Bright Futures: A Lew Fonesca Mystery (Lew Fonesca Novels)

BY STUART M. KAMINSKY

Lew Fonesca Mysteries

Vengeance

Retribution

Midnight Pass

Denial

Always Say Goodbye

Bright Futures

Abe Lieberman Mysteries

Lieberman’s Folly

Lieberman’s Choice

Lieberman’s Day

Lieberman’s Thief

Lieberman’s Law

The Big Silence

Not Quite Kosher

The Last Dark Place

Terror Town

The Dead Don’t Lie

Toby Peters Mysteries

Bullet for a Star

Murder on the Yellow Brick Road

You Bet Your Life

The Howard Hughes Affair

Never Cross a Vampire

High Midnight

Catch a Falling Clown

He Done Her Wrong

The Fala Factor

Down for the Count

The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance

Smart Moves

Think Fast, Mr. Peters

Buried Caesars

Poor Butterfly

The Melting Clock

The Devil Met a Lady

Tomorrow Is Another Day

Dancing in the Dark

A Fatal Glass of Beer

A Few Minutes Past Midnight

To Catch a Spy

Mildred Pierced

Now You See It

Porfiry Rostnikov Novels

Death of a Dissident

Black Knight in Red Square

Red Chameleon

A Cold, Red Sunrise

A Fine Red Rain

Rostnikov’s Vacation

The Man Who Walked Like a Bear

Death of a Russian Priest

Hard Currency

Blood and Rubles

Tarnished Icons

The Dog Who Bit a Policeman

Fall of a Cosmonaut

Murder on the Trans-Siberian Express

People Who Walk in Darkness

Nonseries Novels

When the Dark Man Calls

Exercise in Terror

Short Story Collections

Opening Shots

Hidden and Other Stories

Biographies

Don Siegel, Director

Clint Eastwood

John Huston, Maker of Magic

Coop: The Life and Legend of Gary Cooper

Other Nonfiction

American Film Genres

American Television Genres
(with Jeffrey Mahan)

Basic Filmmaking
(with Dana Hodgdon)

Writing for Television
(with Mark Walker)

Stuart M. Kaminsky

A Tom Doherty Associates Book
NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

BRIGHT FUTURES: A LEW FONESCA MYSTERY

Copyright © 2008 by Double Tiger Productions, Inc.

All rights reserved.

A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kaminsky, Stuart M.

Bright futures : a Lew Fonesca mystery / Stuart M. Kaminsky.—1st ed.

       p.  cm.

“A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”

ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-1828-2

ISBN-10: 0-7653-1828-8

  1. Fonesca, Lew (Fictitious character)—Fiction.  2. Private investigators—Florida—Sarasota—Fiction.  3. Eccentrics and eccentricities—Fiction.  4. Singers—Fiction.  5. Sarasota (Fla.)—Fiction.  I. Title.

PS3561.A43 B75 2009

813'.54—dc22

2008038020

First Edition: January 2009

Printed in the United States of America

0   9   8   7   6   5   4   3   2   1

To Natasha Melisa “the Perll” Kaminsky,
from Dad with love.
And thanks for the idea.

T
WELVE HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE
I drove my dying car into the parking lot of the Dairy Queen on 301 in Sarasota, saber-tooth tigers, mastodons, giant armadillos, and camels roamed what are now the high-end malls that house Saks, Nieman-Marcus, Lord & Taylor, and twenty-screen movie theaters.

The land that is now the Florida Keys was part of a single landmass double the size of the present state.

People who inhabited Florida twelve hundred centuries ago were hunters and gatherers who lived on nuts, plants, small animals, and shellfish. There was a steady clean water supply, good stones on the ground for toolmaking, and more firewood than they needed. Complex cultures developed with temple mounds and villages. These villages traded with one another and developed cultivated agriculture.

As ocean waters wore away land, the peninsula shrank.

Juan Ponce de León landed in 1513 in what became St. Augustine. He called the area “La Florida,” in honor of Pascua
florida—the feast of flowers. In 1539 Hernando de Soto arrived, and a short time later, in quick succession, came settlers, slaves, and hurricanes. The natives were gone, though remnants of natives and runaway slaves created the Seminole tribes. By this time the peninsula had already long since shrunk to its present size.

Soon came the railroads, the airplanes, and the almost endless stream of cars on I-75 and I-95 carrying snowbird Canadians and retirees from Illinois, Minnesota, New York, Michigan, and even California. The few remaining Seminoles were herded into casinos, which they fought over and operated at a profit.

Towering buildings rose, blocking out view and sun. The more that were built, the more they cost and the greater the crowds.

Then my wife was killed by a hit-and-run driver on the Outer Drive in Chicago. With a Chicago Cubs cap on my head and in need of a shave, I came 1,044 miles looking for the end of the world and settled in an office at the rear of the Dairy Queen parking lot in Sarasota when my car broke down forever.

Now the DQ is gone, replaced by a bank. The less-than-shabby, concrete block two-story office building I live and work in will be torn down in a few days.

There are twenty-nine banks and numerous branches in Sarasota County, and only one DQ remains.

There are more than 360,000 people in the county. Florida progress.

My name is Lewis Fonesca. I find people.

T
HERE’S A MAN SLEEPING
in the corner of your office,” the boy said.

“I know.”

“He’s Chinese,” the kid said. “You want to know how I know?”

“He looks Chinese,” I said.

“But he could be Japanese or Korean,” the kid said, looking at Victor Woo, who was lying faceup on his bedroll with his eyes closed.

“He’s not.”

“Pale skin, small eyes, and his . . .”

The boy was seventeen, a student at Pine View School for the Gifted. His name was Greg Legerman. He was short, nervous and unable to sit still or be quiet. Next to him sat a tall, thin boy with tousled white hair and rimless glasses. Winston Churchill Graeme, also seventeen, was tall, calm, and sat still, looking at whomever was talking.

“Am I right? Winn, am I right?” Greg said to his friend with
a laugh as he punched the other boy in the arm, punched him hard.

Winn Graeme didn’t answer. Greg didn’t care.

“You’re moving,” Greg said.

“How could you tell?” I asked.

“The six cardboard boxes over there near the Chinese man.”

“I’m moving,” I said.

It had taken me less than an hour to pack. I lived in the adjacent room, a small office space, and I owned almost nothing. We were sitting in the reception room, which had a desk, three chairs, and four small paintings on the wall. That was it. My friend Ames McKinney would be by later to pick up the desk, the boxes, the TV with the built-in video player, and the knee-high bookcase.

“They’re tearing this building down,” said Greg. He grinned.

He was easily amused. He punched Winn Graeme in the arm again.

“Why do you keep punching him?” I asked.

“We’re kidding. He punches me sometimes.”

Winn gave a halfhearted tap to the arm of Greg Legerman.

“Am I right? They’re tearing the building down?”

“Yes.”

“You have another place for your office?” asked Greg.

“Yes.”

“The Dairy Queen used to be right out there,” said Greg.

“Yes,” I said.

“They should tear down banks and put up DQs,” Greg said.

I agreed but didn’t say so. He didn’t seem to need anyone agreeing with him about anything.

Victor Woo stirred in the corner and rolled toward the wall.

“Mind my asking who that is?” asked Greg.

“Victor Woo.”

“And what’s he doing sleeping on the floor of your office?”

“He walked in one afternoon,” I said.

“Why?”

“He killed my wife in Chicago. He feels guilty and depressed.”