The Death Box(14)

Roy beamed at me like I’d just called every winner at Hialeah an hour before the starting bell. “You are beautiful, Carson. Reading people, situations. You absolutely nailed it.”

“Nailed what?”

“Initially I planned to add a junior investigator to the staff, got Tallahassee to budget the extra bucks, with enough left over to bump my guys up a well-deserved grade in pay, two actually.”

“And?”

“Then I thought, why a junior investigator? I’ll put the money into a seasoned pro. The idea felt so good I thought, Go even further, Roy. So I decided to not only hire a senior investigator but one who was a specialist in crazos as well, more bang for the buck. Bingo, here you are.”

I replayed Roy’s scenario in my head, following the money. I was making double my salary in Mobile. I sighed. “Degan, Valdez, Canseco, Tatum … not one of them got a raise, did they, Roy? What would a two-grade jump average, about seven grand?”

“Closer to ten, actually. No big deal, there’s another state budget session in the winter. I’ll get the guys their jumps then.”

Not being a high-strung child I avoided banging my head against the wall. “So not only do I grab a plum case from your crew, I’ve pulled ten grand from their wallets.”

Roy’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I told you some of this, right? Before you got here?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Sorry, things get tangled in my head at times. Probably because I’m still figuring it all out.”

“The crew hates me,” I said, perilously close to a moan. “They won’t rest until I go down in flames.”

Roy’s hand fell over my shoulder. “You’re a pro and they’re pros. Maybe it’ll be a teensy bit tough at first, but I know you, buddy. You’re gonna fly like an eagle.”

I slumped in Roy’s footsteps as he led me to where my office would be when in Miami, right now just a fifteen-by-fifteen box with a cheap metal desk and chair and a phone on the floor. The why-am-I-here? thoughts started afresh.

“You can work from wherever suits you, Carson. Here or at your place or from a ship at sea. If a police chief from Deltana says he’s got a perp killing hookers and chopping off their toes, you can advise what to look for. Or go to Deltana and handle the case directly. Your decision.”

“You give your people a lot of autonomy.”

“I’m a lazy bastard. When my crew handles stuff without me even knowing it, I’m thrilled. Basically, all I want to see are files stamped Case Closed.”

“Speaking of crew, what’s the word on that other guy? The kid who looks like a skate punk?”

Roy frowned, a rare event. “Ziggy Gershwin. Christ, did you ever hear a goofier name? Gershwin’s kind of a special case.”

A trio of clerical types passed by the open door, two women and a guy. They shot micro-glances inside: Look at the new guy.

“Special?” I said. “How is Gershwin so special?”

“A couple months back a trio of Albanian psychopaths grabbed a ten-year-old kid from West Palm, wanted five mil in ransom. The family called the authorities. BOLOs went out on a green van noted at the scene, everything real hush-hush. Gershwin was a newbie county cop working in Glades County, rural, west of Okeechobee. Two days after the grab – by then the family had received a pinky finger—”

“Jesus.”

“Gershwin is roaming the backcountry and sees a green panel van parked outside a rental house …”

“He gets curious.”

Roy nodded. “He pulls down the road and sneaks back. Blinds are tight, nothing moving, just a single-story ranch with an outbuilding separated by a hundred feet of open grass. He creeps to a side window, peeks inside and sees the Albanians in the living room and the kid taped tight on the couch. Gershwin also sees a freakin’ armamentarium: Uzis and AKs, handguns, grenades and even a goddamn mounted RPG. It looked like an NRA convention in there.”

“He calls it and sits tight?”

“SWAT positions behind a canebrake on the far side of the house, everyone scared a full-on assault meant a dead kid.”

I felt my heart thumping. Roy pulled a cigar and began twirling it.

“In the meantime, one of the Albanians is getting progressively freakier. He’s suddenly got a knife out, grabbing the kid’s hair and pulling his face up. Gershwin realizes the guy is gonna slice the kid’s nose off.”

Roy studied the cigar as if wondering whether he could get away with smoking in the building.

“Christ, Roy, don’t leave me hanging. What’d Gershwin do?”

“Radioed the commander that the Albanians were dragging the kid out the back door.”