Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) (24 page)

'Thing is, son, I was kind of curious, so I gave the St Pete Beach cops a call, and guess who answered the phone.'

'Wouldn't have been Cody Banks, by any chance?'

'Why, that's exactly who it was.' He gave me a long, cool look.

This time I gulped my beer. I spilled half of it. 'So,' I said while I wiped at my trousers, 'do you want to arrest us now?'

Sheriff Baines nodded thoughtfully, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile. 'Thing is,' he said, 'Officer Cody Banks said his car hadn't been stolen, that it was sitting right out front, that I must have misread the tags.'

Once again I'd shot myself in the foot. Par for the course, really.

'So what did you say to that?' I asked.

'I said well maybe he was right and I'd check with the officer who'd called it in. I apologised for wasting his time and I hung up. Now, son, I don't even want to think about why a police officer would lie like that. I told you earlier today, I got thirteen days until I retire. Last thing I want is anything spoiling my run-in. I've been the Sheriff here for seventeen years. Do you know what else I've dealt with this week?' I shook my head, although there was no need, he was going to tell me anyway. 'Monday I helped a guy with a broken hip up at the Trail Lakes Camp Ground. Tuesday there was a vehicle roll-over on the 1-75. Wednesday there wasn't anything at all. Thursday, there was a guy suffering from dehydration right here in the city. Do you get the picture? And that's a busy week. Night-times I've spent going to official receptions thanking me for my devotion to duty, accepting awards from the school and the medical centre. Now what I'm leading up to is this: I don't know what in hell you guys are up to, it sure doesn't strike me as anything particularly legal, but as long as you aren't doing nothing in my city, in my last thirteen days of service, then I'm quite prepared to turn a blind eye. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Okay, son, then we understand each other.'

I nodded gratefully and pushed back my chair. 'I appreciate your candour, Sheriff. We won't let you down.' I put my hand out to shake, but he kept his firmly on the table.

'I'm just letting you know, son. I don't want to be your friend.'

'That's quite all right.'

I dropped my hand, then stepped down from the veranda. I hadn't been aware of it, but my shirt was stuck to my back. My head was starting to pound. Delayed panic. I was just about to turn away, but curiosity got the better of me. I put my hands on the rail and said, 'Sheriff?'

He took a sip of his drink, savoured it for a moment, then swallowed. He nodded.

'The girl in there, Michelle, what's her story?'

'She ain't got no
story,
son. She just ain't got no arms.'

'That's what I mean. What . . .'

'Born like that. Nothing more to say. Except you keep away from her. DJ dotes on her. You so much as look at her the wrong way, DJ'll tear your head off and use it for a piss pot. And I'll look the other way. Special girl, that Michelle. Special girl.'

'Yeah,' I said, 'she seems to be.'

I nodded and turned to walk back to the Bank. I'm sure he watched me all the way, but I didn't turn to check. I was too busy thinking about her dad using my head as a piss pot.

Davie woke next morning with a raging hangover and an arm that was dripping pus.

'Jesus,' I said, 'is that sore?'

'Of course it's fucking sore, you moron.'

'It's not meant to be green, is it?' Davie rolled his eyes. '
Now
we have to get you to a hospital.'

'We can't, Dan. It's a bullet-wound.'

'So what're you going to do, just hang around till your arm drops off?'

'No.'

I could tell by his face — and indeed his arm — that he was worried, but I also understood why he wouldn't go to a hospital. We were a couple of murderers on the run. We had gotten lucky with the Sheriff, but we couldn't expect that luck to hold. Life wasn't like that. Especially mine.

We eventually agreed on a compromise. Everglades City wasn't much more than a village so it didn't have a hospital. But Sheriff Baines had mentioned getting an award from the local medical centre, so there was at least one doctor. He probably made most of his money from tourists with sunburn and kids with ear infections from the polluted water. We'd concoct some bullshit about an accident and hopefully get at least enough t.l.c. to keep Davie on his feet until we could offload the gold and fly home. If it looked like he was going to turn us in we'd try and buy him off, and if that failed we'd make a run for it. I called EC downstairs and said Davie wasn't well and we needed a doctor.

'Medical Centre's just down the road,' he said, with the same amount of concern he'd show if we were ordering breakfast. I could hear him turning the pages of his newspaper as he spoke. 'It's in the old Rod and Gun Lodge. Won't take you more than five . . .'

