Loitering With Intent Read online

  “Oh, all right, give him what he wants,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Get him into bed and keep him there until morning, and call me if he’s still disoriented when he wakes up.” She handed Dino a card. “Good night, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

  Tommy put a glass of bourbon and two aspirin into Stone’s hand.

  “There you go.”

  Stone washed down the aspirin with the bourbon and took a deep breath. “That’s better,” he said.

  “Can you stand up?” Tommy asked.

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  “Sure I can.” He stood up and held on to Tommy’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m hungry. We hadn’t ordered dinner, had we?”

  “No, we hadn’t, but the doctor said you should be in bed.”

  “What doctor?”

  “The woman who just washed her hands of you and left,” Dino said. “Come on, Tommy, let’s get him inside; he’s not going to cooperate.”

  The three men went back into the restaurant and sat down at their table.

  Stone was still rubbing his neck.

  “You want some ice on that?” Tommy asked.

  “I don’t want to make a spectacle of myself,” Stone said. “People are staring at me as it is.” He took another slug of the bourbon, and it began reaching the places it should, including the back of his neck.

  “Now, will you guys tell me what the hell happened?”

  “I directed you to a guy at the bar,” Tommy said. “You showed me his picture. Evan Keating?”

  “I don’t remember that,” Stone said.

  “You walked over to him and apparently introduced yourself, gave him your card, then the two of you walked outside.”

  “I don’t remember that, either,” Stone said, sipping more bourbon.

  “Tommy and I were talking for a couple of minutes, not paying attention to you, then Janet came over and said you were lying on the sidewalk outside, and that’s where we found you.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Stone said. “Are you saying that Evan Keating knocked me unconscious, and that I didn’t see it coming?”

  “Seems like you caught one on the back of the neck,” Tommy said. “Dino, did you see anybody follow them out?”

  “I wasn’t looking that way,” Dino replied.

  “Neither was I,” Tommy said.

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  “And I don’t remember any of it,” Stone said. A waiter brought menus, and they ordered, and someone brought a plate of hummus and some bread.

  “I’m hungry,” Stone said.

  “That’s probably a good sign,” Tommy replied. “If you were badly hurt, you wouldn’t be thinking about food and booze.”

  “He hardly ever thinks about anything else,” Dino said, “except women.”

  “Speaking of women,” Stone said, “who was that doctor? She looked pretty good.”

  Dino handed Stone her card. “I think he’s going to be okay,” he said to Tommy.

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  STON E W O K E U P the following morning with his headache nearly gone. He took a couple of aspirin, ordered breakfast and found Dino on the front porch waiting for him.

  “How you feeling?” Dino asked.

  “A lot better. I still have a little headache, but I took some aspirin.”

  “You remember anything else that happened last night?”

  Stone thought about that. “Yeah, I think I talked to Evan Keating at the bar, but just for a minute.”

  “Do you know how you got outside?”

  Stone thought some more. “He suggested we talk outside, I think.”

  “You remember anybody following you outside?”

  “No, Keating was ahead of me.”

  “Was he with anybody?”

  “There was a girl, I think, but I thought he left her at the bar.”

  “Was she beefy, muscular?”

  “No, she was slim and attractive.”

  “Then she either packs a hell of a punch or she hit you with something solid.”

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  “I don’t remember her going outside.”

  “She could have been behind you.”

  “I guess.”

  “What did you say to Keating at the bar?”

  Stone replayed the scene in his head again. “Not much. I told him I had some business with him and suggested we get together in the morning to discuss it. I think I told him … that he would like what I have to say, or something like that.”

  “Maybe he didn’t get that message and thought you were some sort of threat,” Dino said.

  “Didn’t Tommy say that he busted the guy on some sort of drug thing?”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t hold up, and he was released.”

  “Well, maybe the cops got an address for Keating.”

  “I’ll call Tommy,” Dino said. He produced his cell phone, spoke briefly to Tommy Sculley and hung up. “Hotel La Concha,” Dino said. “I think that’s Spanish for ‘conch.’ It’s on Duval Street.”

  Stone went and got the map the rental car agency had given him.

  “Yeah, here it is,” he said, pointing. “Duval is kind of the main drag, and the hotel is marked. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

  “Then let’s go see him after breakfast,” Dino said.

  “Yes,” Stone said, “and carefully.”

  Breakfast arrived and they ate, then showered and dressed.

  “Let’s go see Mr. Keating,” Stone said.

  “I think I’d better watch your back this time,” Dino replied.

  “Good idea.”

  They drove over to Duval and down to the Hotel La Concha, which was a large stucco building. They found a parking place and fed a lot of quarters into a meter, then went inside to the front desk. Stone approached the clerk on duty.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’d like to speak to a Mr. Evan Keating, who, I believe, is a guest here.”

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  “You just missed him,” the clerk said. “He left maybe fi ve minutes ago.”

  “Do you know what time he’ll be back?”

