The Black Book

The Black Book

  Peter Hansen

  Copyright 2010 by Peter Hansen

 

  To Daphne,

  For whom McGee would have given his all.

  A tribute to

  John D. MacDonald's

  Travis McGee

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is unintentional.

  Chapter 1

  When you owe someone your life and they ask you for help you go. It isn’t a matter of choices. McGee was in some kind of trouble, and I owed him my life. I went.

  It was just past dusk when I wandered up to the houseboat named the Busted Flush. The address I had, Slip F-18, Bahai Mar, Fort Lauderdale, was correct. I was not expecting any company. I tossed my duffel aboard and stepped down from the gangplank. Then all hell broke loose. The alarm I tripped was the least of my worries. As the houseboat went "Whoop, whoop, whoop," a curvy brunette with a lethal looking little nine-millimeter stuck her head out the door threatening me with bodily harm. I was thinking about the best way to get on her good side when a slightly over-age bear landed on my back and sent me sailing face first into the bulkhead. I cursed McGee for bringing me here, and fought to stay awake as the stars started a slow dance in my head. The stars won.

  When I came to, I was laying on the damnedest couch you can imagine. It must have been ten feet long. By my calculations, at least seventy-six inches of the thing were in pain. The brunette was sitting across the room on a barstool, still holding the nine. The bear was sitting in an easy chair sipping a Martini, and watching me closely.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Murphy." I told him. "Friends call me M., but you can call me Murphy."

  "And what, Mr. Murphy are you doing here?" said the girl. She wasn’t smiling, and her trigger finger looked tense.

  "I got a letter from McGee. It's in my duffel. Sounded like he could use some help. You look like you might be his problem."

  The bear put his drink aside. "My name is Meyer. I am also a friend of Travis', as well as his financial advisor. Several weeks ago, I forwarded an envelope from Travis to a T. Murphy. Would that be you?"

  "Like I said, I got a letter from McGee. You can find it in the top of my duffel. He did mention your name, Meyer. Take a look, then we can decide who to be friends with."

  Meyer crossed the living room to Murphy's duffel and extracted the letter.

  M.,

  If you get this, I am in deep Kimshe. Come to my houseboat at slip F18, Bahai Mar. Ask around for a friend of mine named Meyer. He can catch you up on my life. I am sorry to have to tap you for the favor after all these years. If I don't make it, consider the Busted Flush and the rest of it all yours.

  Semper Fi. Trav

  "I'm the Meyer in the letter. I am frightfully sorry about jumping on you. Travis has been gone for just over two months. Ordinarily, that would not cause us concern. This time, it does. We are worried sick."

  "Where exactly did Travis go?"

  "It might be a bit hard to explain." Meyer said. "Tell me, do you know what Travis does for a living?"

  "Well, as I recall, he told me he was taking his retirement early. Enjoying life, and spending each spring watching a new crop of lovelies. Sounded like pretty good work, if you could get it."

  "That is certainly a good exterior view of his life. Of course, there is more. From time to time, when someone has a problem that can't be solved, they bring it to Travis. You might say he is a salvage consultant. Whatever he salvages of a situation, he takes fifty percent. In most cases, the people who come to him could never expect to get back anything. His last job started a few months ago. We haven't seen or heard from him since it started."

  "Two things Meyer: First, you have not answered my question. Where did Travis go? Second, friends do not point pistols at friends, and friends do not jump on friends. And third, do you have any aspirin and something around here to drink?"

  "Sorry, I've forgotten my manners. I don't know where Travis went. Sue, would you get our guest some painkillers and a drink? What would you like? I can recommend the gin."

  "Nah. Got a Budweiser hiding back there? And, could you lose the nine? Or, at least click on the safety. Those things make me a mite nervous."

  The brunette wandered back to the galley. "Sorry, Carta Blanca is the best we can do."

  "Ok, anything in a pinch. Did I get your name is Sue?"

  "Yes. And, you got the other part right. I'm Travis' problem."

  "Figures. He always liked to bite off more than he could chew."

  "Mr. Murphy, please accept my apologies for jumping on you. It is quite out of character for me. I'm very upset about Travis. The last instructions he gave me were to look out for Sue. I don't think I've done a very good job. I have certainly started our acquaintance off on the wrong foot. I hope you are not seriously injured. Perhaps we could get a doctor in to take a look at you."

  I took a long pull on the Carta Blanca and looked at Meyer. So much worry balled up into one little man. The brunette had taken her seat on the stool across the room again. This time with the safety on, but the nine was still within reach.

  "Don't worry about it Meyer. I've fought bigger bears than you. I have to admit though; most of them gave me a chance to grin them down. I don't think you did any damage that a night's sleep won't cure."

  "Well, let me show you to your cabin. Travis' cabin really. Sue is staying across the hall in the guest room."

  He lured me off the couch to a room I may have once seen in a Bordello. The main cabin featured a bed large enough for me and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, and a shower big enough for the brass band.

  "Perhaps we can get together again in the morning. I'm just down the way on the 'Thorstein Veblen'."

