Dangerous Friends (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 4) Read online

  “Vinny, I’ve lived in Port City for years and I never heard of your place. And I love local restaurants. You’ve been here for twenty years?” I took a pull on my beer.

  “Not the whole time, at least, not me personally. I bought the place from Dad a few years ago. He retired.” Vinny poured a ring of extra virgin olive oil on the dough and spread it with a pastry brush.

  “What’d he do, move to Florida?”

  “Ha. That’s a good one, Chuck. Nah, Dad got kinda old. He went to live with my sister and her husband up in West Palm Beach.” He ladled tomato sauce on the dough and spread it with the bowl of the ladle. “Since this is your first time here, I’ll let you in on what makes my pizzas so special.” He grabbed a log of white cheese a little smaller than a brick and set it on a slicer. “First secret is Asadero cheese from Mexico, not that imitation Mozzarella like most places use.” He sliced the cheese log and covered the tomato sauce with the white slices. He applied the pepperoni slices with a practiced motion that was so fast I could hardly follow it. He sprinkled the mushrooms expertly, then the olives. “I grate my own Parmesan cheese at the beginning of each day.” He heaped a handful of grated cheese from a plastic container in the middle and spread it with the edge of his hand. “Here’s my other special touch, Chuck. I sprinkle a little chopped sweet basil leaves on top.”

  The old man at the counter lifted his beer bottle in my direction. “Vinny’s right. Best pizza I ever had.”

  Vinny smiled at the old man. “Thanks, Freddy. Hey, you want another beer?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.” Vinny turned back to me. “Wait’ll you taste it. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven, I swear to God.” He slid the pizza into the oven, closed the door, and set a timer. He placed the timer on my ticket. “I guarantee you won’t find another pizza like this nowhere in Port City.”

  “I can hardly wait.” I pulled up a stool and sat at the counter, watching the street in the reflection of the mirror behind the food prep station. “You know Sal next door?”

  “Yeah, that crazy old geezer,” he said with affection. “Sal, he orders the same thing for lunch every day, small plain cheese pizza, y’know. I walk it over and slide it through the slot in his cage, and he slides the money back. He don’t never seem to leave the shop ’til closing time. He’ll probably come out in a few minutes. He knocks on the window and waves before he goes home.”

  In the mirror, I watched a young couple on the sidewalk. The bell over the door rang when they came in.

  Vinny waved. “Hey there, Tyler and Megan, my favorite customers. How’s it goin’? You want the usual?”

  The man spoke up. “Yeah, and two Diet Cokes.” The young couple sat at a table at the window.

  “You got it, folks.” Vinny stripped off his gloves and pulled two silver cans from the cooler. He dried them with a towel and carried them to the couple.

  When he returned behind the counter, I said, “You must know everybody in the neighborhood.”

  He grinned. “Almost everybody eats my pizza.” He lowered his voice like he was telling a state secret. “It’s the Asadero and the basil leaves.” He wrote another ticket, put on fresh gloves, and began to prepare the young couple’s order.

  “Who lives upstairs?”

  Vinny glanced over at the oven timer before answering. “Tough question. It was vacant for long time—years it seems like before they rented it. I seen a few different people come and go for the last coupla years. But nobody’s like… like a regular, y’know? I don’t think nobody lives there. I think maybe it’s more like a small club, or maybe a meeting place. They got one of them fancy electronic locks on the door.”

  I showed him James Ponder’s picture. “You ever see this guy go in there?”

  Vinny leaned back and his eyes narrowed. “What are you, some kinda cop? I don’t wanna get nobody in trouble.” He finished the order wordlessly and slid it into the pizza oven. He set a second oven timer and placed it on their ticket.

  “I’m not a cop, at least not anymore. These days I’m a private investigator.” I laid a business card on the counter, one without the logo of the Sherlock Holmes deerstalker cap and the magnifying glass. “You ever see this guy?”

