Orchid Blues, page 6
The man gave her a shocked look, then burst out laughing.
"Holly doesn't take any shit from anybody," Ham said.
Rawlings bowed from the waist. "I apologize, ma'am," he said. "Just a figure of speech."
Holly nodded, and as she did, they were joined by two other men.
"Oh," Rawlings said, "these are my neighbors, Jim Cross and James Farrow."
Hands were shaken all around.
"What brings you folks to our little event?" Rawlings asked narrowly, and it was clear he wanted an answer.
"We didn't come to your event," Ham said. "We were just looking for some bass fishing, and we saw the lake on the map and just wandered down this way. Haven't seen the lake, yet. What's the fishing like?"
"Not bad, but nothing to write home about," Rawlings said. "That's a nice pickup you're driving."
"Ford'll sell you one," Ham said, "but not cheap."
"Where do you folks hail from?"
"Over at Orchid Beach, in Indian River County."
"Oh, yeah, that's pretty ritzy over there, isn't it?"
"Some parts are," Ham said.
"What do you do over there?"
"Every day, I explore the meaning of the word 'retired,'" Ham said.
"So do I," Holly chipped in.
"What sort of little town you got here?" Ham asked.
"A homogeneous one." Rawlings chuckled.
"I didn't see it on the map."
"That's the way we like it. You know, I can't remember anybody ever turning up here who didn't have an invitation."
Ham turned to Holly. "Well, I guess we're intruding here, babe; let's take a hike."
Rawlings threw up his hands in a placating manner. "Hold on, now, Sarge; I didn't mean any offense. It's just that this is a private affair, here, and we're unaccustomed to visitors."
"Sorry, I never heard of a private gun show," Ham said.
"Well, it is, but we're glad to have you. Just go on and wander around and pick up some hardware for yourself, if you're in the market. When you get ready to leave, though, I'd appreciate it if you'd check with me, so I can clear you out."
Ham looked at Holly. "You want to stay?"
Holly shrugged.
"All right, we'll have a look around," Ham said. "Thanks."
"And we're going to have a little firepower demonstration a little later," Rawlings said, "if you're interested."
"I'll let you know. C'mon, Holly." They walked slowly on around the big tent. "Well," Ham said, "I guess we're getting the feel of the place."
"Not a very good feeling, is it?" Holly asked.
"You notice anything unusual about this crowd?" Ham asked.
"You mean the lack of anybody any color darker than pink?"
"That, and the absence of any girls in cutoffs with bare bellies or guys with nose rings. I mean, this is still Florida, right?"
"It reminds me of the crowd at a PX," Holly said, "absent the people of color."
"I guess I've gotten so used to what you might call a more diverse population of former hippies and current rappers that I find it strange to be in this crowd. And it's not exactly comforting, either."
"I know what you mean."
They looked at weapon after weapon, at ammunition-loading kits, at holsters, at collections of knives and at more than one collection of Nazi memorabilia.
"I don't think I've ever seen this many Lugers in one place," Holly said.
"Me neither." Ham looked to his right. "What's going on?"
The crowd had thinned, and now people were streaming out the back entrance of the tent. There had been no announcement, no signal.
"Let's find out," Holly said. She and Ham went with the flow, and soon they were back in the humid Florida outdoors, walking down a broad path through pines. Shortly they emerged into a large clearing and stopped in their tracks.
"Good God!" Holly said under her breath.
15
Before them was a slanting pit. bulldozed out of the sandy Florida earth. It was shallow at the end near them and deepened as it went back another two hundred or so feet. At the far end it was maybe ten feet deep, and earth was piled up behind it for another twenty feet. At the deep end of the pit was the ruin of a school bus, two dead pickup trucks and a collection of other junk vehicles. Immediately before them, as the crowd strung out across the width of the pit, was an assortment of weapons, most of them automatic, on tripods, in shooting stands of various kinds and some in the hands of shooters of both genders.
Ham went to a picnic table, picked something out of a box and returned to Holly. "I reckon we'd better use these," he said, offering her a set of foam earplugs.
Holly rolled the plugs into narrow strips, then inserted them into her ears, where they expanded quickly to fill the ear canals.
"There's the Barrett's rifle," Ham said, nodding toward the firing line.
"I can't hear you," Holly said. "I've got plugs in my ears."
"What?"
"What?"
Ham pointed, and Holly followed his finger toward the evil-looking weapon, mounted on the roof of a Humvee, which was parked on the firing line.
"Oh," Holly said.
"What?"
"Oh, shut up, Ham!" she half shouted.
Ham started to reply, but, at some unnoticed signal, all hell broke loose.
A cacophony of gunfire erupted, and Holly saw holes appearing in the rusted bodies of the vehicles, but not the school bus. Glass shattered and danced in the light.
The earplugs were not enough, and simultaneously, Ham and Holly clapped their hands over their ears. The firing continued for a full five minutes, then, apparently at another signal, abruptly stopped. The shooters all lowered their weapons, and all turned to look at the Humvee. A man climbed up onto the vehicle's roof and shoved a large clip into his weapon, then sat down cross-legged and sighted on the school bus. The crowd grew quiet.
