Going Dark(114)

It had all played out on the local TV and the national news, another Miami-weirdness story, feeding into the clownish narrative that had been established decades back. Miami, that city of eccentrics and wackos, the nation’s capital of silliness and gaudy crooks and grotesque crimes. Ha-ha. Only in fucking Miami.

But for Frank, watching the video again, the thirty seconds of those two souls staggering under the weight of their reptilian burdens, there was nothing funny, nothing ironic or goofy. These two were carrying out an honorable, principled mission. The newswriters had fallen into the easy clichés and had made the group seem bizarre and cartoonish, and ultimately, in the interests of entertainment, they’d undermined the statement the ELF guys had risked their lives to make. Leslie’s miscalculation.

Any publicity was not necessarily good publicity.

Because the media had turned ELF’s deeds into a trivial exercise, a fraternity prank gone terribly wrong. The reconstruction of the cooling tower was under way. The lights were back on. The chargers were recharging, the downtown skyscrapers were twinkling their art deco patterns again, the pulse was pulsing.

Hearing the grumble of Thorn’s VW outside in the parking lot, Frank shut off the TV and sat for a moment staring at the blank screen.

* * *

Thorn stayed seated in the VW, admiring Frank’s view, the blazing white sands through the row of palms. An old motel that Frank was fixing up, staying true to its origins. A side of Sheffield most people never saw. The builder, the preservationist, the beach bum.

The natural kinship between the two of them was strained at the moment because Thorn refused to discuss Flynn’s actions the night of the raid or anything that happened afterward. Thorn had described it all to April Moss, Flynn’s mother, and if she wanted to relay the information to the authorities, that was her call. So far she’d remained as mute as Thorn on the subject.

Despite that lack of cooperation, Frank had covered for Thorn, testifying that he was an unwilling participant, basically a hostage. A father trying to protect his son. Claiming Thorn had wandered into the middle of this stunt and was an innocent bystander to the events. Thorn was grateful for Sheffield’s half-truths, but not grateful enough to tell Sheffield about Flynn’s decision to join the ELF warriors.

Frank came out of the door of his motel room and headed over to the VW.

Thorn took another look at the postcard in his hand. A panoramic scene of the West Virginia mountains. With careful penmanship she had written, F doing fine. L didn’t make it. Thought you should know. Sorry, C.

Cassandra staying in touch. Leslie was gone, Flynn was some version of okay. Thorn hadn’t told Sheffield about the card. Surely the FBI had ways of collecting evidence from it. It might reveal clues that would lead to Flynn.

Sheffield was at his open window, bent down, looking in. “Everything okay?”

Thorn reached over and flipped open the glove box and slid the postcard inside and shut it. “So where exactly is this Motel Blu?”

“Edge of Little Haiti,” Frank said.

Thorn got out, walked with Sheffield over to his old Chevy.

They drove in strained silence through the midday traffic, up Dixie Highway to I-95, then picked up speed.

“Sugarman doing okay?”

“Few more weeks of therapy, he’ll be fine. Barely a limp.”

“And you, your leg?”

“A ding,” Thorn said. “It’s healing.”

“What he did, Sugar, disabling Wally Chee like that in the condition he was in, flat on his back, that’s pretty goddamn amazing. I’d like to hear the whole story sometime. The blow-by-blow.”

“There’s no story. He hit Wally in the head with a crowbar.”

“How’s he come by a crowbar, lying in a bed?”

“I’m not much of a housekeeper. Things get misplaced.”

“You’re a terse son of a bitch. You know that, Thorn?”

“I do.”

Frank parked in the lot of Motel Blu and they sat for a minute looking at the venetian blinds of the small apartment attached to the back of the place. “Little River runs behind there. Kind of polluted, but you can picture how it used to be. A pretty place once upon a time.”

Thorn nodded.

“Neighborhood’s getting safer,” Frank said. “Motel’s got twenty-four-hour security. The girl should be fine here. You don’t need to worry.”

“I only want to see her. See her and go. I’m not going to try to adopt her.”

“She’s your granddaughter. It’s your right to see her. Anyway, Geraldine says she wants to meet you, wants to thank you for what you did.”

“What did I do?”