Mangrove Squeeze(37)

"Ms. Sperakis," said the cop, "did he ever say to you, 'I, Lazslo Kalynin, am a member of the Russian Mafia'?"

"Well no, of course he—"

"Did he ever say, 'My uncle is a mobster. These stores are fronts for something else'?"

"Of course he wouldn't 've—"

"He was talking headlines, generalities. Bragging. Trying to sound interesting."

"He succeeded. He said they had plutonium."

"Plutonium? He told you that?"

"He hinted at it."

"Hinted. Ah."

Suki hesitated, bit her lip. Then she leaned far forward on her dinette chair and wrapped both hands around her battered violet throat. "Lieutenant," she said, "if I wasn't onto something, why did this happen to me?"

The homicide detective looked away a moment, ran an index finger back and forth beneath his nose. "Ms. Sperakis—"

"And stop calling me Ms. Sperakis. My name is Suki."

"Suki," he said, and he blew air between his teeth. "If I knew why people hurt people I could show them how to stop, and then I'd win the Nobel Prize and could retire."

"This happened because he'd said too much to me and I think you should call the FBI."

"The FBI?" said Stubbs, and despite himself he gave a mirthless and percussive laugh. "The FBI? Suki, jam- packed 747s are falling from the sky, large public buildings are being blown off their foundations, small wars are being fought against skinhead lunatics in Idaho and Texas, and I'm supposed to call the FBI because you don't like the T-shirt shops?"

Suki stewed a minute, her swollen face throbbed underneath her eye. Then she said, "You call me typical because I don't like change? I call you typical because you don't believe the outside world could really touch this place, that anything big could happen—"

He shushed her with a raise of his hand, said, "Suki, let's not argue ... On a slightly different subject, do you believe in karma?"

"Karma?" she said, and she twisted up her mouth. Okay, this was Key West, but still, you didn't expect to be talking karma with a cop. "I'm like most people, I guess. I believe in it when it proves me right."

"Lazslo Kalynin was killed sometime last night."

"What?"

"Burglary. Looks like he came home at the wrong time, got his throat cut."

Suki swallowed, searched her heart for sympathy or vindication. She found neither, just hollowness and bafflement. "Burglary," she said. "Funny coincidence."

"Place was ransacked. Jewelry missing, wallet taken. Seems like there was a pretty good fight. He had lacerations on his face, contusions on his ribs and shins, a deep bruise in his groin."

"I did that," said Suki.

"Good shot," said the cop.

"Look, anyone can fake a burglary."

"His uncle came down to identify the body," said the cop. "Cried like a baby. Almost fainted."

"So what does that prove?" Suki said. "Mobsters don't faint? Criminals don't cry?... Look, he talked too much, they killed him. Isn't that—?"

"Suki, listen," said the cop. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, but the person who attacked you is dead, and his death is being treated as a burglary gone wrong. End of story."

Suki swiveled on the dinette seat, raked fingers through her thick black hair, looked disgustedly away. She expelled a deep and angry sigh and said, "I knew I shouldn't've called the goddam locals."

It was meant to sting, and it did. Stubbs's pink face took on the red of steak, his neck swelled against his cinching collar. For a moment his face sucked inward like he was swallowing his teeth, but the seditious words escaped. Softly, with an anguished wryness, he said, "You don't think I agree with you?"

There was a silence. Suki turned toward him once more. His flush was gradually subsiding but his hands were white as they squeezed the metal counter.

He went on, "It goes no farther, right? The department is a goddam mess. Politics. Butt covering. PR. They want it murmured there's a Mafia in town? Something they couldn't possibly handle? I'm homicide, Suki, not administration. I don't decide what things get called. Motive: burglary. Officially, that's the story."

Suki's stare grabbed out for his eyes. "And unofficially?"

He looked down at his feet. "There is no unofficially. So what'll you do from here?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid to go home."

"I'll bring you home," Stubbs offered.

"And what then? What happens when they find out Lazslo botched his job and the woman he spilled his guts to is still alive and talking? What then, Lieutenant?"

Stubbs didn't answer.