“But don’t you see?” she said. “That means they have to sell off all their houses for whatever they can get, so they’re having an auction!” she said triumphantly. “This weekend! And it’s in Key West, because you can get a convention rate? And anyway more people will come to the auction if they have it there. Which is why we have to go down there and try? I mean, to get one of them—the houses? At the auction? And so Brian is bringing us a complete list, so this is really a great chance for us to get the new house! Dexter, this could really, really be exactly— Oh, I’m so excited!” she said, and she lurched forward and tried to give me a hug. But since she was still holding Lily Anne it was more of a lean against my chest, which sandwiched the baby in between us. Lily Anne was never one to waste an opportunity, and she began to kick at my stomach vigorously.
I took a step back from the onslaught and put my hands on Rita’s shoulders. “An auction in Key West?” I said. “Of all the foreclosed houses in our area?”
Rita nodded, still beaming. “In Key West,” she said. “Which we haven’t even been to together before.”
For a moment I tried very hard to think of something to say, and I failed. Events seemed to be spinning away from me. I felt like I was being pushed off my feet and rolled along the floor toward something wildly irrelevant, weird, and foreign. I know that in theory I am not actually the center of the universe, but I had some very important and immediate concerns right here in Miami, and to go rushing off to Key West to buy a house that was right here in South Miami, and at a time like this? It seemed just a little bit frivolous, and, well … not at all about Me, which didn’t seem quite right.
But aside from my petty desire to stay home and save my own hide, I couldn’t think of any real reason not to go—especially in the face of Rita’s near-hysterical enthusiasm. And so five minutes later I found myself sitting down in front of my trusty laptop to make hotel reservations for a three-night stay in Key West. I turned it on and waited. It seemed to start up a bit slower lately. I was usually pretty good about keeping the hard drive clean, but I had been a little distracted. In any case, computer cookies and spyware get more sophisticated every day, and I was not absolutely up-to-date. I made a mental note to spend a little time catching up when things settled down again.
The computer finally finished turning itself on, and I went online to find a hotel room for our visit to the Southernmost City. Travel arrangements for the family was my job—in part because I was much better at navigating the Internet, and in part because in her excitement, Rita had sprinted away for the kitchen to make some kind of celebratory meal, and even in my completely understandable grouchiness I didn’t want to interfere with that.
I flipped through the usual Web sites that offered travel bargains. My mood did not improve as I learned that hotel rooms were difficult to come by this weekend because this was the climactic weekend of Hemingway Days, an ancient festival featuring bearded fat guys celebrating all possible forms of human excess. I could not find a reasonably priced hotel room, but I did get a very good deal at the Surfside Hotel for a suite. It had enough room for all of us at a price we could easily pay off in ten years or so, which wasn’t too bad, considering that it was in Key West and the town was founded by rapacious pirates. I gave them a credit card number and registered the Morgan family for three nights in room 1229, starting tomorrow night, and turned off my computer.
I spent a good five minutes staring at the laptop’s darkened screen and thinking even darker thoughts. I tried to tell myself that everything was going to be fine—I could trust Brian to do a thorough job of taking care of Crowley, even if I didn’t get to watch. And Hood’s noncase against me would almost certainly collapse. It had to; there was no trace of evidence against me, not anywhere in the world, and after all, I had Deborah watching my back. She would be watching him and Doakes closely, and she would stop them from cutting corners. It was all no more than the proverbial tempest in a teapot.
And best of all, taking a quick trip to the Keys would completely derail Doakes. He would either have to drop tailing me, or spend an exorbitant amount of his own money on gasoline to follow me all the way down to Key West.
Thinking about that made me feel a little better. The image of Doakes standing at a gas pump and watching the dollar total spin higher and higher while he gnashed his teeth was very pleasing, and for a little while I was satisfied with that. Costing Doakes some cash was not really payback on the epic scale I preferred, but it would have to do for now. Life is hard and uncertain, and sometimes a small victory has to be enough.
