Red Tide (Billy Knight Thrillers 2)

“We’re just going to ask a few questions,” he repeated. He twisted my arms behind me and snapped on the handcuffs. I let him. Arguing with two highly trained, heavily armed guys is a bad idea.

I kept telling myself that after they stuck me in the back seat of their car. Riding with your hands behind you isn’t a lot of fun. Especially in an enclosed space with the windows rolled up where somebody had been very sick not too long ago. It smelled like their diet of muscatel and road kill hadn’t agreed with them and the cheap disinfectant hadn’t done more than add to the stink. Police work is so romantic. All the TV cop shows say so.

Luckily the ride wasn’t too long. But the wait on the other end was. They stuck me in a small holding cell that smelled familiar. Whoever had been riding in the back seat of the cops’ car before me had come here with some friends. They’d had a contest; who can cover the most floor space with a single vomit. From the smell, I’d say it had been a three-way tie.

I sat in the holding cell for a couple of hours before they came to get me. I guess they had to think out the questions. Judging by the two detectives who were waiting for me, they should have taken a little more time.

The uniforms took me to a small room filled with a table and a few chairs. An ashtray smoldered in the middle of the table. Down at the far end a guy smoldered in a chair. He had a rumpled silk suit with a thin tie, black, Pat Riley hair and a thin mustache. His feet, in tasseled loafers, were on the table. He glared at me when they ushered me into the room.

His partner was a fat guy with a really bad haircut and a broken nose that looked more like an animal’s snout than a human’s nose. With his jowls and baggy suit he looked like Porky Pig’s mean cousin having a bad hair day. He nodded at the chair directly opposite him. “Have a seat, William,” he said. His partner cleared his throat with a sound like a dog growling. Great. I was being grilled by Porky and the Wolf.

I sat.

“They treat you okay?”

“Sure. Except they forgot to tell me what this is about,” I said.

Porky nodded. He just watched me with a half-pleasant smile. His partner continued to glare at me. A couple of minutes went by like this. I knew the technique. I was supposed to get uncomfortable with the two of them staring at me. It would break down my defenses and make me want to please them by admitting I had done it.

It’s surprising how often that routine works. That’s why cops use it. The only problem was that I didn’t know what I had done. I could give them a kind of general confession and let them slap it on where they wanted it, but I had the feeling they mig

ht try to make it stick. I decided to play it straight.

“Listen,” I said. “I’ll be glad to cooperate with whatever you got going here, but first you have to let me know why I’m here. As far as I know I didn’t see anything or do anything interesting in the last few days.”

“Sure,” snarled the Wolf. “Nothing at all. Innocent as a baby. It’s fucking amazing how everybody we talk to is innocent as a fucking baby.”

“Lorenzo,” Porky said to him.

Lorenzo slapped the table. “He pisses me off. Look at him! He thinks we’re just stupid spic cops, ha? Is that what you think, pendejo?”

“All right, Lorenzo,” Porky said, giving me a weary smile that said, See what I put up with?

I felt honored. I was actually getting the Mr. Hard and Mr. Soft Routine. Cops have used that routine since Cain killed Abel. I was surprised to see it in a place as sophisticated as Miami. Maybe they’d seen Miami Vice too many times.

“We have a problem, William,” Porky said.

“Yeah, you do. You’re grilling the wrong guy.”

He ignored me. “Our problem is this. We think maybe you know a few things we want you to talk about. If we could just clear this up quick, Lorenzo could go home.” He leaned his head towards his partner with a small smile. “He gets cranky when he’s up this late.”

“This guy thinks he’s tough.” Lorenzo slammed his chair back and stood up. “Is that what you think? You’re too tough for a couple of puercos gusanos?”

“Sit down, Lorenzo,” Porky said.

“He’s pissing me off!” Lorenzo said, but he sat down.

“What about it, William?” Porky said, giving his head a sympathetic shake. “Can you help me out here?”

“I’ll be glad to,” I said. “First, tell me what you think I did, then read me rights, then ask me a couple of real questions. That way we can settle this and Lorenzo can go home. Does that help at all?”

Lorenzo slammed his hand down again and said something in rapid Spanish with no consonants. Porky raised a hand to calm him down and said something back. Then he smiled at me.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s play this your way. When was the last time you saw Arthur Nagle?”

I stared at him. The question told me they had a body somewhere, but it didn’t tell me anything else. I’d never heard the name in my life. “As far as I know,” I said, “I’ve never seen Arthur Nagle.”

“You lying sack of shit,” Lorenzo said.