  Vinny held the picture at arm’s length and squinted. His pupils dilated and he nodded his head so faintly that I knew it was an unconscious act. “What’s he done?”

  He’d taken the bait; he recognized Ponder. Now I needed to reel him in. “How do you feel about a man who would beat up a woman?”

  “This guy beat up a woman?”

  “That’s confidential. How long since you saw him here?”

  “I’m not always looking out the window, particularly when we’re busy or when I’m by myself like now. But I seen him a coupla times.” He tapped the picture with his other hand. “I mean, with a beard like that, who’d forget him? Y’know, he kinda looks like a wife-beater, don’t he?”

  “When’s the last time you noticed him?”

  “Lemme see… last weekend I think… yeah, last Saturday night, right before closing. I remember I was almost out of dough balls, and I didn’t want to make no more because we’re closed on Sunday and they won’t last over two nights. This guy comes in and orders a large pizza to go.” He handed the picture back to me.

  “How about this guy?” I handed him Steven Wallace’s picture I had downloaded from the internet.

  Vinny’s eyes narrowed again. “You followed him here, din’t ya? You came in here right after he went upstairs.” He frowned. “What’s this guy done? Another wife-beater, I suppose.” The friendly eyes turned cold.

  “No, Vinny. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but it’s this guy’s wife that the bearded guy beat up.”

  Vinny put his elbows on the counter and leaned close, friendly once more. “No shit?”

  “This is her.” I showed him a picture of Katherine Shamanski, also from the internet.

  “Holy crap. I seen her go up there with her husband late Monday afternoon. They came down around eight o’clock as I was about to close. Got three large pizzas to go. Lousy tippers—all three of them.”

  I killed time with Vinny until Wallace came out. He came into Gino’s, ordered a medium pepperoni to go, and took it home. He paid me no attention. I followed him home about six o’clock. He was in for the night with his pizza. I still had time to make my date with Miyo.

  Chapter 21

  “Well, hello-o-o, handsome. Come on in.” Miyoki Takashi had pulled her hair into a ponytail. She wore pink, raw silk shorts and a matching sleeveless top with a bare midriff. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her apartment.

  I kicked the door closed behind us as she wrapped her arms around my waist, holding me hard against her body. “I missed you, big guy. Three days is a long time… without a margarita.”

  “They serve margaritas in New York City,” I said.

  “Not the same without my bay view. I love the sunsets.”

  Miyo had been in New York City at another gallery showing. We had Skyped every night, but that never takes the place of flesh and blood. She looked up at me as if she was studying my face for the first time. She kissed me slowly, giving me her full attention for some seconds.

  I remembered the first time Miyo kissed me—I mean really kissed me. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” I had managed to ask after I caught my breath.

  She had giggled like a school girl. “I bet you never kissed a saxophone player before.”

  “You play the saxophone?”

  “Not anymore, but I played tenor sax in high school.”

  “I didn’t know that. One more of your many talents. But what does playing a saxophone have to do with kissing?”

  “Before you play the instrument, you have to moisten the reed. You do that by tonguing the reed—a lot. It’s like sucking a Popsicle. Would you like me to demonstrate again?”

  “Yes, please. Early and often.” And she h
ad.

  We’d dated for two months, ever since she’d asked me over to watch the sunset from her balcony. Whenever she kissed me, it still made my knees weak.

  Miyo gave me a squeeze before letting go. “The margaritas are on the balcony. I think they’re lonesome.”

  We had begun seeing each other right after the Super Bowl. The relationship was new and we were feeling each other out around the edges.

  I wanted to know Miyo a lot better because I was pushing thirty and looking for a wife. In my family, men and women typically marry by the time they’re twenty-five and have kids before they’re thirty. My grandparents doted on their great-grandchildren and hinted that I should step up to the plate and start a family. My parents understood my situation, and they were patient and understanding. I had delayed the family tradition when I joined the Army after high school and served several tours in Iraq and Afghanistan before attending the University of Florida. My father and mother had met in college, but I had no such luck because I was shy around women.

