He apologized for apologizing, and the last of the tension bled away with their laughter.

  After that, it was clear he wanted to leave. But he had hesitated to tell them about stopping at the Tranquility Inn and having a chat with Jeanette Gustoff.

  Ronnie shoved him in anger. A good one that rocked him back. He apologized again. His arms out and his head back. “I’m just so fucking tired of waiting.”

  Mo agreed with that sentiment. They had to wait for the White Lion II to come back so they could attempt to jack into its systems, compare its course data with the satellite imagery, and get the passenger manifest.

  But until then …

  He’d offered to drive Stan to the office outside of Miami. Just a couple of dudes soaking up some sun. Some Tower of Power cranked on the radio.

  Plus a little stop on the way.

  It was clear Ramona’s ex-boyfriend hadn’t taken the hint. Maybe it was Mo’s fault for not being a little more explicit. He thought it would be enough just getting the picture of Old Pops back.

  It looked like he was going to have to remind Ol’ Bradley about what was supposed to happen.

  Stan would probably have some fun with it too, and it was probably just what an uptight fucker like him needed.

  He pulled off his exit, and Stan leaned over to shout, “You gonna tell me where we’re going?”

  Mo grinned. Turned the radio down as the wind noise died with their reduced speed. He explained what had happened the last time he was at the Creekview Apartments. About Misty the night-school writer. Bradley eating shit on the Conor MacGregor poster. The prized picture of a beloved grandfather.

  He could tell Stan was furious. The same look on his face Frank used to get whenever he heard about a child being abused.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have brought him here. As he pulled into the parking lot, he decided to keep an eye on him. He slapped Stan's arm. “He might not even be here, you know? It’s not like I called ahead.”

  Stan pointed past him. “You said he drove a Yellow Supra?”

  Mo looked, and there it was. Taking up two spots. He noticed the vanity plate. WIDPIPE. He rolled his eyes as he got out. “Come on. It’s five stories up and no elevator.”

  Stan ran a comb through his hair, and the wind-blown mess fell right into place. Mo had no idea how he did it, but it was almost always perfect, and he never seemed to do much to it.

  Mo didn’t have much trouble with his hair, but if he shaved his beard to the skin, he had major problems with bumps and ingrown hairs. He kept it to a healthy stubble, and the only blade that touched it to edge it up every week was his barbar’s straight razor.

  He looked fresh all the time, but unlike Stan, he worked for it.

  He followed Stan toward the bottom flight of metal stairs. Watched the sun glint off the plastic socket of his fake leg. It was like an illusion. He moved like it was his flesh-and-bone leg.

  He’d only had it for what … a few months? Six, maybe?

  He remembered how hard Stan had worked back at the Wild One gym. Harder than almost anybody there. Except Frank when age was factored in. No wonder he got used to the prosthetic so quickly.

  Stan ran up the first flight with no issue. Spun on the ball of his good foot. Hit the next flight in stride. They got to the fifth floor, and neither of them was out of breath.

  Mo nodded to himself. He knew how much healthier it was to lose all that weight, but he was still amazed at just how much better he felt. He was still big. Maybe even holding more muscle than was good for his body, but he was lean, and moving around was so much easier than it was almost 100 pounds ago.

  He tapped Stan’s shoulder. Pointed past the corner at Bradley’s front door.

  Stan nodded. Walked straight to it and knocked without waiting for Mo. When Mo stood behind him, his shadow darkened the door in front of Stan like he was a storm cloud in front of the sun.

  He leaned back and looked down at Stan’s waist. “You didn’t bring a gun, did you?”

  Stan glanced back with an expression that told him not to ask silly questions, and when he turned back for another knock, Mo realized he hadn’t actually answered him.

  After a third knock using the heel of his hand, Stan stepped to the side to look through the window.

  Mo stepped back and tilted his head for a listen. Lots of voices. Shouts and music. Then a muffled shout of indignation. High-pitched and familiar.

  Mo smiled and pointed above him. “Misty.”

  Stan spun around. “The girl?”

  “She lives in 6B.”

