The Setup
Wednesday
Stormy and vicious seas tossed the tiny craft about like some toy in the bath of a small child. Slowly, it crept to
the top of each crest as though a cautious drunk, certain of the consequences but unable to avoid them. It was
not a good night to be on the Bohemian Cooker.
“Swole” St. Marks listened intently to the boat creak and groan. Each little sound was familiar yet startlingly
new, and with each passing moment his anxiety grew. Each little sound seemed amplified by the hull, which held
back a none to happy sea, and warded back an equally angry sky. His thin brown body trembled as another creak
made it’s way along the ships spine and up his own.
The storm had been quick, and he’d expected it’s end an hour ago, but it still buffeted the craft. He’d been
drinking heavily all afternoon and had expected the storm to miss him, but he’d miscalculated and had been caught
unawares. His skiff hadn’t taken long to secure, and he radioed his position out for a while to make certain if he
went down they would realize he was out there. It was only as the rain began to beat on his back, that he realized
that deep down, he wanted the boat to sink.
At least then he’d have a good excuse for Nix as to why he was late.
Nix signed the last three sheets in a flurry, lying that she’d played all the appropriate spots at the appropriate
times, that she’d checked all the equipment and found it in working order, and that she had followed the play list
diligently for the past three days. She mixed some times up so it wouldn’t look too neat, and stuffed them into the
dirty manila folder along with another sheaf of paper.
“Hey kid, when are you gonna ask Bill about taking them days off?” This question came from the other side of
the DJ booth, the red haired man asked without looking away from the console. The man’s pudgy partner looked
up from beneath desk at his question.
“Hmmmm?” Nix looked at him, as blankly as she could.
“It has come to my attention that you are planning some time away, on-air personality rules prohibit the
unauthorized...”
“Yadda yadda yadda....already asked him.” Nix stuffed the folder into the filing cabinet and checked make sure
she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“I see no change in the scheduling, so I must assume.....” the red hair man’s voice seemed stilted, as though he
were talking to a sleepy lecture hall.
“Look, Bill approved, changes will be up in the morning.” Nix threw her knapsack onto her back and turned for
the door.
“I really must protest this, hold on a moment,” the man adjusted, then his voice suddenly dipped an octave or
four and developed a twang,” This is Country Cowboy Joe Bob and little red, bringing you the wild-wild west cow
kicker round-up show, here on cool country ninety five, Just Joe Bob bringing you that good ole country music
you love, no matter what they say.”
Nix shook her head, and walked out the door.
Orville Wityz, better known as the Animal, sat in his almost leather chair, in his almost corner office and almost
spilled his coffee on his almost Armani suit. Time was running out and solutions were not appearing. The lawyer was
obviously jerking him around, and the two guys he’d hired had come back and refunded his money. He paced
back and forth several times, then came to a stop looking out his window, and gazed at his limited view.
“Mr. Wityz, foreclosure is imminent, you are six months behind on your payments, and though your loss would
be substantial, our offer assume the mortgage and bring up the payments for the ownership will provide you with
very nice out.” this from the man who wore a real Armani and sat lightly on Wityz’s imitation of french provincial.
“Hubble, I got two weeks until the .....”Orville growled, then regaining his composure he turned to face the
other man and grinned,” besides, I just may exercise my option and begin construction.”
Hubble stared at the man in front of him as though he just announced that he was really made of cheese.
“Of course you will. I’ll just leave these papers here so you can look over them... to perhaps advise a friend to
do the right thing.” Hubble spoke calmly as he leaned over and gently tossed the papers onto the already covered
desk, and then he was gone.
Wityz almost immediately wet himself.
Ellis Dixon stood silently in the dimly lit hallway and mentally steeled himself. He took two deep breaths, paused
and then took two more. Then took two more, stepped forward and knocked firmly on fading beige door just
under the little metal twenty seven. He stepped back and took another deep breath.
He looked over at the uniformed police officer and motioned for the super to open the door. The cop looked at
Dixon and shrugged, then went into the small apartment. He was out again in less than thirty seconds.
“Looks the same as last time, and just like all the other times,” the officer drawled, and started down the hallway
without a backward glance.
“You are going to fill out a search report, are you not?” Dixon called out after the officer.
“I’ll just make a copy of the last one,” the officer’s voice came from the stairwell, and Dixon turned and followed,
the warrant still in his hand. Behind him the super locked up the apartment again and shrugged.
Down in the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief. If he hurried he could beat the late lunch traffic and make it
back to the office before three.
Nix passed blind fury and headed into frothing rage, she swore to herself that she would never trust the
unreliable Swole again, at least until she could find somebody else. At the far end of the empty cheap blue-green
bar top, Wesley wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, watching the volcano prepare to erupt.
“Say Nix, how about you use my office to....” he started but his scratchy voice faded as the look she shot back
seemed to reach up into his throat and grab his voice box.
“What?” her snarl sent a chill through his body.
“Nothing, more tea?”
She looked away and Wesley relaxed, and went back to wiping his bar top. He prayed she wouldn’t break
anything valuable. This time.
Swole waited all afternoon before docking, and as the sun began setting he eased the little craft into the harbor.
He chose a slightly worn pier and tied up, then waited until the stars were visible before moving again. He lay down
on the deck and checked his position, lining up the stars in his mind, then sat up sniffed the air and tasted the
breeze. Satisfied that he was at the right harbor, he ducked below deck and re-emerged in his city clothes. In
Swole’s humble opinion, the faded denim shirt stolen on a beach in Cozumel and his dirty canvas shorts would blend
him in perfectly with the people of the city. He checked his lines again and jumped onto the deck.
He looked and made sure that the dock he had hitched up to looked unused, and then made his way up the
dock, looking back and forth at the other boats, waiting for trouble. At the bottom of the stairs up from the dock,
he considered heading for the fence, then realized that Nix would never agree to jumping the fence.
He paused, then brazenly strolled by the guard, smiling brightly and giving a little wave to allay suspicion. The
half asleep guard barely noticed him.
“I am like de shadow, deep in the dark of de night,” he whispered to no one, certain he fooled the guard. He
strolled up to the corner, figured out where he was, and began the hike up to the Highwater Bar.
Detective Sargent Maryellen Isadora Vadra flexed her toes and slumped lower in her seat, a difficult but not
impossible task for her six foot six inch frame in the dirty brown sub-compact. The jeans were starting to cut into
her knee, but she paid it no mind and continued to peer over the top of the dash at the marina. She chewed the
last of her beef jerky, and picked up the radio from the passenger seat.
She tapped it on the steering wheel, considering breaking radio silence and calling the whole thing off. Only the
thought of having to explain the wasted time and expense stopped her, and she continued her quiet vigil, re-
chewing the jerky and planning to go shoe shopping on the weekend.
As the door opened on the empty Highwater Bar, Wesley involuntarily tensed in anticipation of Nix’s response
to the hours late Swole. Her attitude had been slowly clearing the bar all evening, and the room had been in relative
silence since the darling young girl had stopped beating on the jukebox.
While she’d been wailing away at the aged machine, the barkeep had signaled to his assistant to turn off the
stereo, it being a piped in radio broadcasts to save on expenses. Wesley just knew her being there would keep him
from hearing WWJP’s big money song and winning the $2000 he needed to install the smoke machine and lighting
system he’d spotted in the used section of the restaurant supply store.
Swole obviously did not realize his error as he strode up to her still figure on the bar stool, and tapped her lightly
on the shoulder.
“Ready?” was the only word Wesley heard, and as she spun on her seat the barkeep turned his attention to
closing the cabinets holding his precious paid-for liquor supply.
Two stools, one table, one glass and one Swole later, Nix had apparently worked out her frustration. The
burnished sailor lay pinned to the floor, her knee firmly lodged on his thin sternum, her hands firmly clenched about
his neck like some nouveau necklace. He repeated her specific instructions three times until she was satisfied that he
really had understood them and had gone out of his way to get under her skin.