The shooter took his time, then squeezed off a round. Holly was amazed at how much noise the gun made. Then the projectile hit the front of the school bus and two things happened almost at once. First, the bus's hood flew into the air, then it was followed by the engine, which popped up out of its bay a good three feet high.
Then the shooter sighted again and put three rounds into the bus, along its length. Abruptly, the bus exploded into a huge ball of flame.
Ham reached over and pulled one of Holly's earplugs out. "That's your phosphorus-tipped round."
"But why the big explosion?" Holly asked.
"I guess they must have put a few gas cans in the bus."
The crowd erupted in cheering, and the man on the Humvee roof stood up and took several bows.
"Well," Holly said, "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that."
"I have," Ham said.
With the show over, the crowd began to drift away from the pit, back toward the tent, revealing picnic tables spread along the grass on the lakeward side of the tent. Holly had not noticed until now that they were on a rise, and that the lake could be seen a couple of hundred yards away.
"I don't think I feel like staying for lunch," Holly said.
"Let's take a hike, then," Ham replied. "But we're supposed to check with that Peck Rawlings guy first."
"There he is," Holly said, pointing.
Ham led the way, and they approached the man who was, apparently, their host. "Mr. Rawlings?" Ham said.
Rawlings turned. "Call me Peck," he said.
"Well, Peck, we're going to be on our way. You said to check with you first."
"What did you think of our little demonstration?" the man asked.
Holly tried to muster some enthusiasm. "That was really something," she said.
"Yeah, boy," Ham echoed. "I haven't seen that much firepower all at once since Desert Storm."
"We do that at every show," Rawlings said.
"How often do you have them?" Ham asked.
"Oh, every now and then."
"Why don't you put us on your mailing list?" Holly asked.
"We don't have a mailing list," Rawlings said.
"Well, whatever," Holly replied.
"Ham, you want to give me your number?"
"I'm in the book," Ham said. "C'mon, Holly, let's hit the road."
"Right," Holly said.
Rawlings pulled a small walkie-talkie from his shirt pocket. "Hey, Charlie," he said.
"Yeah, Peck?"
"Our guests are departing in a Ford pickup with a boat in the back."
"Got it."
Rawlings put the radio away and stuck out his hand. "We'll see you again sometime, Ham."
"Maybe so," Ham said.
"You never know." He offered his hand to Holly. "See you, little… uh, excuse me, Miss Barker."
"It's Holly," she said, shaking the man's hand.
"Bye-bye." Rawlings turned and walked toward the picnic tables.
Back in the truck, Holly called Hurd again and checked in.
"What's going on out there?" Hurd asked.
"I'll fill you in later," she said, and punched off.
"What'd you think of our morning?" Ham asked.
"Funny what Americans do for recreation, isn't it?"
16
Ham drove back to Holly's house, and, once Daisy had been properly greeted and apologized to for her lonely morning, they had some lunch.
"I like a ham sandwich," Ham said, munching away.
"I believe I knew that about you," Holly said. "Hence, the ham in the fridge."
"I knew a woman once who said she liked a Ham sandwich, with a bigH."
"You don't have to spell it out for me, Ham. It's more than I want to know about your life."
"You mean, a father shouldn't have a sex life?"
"No, just not one that his daughter knows about."
"Oh. I didn't know you were so sensitive."
"Funny, you never asked any questions about my sex life," she said. "I mean, when I had one. See what I mean?"
"Point taken," Ham said.
"And anyway, how did this woman make a Ham sandwich, without another woman to help?"
"I wasn't going to bring that up," Ham said, washing his sandwich down with a beer.
"Ham, are you telling me you had a threesome?"
Ham took another swig of the beer. "You said that, I didn't."
"That is appalling," she said.
"What's appalling about it?"
"Not the idea of a threesome; just the idea of you in one."
"You don't find the idea of a threesome appalling?"
"Not if I got to pick the guys."
"Now you're telling me more than I want to know."
"Truce on sex lives?"
"Truce," Ham said, raising both hands as if to ward off ideas of his daughter in a threesome.
"Okay, then." Holly turned her attention to her own sandwich.
"So," Ham said, "were you ever in a threesome?"
"Ham! I thought we had a truce!"
"I was just curious."
"Well, put away your curiosity."
"I just never thought you were the type, that's all."
"The type? What type?"
"The type to be in a threesome."
"I don't know whether to take that as praise or criticism."
"Suit yourself."
"You really want to know about my sex life, Ham?"
"Not really. I mean, not unless you want to tell me."
"What kind of father-daughter conversation is this?"
"One we should have had a long time ago."
"Well, we did have it, as I recall, when I was about nineteen."
"You call that a conversation? You wouldn't say a word. I figured you were working on becoming the world's oldest virgin."
"At nineteen?"
"But then that young lieutenant came along and fixed that."
"Which young lieutenant was that?"
"Wasn't but one," Ham said smugly.
"Oh, yeah? There might have been a platoon of young lieutenants, for all you know."
"You thought you could hide that stuff from your old man?"
"I did hide it from my old man."
"Then how come I knew about the young lieutenant?"
"Okay, how'd you know about him?"
"It was easy."