  Stan smiled. “What’s one more flight of stairs between friends?”

  They took the stairs a little slower. Listened as they rounded the corner at the top. With his ear up to the door, he could hear them. That Marissa Tomei voice followed by Bradley’s blowhard machismo.

  Mo stepped to the side and waved his hand at the door. “Be my guest.”

  Stan bowed his head. “Don’t mind if I do.” He knocked three times and put his hands behind his back to wait.

  It wasn’t long before the door was answered. Not snatched open in anger, but eased open just enough for a small face to fit through the gap.

  Misty had been crying. Her dark eyeliner made tracks down her cheeks. She held a tissue to her nose, covering her mouth.

  “Who is it?” Bradley shouted.

  Misty looked from Stan’s face to Mo’s, and she gasped in shock. She dropped her hand and stepped back, and Mo could see the tissue was soaked in blood that had poured from her nose to sit on her upper lip.

  He just missed his hold on Stan’s sleeve.

  Misty winced away from Stan’s hand, but he only took her gently by the shoulder to move her out of his path as he pushed the door all the way open. He rolled Misty to the side, and Mo took her with an arm across her shoulder. Led her into the kitchen.

  He looked over his shoulder to see Stan stalking into the living room area. His pistol coming out of his waistband.

  Mo sat Misty on the nearest chair. Squeezed her shoulder before rushing back to close the door. Checking both ways for anybody that may have seen them enter.

  He turned in time to see Bradley jump up from the couch with a snarl. Stan’s slap sounded like a major league strike hitting the mitt.

  Bradley crumpled. Misty screamed. Stan lunged to jam the gun into the soft flesh under Bradley’s jaw as he landed on the couch.

  “Listen here, motherfucker,” Stan hissed.

  “Who the fuck —” Bradley’s shout became a wheeze when Stan drove his knee down onto his belly button.

  Misty sucked in a deep breath as she pushed to her feet. Mo put a hand on each of her shoulders. She closed her mouth as he eased her back into her chair.

  “I have something to say” Stan said. “It’s important that you listen, Bradley.”

  Bradley gulped in a harsh breath. “What the fuck is going —”

  Stan pulled the hammer back on his gun. Mo tensed until he saw Stan’s finger was nowhere near the trigger.

  Stan put more weight on the knee that was digging into Bradley’s gut. “You interrupt me again, Bradley, and I’ll shoot you in the balls. It hurts a lot, but you can still listen. You understand?”

  Bradley nodded, his wide eyes looking past Stan’s shoulder in imploring terror. Mo shrugged. Bent to grab a fresh tissue out of the box on the table. Handed it to Misty. She took it with a dazed look. Pressed it to the trickle of blood under her nose.

  “The world is full of violent men, Bradley,” Stan said. “I’m one of those men. Sometimes, it’s like a need. Like hunger. Or breathing. But men like me? We’re violent against other men. Then there are those … men … who are weak. Their violence is more like a craving. Like how sometimes you just gotta have the Chili Cheese Garlic Tots from Sloppy’s. Or a whole sleeve of Oreos. Those men Bradley … those men are violent against women and children.”

  Mo stared in fascination. After Stan’s breakdown yesterday, he figured this would be a little harmless fun, but it was getting a little real instead. He wondered if he should intervene, but he wanted to know what Stan was going to say next.

  Stan took his knee off of Bradley’s gut. Threw his leg up to sit down on Bradley’s lap with one knee on either side of his hips. He bent forward and grabbed a handful of Bradley’s hair. Like a lover about to succumb to passion.

  Bradley hitched in a fresh breath. Tears trailed from his eyes.

  “There was a guy like me,” Stan continued. He spoke directly into Bradley’s open mouth. “A hunter of guys like you. A great man. And he never talked to them. Never tried to show them the error of their ways. Never tried to put them on the straight and narrow. No Bradley, this great man just killed them. And he was afraid to admit that he fucking loved it. So much that he died doing it. And I tell you this, Bradley, because I want you to know he was a better man than me. If he was here, he’d just shoot. You know what you’re doing is wrong, and he would be aware of that. Why bother trying to save somebody that is willfully destroying themselves? Well, Bradley, I got my answer to that question yesterday. Something I really needed to hear, just like this is something you really need to hear.”