Swole slowly creaked to his feet and checked his city clothes, the leaned across the bar and checked his teeth in
the mirror behind it.
“Okay Swole, now I’m ready to go, just let me grab my bags,” Nix said to him, straightening her own clothes in
the mirror next to him. She patted him on the shoulder and slipped behind the bar, disappearing into the back
room. Wesley sighed and shrugged at the sailor then followed her back, waving at his assistant to handle the crush.
The backroom was little more than oversized closet, with a desk and safe wedged into against the wall and old
calenders and boxes of liquor stacked in every available corner. On a shelf behind the desk an ancient shortwave
radio looked ready to brain whoever sat below it. Wesley slumped into his chair right below it and looked up at his
guest.
“Thank you for a night of fun and excitement there, Nix.”
“Oh give it up Wes, you needed a night off.” She pulled her duffel bag off the box of cheap liquor and looked
over his messy desk. “I need your number, too, or at least the frequency of that thing.”
“What for?” he asked, even as he tugged opened the drawer and began rummaging for a working pen and
scrap of paper.
“When the heats off, you will know and then I will come back.”
He paused and mulled this over in his mind for a second.
“And why would I know?” He asked quietly, suspicion in his eyes.
“Because you’re listed as the next of kin with the court, and when the cops stop coming around twice a week,
then you’ll let me know and I’ll come back.” She gave a little smile, then looked at him with all seriousness.
Wesley paused again, then looked up as though to speak, then thought the better of it and began rifling
through some of the lower drawers for a scrap of paper. As his head dipped below the top the desk, examining
some paper in the dim light out of Nix’s sight, she picked up a stack of Florida lottery tickets, rubber-banded togther
and began flipping through it. She worked one out of the stack and looked at it closely.
Then cooly as she could, she attempted to flip it between two fingers. The ticket fluttered to the floor and she
bent from the hip, in an attempt to catch it. As Wesley’s head cleared the top the desk, his eyes widened at the roll
of tickets in her hand.
“Hey, Hey, whadda you doin?” He moved so fast he banged his knee into still pulled out middle desk drawer.
Nix released the bundle of tickets as his hand closed over it, an drew back from the desk, crumpling the single ticket
in her other hand.
“Damn Wes,.I was just looking at em, I wasn’t going anywhere. Man, they’re just lottery tickets.” But she kept
the hand with ticket in it clenched shut, hiding her inadvertent theft.
“If you don’t mind,” he snapped,” I like to keep a firm hand on my.... investment paper.” With that he placed
the bundle back on the desk top, the shot her look and moved it to the top of the safe, well out of her reach.
He went back to rummaging, regarding every scrap as precious, taking a moment here and there to remember
exactly what each piece was for. After three minutes, Nix pulled a old pen from his vast collection of dirty writing
instruments, and directed him to scrawl the phone number of the club followed by the shortwave band he
monitored on the back of the crumpled ticket. As he finished writing, he looked hard at the crumpled piece of paper
and mentally compared it with his own pristine lottery tickets.
“My own investment paper,” Nix smiled as she snatched the paper from his hand, averting the connection. She
blew a sarcastic kiss, grabbed her bag and was gone.
Vadra rested her binoculars on the steering wheel and scanned the harbor, looking at the last boat tied to the
floating pier. The boat sat unimpressively silent, except for a single man on the aft deck, who had been drinking the
same beer for an hour now. She quickly scanned the entire area, mentally counting her backup. Six guys in the
rust covered van at the curb, six more at the side door of the little pizzeria across the street, two in the water, and
three on boats in the marina as well as two patrolcraft she could call if necessary. In the back of her mind she was
counting up costs even as she went over the call signs in her head.
“Hey there, Charlie, pizza’a here, speed it up out there,” the radio crackled the signal phrase, and she suddenly
looked back at the boats, spotting a group of men on the rear deck of the last boat, several briefcases clearly
evident. Vadra prayed that Brice had the infra-red camera focused this time and started the car, whipping it out
into the empty street. She raced it up to the gate entrance and spun the wheel, the car coming around in a
practiced motion that blocked the gate. She whipped open the door and wheeled around, slid across the trunk of
the car, her pistol in one hand and her radio in the other.
The men on the dock had already crouched in response to the sound of the car, and she could see pistols
already in hands as she stormed down the dock.
Nix felt very exposed, as every light in the small marina suddenly shone brilliant as the noon day sun. Crouched
on the dock untying the Bohemian Cooker’s lines, she and Swole abruptly found themselves in the midst of
screaming, shouting, guns and hordes of men running in their general direction.
Her mind couldn’t conceive that it could have come this far, that it had gotten this big. Her head spun, eyes
darting for a way out. She felt Swole’s hand slide up her ass and snag the belt loop at the back of her pants, then
her feet left the dock. The deck flashed beneath her and then she was in the water, struggling for breath.
She cracked her head on the underside of the dock as Swole dragged her to the surface, then suddenly was
underwater again. She relaxed and let the swarthy sailor drag her along, and when next they broke the surface her
lungs were burning and the pair were in the middle of the channel.
“You ‘kay?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Been better,” she croaked back, gamely treading water.
“Ride de tide, jus float, ” he grabbed her arm and lay back in the water, letting the swift current sweep them
out.
Brice Nelson stood on the dock and watched his partner Maryellen go through it again with the on-site forensics
assignee, making certain of his methods, much to the annoyance of the expert officer. He listened to his radio
crackle as the harbor patrol reported back nothing again. Brice couldn’t wait to see the playback. He was sure it
would show the officers in the water already on the dock when the lights came on, out of position for the two who
had went in.
Maryellen made her way over to him and looked at him with thin bloodless lips, then broke into a huge smile and
slugged him the arm.
“Hey partner, we got’em.”
Brice looked back at her grimly, and shrugged, his black jacket tending into shadow on the dock swathed in
dark blue.
“You pissed about those two we missed, harbor patrol will get’em, perk up partner, we did good tonight.”
“Harbor patrol is coming up empty, and the guys circling the docks are coming up dry, too, so I save my glee
for a later time.”
She wrinkled her mouth up, and then gave a shrug of her own. The pair stood there in silence for a moment,
each going over options in their heads.
“Look,” she finally into his thoughts,” forensics is here, the scene is secure, and unless you’d like to talk to the
press, we got tape to look at and a report to write. So, we get Chinese or stop by Pickets?”
Brice muttered for Pickets, and began to make his way to the his car, still certain that somehow, they were in
trouble.
Thursday
Ellis Dixon sat down behind his desk and blew lightly on his morning cup of Blue Mountain double roasted latte
with extra foam and a light sprinkle of cinnamon, took his ritual three calming breaths and flipped open his copy of
the morning newspaper.
He quickly went through international tensions and national budget concerns, glanced at the weather, and then
turned the page and began reading. He read in silence for ten minutes, disagreed with the pundits, then turned to
local news.
Going through the local police report, hoping none of his earlier clients had gotten picked up and suddenly
appear on his schedule, Ellis noted a report of a rather sizable drug bust. He mused that it was probably too late to
get full write up, and would reappear the next day as fresh news. He passed over the story and moved to the next.
“Hey Ellis,” the voice caused him to look up from his paper, and focus on the figure in the door. The deep bass
belonged to Jake Williams, whose bulk filled the door. The suit didn’t minimize him at all, which to Dixon meant the
large man was going to talk to someone he needed to intimidate.
“Jake, morning, how’s that Planar thing coming?” Ellis grinned back, although annoyed his morning coffee and
paper had been disturbed.
“Depositions this morning, need to see if you’re still on for the Ballast at three?”
“Will be there, just got a new putter, can’t wait to give her some heat.”
“Great. Oh, congrats too.” Jake’s voice boomed, filling even Ellis’s considerable office.
“On?”
“You know. The bust last night, I heard the cops got the captain of your ship the... ah.. something to be
cooking or something, you know. Look, I gotta run, see you at three.” And with that Jake disappeared from his
door.
His eyes blinked, then blinked again, and the lawyer sat bolt upright in his leather highback chair.