TWENTY-NINE
THE REST OF THE EVENING WENT BY IN A MAD FRENZY OF activity. My last calm moment came when I called Deborah and asked her to recommend a lawyer. She said she had a buddy in Professional Compliance and would get me the name of the guy they all hated most to come up against. And then Rita called out, “Dinner!” and the doorbell rang, and at the same time Astor started yelling at Cody to stop cheating and Lily Anne began to cry.
I went to the front door and opened it. Brian stood there, dressed in dark clothing, and for once, the smile he gave me did not seem completely synthetic. “Hello, brother,” he said happily, and the tone of his voice made the hair rise on the back of my neck, and in the Deep Downstairs the Dark Passenger hissed and uncurled in uneasy anticipation.
Brian’s voice seemed deeper, colder than normal, and there was a smoldering Something flickering in his eyes, and I knew very well what all that added up to.
“Brian,” I said. “Are you … Did you …?”
He shook his head and his smile got wider. “Not yet,” he said. “On my way now.” I watched him with something very like jealousy while his smile grew bigger and even more real. “Here,” he said, and he held out several pages of paper stapled together and completely covered with closely written entries that seemed to be mostly numbers.
For one wild second I thought the paper was somehow connected to what we both knew he was about to do, and I took the paper from him without really looking at it. “What is it?” I asked him.
“It’s your list,” he said, and when I didn’t answer he added, “The list of houses. For the auction. I told your lovely wife I would bring it by.”
“Oh. Right,” I said, and I finally looked at the top sheet. One glance was enough to see that it was indeed a list of Miami addresses, with columns for square footage, number of rooms, and so on. “Well,” I said. “Thank you. Um … have you had dinner?” I held the door open wider to invite him in.
“I have … other plans for the evening,” he said, and there was no mistaking the edge in his voice. “As you know,” he added softly.
“Yes,” I said. “I guess I just …” I looked at him in his dark clothes and darker purpose and now it truly was envy that roiled through me, but there was in truth only one thing I could say and so I said it. “Good luck, brother.”
“Thank you, brother,” he said, and he nodded at the list in my hands. “You, too.” And his smile might have had just a touch of mockery to it as he added, “With your houses.” Then he turned and hurried away to his car and drove off into the growing darkness as I could only watch and wish I was going along with him.
“Dexter?” Rita called from the kitchen, snapping me out of my wistful funk. “It’s getting cold!”
I closed the door and went to the table, where the meal was already in full and frantic swing. And things did not calm down all through dinner. It seemed like a near felony to rush through Rita’s stir-fried pork, but we did. I tried to eat calmly and actually taste things, but the kids were totally wound up about the sudden trip to Key West, and Rita was far above us all and cranked to the pitch of a hummingbird’s hyperrhythmic fluttering. In between each mouthful of food, she would snap out a list of things that each of us absolutely had to do right after we finished eating, and by the time the dishes were all in the sink I found that I had caught the frantic rhythm, too.
I left the table and hurried through packing my clothes. There really wasn’t a great deal to the job, in spite of the fact that Rita spent several all-consuming hours at it. For my part, I grabbed a swimsuit and a few complete changes of clothing and chucked them into a gym bag, while Rita sprinted back and forth between the closet and the bed, where her enormous suitcase sat gaping open and empty. When I was finished I took my bag and put it beside the front door, and then went to check on Cody and Astor.
Cody was sitting on the bed with a full backpack beside him, watching his sister as she stared menacingly into her closet. She took out a shirt, held it up, made a horrible face, and put it back. I watched, fascinated, as she repeated the procedure twice. Cody looked at me and shook his head.
“Are you all packed, Cody?” I asked him.
He nodded, and I looked at Astor. She jiggled in place, chewed on her lip, and stomped her foot, but other than that she seemed to be making very little progress. And so, thinking that it was the correct fatherly thing to do, I took the very great risk of trying to speak to her. “Astor?” I said.
“Leave me alone!” she snarled over her shoulder. “I am trying to pack! And I have no clothes at all!” And she flung a handful of objectionable stuff that was apparently not really clothing off the hangers and onto the floor and kicked it.
Cody raised an eyebrow at me. “Girls,” he said.