  "Fine. Let's do breakfast. Right now, all I want to do is run some hot water over these bruises, and slip between some sheets. Tell Mata Hari she won't need her pistol tonight. At least not for me." I ushered him out, and dragged my duffel in. After five minutes under a stinging hot spray, I switched over to cold water. I needed to think for a few minutes before the sandman came. I wanted to think about Travis, about the trouble he might be in, and the trouble I might be getting into. Instead, I kept thinking about the deep green eyes and soft curves on Sue. Just before I dropped off, I thought about McGee. It was long ago in a different world when he had saved my life.

  I pulled the blankets up over my shoulders and remembered that night with McGee. Lieutenant Maclin had called us up to the command post. He was a green ninety-day wonder, and he was afraid. We were old salts, twenty years old, and quietly terrified. They had us surrounded. The wounded were piling up. McGee and I nodded to each other and ducked into the bunker. Maclin saluted then shook our hands. He said, "I've got wounded men to move, and I can't do it. You two are the best HK team we have. Give me back the night."

  McGee gave him an unconvincing smile, we saluted back, and we went out into that hellish place where things in the night go bump, and where evil is measured by the tingling down your spine. We went quiet, and we went fast. If there is a god, he must have been watching from a safe distance. The devil was right there beside us. It was a very long night. Just before dawn, McGee and I crawled back into camp. I should say McGee crawled back. He was carrying me on his back. I didn't see him again until we were on the Hospital Ship. Maclin didn't make it. …

  The world of dreams is a private place. Once entered, we are alone. He drifted. Old romances, and new beginnings flowed though the night. Scenes flashed before him. Life and death came. There were old men, with torn rotting flesh, and new babies with silken skin. On the eve of dawn, gentle warmth surrounded him. Comfort came in inescapable waves. His life came to center. He felt the throbbing deep
in his soul. His world disintegrated into warm moist comfort. Heaven was within reach. He gasped at the pleasure, and lay back in silence. He was immersed in the ultimate. When it was done, he clung to the soft side of reality. Where solid feelings sleep, and no questions are asked.

  Chapter 2

  The sun comes up softly in the marina. It sneaks up on the horizon, like a whispered threat, a quiet glow in the east. Temperatures edge their way up the scale, and old boats creak and groan at the thought of a new day. That was pretty much how my body felt, sitting up topside waiting for the first morning breeze, listening to the water lap against the side of the Busted Flush.

  I knew that some of the creaking and groaning came from my own body. Over the years, I have done a moderately good job of keeping in shape. But, at some time in life, the body starts to win. No matter how hard you try, you find that gravity has consequences. I pushed off from the comfortable deck chair and headed for the beach. Five or ten miles of jogging would loosen up the tight joints, and stretch out the ham strings enough to get through another day. There is a strip of sand next to the water that stays relatively firm, and easy to run on. I tried to stay just to one side of it or the other, getting a little wet or gouging deeper into the sand for an extra challenge.

  An hour later, I trotted back toward the Busted Flush. It was still too early for the sun worshipers and beach bums. A few fishermen were watching the eastern glow blossom, and talking quietly. In an hour or so, the tourists and beach bunnies would arrive, and the games would begin. I stopped off for a moment to see if anything was biting. As I looked down the pier, I noticed two young toughs at the gangplank of the Busted Flush.

  My generation will never be able to understand poking holes in your body as a fashion statement. Both of these young men wore multiple hoops of gold piercing their eyebrows, and a safety pin or two in other unlikely locations. They managed to set these off nicely with the black leather vests, dirty jeans, and an attitude problem.

  The closer of the two was tall and bony. His sidekick was less than six feet tall, but puffed up as if he had soccer balls under his skin. The only thing they seemed to share in common, other than grime and their taste in jewelry, was their closely shaved heads. I thought they might regret that hairstyle later in their lives, when nature starts thinning out the scalp. They seemed more concerned with Sue and her little black nine-millimeter. She was holding them at bay.

  Some folding green got me a droopy fishing hat adorned with rusty treble-barbed lures, and a bucket of stinky bait. As I approached the Busted Flush, I gave them a crazy giggle, and said, "Look what I caught boys!"

  The stork had perched with one leg up on the safety rail that ran down the side of the Busted Flush. He glanced over his shoulder at me as I sloshed the bucket of bait into his friend's face, then took my new cap off and swatted him on the forehead. At least two of the barbed lures seemed to have found a home. Mr. Muscles grabbed for the hat that was now stuck to his face, but never really got it off. I found a convenient safety pin hanging from the stork's ear, and gave it a quick yank, just before kicking in the back of his single supporting knee. There was an audible pop just before he collapsed on the ground. Sue seemed to be very impressed with me.

  I was debating with myself about cleaning up the mess, or just leaving it. I needed a shower. As I tried to decide, Meyer rushed up with Officer Stein, of the Ft. Lauderdale police. Officer Stein may have accepted their fashion statement, if not their foul language. He could not approve of the Swastika tattoos over their hearts. He seemed even less tolerant when the stork called him a pig. It was a poor judgment call on the stork's part. Officer Stein was just over six foot six, and not feeling lenient. I finally decided on the shower. Meyer and Sue were waiting for me when I came out, drying my hair.