“Ms. Irving!” Ellis shouted, forgoing the intercom.
“Where is it!? Where is it!?” Ms. Irving appeared in the door, brandishing a fire extinguisher and pointing it’s
funnel at every corner of the room.
Ellis looked at her for a moment then scratched his forehead and looked at her some more. After a moment he
motioned at the bright red tank.
“Well, the last few times you screamed, something in here was on fire, so I just figured I cut to the ...”
“Ms. Irving, “ Ellis cut her off, “ I need you to contact the police, get me the officer who made the bust down at
the Flying Flamingo Marina last night, and see if the captain of that boat is in custody.”
The middle aged secretary gave a haughty look, then faded back into the outer office.
Ellis forgot the newspaper momentarily, and pulled out of a drawer a thick file folder and stared at it for a
moment. Emblazoned across the top was one name. Fox. He flipped it open and began going through the top
sheets hurriedly.
“In connection with the activities last evening, the local police are happy to report that the have the captain of
the ship in custody, one Stanley Wass, along with twelve other men.” Ms. Irving recited from a notepad, as she
walked into his office fifteen minutes later.
“That’s not right, that’s not right! The name should be Chris, or something like that, are you sure?” Ellis’s cool
air of confidence had faded like a shadow.
“Confirmed three times, Stanley Wess, Caucasian, no last known address, captain S.S. Laughing Fish.”
“Wrong ship, I thought there was a ship called the Bohemian Cooker, involved. Jake said it, you heard him.”
Ellis’s voice cracked and the slumped back into his chair, a sheet of paper in each hand.
“Let me see,” Ms. Irving consulted her notes,” Bohemian Cooker, captain unknown, but is wanted for
questioning.”
Ellis let out a grin, then a small snigger, then a full laugh. Then he straightened his face and replaced the papers
in the folder. Taking a small napkin from inside a desk drawer, he mopped the sweat that formed on his face in the
short burst of emotion, then grinned up a the waiting secretary.
“He’s still here, which means she’s still here, which means Ellis can still get her.”
“Oh, her.” Ms. Irving needed no further explanation.
Swole lay on Nix’s bed and tried very hard not to smell while breathing. The apartment next door fairly reeked
of stewed beef and greens, and the sailor was finding himself swallowing every few minutes to keep from drooling
onto the spread. Nix had bought him a candy bar at a gas station during there trek from the beach to her place,
but other than that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty four hours.
On the way back, Nix had fumed about lawyers, police, ex-husbands, boats and anything else she could think
of, pausing only when they passed by police cars during the walk. She’d crashed on the bed and he taken what
could loosely be called the sofa, but even through the bedroom door he could hear her muttering to herself.
She’d kicked him awake a little while ago to let him know she was leaving, and to not let anyone in until she got
back. He’d mumbled a request for food, she’d shot him a nasty look, and now he lay here thinking about greens
and stewed beef.
He watched the little television, the talk shows, the midday news, and the started into the soap operas before he
decided he need to clean himself up. After carefully sterilizing her toothbrush, Swole spent a full fifteen minutes
going over his teeth. Finally satisfied, he turned the shower on warm, and climbed in fully dressed. He scrubbed the
shirt and the pants, then stripped and hung them on the towel rack to dry before climbing back into the shower.
He washed his hair, shampoo and conditioner, then climbed out and failing to find a towel, lay naked on top of Nix’s
bed to let the air dry him.
Lying there thinking about his boat, and food, and liquor he missed the sound of the door to the apartment
opening, and it was only when he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom did he realize he was no longer alone.
The door flew open and Swole was already in position to defend himself, arms held up in a ready position, white
teeth gleaming, sinewy muscles taut as he bounced on the balls of his feet. In fact to only part of his body that
qualified as “swollen” hung limp, though vastly out of proportion with the rest of his thin frame.
Nix paused in mid-screech, her eyes taking him in from head to toe, then she closed her eyes and turned her
head.
“Swole,“ she started then paused, taking a moment to scratch her head, “ get your pants on and try to stay in
the living room.”
Officer Vadra leaned forward into the video monitor and looked at the action unfold, the infra-red painting the
harbor in less perfect color. She silently cursed again at Brice for the less than perfect angle of the picture, and
listened intently to the sound, which she hoped the shotgun mike had picked up.
The sentry sitting silently, beer up, beer down. She could see the pistol in his lap now, a solid black shape
against his light colored pants. Again with the beer, and here come our two lost souls, sneaking down the dock.
One male, one female, female carrying duffel bag, male empty handed. They disappear onboard ship, then
reappear, onto the dock and begin working on ropes. Conversation? No, argument, she punches him in the chest,
he protests silently, she punches him again.
Figures appear on aft deck Laughing Fish, seven heads plus sentry, briefcases evident, heads turn, sound of my
car hitting curb, me coming down the dock, guns come out, lights come on, briefcase hits the water, thin guy
grabs girl and goes cross boat into the water. Here come the troops, officers supposedly in water clearly already on
the dock.
Vadra reached her arm out and aimed the remote, then hit the rewind button and watched the figures on the
screen begin to do the backward dance. In unison, the three other detectives in the room groaned their
disapproval, already having watched the replay fifteen times. Brice put his head down on the small table and closed
his eyes as his partner played the tape once more.
She watched the opening one more time, as the other officers in the room started closing up their notebooks
and preparing to leave. By the time she was finished, the other detectives were at the door, notebooks in hand and
discussing laundries. She stood up from her television hugging crouch and stretched, then turned and grinned at
her fellow officers.
“Hey, no need to race out, I was just thinking we should have been on one of those cop shows or something.”
“I can see it now, Mary Vadra, Super-Cop,” one of the detectives at the door grinned,” Now if you don’t mind,
some of us little people have paperwork and other cases to get to.”
“Just get the basics down, “ Brice called out from under arms, “ according to the D.A. at least three are already
looking for a plea.”
Vadra pulled together her own things and popped the tape out of the VCR. She made a couple of notes and
then hesitated and tapped her partner on the back of his head with her pen.
He looked up and began gathering his things too, then disappeared out the door.
Vadra took her bundle and headed upstairs, three flights to make up for the morning jog that she’d missed, and
into the police video and photography lab.
She filled out the little card for the standard number of copies to be made, then stood there tapping her pen
against the counter-top in thought. When the technician finally came over to collect her material she’d made her
decision.
“Ah... could you get Jerry to look at it, please.” She asked. The tech shrugged and went into the back part of
the lab. A minute later Jerry appeared, a smile on his face.
“Mary, how’s it going? What can do for ya?” he drawled, his slightly balding pate shining in the bright room
lights.
“Well, I need a favor.”
“Depends on what you need.” He looked ready to say no, depending her request.
“Well, I need a couple of stills from the tape, nothing big, by Monday if swing it.”
“Hell, I thought you needed something, not a problem, I’ll put Icky on it.”
“Good, tell him I don’t need the main group, it’s the male and female in the corner, full frontals if he can.” She
was smiling now. Jerry made a small notation on a sticky pad and stuck it to the tape.
“Got it, Monday about twelve.” Jerry grinned, then turned back into the lab.
Maryellen took the stairs back down, to continue to catch up on her missed jogging.
Orville Wityz climbed out of his ex-girlfriend’s used hatchback and stood on the curve in the broiling sun trying
to get the door locked. After a few minutes of jiggling the key while hitting the lock and rocking the car back forth
he couldn’t get he trick to work and gave up left it, figuring whoever stole it would get what was coming to them.
He stepped out into traffic and stopped the first cab he saw.
Orville rode the taxi around the corner a total of a half a block, and stiffed the driver the tip. The doorman
regarded him warily, and then opened the door that let him into the building that housed Counselor Dixon’s office.
Stepping lively through the lobby, he took the elevator to the ninth floor, and breezed through the doors of
Williams, Brown and Zeurn, LLP. The receptionist with deep cleavage directed him to the second secretary with the
short skirt and long shapely legs who took him around to middle aged madam, Ms. Irving.
