this.” He paused. “You know what it’s like to love someone, really love someone? That’s how I feel about Grace. I imagine that’s how you feel about your wife. More strawberries? There’s plenty.”

“No, thanks. But I like this hollandaise.”

“It’s good, isn’t it? But you see, Grace, she’s the love of my life. I don’t know about what it’s like, your marriage, but with Grace it was always me wanting her. Even though I was the attorney general of the United States, even though I have a law degree from Yale and she was just a local girl who only went to two years of junior college, I think—I’m pretty sure—I love her more than she loves me. Not that that’s a bad thing. Every marriage is a balancing act, right? Kind of like a teeter-totter.”

Landry wasn’t sure why Franklin was telling him this. It didn’t seem important in the scheme of things. But Franklin’s time was growing short, so Landry decided to be polite and listen. Plus, Frank was a tremendous cook. And he had a way about him. Charming at times. He liked the fact that Franklin remained upbeat in the face of adversity. A glass-half-full kind of person. The eternal optimist.

Frank licked his lips. “Thing is, what I’m worried about, is she’s got this connection to a church. The Victorious Redemption Spiritual Church. Have you heard of it? It’s been in the news a lot.”