  My older siblings were all married and I had seven nieces and nephews. Lots of men nowadays think that thirty is not old to marry. So far, Miyo ticked all the boxes. She loved children, for example. We had not reached the point of exclusivity though I had not been with another woman since we began to date. Even Vicky Ramirez, my occasional friend with benefits, had not been able to jump my bones for a couple of months.

  Every time I saw Miyo, I thought we could have beautiful children together. But it was too soon to speak of that. All in good time. I didn’t want to scare her off.

  It was a glorious spring day in south Florida and Miyo had opened her balcony doors. The sun was dropping toward the horizon and the gold reflections danced across Seeti Bay. I put my sunglasses back on when we sat on the balcony.

  “Candles on the table?” I said. “It’s still light.”

  “Candles are romantic any time. Besides, I like them.”

  “Excellent. I’ll remember that later when you come to my place.”

  “Now make yourself useful and mix us some Margaritas.”

  I inverted the cocktail glasses and moistened the rims on the damp towel on the table. “Miyo, do you know anything about global warming?” I dipped the rims in the salt Miyo had poured into a small tray.

  “I’m against it. Why do you ask?”

  I poured us each a margarita. “I heard on the radio this afternoon that the cops found a big banner at the site of the train bombing. It said No more coal-fired plants. The TV reporter said the bombers had planned a protest against global warming.”

  Miyo held the glass by the stem. “Doesn’t make sense. If they planned to display a banner, why blow up the train? You do one or the other, not both.”

  “Hmm. You’re right.” I hadn’t thought about that. This was more evidence that Michelle thought the protest would be peaceful. “So tell me about global warming.”

  “Don’t you watch television and read newspapers? Everybody knows about global warming.”

  “I read the front page, the sports section, and maybe the local news. And I don’t watch television news.” I sipped my margarita.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too violent.”

  Miyo laughed. “Says the man with two tours in Afghanistan under his belt.”

  “I don’t believe that car crashes, gang shootings, and domestic violence are news. That’s what most local television news consists of. You know that old saying: If it bleeds, it leads.”

  “What do you think is news?”

  “Sports, extreme weather, and a few local events.”

  “That’s it? What about terrorist attacks, forest fires, politics, and plagues?”

  “Those may be news, but they’re not relevant to my life.” I licked a little salt off the glass. “I don’t pay much attention to them.”

  “Then why the interest in global warming?”

  “Just making conversation. Don’t most couples talk about current events, their work, how the day went? Stuff like that? I can’t talk about my work like you can—client confidentiality and all that.”

  Miyo licked an errant speck of salt off her glass. “You said ‘most couples.’ Are we a couple?”

  I sipped my margarita to stall. “It’s a figure of speech, Miyo. I wouldn’t presume to characterize our relationship without discussing it with you. For what it’s worth, I haven’t seen another woman socially since we started dating.”

  “Hmm. I haven’t seen another man either, but that doesn’t mean we’re a couple.”

  “No, of course not.”

  She grinned. “There, we’re discussing it. How would you feel if I did date other men?”

  I didn’t know how to answer without coming across as possessive and controlling, so I changed the subject. “Drink that last sip and I’ll re-salt the glasses.” I made us each another margarita. “I’m pretty much a one woman man. Or at least, one woman at a time. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Geez, I’m no good at this.”

  “No good at what?”

  “Talking about serious stuff with a woman.” I looked down at my hands. “I’ve had three serious relationships in my whole life, and it wasn’t my idea to end any of them.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Start by telling me about the first woman.”

  “Liz Johannes. She was a girl really. It was in Theodore Roosevelt High School. We dated for two years. Then she went to Northwestern University and I joined the army.”

  “You didn’t go to Northwestern to be with her?”