With no fanfare and without Dixon in evidence, she showed him into the office and asked him to wait. Wityz
took note that she failed to offer him a beverage, and sat silently for a few moments and then decided to inspect
the office.
He took in the rich plush carpeting, which Wityz figured for kickback, the massive oaken desk, which he figured
came on big order discount, the fax machine and computer, Wityz figured they had been picked up hot, and some
leather chairs, which he figured came from Dixon’s mother’s house. Wityz figured incorrectly that every item in the
office was on some level ill gotten, but if the news Dixon had today was good, he would be able to get deals like
these for his office.
Dixon entered talking, not to Wityz, but to his cellular phone and waved his balding pseudo client into a seat.
The waiting man sat, and fidgeted for a few moments, then just as he decided to listen in, the lawyer ended his
phone call.
“I don’t have much time Mr. Wityz, I thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“This had better be good Dixon, I’ve got a two meetings this afternoon, and my agenda cannot usually be
altered so easily,” Wityz voice came out deep and cultured, the way he imagined captains of industry spoke.
“Well, I was unaware Mr. Wityz that you had so busy a schedule today. This might take quite some time and if
it doesn’t work into your schedule, then perhaps we could do this some other time, maybe next week or the week
after, it isn’t that urgent. At least not to someone in your position.” Dixon leaned back in his leather chair and
opened a desk drawer, from which he produced a date book.
“Ah... Ah....Ah, No!” Wityz nearly shouted, then corrected himself and lapsed back into his deeper tone, “ Since
I am here, let’s not waste the time.”
Dixon smiled what Wityz thought was a condescending little smile and replaced the date book. He turned and
lifted from a pile a single thin folder.
“Mr. Wityz, I have reason to believe that we have not only located the elusive Ms. Fox, you esteemed ex-wife,
but it is also reasonable to assume that she may also be in a position to voluntarily to possession of her portion of
the settlement.”
“Really?” Orville’s face lit up.
“Yes, several nights ago, last night a police drug enforcement action netted several perpetrators, and has a
identified a boat that is still docked in the harbor as possibly being linked, this boat is the Bohemian Cooker,
captained by a Cristobal Hines., aka Swollen.”
The two men paused a moment, looked at each other and shrugged.
“The captain is being sought for questioning by several law enforcement agencies for several reasons and is
believed to be still in the area.”
“So?” the Animal growled, growing impatient.
“The good captain is good friend of your ex- common law wife, Ms. Nixiana Fox, and believed to be her usual
method of avoiding efforts to coerce her into accepting her settlement.”
“So?” Orville said again, before starting to piece it together,” What you’re saying is that she might be mixed up
with some drug dealers and might be going to jail, so she’s gonna have to get a lawyer, a decent lawyer, and that’s
gonna take some money!”
“That’s generally how attorneys work.” Dixon face was blank across the desk.
Wityz leapt from his chair and a danced a little jig around the office, cackling all the while. Dixon watched
passionlessly from his chair until he was done.
“There is however a problem.” Dixon’s voice was low, and full of dark meanings.
“Problem? What problem? You can fix it can’t you?” The joyous man almost immediately lapsed into a high
pitched whine.
“The police are almost certain that the Mr. Hines and Ms. Fox are not involved in the crime, and may have
merely been in the area, but would still like them to come in for questioning. This information I received only
moments before you arrived.”
Wityz’s whole body seemed to shrink, and he slumped into the chair, his head lolled to the side and he wailed.
Dixon took the moment to close the folder and go through the pen holder on his desk.
“Then why didn’t you just tell me that? Why’d you get me all excited? The money’s still not moving and you’
re just jerking me around.” Orville sounded on the brink of tears.
“On the contrary, Mr. Wityz. The information concerning the suspected innocence of the parties has yet to
made public. I can talk to a friend of mine in the D.A.’s office, and perhaps we can have this whole thing re-
examined. We can perhaps persuade Ms. Fox to take possession of the money before the charges are dropped.
And I will. For a small service.”
“What? What? For two million, I’ll do anything,” the Animal leaned forward in expectation.
“There is a little matter with the ethics committee that I would like to have cleared up before I call anybody.”
Dixon opened a new folder.
“Hmmmm?” Wityz suddenly looked guilty, and slid back in his chair.
“You know, the complaints to the ethics committee on your behalf, the ones made by your friends, you know,
Bubba Mooch attorney at law, and that other guy, Dirty Barnes.” Dixon’s voice was icy.
“It’s Philip Barnes, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wityz lied.
“Whatever, “ Dixon leaned forward,” If you’d like to become the recipient of your settlement, then I will expect
a signed letter on my desk by five today from your two associates that state that they agree to cease all ethics
committee action immediately.”
“You brought on yourself, you coulda case re-assigned and got a judge to give me my split without her.” Wityz
sounded a little hurt, and began to curl up in his chair.
“I’m not sure what your friends have told you, or what methods they claim they would have used, but I assure
you that could not have happened.”
Wityz sat quietly for a few minutes, then fidget. Dixon looked at him, then closed his second file, and began
going through his desk. He looked up a moment later and seemed surprised to find Wityz still there.
“Yes?” Dixon’s voice basically ushered him out of the room.
“Well, who knew the bitch wouldn’t take the money,” Wityz snapped, then with shoulders hunched, he slunk
out the office.
After a few minutes Ms. Irving appeared at the door, and looked at her boss quizzically. She approached then
hesitated, then finally ended up at desk, papers in hand.
“Mr. D?” Her question was low, but almost frightened him.
“Yes Ms. Irving?”
“Some motions just arrived sir, and..well...”
“Yes, Ms. Irving?”
“The police aren’t looking for Ms. Fox, Mr. D. They aren’t even aware of the connection. And if they do catch
her wouldn’t they just hold her on the contempt charge,” the words tumbled from her mouth.
Dixon looked up at her, and smirked, then went back to his papers.
“You would better be served by asking the question, why doesn’t he think of that?” Dixon answered, then
picked up his cell phone and started to dial.
Wesley could already see the disco ball spinning over the bar, a spot of blue light hitting it squarely and through
the haze from the smoke machine and the effect making the whole of the Highwater appear as though
underwater. He giggled through his weak coffee as he read the lottery numbers in free paper at the corner java
shop. He finished off his cheap day old bagel he’d bought, checked to make sure the counter help was busy before
he ducked out the paper under his arm.
He checked the numbers six more times in the eight blocks between his small one bedroom apartment and the
bar, chuckling all the while. The numbers in the paper said that he’d won the lottery, although only for only five
thousand. But then, Wes thought happily, five thousand paid for a good sized disco ball and smoke machine from
the discount place over on third avenue. It even left him with plenty of money in his pocket.
He unlocked and made sure that all was well, checking behind the bar and all the booths to make sure no one
was hiding waiting for him to arrive and steal his morning change. Gaily he chose a tall glass, poured a tall drink and
stood staring at it for five full minutes. Then carefully to not spill a drop, he poured the drink back into the bottle
and washed the glass and set it back in it’s place.
He tried the combination three times before the safe opened, and removed his precious “investment paper”
from the little shelf. He consulted the master list he’d made, and then began peeling off tickets until he reached the
one with the numbers.
Two hours later the realization came that it wasn’t there. For the twenty third time he went through every
ticket, comparing it to the master, and placing it neatly in a pile. The sweaty fingers began to shake, and he placed
some near winners to one side again. He fumed for a moment, taking an instant to wave his assistant out of the
office, and thought about the tickets. He’d purchased the tickets according to his master list, and bundled them in
the rubberband at the store. The only time they’d not been in his direct control was when Nix had touched them.
In the midst of the afternoon rush, all twelve customers, Wesley stood at the bar and stared at the whiskey for
almost a half hour.
End Preview
Wednesday
Stormy and vicious seas tossed the tiny craft about like some toy in the bath of a small child. Slowly, it crept to
the top of each crest as though a cautious drunk, certain of the consequences but unable to avoid them. It was
not a good night to be on the Bohemian Cooker.