  “He won’t. He checked out and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

  “Did he say anything that might give you a clue where he was going?”

  The man shook his head. “No. In fact, neither he nor his girlfriend said a word, except to ask for the bill.”

  “He didn’t mention, for instance, the airport?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know his girlfriend’s name?”

  “What’s this about?” the clerk asked.

  Stone handed him a card. “I’m an attorney from New York. I have some business with Mr. Keating.”

  “You’re suing him?”

  “Nothing like that. I just have some papers for him to sign.” Stone showed him the envelope in his coat pocket. The clerk went to his computer terminal and typed a few strokes.

  “The woman’s name is Gigi Jones.”

  “Any home address for either of them?”

  The clerk chuckled. “No, it just says ‘Itinerant.’ That’s the fi rst time I’ve ever seen that one.” The clerk smote his forehead. “Oh, I remember: when they arrived, Keating said they were on a boat.”

  “Sail? Power?”

  “He didn’t say. I got the impression that they were cruising and just wanted to get some shore time. Lots of people on boats do that; they want a real shower and their laundry done.”

  “Did Keating get his laundry done?”

  The clerk gazed at his terminal again. “Yep. Charge of $189 for laundry and dry cleaning. That’s a fair amount of stuff.”

  “Did you have any other conversation with Keating?”

  “Not really, just when he checked in and out.”

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  “Did he get or make a lot of phone calls?”

  The clerk checked his computer again. “None at all, but that’s not unusual; everybody has a cell phone these days.”

  “Did he mention where his boat was moored?”

  “Nope.”

  “How many marinas are there in Key West?”

  The clerk laughed. “Lots.”

  “What’s the biggest one?”

  The clerk got out a tourist map and opened it, pointing at some sheltered water. “This is Key West Bight, and the biggest marina there is the Galleon, right here. But the whole bight is petty much all marina, and there are others along the shore.”

  Stone thanked the man for his help, and he and Dino left. “Well, I guess we’d better start at Key West Bight,” he said. They drove down to Front Street, found a parking lot and walked to the Galleon Marina. They stopped at the dockmaster’s offi ce and spoke to a young woman at the desk. “Good morning,” Stone said.

  “I’m looking for a fellow named Evan Keating; someone told me he’s docked here.”

  She went to the computer. “Nope, no Keating. Do you have a boat name?”

  “No.”

  “Boat type?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Evan is about six feet, longish hair, a hundred and eighty pounds and with a pretty girl.”

  “That covers about half our people,” the woman said. Stone thanked her and they left.

  “Time to wear out some shoe leather,” Dino said.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  They started to walk around Key West Bight, checking other marinas, but got nowhere.

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  “I think that’s what we need,” Stone said, pointing at a boats-for rent sign.

  “Feed me first,” Dino said, pointing at a sign that said raw bar.

  “Okay, but keep an eye peeled for Keating.”

  “I only saw his back,” Dino said, “but if I see a familiar back, I’ll let you know.”

  “What would I do without you?” Stone asked. 2 9

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  STON E A N D D IN O walked into the Raw Bar, a large, opensided barn of a place, which was rapidly filling for lunch. They were given the last free table along the waterfront, overlooking the marina area. As they sat down, Dino looked over the railing into the water and pointed.

  “Hey, look at that,” he said.

  Stone peered into the water and saw half a dozen large fi sh measuring about four feet each, swimming among a lot of smaller ones.

  “I guess they know where to go for lunch,” he said. Dino was perusing the menu. “I want conch something,” he said.

  “What have they got?”

  “How about conch fritters?”

  “Sounds okay to me.”

  A fetching girl—all the waitresses were fetching—took their order and brought them glasses of iced tea.

  “How long have we got to find this guy and get him to sign?”

  Dino asked.

  “A week, give or take.”

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  “So we’re down to six days?”

  “I guess. I mean, it can’t be that hard. When he hears how much money is coming to him, he’ll be glad to see me.”

  “You’d think.” Dino got out his cell phone, made a call and got up. “Signal’s not too good; excuse me a minute.” He walked a few feet away and seemed happier.

  Stone sipped his tea and looked around at his fellow diners. They all looked like tourists, but in Key West everybody was dressed like a tourist.

  Dino came back and sat down. “I talked to Tommy again; I wanted to know the circumstances of the arrest. Seems his people were following a guy named Charley Boggs, who they suspected of being an importer/dealer. They tailed him around for a while, then he parked in the parking lot of a municipal building on Simonton Street. He sits in the car for five minutes, then Evan Keating and Gigi Jones pull up in a convertible and park next to Charley Boggs, who’s in a van. Some words are exchanged between the two cars, and then Tommy’s people move in and arrest everybody.

  “There are traces of cocaine in the van, but Evan’s car is clean. They fi gure Boggs’s stash is near, and Evan is there to buy, so they haul everybody in. Evan’s story is he’s having dinner at a restaurant called Antonia’s, on Duval Street, and he’s just parking there. There’s a walkway from that parking lot to Duval. Tommy checks Antonia’s, and sure enough, Evan has a reservation there.