'I need the doctor to come
here.'

EC sighed. 'Well, just how sick is he?'

'Can we let the doctor decide?'

There was a pause, and then he said: 'I guess. The number is . . .'

'Could you call him? You being local and knowing him and all?'

He hesitated again. 'I guess.'

Forty-five minutes later there was a knock on the door. When I opened it EC was standing there with a woman who looked to be in her early thirties: about my height, auburn hair, well tanned, brown eyes, white shirt, shorts, doctor's bag. 'You'll be the doctor,' I said.

'Kelly Cortez,' she said. She extended her hand. 'You don't look well,' she said.

'It's not me — it's him.' I nodded at Davie, lying on the bed in his shorts with his Hawaiian shirt open to the waist and a small towel wrapped around his arm.

Dr Cortez raised an apologetic eyebrow. 'Well, let's take a look,' she said, and marched into the room. EC tried to follow, but I blocked his way. 'Thanks,' I said; there was no need to add the
now piss off.
He could tell it by the mean look in my eyes.

I closed the door and turned back to the bed. Davie had already pushed himself upright and was smiling endearingly at the doctor.

'So,' she said, 'there's a sixty dollar call-out fee, with prescription on top of that. Do you have insurance?'

It was probably time to retire the third party fire and theft joke, but I used it anyway. She nodded blankly at me. Davie said we were tourists. 'Well, you pay me when I'm finished, I'll give you a form, you can claim it when you go home. Now then, what seems to be the problem?'

Davie cautiously peeled the towel away. Dr Cortez sat on the bed and took hold of his arm around the elbow, then turned it carefully to get a better look at the wound. Then she made a face.

'We had a fishing accident,' I said.

'Were they shooting at you?'

Davie laughed suddenly, involuntarily, loudly. It was a warm appreciative laugh and it caused the doctor to blush. It was probably what saved us. She was duty-bound to report a gunshot wound, but she was also a laidback Floridian and seemed to share Sheriff Baines's attitude to trouble.

She gave a brief shake of her head, then examined the wound more closely. 'Whatever it was,' she said, 'it seems to have gone clean through. But it beats me why you felt the need to pack it with mud.'

'Wasn't on purpose,' Davie said. 'We really did have an accident. Thought I washed most of it out.'

She lifted her medical bag. 'This,' she said, 'is going to take some time. You should really go to a hospital. But I guess that isn't an option.'

Davie made a little-boy-lost face, and Dr Cortez blushed again. Finally, after forty years, he had discovered a woman who found him charming.

I said, 'I'll go and check on the car.'

Davie winked.

Downstairs in the lobby, EC had his face buried back in the newspaper. I hurried past, but as I reached the door he said, 'Everything okay?' without looking up.

'Fine and dandy,' I said.

The sun was already beating people to death outside. Patricia had once dreamily talked about retiring to somewhere like Florida. I had laughed and said, 'Do you seriously think we're going to make it to that age?'

'You won't,' she had countered, 'but I will. I'll come out here and spend your money.'

Now, standing on the sidewalk, I smiled at the memory, and the irony. My money? The millions in gold bars sitting in the bank? Sure thing. She could have it. But if by some miracle Davie and I did get it home and we were suddenly rich beyond our dreams, the last place we would ever show our faces again would be Florida. Too hot, and in more than one way.

I stayed in the shadows as much as I could as I walked up to JJ's Auto-shop. It was a bit of closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but at least it was something.

JJ's Auto-shop was all closed up, although there was an Open sign still hanging on the front door. I stepped back and looked up. It was a two-storey wooden frame building. 'Ramshackle' was the word that came to mind. The top left window was half-open and a pair of jeans had been laid out to dry over the sill. So he lived over the shop. I banged on the door again, and kept it up until eventually JJ appeared, rubbing at his face and yawning as he approached the door in his underpants ― not that there was a door in his underpants. He was already, or still, wearing his baseball cap. His hair did not look any more attractive for having been slept on. It veered to the side, like Marge Simpson's.

'Yo,' JJ said through the glass, without any of the enthusiasm the word requires.

'Just checking on our ve-hicle,' I said as he wearily opened the door. He was wearing too-small boxers and an odour straight out of the fish-market.

'Oh yeah.' He scratched at his stubble again. He looked behind him, as if the ve-hicle might be sitting on a shelf ready for collection. 'The Land Cruiser, right?'

I nodded.