“Swole” St. Marks listened intently to the boat creak and groan. Each little sound was familiar yet startlingly
new, and with each passing moment his anxiety grew. Each little sound seemed amplified by the hull, which held
back a none to happy sea, and warded back an equally angry sky. His thin brown body trembled as another creak
made it’s way along the ships spine and up his own.
The storm had been quick, and he’d expected it’s end an hour ago, but it still buffeted the craft. He’d been
drinking heavily all afternoon and had expected the storm to miss him, but he’d miscalculated and had been caught
unawares. His skiff hadn’t taken long to secure, and he radioed his position out for a while to make certain if he
went down they would realize he was out there. It was only as the rain began to beat on his back, that he realized
that deep down, he wanted the boat to sink.
At least then he’d have a good excuse for Nix as to why he was late.
Nix signed the last three sheets in a flurry, lying that she’d played all the appropriate spots at the appropriate
times, that she’d checked all the equipment and found it in working order, and that she had followed the play list
diligently for the past three days. She mixed some times up so it wouldn’t look too neat, and stuffed them into the
dirty manila folder along with another sheaf of paper.
“Hey kid, when are you gonna ask Bill about taking them days off?” This question came from the other side of
the DJ booth, the red haired man asked without looking away from the console. The man’s pudgy partner looked
up from beneath desk at his question.
“Hmmmm?” Nix looked at him, as blankly as she could.
“It has come to my attention that you are planning some time away, on-air personality rules prohibit the
unauthorized...”
“Yadda yadda yadda....already asked him.” Nix stuffed the folder into the filing cabinet and checked make sure
she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“I see no change in the scheduling, so I must assume.....” the red hair man’s voice seemed stilted, as though he
were talking to a sleepy lecture hall.
“Look, Bill approved, changes will be up in the morning.” Nix threw her knapsack onto her back and turned for
the door.
“I really must protest this, hold on a moment,” the man adjusted, then his voice suddenly dipped an octave or
four and developed a twang,” This is Country Cowboy Joe Bob and little red, bringing you the wild-wild west cow
kicker round-up show, here on cool country ninety five, Just Joe Bob bringing you that good ole country music
you love, no matter what they say.”
Nix shook her head, and walked out the door.
Orville Wityz, better known as the Animal, sat in his almost leather chair, in his almost corner office and almost
spilled his coffee on his almost Armani suit. Time was running out and solutions were not appearing. The lawyer was
obviously jerking him around, and the two guys he’d hired had come back and refunded his money. He paced
back and forth several times, then came to a stop looking out his window, and gazed at his limited view.
“Mr. Wityz, foreclosure is imminent, you are six months behind on your payments, and though your loss would
be substantial, our offer assume the mortgage and bring up the payments for the ownership will provide you with
very nice out.” this from the man who wore a real Armani and sat lightly on Wityz’s imitation of french provincial.
“Hubble, I got two weeks until the .....”Orville growled, then regaining his composure he turned to face the
other man and grinned,” besides, I just may exercise my option and begin construction.”
Hubble stared at the man in front of him as though he just announced that he was really made of cheese.
“Of course you will. I’ll just leave these papers here so you can look over them... to perhaps advise a friend to
do the right thing.” Hubble spoke calmly as he leaned over and gently tossed the papers onto the already covered
desk, and then he was gone.
Wityz almost immediately wet himself.
Ellis Dixon stood silently in the dimly lit hallway and mentally steeled himself. He took two deep breaths, paused
and then took two more. Then took two more, stepped forward and knocked firmly on fading beige door just
under the little metal twenty seven. He stepped back and took another deep breath.
He looked over at the uniformed police officer and motioned for the super to open the door. The cop looked at
Dixon and shrugged, then went into the small apartment. He was out again in less than thirty seconds.
“Looks the same as last time, and just like all the other times,” the officer drawled, and started down the hallway
without a backward glance.
“You are going to fill out a search report, are you not?” Dixon called out after the officer.
“I’ll just make a copy of the last one,” the officer’s voice came from the stairwell, and Dixon turned and followed,
the warrant still in his hand. Behind him the super locked up the apartment again and shrugged.
Down in the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief. If he hurried he could beat the late lunch traffic and make it
back to the office before three.
Nix passed blind fury and headed into frothing rage, she swore to herself that she would never trust the
unreliable Swole again, at least until she could find somebody else. At the far end of the empty cheap blue-green
bar top, Wesley wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, watching the volcano prepare to erupt.
“Say Nix, how about you use my office to....” he started but his scratchy voice faded as the look she shot back
seemed to reach up into his throat and grab his voice box.
“What?” her snarl sent a chill through his body.
“Nothing, more tea?”
She looked away and Wesley relaxed, and went back to wiping his bar top. He prayed she wouldn’t break
anything valuable. This time.
Swole waited all afternoon before docking, and as the sun began setting he eased the little craft into the harbor.
He chose a slightly worn pier and tied up, then waited until the stars were visible before moving again. He lay down
on the deck and checked his position, lining up the stars in his mind, then sat up sniffed the air and tasted the
breeze. Satisfied that he was at the right harbor, he ducked below deck and re-emerged in his city clothes. In
Swole’s humble opinion, the faded denim shirt stolen on a beach in Cozumel and his dirty canvas shorts would blend
him in perfectly with the people of the city. He checked his lines again and jumped onto the deck.
He looked and made sure that the dock he had hitched up to looked unused, and then made his way up the
dock, looking back and forth at the other boats, waiting for trouble. At the bottom of the stairs up from the dock,
he considered heading for the fence, then realized that Nix would never agree to jumping the fence.
He paused, then brazenly strolled by the guard, smiling brightly and giving a little wave to allay suspicion. The
half asleep guard barely noticed him.
“I am like de shadow, deep in the dark of de night,” he whispered to no one, certain he fooled the guard. He
strolled up to the corner, figured out where he was, and began the hike up to the Highwater Bar.
Detective Sargent Maryellen Isadora Vadra flexed her toes and slumped lower in her seat, a difficult but not
impossible task for her six foot six inch frame in the dirty brown sub-compact. The jeans were starting to cut into
her knee, but she paid it no mind and continued to peer over the top of the dash at the marina. She chewed the
last of her beef jerky, and picked up the radio from the passenger seat.
She tapped it on the steering wheel, considering breaking radio silence and calling the whole thing off. Only the
thought of having to explain the wasted time and expense stopped her, and she continued her quiet vigil, re-
chewing the jerky and planning to go shoe shopping on the weekend.
As the door opened on the empty Highwater Bar, Wesley involuntarily tensed in anticipation of Nix’s response
to the hours late Swole. Her attitude had been slowly clearing the bar all evening, and the room had been in relative
silence since the darling young girl had stopped beating on the jukebox.
While she’d been wailing away at the aged machine, the barkeep had signaled to his assistant to turn off the
stereo, it being a piped in radio broadcasts to save on expenses. Wesley just knew her being there would keep him
from hearing WWJP’s big money song and winning the $2000 he needed to install the smoke machine and lighting
system he’d spotted in the used section of the restaurant supply store.
Swole obviously did not realize his error as he strode up to her still figure on the bar stool, and tapped her lightly
on the shoulder.
“Ready?” was the only word Wesley heard, and as she spun on her seat the barkeep turned his attention to
closing the cabinets holding his precious paid-for liquor supply.
Two stools, one table, one glass and one Swole later, Nix had apparently worked out her frustration. The
burnished sailor lay pinned to the floor, her knee firmly lodged on his thin sternum, her hands firmly clenched about
his neck like some nouveau necklace. He repeated her specific instructions three times until she was satisfied that he
really had understood them and had gone out of his way to get under her skin.
Swole slowly creaked to his feet and checked his city clothes, the leaned across the bar and checked his teeth in
the mirror behind it.