  “Asked about what words were exchanged between Evan and Boggs, Evan says he was just asking the time, since he forgot to put his wristwatch on after showering.”

  “So Tommy cuts Evan and Gigi loose.”

  “Right. Charley Boggs, too.”

  “Did you ask where we could fi nd Boggs?”

  “He lives on a houseboat in Garrison Bight. You got that map?”

  Stone produced the map, but their conch fritters arrived.

  “Eat ’em while they’re hot,” the waitress said. 31

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  Stone dipped a fritter into some red sauce and took a bite. “Hey, good!”

  Dino was trying one, too. “Kinda chewy, the bits of conch, but lots of fl avor.”

  They finished the fritters and ordered key lime pie, then Stone spread out the map. “Here’s Garrison Bight,” he said.

  “That’s where the yacht club is, too, Tommy says. We’re meeting him there at seven.”

  They ate the key lime pie.

  “I could get used to this,” Dino said.

  Stone waved for the check. “Let’s go rent that boat.”

  THE B OAT WA S an 18-foot Boston Whaler, a fl at-bottomed fi berglass craft, with a 40-horsepower outboard attached.

  “You know how to handle this?” the renter asked, handing Stone the keys.

  “Yep.” Stone stepped into the boat, checked the fuel tank and started the engine. “How do we get to Garrison Bight?” he asked. The renter spread out a chart. “You go out into the harbor and keep to your right, past the old submarine base over there. You go under a bridge and straight ahead, past some Navy family houses, and your first right turn is into Garrison Bight.”

  He handed Dino the chart and pushed them off. Stone got under way slowly. “Let’s stop at the fuel dock,” he said.

  “All the boaters end up there sooner or later.”

  “Whatever you say,” Dino said, settling into the seat ahead of the steering pedestal. They were sheltered from the sun by a Bimini canvas top.

  Stone pulled up to the dock, showed the photo of Keating to the man and got a negative response. They pushed off again, then spent an hour motoring from boat to boat, hoping to get lucky.

  “No luck,” Dino said finally. “Let’s go see Garrison Bight.”

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  Stone took one more look at the chart, then motored past the breakwater. “Before we do, let’s go take a look at the boats at anchor.”

  There were dozens of boats of every type anchored outside Key West Bight, and their search of those yielded nothing. “All right,” Stone said, “Garrison Bight it is.”

  They followed the boat renter’s instructions and slowed for a no wake sign along the row of houses, then turned through a narrow channel into the bight. The houseboats lay dead ahead. Stone throttled back to idle speed as they drove slowly along the row of moored boats. They were pretty, most of them, with window boxes and potted palms on the decks. A man of about thirty with a full, dark beard sat on the rear deck of one, fi shing. Stone cut the engine and drifted. “Good morning,” he said to the man.

  “If you say so.”

  “You know a guy named Charley Boggs?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Barrington; I just want to talk to him.”

  “You a cop?”
/>   “Nope, just looking for some information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “You’re Charley, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m looking for a guy named Evan Keating.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Funny, you were arrested with him the other night in the municipal parking lot.”

  “Was that his name? I didn’t know the guy.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “You sure about not being a cop?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure, too. Never set eyes on the guy before that night.”

  “Okay, Charley, thanks,” Stone said. He started the engine, 33

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  turned and started out of Garrison Bight. “That guy looks like the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski.”

  “Everybody in Key West looks like Ted Kaczynski,” Dino pointed out.

  “Where’s the Key West Yacht Club?” Stone asked. Dino was looking at the chart, and he pointed to the east. “It’s way down there in the corner of the bight.”

  “Nice to know that,” Stone said.

  “Yeah, but we don’t know much else, do we?”

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  THE P R O P E R T Y O F the Key West Yacht Club was entered from busy Roosevelt Boulevard, and the clubhouse was an unassuming 1950s-era building, surrounded by a large parking lot and a good-sized marina. There was a party going aboard a traditional motor yacht moored near the entrance to the driveway. Stone found a parking place, and they walked into the club, taking a left into a roomy bar sheltering a crowd of happy-sounding people. Tommy Sculley waved them over to a corner of the bar, where he introduced them to a couple.

  “Stone Barrington, Dino Bacchetti, this is Jack Spottswood and his wife, Terry, local lawyer and real estate broker, respectively.”

  Hands were shaken.

  “Jack, I think we met in Atlanta a few years ago,” Stone said. “A real estate closing, as I remember.”

  “That’s right, we did,” Spottswood said. “Nice to see you again. I hear you and Dino used to practice the police arts in New York with Tommy.”

  “That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stone said. “We were all street detectives, and only Dino prospered in the work. Tommy and I got out when we could.”

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  “Yeah, Stone, sure,” Tommy said. “I retired in good order; you got your ass bounced by Captain Leary and the other brass.”