  “I would have if she’d given me any encouragement. In hindsight, I see that it was only a high school romance to her. I’d hoped for something serious; she never did. One day she told me she’d been accepted at Northwestern. Bang, just like that, a bolt right out of the blue. She never asked my plans before she made hers.”

  “That must have hurt.”

  I shrugged again. “I survived. I always survive.”

  “This kind of conversation calls for more alcohol.” She raised her glass in a toast. “To truth telling.” She took a long drink.

  “To truth telling.” I sipped mine; I had to drive later—unless Miyo invited me to spend the night. Could happen. There’s always a first time.

  “Chuck, you don’t have to drive. You can spend the night here.”

  “An offer I gladly accept.” I took another drink.

  She grinned. “I’ll make the next batch.” She carried the tray into the kitchen.

  When she was gone, I watched the sun drop behind the downtown skyline. The sunset colors changed and reflected on Seeti Bay. A handful of boats lazed across the water leaving spreading wakes to ripple the smooth surface.

  I had intended to have this conversation with Miyo, but not this soon. I had rushed things with Terry, my previous girlfriend. She had spooked at the first sign of adversity, when I got arrested for murder. No matter that the charges were later dropped; she hadn’t come back. I hadn’t seen her since. Since I’d met Miyo, I didn’t think of Terry nearly so often.

  Miyo carried a fresh tray of margarita fixings onto the balcony. “Now, fortified with copious quantities of tequila, tell me about the second girl.”

  “Dotty was a woman. Junior year in Gainesville. We met at a mutual friend’s Christmas party where somebody fixed us up. We dated until the school let out in May.”

  “So what happened with Dotty?”

  “She scored a summer internship in Jacksonville and met another man.”

  “Ooh… bummer.”

  “Like I said, I always survive.”

  “And Terry was the third one?”

  I had mentioned Terry to Miyo on our second date. “Yeah. Look, Miyo, I don’t know how to talk about this stuff.”

  Miyo grinned. “Hell, Chuck, you’re almost a virgin compared to me. I’ve had a dozen relationships.”

  “How many were serious?”

>   “All of them—at the time.” She leaned against my side, grabbed my arm, and put it around her shoulders. She kissed the back of my hand then reached across and rubbed my chest. “The problem is that I don’t think long-term.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been pretty shallow. If I see a good-looking hunk, I go after him like I did with you. Later, after I get to know him better, I find out that his long-term prospects aren’t there. Then I dump him and look for the next hunky loser.”

  “You just invited me to spend the night for the first time.”

  Miyo started unbuttoning my shirt. “I don’t plan to dump you. Your long-term prospects look pretty good.”

  Chapter 22

  The next morning I carried our breakfast plates out onto the balcony.

  Miyo followed with coffee service on a tray. “Yesterday you asked me about global warming. You still want to know?”

  “Everybody takes this stuff seriously, so, yeah, what’s the big deal with global warming?”

  She poured our coffee. “In a nutshell, when people burn fossil fuels like gasoline, natural gas, coal, and wood, they produce carbon dioxide, which is a greenhouse gas. You know what a greenhouse gas is?”

  “A gas that absorbs more heat from the sun than it radiates. Makes the air warmer, right?”

  “Right. Water vapor, methane, and ozone are greenhouse gases too. We humans are burning more fossil fuels than ever and the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is increasing faster than trees and plants can turn it back into oxygen. The carbon dioxide traps heat in the atmosphere and the temperature goes up—global warming.”

  I added a little milk to my coffee, dashed salt and pepper on the eggs. “That’s what the argument is about? The environmentalists want everyone to reduce the burning of fossil fuels?”

  “Pretty much. Pass the salsa.”

  I did. “Then why the big controversy?”

  “Fossil fuels are cheap, at least until we run out.” She spooned salsa on her eggs. “Wind power and solar energy cost more than coal and natural gas, and they fluctuate with the weather. Battery technology isn’t good enough to store the excess power for later when the sun isn’t shining or the wind isn’t blowing. Mmm. These eggs are great.”