“Okay Swole, now I’m ready to go, just let me grab my bags,” Nix said to him, straightening her own clothes in
the mirror next to him. She patted him on the shoulder and slipped behind the bar, disappearing into the back
room. Wesley sighed and shrugged at the sailor then followed her back, waving at his assistant to handle the crush.
The backroom was little more than oversized closet, with a desk and safe wedged into against the wall and old
calenders and boxes of liquor stacked in every available corner. On a shelf behind the desk an ancient shortwave
radio looked ready to brain whoever sat below it. Wesley slumped into his chair right below it and looked up at his
guest.
“Thank you for a night of fun and excitement there, Nix.”
“Oh give it up Wes, you needed a night off.” She pulled her duffel bag off the box of cheap liquor and looked
over his messy desk. “I need your number, too, or at least the frequency of that thing.”
“What for?” he asked, even as he tugged opened the drawer and began rummaging for a working pen and
scrap of paper.
“When the heats off, you will know and then I will come back.”
He paused and mulled this over in his mind for a second.
“And why would I know?” He asked quietly, suspicion in his eyes.
“Because you’re listed as the next of kin with the court, and when the cops stop coming around twice a week,
then you’ll let me know and I’ll come back.” She gave a little smile, then looked at him with all seriousness.
Wesley paused again, then looked up as though to speak, then thought the better of it and began rifling
through some of the lower drawers for a scrap of paper. As his head dipped below the top the desk, examining
some paper in the dim light out of Nix’s sight, she picked up a stack of Florida lottery tickets, rubber-banded togther
and began flipping through it. She worked one out of the stack and looked at it closely.
Then cooly as she could, she attempted to flip it between two fingers. The ticket fluttered to the floor and she
bent from the hip, in an attempt to catch it. As Wesley’s head cleared the top the desk, his eyes widened at the roll
of tickets in her hand.
“Hey, Hey, whadda you doin?” He moved so fast he banged his knee into still pulled out middle desk drawer.
Nix released the bundle of tickets as his hand closed over it, an drew back from the desk, crumpling the single ticket
in her other hand.
“Damn Wes,.I was just looking at em, I wasn’t going anywhere. Man, they’re just lottery tickets.” But she kept
the hand with ticket in it clenched shut, hiding her inadvertent theft.
“If you don’t mind,” he snapped,” I like to keep a firm hand on my.... investment paper.” With that he placed
the bundle back on the desk top, the shot her look and moved it to the top of the safe, well out of her reach.
He went back to rummaging, regarding every scrap as precious, taking a moment here and there to remember
exactly what each piece was for. After three minutes, Nix pulled a old pen from his vast collection of dirty writing
instruments, and directed him to scrawl the phone number of the club followed by the shortwave band he
monitored on the back of the crumpled ticket. As he finished writing, he looked hard at the crumpled piece of paper
and mentally compared it with his own pristine lottery tickets.
“My own investment paper,” Nix smiled as she snatched the paper from his hand, averting the connection. She
blew a sarcastic kiss, grabbed her bag and was gone.
Vadra rested her binoculars on the steering wheel and scanned the harbor, looking at the last boat tied to the
floating pier. The boat sat unimpressively silent, except for a single man on the aft deck, who had been drinking the
same beer for an hour now. She quickly scanned the entire area, mentally counting her backup. Six guys in the
rust covered van at the curb, six more at the side door of the little pizzeria across the street, two in the water, and
three on boats in the marina as well as two patrolcraft she could call if necessary. In the back of her mind she was
counting up costs even as she went over the call signs in her head.
“Hey there, Charlie, pizza’a here, speed it up out there,” the radio crackled the signal phrase, and she suddenly
looked back at the boats, spotting a group of men on the rear deck of the last boat, several briefcases clearly
evident. Vadra prayed that Brice had the infra-red camera focused this time and started the car, whipping it out
into the empty street. She raced it up to the gate entrance and spun the wheel, the car coming around in a
practiced motion that blocked the gate. She whipped open the door and wheeled around, slid across the trunk of
the car, her pistol in one hand and her radio in the other.
The men on the dock had already crouched in response to the sound of the car, and she could see pistols
already in hands as she stormed down the dock.
Nix felt very exposed, as every light in the small marina suddenly shone brilliant as the noon day sun. Crouched
on the dock untying the Bohemian Cooker’s lines, she and Swole abruptly found themselves in the midst of
screaming, shouting, guns and hordes of men running in their general direction.
Her mind couldn’t conceive that it could have come this far, that it had gotten this big. Her head spun, eyes
darting for a way out. She felt Swole’s hand slide up her ass and snag the belt loop at the back of her pants, then
her feet left the dock. The deck flashed beneath her and then she was in the water, struggling for breath.
She cracked her head on the underside of the dock as Swole dragged her to the surface, then suddenly was
underwater again. She relaxed and let the swarthy sailor drag her along, and when next they broke the surface her
lungs were burning and the pair were in the middle of the channel.
“You ‘kay?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Been better,” she croaked back, gamely treading water.
“Ride de tide, jus float, ” he grabbed her arm and lay back in the water, letting the swift current sweep them
out.
Brice Nelson stood on the dock and watched his partner Maryellen go through it again with the on-site forensics
assignee, making certain of his methods, much to the annoyance of the expert officer. He listened to his radio
crackle as the harbor patrol reported back nothing again. Brice couldn’t wait to see the playback. He was sure it
would show the officers in the water already on the dock when the lights came on, out of position for the two who
had went in.
Maryellen made her way over to him and looked at him with thin bloodless lips, then broke into a huge smile and
slugged him the arm.
“Hey partner, we got’em.”
Brice looked back at her grimly, and shrugged, his black jacket tending into shadow on the dock swathed in
dark blue.
“You pissed about those two we missed, harbor patrol will get’em, perk up partner, we did good tonight.”
“Harbor patrol is coming up empty, and the guys circling the docks are coming up dry, too, so I save my glee
for a later time.”
She wrinkled her mouth up, and then gave a shrug of her own. The pair stood there in silence for a moment,
each going over options in their heads.
“Look,” she finally into his thoughts,” forensics is here, the scene is secure, and unless you’d like to talk to the
press, we got tape to look at and a report to write. So, we get Chinese or stop by Pickets?”
Brice muttered for Pickets, and began to make his way to the his car, still certain that somehow, they were in
trouble.
Thursday
Ellis Dixon sat down behind his desk and blew lightly on his morning cup of Blue Mountain double roasted latte
with extra foam and a light sprinkle of cinnamon, took his ritual three calming breaths and flipped open his copy of
the morning newspaper.
He quickly went through international tensions and national budget concerns, glanced at the weather, and then
turned the page and began reading. He read in silence for ten minutes, disagreed with the pundits, then turned to
local news.
Going through the local police report, hoping none of his earlier clients had gotten picked up and suddenly
appear on his schedule, Ellis noted a report of a rather sizable drug bust. He mused that it was probably too late to
get full write up, and would reappear the next day as fresh news. He passed over the story and moved to the next.
“Hey Ellis,” the voice caused him to look up from his paper, and focus on the figure in the door. The deep bass
belonged to Jake Williams, whose bulk filled the door. The suit didn’t minimize him at all, which to Dixon meant the
large man was going to talk to someone he needed to intimidate.
“Jake, morning, how’s that Planar thing coming?” Ellis grinned back, although annoyed his morning coffee and
paper had been disturbed.
“Depositions this morning, need to see if you’re still on for the Ballast at three?”
“Will be there, just got a new putter, can’t wait to give her some heat.”
“Great. Oh, congrats too.” Jake’s voice boomed, filling even Ellis’s considerable office.
“On?”
“You know. The bust last night, I heard the cops got the captain of your ship the... ah.. something to be
cooking or something, you know. Look, I gotta run, see you at three.” And with that Jake disappeared from his
door.
His eyes blinked, then blinked again, and the lawyer sat bolt upright in his leather highback chair.
“Ms. Irving!” Ellis shouted, forgoing the intercom.
“Where is it!? Where is it!?” Ms. Irving appeared in the door, brandishing a fire extinguisher and pointing it’s
funnel at every corner of the room.
