“Thought you might know where they can find one,” I said.
“I’ll take a whiskey and water,” he told me.
I called the bartender over and got him his drink. He didn’t say another word until I had paid and the new glass was in front of him. Then, he picked up the last of the old drink and tossed it down.
“My name is Bud,” he said. “Thanks for the drink.”
He didn’t put his hand out, so I didn’t either. “Bud, I got two people over there looking for a small freighter to hire.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
He watched me without making any sign that he knew what I wanted or why I was asking him.
“It would be pretty good money,” I said.
“That a fact?” he said.
“I wondered if you knew anybody might be interested.”
He still didn’t show any emotion beyond barely polite interest. Now he raised one eyebrow, looking at me out of distant blue eyes that weren’t saying anything. “Everybody’s interested in pretty good money,” he said.
“Well, that guy over there,” I nodded at Nicky and tried out the story we’d agreed on, “he’s a South African. He’s looking for a way to get his money out of the country. And, uh—anyway there’s a lot of it.”
“And he figured that the best way to do that was by investing in an independent maritime cargo hauler,” Bud said, eyebrow still up in the air.
“Well, actually I think he’s got a pretty specific cargo in mind.”
“Oh, uh-huh,” he said. “Thinking of making the Colombia run, is he?”
“Something like that,” I said.
He blinked at me for a minute. Then he gave his head a half-shake, and he gave me a half smile. It reminded me of an alligator looking at something tender a few minutes after he’s already eaten his fill.
“Sonny boy, you’re so full of crap it’s spilling out your mouth,” he said, turning away from me and back to the bar. He lifted his glass over his shoulder in a small toast. “Thanks for the drink.”
Strike One. “Listen, Bud—”
“I am listening,” he said without turning around. “I appreciate creativity, Billy, and I know you’re not going to let me down.”
“We’re not cops,” I said.
He turned and gave me another half smile. “Oh, I’m sure of that. You by yourself might be, but no cop in the world would walk into a joint like this dragging along beauty and the beast over there.” He nodded towards Anna and Nicky. “So like I say, I’m really looking forward to hearing your story. As long as we both admit it’s a story and don’t get hung up trying to pretend that either one of us believes you even for a Detroit minute.”
There comes a time in the life of any lie when the paint peels off and you either tell the truth or make up a brand new lie and start all over. Bud was telling me that this lie was there.
“All right, Bud,” I said. “But sometimes the truth sounds pretty stupid.”
He smiled again, real amusement this time. “That’s how we know it’s the truth,” he said.
I had to decide how much to tell him, and decide right now. Part of being a cop is reading people. I’d always been good at it when I wore the badge.
So while I knew Bud might have a stake in either saying nothing or, worse, letting somebody know we were asking questions, I didn’t think he would. He looked hard as nails, sure, but he also looked straight.
I decided to go with my gut.
“What do you know about the Black Freighter?” I said.
A couple of things ran across Bud’s face. He clamped down on them pretty fast, but before he did I saw the first expression on his face that he hadn’t put there on purpose. It was so fast it was hard to read, but I caught it and it told me I was right. He knew, and he didn’t like it.