'Be ready this afternoon.'

'You said this morning.'

'This afternoon. You must have misheard.'

'We really could do with it this morning.'

'Man, give me a break. This afternoon, all right?'

He closed the door and locked it. He stood looking at me for a moment through the glass. If Davie had been with me he'd probably have smashed his hand through the pane, grabbed JJ by the throat and dragged him out and down to the shop to work on our car. But he wasn't, so I contented myself with giving him my disappointed look. It was like my normal look, but more disappointed.

JJ tramped away, probably back to bed, and I returned to the shadows.

Dr Cortez was gone when I got back to the room. Davie was just settling back down into bed. 'Think she's gone to get the cops?' I asked.

Davie smiled. 'I think she's gone to get all dolled up for lunch.'

'She's what?'

'Well, she's really nice, so I asked her out to lunch.'

'And she agreed?'

'On the condition that I get a couple of hours' sleep first. So that's what I'm going to do.'

'Davie . . .'

'What harm can it do?'

'Davie . . .'

'I'm following doctor's orders. That's what you wanted. She's given me an antibiotic, I'm to rest, I shouldn't be travelling.'

'We have to get out of here. We can't afford to hang about socialising.'

'So the car's ready?'

I sighed. 'Not quite.' I told him about JJ.

'Then what's the problem? Relax, Dan. The Sheriff's cool. Kelly . . . Dr Cortez is cool. Our car's getting fixed. We'll leave tomorrow.'

Tomorrow? What happened to this afternoon?'

'Well, depending on how lunch goes. I mean, if it goes well, what's the harm in . . .'

'Davie!'

'Okay — all right. This afternoon. Later. C'mon, Dan. She's nice. I haven't met a woman who laughs at my jokes in twenty years.'

I shook my head. 'Davie . . .' I began. And then thought, What's the point? I can whine all day, he'll still do exactly what he wants. 'Right. Great, Okay. This afternoon. But that's it. We have to get moving. So, get some sleep, hornball.'

He smiled. 'Thanks, mate.' I turned for the door. 'Where are you off to?'

I shrugged. 'Walk.'

'Dan?'

I stopped.

'Watch out for the sun, you'll get burned.'

'Thanks, Grandma,' I said.

So I wandered back downstairs and out into the sun. I bought a baseball cap that said
Everglades City — Florida's Last Frontier
from a giftshop. I sat for a while in the Mountain View Bar and Grill and ate breakfast. Possibly I was hoping for another look at Michelle, possibly I was just hungry. But she wasn't around anyway. I stayed off the beer. I read a newspaper and studied some tourist leaflets. I learned that Everglades City was a frontier outpost until 1923 when Barron Collier made it the seat of Collier County and a supply depot for the construction of the Tamiami Trail. Prior to this it had been Florida's last outpost for fur-trappers, plumage-hunters, Cuban fishermen and people with a disdain for modern civilisation. It was fascinating, and I didn't care if I never learned another fact about Everglades City in particular or Florida in general for the rest of my life. I wanted to go home. I could hear Patricia calling me. She was calling: 'Dan, where the fuck are you?' Yet home seemed as remote a prospect as ever. Davie, at the least opportune moment in history, had chosen to start dating again. He was a cop — he would probably malinger his wounded arm out for several more days until he saw where the course of true love or lust led him. That still left us with having to get to Miami and finding someone dense enough to fence the gold bars for us. Going home wasn't getting any closer. If anything, it was receding.

I finished breakfast, then walked around a few more stores. I was offered tours of the Everglades, a trip to an alligator farm, a circus and a flea-market. None of them interested me. A free trip to the moon probably wouldn't have gotten me going either. I wandered out along the beach. The sea was blue and calm and the sweat was soon cascading down my back and I cursed myself for not wearing my trunks. I couldn't swim, but I could dunk. I took my flip-flops off and walked along the edge of the water. There were only five or six other people on the beach. Maybe the Sheriff had a point about tourism being slow. I kept walking. The further I went, the less manicured the beach became; the tourists didn't venture this far along. The sand gave way to a heavy shingle then rocks heavily covered in coarse weeds. I sat down on a rock and stared out across the water. What if I just walked back into town and caught a bus? Caught a flight home. Left Davie and his gold behind. Up until now he had managed to dictate my every move. But our business was finished. The Colonel was dead. There was no law that said I had to stick with him; the gold was madness — just let it go, go home.