Ellis looked at her for a moment then scratched his forehead and looked at her some more. After a moment he
motioned at the bright red tank.
“Well, the last few times you screamed, something in here was on fire, so I just figured I cut to the ...”
“Ms. Irving, “ Ellis cut her off, “ I need you to contact the police, get me the officer who made the bust down at
the Flying Flamingo Marina last night, and see if the captain of that boat is in custody.”
The middle aged secretary gave a haughty look, then faded back into the outer office.
Ellis forgot the newspaper momentarily, and pulled out of a drawer a thick file folder and stared at it for a
moment. Emblazoned across the top was one name. Fox. He flipped it open and began going through the top
sheets hurriedly.
“In connection with the activities last evening, the local police are happy to report that the have the captain of
the ship in custody, one Stanley Wass, along with twelve other men.” Ms. Irving recited from a notepad, as she
walked into his office fifteen minutes later.
“That’s not right, that’s not right! The name should be Chris, or something like that, are you sure?” Ellis’s cool
air of confidence had faded like a shadow.
“Confirmed three times, Stanley Wess, Caucasian, no last known address, captain S.S. Laughing Fish.”
“Wrong ship, I thought there was a ship called the Bohemian Cooker, involved. Jake said it, you heard him.”
Ellis’s voice cracked and the slumped back into his chair, a sheet of paper in each hand.
“Let me see,” Ms. Irving consulted her notes,” Bohemian Cooker, captain unknown, but is wanted for
questioning.”
Ellis let out a grin, then a small snigger, then a full laugh. Then he straightened his face and replaced the papers
in the folder. Taking a small napkin from inside a desk drawer, he mopped the sweat that formed on his face in the
short burst of emotion, then grinned up a the waiting secretary.
“He’s still here, which means she’s still here, which means Ellis can still get her.”
“Oh, her.” Ms. Irving needed no further explanation.
Swole lay on Nix’s bed and tried very hard not to smell while breathing. The apartment next door fairly reeked
of stewed beef and greens, and the sailor was finding himself swallowing every few minutes to keep from drooling
onto the spread. Nix had bought him a candy bar at a gas station during there trek from the beach to her place,
but other than that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty four hours.
On the way back, Nix had fumed about lawyers, police, ex-husbands, boats and anything else she could think
of, pausing only when they passed by police cars during the walk. She’d crashed on the bed and he taken what
could loosely be called the sofa, but even through the bedroom door he could hear her muttering to herself.
She’d kicked him awake a little while ago to let him know she was leaving, and to not let anyone in until she got
back. He’d mumbled a request for food, she’d shot him a nasty look, and now he lay here thinking about greens
and stewed beef.
He watched the little television, the talk shows, the midday news, and the started into the soap operas before he
decided he need to clean himself up. After carefully sterilizing her toothbrush, Swole spent a full fifteen minutes
going over his teeth. Finally satisfied, he turned the shower on warm, and climbed in fully dressed. He scrubbed the
shirt and the pants, then stripped and hung them on the towel rack to dry before climbing back into the shower.
He washed his hair, shampoo and conditioner, then climbed out and failing to find a towel, lay naked on top of Nix’s
bed to let the air dry him.
Lying there thinking about his boat, and food, and liquor he missed the sound of the door to the apartment
opening, and it was only when he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom did he realize he was no longer alone.
The door flew open and Swole was already in position to defend himself, arms held up in a ready position, white
teeth gleaming, sinewy muscles taut as he bounced on the balls of his feet. In fact to only part of his body that
qualified as “swollen” hung limp, though vastly out of proportion with the rest of his thin frame.
Nix paused in mid-screech, her eyes taking him in from head to toe, then she closed her eyes and turned her
head.
“Swole,“ she started then paused, taking a moment to scratch her head, “ get your pants on and try to stay in
the living room.”
Officer Vadra leaned forward into the video monitor and looked at the action unfold, the infra-red painting the
harbor in less perfect color. She silently cursed again at Brice for the less than perfect angle of the picture, and
listened intently to the sound, which she hoped the shotgun mike had picked up.
The sentry sitting silently, beer up, beer down. She could see the pistol in his lap now, a solid black shape
against his light colored pants. Again with the beer, and here come our two lost souls, sneaking down the dock.
One male, one female, female carrying duffel bag, male empty handed. They disappear onboard ship, then
reappear, onto the dock and begin working on ropes. Conversation? No, argument, she punches him in the chest,
he protests silently, she punches him again.
Figures appear on aft deck Laughing Fish, seven heads plus sentry, briefcases evident, heads turn, sound of my
car hitting curb, me coming down the dock, guns come out, lights come on, briefcase hits the water, thin guy
grabs girl and goes cross boat into the water. Here come the troops, officers supposedly in water clearly already on
the dock.
Vadra reached her arm out and aimed the remote, then hit the rewind button and watched the figures on the
screen begin to do the backward dance. In unison, the three other detectives in the room groaned their
disapproval, already having watched the replay fifteen times. Brice put his head down on the small table and closed
his eyes as his partner played the tape once more.
She watched the opening one more time, as the other officers in the room started closing up their notebooks
and preparing to leave. By the time she was finished, the other detectives were at the door, notebooks in hand and
discussing laundries. She stood up from her television hugging crouch and stretched, then turned and grinned at
her fellow officers.
“Hey, no need to race out, I was just thinking we should have been on one of those cop shows or something.”
“I can see it now, Mary Vadra, Super-Cop,” one of the detectives at the door grinned,” Now if you don’t mind,
some of us little people have paperwork and other cases to get to.”
“Just get the basics down, “ Brice called out from under arms, “ according to the D.A. at least three are already
looking for a plea.”
Vadra pulled together her own things and popped the tape out of the VCR. She made a couple of notes and
then hesitated and tapped her partner on the back of his head with her pen.
He looked up and began gathering his things too, then disappeared out the door.
Vadra took her bundle and headed upstairs, three flights to make up for the morning jog that she’d missed, and
into the police video and photography lab.
She filled out the little card for the standard number of copies to be made, then stood there tapping her pen
against the counter-top in thought. When the technician finally came over to collect her material she’d made her
decision.
“Ah... could you get Jerry to look at it, please.” She asked. The tech shrugged and went into the back part of
the lab. A minute later Jerry appeared, a smile on his face.
“Mary, how’s it going? What can do for ya?” he drawled, his slightly balding pate shining in the bright room
lights.
“Well, I need a favor.”
“Depends on what you need.” He looked ready to say no, depending her request.
“Well, I need a couple of stills from the tape, nothing big, by Monday if swing it.”
“Hell, I thought you needed something, not a problem, I’ll put Icky on it.”
“Good, tell him I don’t need the main group, it’s the male and female in the corner, full frontals if he can.” She
was smiling now. Jerry made a small notation on a sticky pad and stuck it to the tape.
“Got it, Monday about twelve.” Jerry grinned, then turned back into the lab.
Maryellen took the stairs back down, to continue to catch up on her missed jogging.
Orville Wityz climbed out of his ex-girlfriend’s used hatchback and stood on the curve in the broiling sun trying
to get the door locked. After a few minutes of jiggling the key while hitting the lock and rocking the car back forth
he couldn’t get he trick to work and gave up left it, figuring whoever stole it would get what was coming to them.
He stepped out into traffic and stopped the first cab he saw.
Orville rode the taxi around the corner a total of a half a block, and stiffed the driver the tip. The doorman
regarded him warily, and then opened the door that let him into the building that housed Counselor Dixon’s office.
Stepping lively through the lobby, he took the elevator to the ninth floor, and breezed through the doors of
Williams, Brown and Zeurn, LLP. The receptionist with deep cleavage directed him to the second secretary with the
short skirt and long shapely legs who took him around to middle aged madam, Ms. Irving.
With no fanfare and without Dixon in evidence, she showed him into the office and asked him to wait. Wityz
took note that she failed to offer him a beverage, and sat silently for a few moments and then decided to inspect
the office.