"How?"
"Well, you know when you came back from that weekend in the mountains when you lost your virtue?"
Holly turned pink. "You thought that, did you?"
"I didn't think; I knew."
"How, Ham?"
"I just walked up to him in the orderly room on Monday morning and stood about six inches from his nose; I looked him in the eye and said, 'Good morning, Lieutenant. Have a nice weekend?' And he turned purple."
Holly put a hand to her brow. "Oh, God."
"The same color you are right now."
"I am not purple."
"Close."
"Not anywhere near close. A little red, maybe. Who wouldn't be?"
"You didn't see me turn purple when we were talking about my threesome," Ham said.
"My God, Ham, the lieutenant and I didn't have a threesome."
"Who said you did?"
"You implied it, just now."
"You inferred it, maybe."
"You are impossible. We're not talking about sex lives anymore, is that clear?"
"Not even about my sex life?"
"Yours is the most off-limits-right after mine."
"Well, if you want to hide stuff from your old man."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You're not talking about it"
"That's not the same thing as hiding it."
"Sure, it is. If you're not talking, you're hiding."
"Ham, what exactly is it you want to know?"
"Me? I don't want to know anything. We're only talking about this because you brought it up."
"I didn't bring it up; you did."
"Whatever you say," Ham said smugly.
"You did! I didn't!"
"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Holly."
Holly turned to where Daisy lay. "Daisy, bite Ham."
Daisy got up, went over to where Ham sat at the table and took his ankle in her mouth.
"Harder," Holly said.
"Ow!" Ham yelled.
"Now, Daisy, tear off his leg and hit him over the head with it."
"No, no, Daisy!" Ham cried, prying her jaws from his ankle. "Don't hurt your grandfather!"
"Is that how you think of yourself? As Daisy's grandfather?"
"Well, she's the closet thing to a grandchild I've had so far."
"Daisy," Holly said, "if he starts asking about your sex life, kill him."
Somewhere in the house a small chime rang.
"What's that?" Ham asked.
"It's a car coming down the road," Holly said. She looked at the umbrella stand by the door and confirmed that the barrel of Jackson's shotgun still protruded from it.
"You worried?" Ham asked.
"I guess what we saw this morning spooked me a little," she said. She got up. "I'll see who it is."
She walked toward the front door with some trepidation.
17
Holly checked the peephole first, but all she could see was the rear end of a black car parked outside. She couldn't see anybody at the door. She hooked the beefy chain on and cracked the door.
"Expecting enemies?" a man's voice asked.
"Harry?"
"One and the same."
Holly opened the door and flung her arms around the man. "Come on in the house. Ham's here."
She led Harry into the living room. "Ham, it's Harry Crisp, remember?"
Ham stood up. "Sure, you're the Fed who worked with Holly on that Palmetto Gardens thing."
"One and the same," Harry replied, shaking Ham's hand.
"Harry has risen in the world since then," Holly said. "He's now the agent in charge of the Miami FBI office."
"Mostly thanks to you and Holly, Ham," Harry said, dragging up a chair.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"How about a pitcher of martinis? Just kidding. A Diet Coke will do, if you've got it."
Holly turned to Daisy. "Daisy, bring Harry a Diet Coke."
Daisy trotted to the refrigerator and, taking in her teeth a towel that had been tied to the handle, opened the door and gingerly fished out a Diet Coke, swung a hip against the door to close it, then trotted back to the living room and handed the Coke to an astonished Harry.
"You're a very handy dog, Daisy," Harry said, scratching her ears.
"She gets handier," Ham said. "She'll bring a beer, if you ask her politely."
Harry popped the can top and took a swig.
"What brings you up here?" Holly asked.
"I came up to make sure my people were doing a good job on your bank robbery."
"That's awfully nice of you, Harry. You didn't have to come yourself."
"I felt I should, owing you, and all."
"That's very kind."
"I also liked Jackson a lot."
"Me, too. Anything to report?"
"My people have done a first-rate job, just what I expect of them, except for one thing."
"What's that?"
"We don't have a thing to go on. I've never seen a cleaner crime- not a print, not a fiber, not a smidgen of DNA."
"Which crime are we talking about, the robbery or the murder?"
"Both. I don't think I've ever seen a case so completely free of anything to go on."
"I may have something," Holly said.
Harry looked at her blankly. "And you didn't tell my people?"
"I only got it this morning, Ham and I."
"Tell me."
"The robbers got unlucky just once, maybe."
"How?"
"There was an ex-cop from New York named Stone Barrington in the bank at the time of the robbery, standing next to Jackson, talking to him."
Harry screwed up his face. "Barrington? That's a familiar name, somehow. I can't remember, but it'll come to me."
"Anyway, when Jackson was shot, Stone tried to help him, and, later, when he came to the station to be questioned about the robbery, he mentioned something."
"He recognize one of the robbers, I hope?"
"Nothing as good as that. He remembered something from his time on the New York force, a bank robbery in some little town up the Hudson somewhere."
"Wait a minute, I've got it. Barrington was a homicide detective in the Nineteenth Precinct-this was, I don't know, seven or eight years ago. You remember the Sasha Nijinsky case?"