  Sue slipped into the galley, and banged a few pots and pans. Her trusty little parabellum was nowhere in sight.

  "Meyer" I said. "Perhaps you could explain something to me."

  "Certainly. If I can."

  "Why is it that I'm not sitting somewhere with Officer Stein answering questions, and filling out reports?"

  "Oh! Lenny is a good boy. I was at his Brit Milah, his Bris. I’ve known his family forever. When he matriculated, he wanted to spend his time with the JDL, but his mother would not hear of it. Combine that with the fact that Ft. Lauderdale does not have an open arms policy towards lowlifes and drifters, and it becomes simple."

  "Ok, next question. Who were they?"

  "That I don't know. Perhaps Sue does. I assumed they were just small time troublemakers."

  "Right on both accounts" Came Sue's voice from the kitchen. "Who wants breakfast?"

  "I'd love breakfast, and some answers." I said.

  Sue's omelets were hot, imaginative, and tasty. We sat around McGee's table enjoying the meal, and washing it down with the last of his Carta Blanca. This was the first time I'd had the time to study her without the threat of bodily harm. I placed her age at 27, but she could have been younger, or older. Her brown hair was just over shoulder length and clean. She hadn't done anything extravagant with it. She had a straight nose covered with freckles, wide green eyes, and a mouth that might have been too wide, except that it showed her perfect white teeth when she made a crooked little grin. I would have been tempted to sum her up in one word as "Mischief," but the strain around her eyes said something else was happening there. She was wearing an open necked blue denim shirt that must have belonged to McGee, and short tight cutoff jeans that displayed more cheek than a father would approve of. She stood about five foot six, and was thin except where nubile young girls shouldn't be. Other than the shirt, she was not wearing anything above the waist. Nothing I could see looked surgically altered. It would have been a waste of money. My closest friend gave me a twinge, and I had to remind myself that I was no longer a young stud.

  "Ok," she said, "I know them both from back home. They were looking for the book, but I don't have it. I told them that, but they didn't want to believe me. My guess is they’ll be coming back. Probably with friends."

  "Whoa there. Let's back up a few steps. Remember that I just got here last night. Who are they? Where is home? What book are we talking about? And, who are their friends?"

  "The tall one is called Tall William. The other guy is Bounce. Home is in Northern Idaho. The book belonged to my daddy. And their friends are the Aryan Brotherhood, and down here I suppose the KKK."

  "Oh."

  "I came to Travis because they were chasing me. When I was younger, he did my daddy a favor. My daddy never forgot the favor, and I never forgot Travis. They want daddy’s book, but I don't have it, and they won't believe me. Travis scared them off once, and then he said he was going to go have a little chat with them. We haven't heard from him since, and now they're back."

  "Who is your daddy?"

  "Was. Who was my daddy? Agent Scott DeMarko, BATF. He was an undercover agent, and they killed him."

  "Why didn't you go to the BATF?"

  "I tried, but the agents I talked to didn’t want anything to do with it, because of how my daddy died. They found him naked in a cheap motel room, overdosed on heroin with a dead fifteen-year-old prostitute. BATF doesn't even want to talk about it. They think of him as an embarrassment. But daddy wasn't like that."

  "What was in the book?"

  "I'm not sure. He never let me see it. He used to write in it whenever he could make it home. I guess it had something to do with his job, but he didn't talk about his work with me."

  Meyer had kept quiet all this time. He shifted his considerable bulk to look at me now. "What do we do now, Mr. Murphy?" It was a serious question.

  "M. Both of you please just call me M from now on. First, we need to disappear you two. You can't stay here at Bahai Mar unless you want to take up the martial arts. Second, if we’re dealing with an organization like the Arians, we need to reduce their ability to harm us. Then, I go looking for McGee. Two months is a long time to be
missing. On the other hand, McGee is harder to kill than most people."

  "But, won't you just be stepping into the same trouble Travis did?"

  "Yes, and no. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to find the same people he did. The "no" part comes with making your own luck, which is ninety-nine percent preparation. I don't intend to walk into it alone. It will take me a few days to round up a team, but I have some friends, and I can call in some markers."

  Meyer looked uncomfortable. "How exactly do you propose that we disappear? I have obligations to speak at several conferences in the next month."

  "Meyer. This is one of those crossroads in life. You can either let Ms. DeMarko here perish from criminal neglect while you expose yourself to certain danger, or you can put the rest of the world on hold and save two lives. Which do you want to do?"

  Meyer looked pained. "Of course you are right. I can arrange a substitute lecturer. I just have trouble thinking in those terms. These people, who ever they are, don't seem real or rational to me. I'm having trouble making sense of it all."

  "Believe me Meyer, when I tell you that they are real. Rational is another question. I'm trying to keep both your hearts beating, and your gray matter mattering. Now, can we move this barge? It makes sense to me to keep you out of hotel registers."