He took in the rich plush carpeting, which Wityz figured for kickback, the massive oaken desk, which he figured
came on big order discount, the fax machine and computer, Wityz figured they had been picked up hot, and some
leather chairs, which he figured came from Dixon’s mother’s house. Wityz figured incorrectly that every item in the
office was on some level ill gotten, but if the news Dixon had today was good, he would be able to get deals like
these for his office.
Dixon entered talking, not to Wityz, but to his cellular phone and waved his balding pseudo client into a seat.
The waiting man sat, and fidgeted for a few moments, then just as he decided to listen in, the lawyer ended his
phone call.
“I don’t have much time Mr. Wityz, I thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“This had better be good Dixon, I’ve got a two meetings this afternoon, and my agenda cannot usually be
altered so easily,” Wityz voice came out deep and cultured, the way he imagined captains of industry spoke.
“Well, I was unaware Mr. Wityz that you had so busy a schedule today. This might take quite some time and if
it doesn’t work into your schedule, then perhaps we could do this some other time, maybe next week or the week
after, it isn’t that urgent. At least not to someone in your position.” Dixon leaned back in his leather chair and
opened a desk drawer, from which he produced a date book.
“Ah... Ah....Ah, No!” Wityz nearly shouted, then corrected himself and lapsed back into his deeper tone, “ Since
I am here, let’s not waste the time.”
Dixon smiled what Wityz thought was a condescending little smile and replaced the date book. He turned and
lifted from a pile a single thin folder.
“Mr. Wityz, I have reason to believe that we have not only located the elusive Ms. Fox, you esteemed ex-wife,
but it is also reasonable to assume that she may also be in a position to voluntarily to possession of her portion of
the settlement.”
“Really?” Orville’s face lit up.
“Yes, several nights ago, last night a police drug enforcement action netted several perpetrators, and has a
identified a boat that is still docked in the harbor as possibly being linked, this boat is the Bohemian Cooker,
captained by a Cristobal Hines., aka Swollen.”
The two men paused a moment, looked at each other and shrugged.
“The captain is being sought for questioning by several law enforcement agencies for several reasons and is
believed to be still in the area.”
“So?” the Animal growled, growing impatient.
“The good captain is good friend of your ex- common law wife, Ms. Nixiana Fox, and believed to be her usual
method of avoiding efforts to coerce her into accepting her settlement.”
“So?” Orville said again, before starting to piece it together,” What you’re saying is that she might be mixed up
with some drug dealers and might be going to jail, so she’s gonna have to get a lawyer, a decent lawyer, and that’s
gonna take some money!”
“That’s generally how attorneys work.” Dixon face was blank across the desk.
Wityz leapt from his chair and a danced a little jig around the office, cackling all the while. Dixon watched
passionlessly from his chair until he was done.
“There is however a problem.” Dixon’s voice was low, and full of dark meanings.
“Problem? What problem? You can fix it can’t you?” The joyous man almost immediately lapsed into a high
pitched whine.
“The police are almost certain that the Mr. Hines and Ms. Fox are not involved in the crime, and may have
merely been in the area, but would still like them to come in for questioning. This information I received only
moments before you arrived.”
Wityz’s whole body seemed to shrink, and he slumped into the chair, his head lolled to the side and he wailed.
Dixon took the moment to close the folder and go through the pen holder on his desk.
“Then why didn’t you just tell me that? Why’d you get me all excited? The money’s still not moving and you’
re just jerking me around.” Orville sounded on the brink of tears.
“On the contrary, Mr. Wityz. The information concerning the suspected innocence of the parties has yet to
made public. I can talk to a friend of mine in the D.A.’s office, and perhaps we can have this whole thing re-
examined. We can perhaps persuade Ms. Fox to take possession of the money before the charges are dropped.
And I will. For a small service.”
“What? What? For two million, I’ll do anything,” the Animal leaned forward in expectation.
“There is a little matter with the ethics committee that I would like to have cleared up before I call anybody.”
Dixon opened a new folder.
“Hmmmm?” Wityz suddenly looked guilty, and slid back in his chair.
“You know, the complaints to the ethics committee on your behalf, the ones made by your friends, you know,
Bubba Mooch attorney at law, and that other guy, Dirty Barnes.” Dixon’s voice was icy.
“It’s Philip Barnes, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wityz lied.
“Whatever, “ Dixon leaned forward,” If you’d like to become the recipient of your settlement, then I will expect
a signed letter on my desk by five today from your two associates that state that they agree to cease all ethics
committee action immediately.”
“You brought on yourself, you coulda case re-assigned and got a judge to give me my split without her.” Wityz
sounded a little hurt, and began to curl up in his chair.
“I’m not sure what your friends have told you, or what methods they claim they would have used, but I assure
you that could not have happened.”
Wityz sat quietly for a few minutes, then fidget. Dixon looked at him, then closed his second file, and began
going through his desk. He looked up a moment later and seemed surprised to find Wityz still there.
“Yes?” Dixon’s voice basically ushered him out of the room.
“Well, who knew the bitch wouldn’t take the money,” Wityz snapped, then with shoulders hunched, he slunk
out the office.
After a few minutes Ms. Irving appeared at the door, and looked at her boss quizzically. She approached then
hesitated, then finally ended up at desk, papers in hand.
“Mr. D?” Her question was low, but almost frightened him.
“Yes Ms. Irving?”
“Some motions just arrived sir, and..well...”
“Yes, Ms. Irving?”
“The police aren’t looking for Ms. Fox, Mr. D. They aren’t even aware of the connection. And if they do catch
her wouldn’t they just hold her on the contempt charge,” the words tumbled from her mouth.
Dixon looked up at her, and smirked, then went back to his papers.
“You would better be served by asking the question, why doesn’t he think of that?” Dixon answered, then
picked up his cell phone and started to dial.
Wesley could already see the disco ball spinning over the bar, a spot of blue light hitting it squarely and through
the haze from the smoke machine and the effect making the whole of the Highwater appear as though
underwater. He giggled through his weak coffee as he read the lottery numbers in free paper at the corner java
shop. He finished off his cheap day old bagel he’d bought, checked to make sure the counter help was busy before
he ducked out the paper under his arm.
He checked the numbers six more times in the eight blocks between his small one bedroom apartment and the
bar, chuckling all the while. The numbers in the paper said that he’d won the lottery, although only for only five
thousand. But then, Wes thought happily, five thousand paid for a good sized disco ball and smoke machine from
the discount place over on third avenue. It even left him with plenty of money in his pocket.
He unlocked and made sure that all was well, checking behind the bar and all the booths to make sure no one
was hiding waiting for him to arrive and steal his morning change. Gaily he chose a tall glass, poured a tall drink and
stood staring at it for five full minutes. Then carefully to not spill a drop, he poured the drink back into the bottle
and washed the glass and set it back in it’s place.
He tried the combination three times before the safe opened, and removed his precious “investment paper”
from the little shelf. He consulted the master list he’d made, and then began peeling off tickets until he reached the
one with the numbers.
Two hours later the realization came that it wasn’t there. For the twenty third time he went through every
ticket, comparing it to the master, and placing it neatly in a pile. The sweaty fingers began to shake, and he placed
some near winners to one side again. He fumed for a moment, taking an instant to wave his assistant out of the
office, and thought about the tickets. He’d purchased the tickets according to his master list, and bundled them in
the rubberband at the store. The only time they’d not been in his direct control was when Nix had touched them.
In the midst of the afternoon rush, all twelve customers, Wesley stood at the bar and stared at the whiskey for
almost a half hour.
End Preview
Here is the first incarnation of what promises to be an epic tale. Some to the character names are wrong,
some of the locales have changed, and at this point I'm not even sure I'll still be writing it at the end...but
what a hell of a tale.
I present the opening bars of Bohemian Cooker.
some of the locales have changed, and at this point I'm not even sure I'll still be writing it at the end...but
what a hell of a tale.
I present the opening bars of Bohemian Cooker.