  Stan stood up and backed away. The pistol held out to point at Bradley's face. His finger still on the guard instead of the trigger. “You are going to leave this apartment and never come back. Don’t answer her calls. Don’t call her. And end your petty bullshit with Ramona Flores. Don’t hit women anymore, Bradley. Just … be better.”

  Stan lowered his gun and looked over at Mo. Raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

  Mo nodded. “I think that does it. Unless you want to throw him a beating?”

  Stan looked back at Bradley. “What do you think, Bradley? Do I need to smack you around a little?”

  Bradley sniffed back his tears and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Mo smiled. “Then there you go.” He dropped to one knee and turned to face Misty. “Where are you taking your creative writing classes, honey?”

  She dragged her gaze from Stan. Looked up at Mo. “The Adult Learning Center on Dormer Avenue.”

  Mo took her hand. It was sticky with drying blood. “Keep going. Don’t waste your life on men like him.”

  She shrugged. “He’s the only kind of man I can find.”

  Mo took her other hand. “Maybe for now. But once you start loving yourself the way you want to be loved, you’ll find a better one. You must not think much of yourself if you let that piece of shit into your home.”

  She burst into tears and fell forward to cry against him.

  Stan waved at the door. “It’s time you were gone, Bradley.”

  Bradley got up with a groan. Held both hands over his abdomen as he walked straight to the door. Let himself out without looking back.

  Mo pulled Misty away. “He needs to cool off. Can you go somewhere for a few days?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll wait while you pack. It may not be safe for you right now.”

  “It’s not,” she whispered.

  He and Stan said nothing as she got a bag ready. While they escorted her to her car. Watched her drive away in her powder blue VW Bug.

  It wasn’t hard being a better man than Bradley, but it still felt good.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ronnie had trouble acting her part. Back on the pontoon boat in the evening with all the other boats around them. The party atmosphere of everybody gathered to watch the sunset. The lights from both White Lion yachts blazing.

  They were going to be there for two days before White Lion I went back out. She didn’t know if it was enough time to get everything done because she didn’t know what was supposed to be done.

  Stan was relaxed after coming back from Ossi-Pro with his new leg — an aluminum frog flipper packed in foam inside a black canvas bag. Relaxed but distracted. A smile on his face that looked like he couldn’t quite remember something, but he knew it was pleasant.

  Gen didn’t seem to notice, but she was too busy worrying about Mo, who was so focused on Stan that she felt like he was ignoring her.

  Mo had moved the boat out to trade places with the last Conch Tours pontoon. It didn’t put them much closer to the White Diamond yachts, but it left them with a straight path between them. The water was clogged with so many other boats, it would have been impossible to get there – even if the White Lion security craft would let them get close enough.

  Stan had brought his scuba gear. Hanging in the water underneath the forward deck, strapped between the pontoons. He sat on the rough artificial turf to put his new swimming leg on.

  An open cooler full of iced beer sat next to him, but Mo had been the only one to drink. Stan was about to dive, and Gen and Ronnie were about to do their jobs.

  Watching to see if Stan was visible in the deep shadow at the bottom of the concrete support as he tried his new leg out.

  He had told them about what he needed with an excited tone. Like the way you ask a child to clean their room. He knew it was a menial task. Important maybe, but still something anybody could do. Presenting it like it was something he had planned the whole time.

  It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but if anybody had flat out asked, “So, what do you want to do?” — she wouldn’t have been able to answer with anything other than, “I don’t know. Something.”

  As Stan slipped over the side, she had to admit, this was something. She dropped down in the seat next to Gen. When the boat rocked, Stan shouted, “Hey!”

  “You’re fine,” she called.

  She could hear his laughter, and for some reason, it made her angry. Glad he was having a good time.

  Gen leaned in and whispered, “I guess this is us being important?”

  Mo laughed. He was at the wheel even though they were docked. “Should we make something up just so you feel useful?”

  She thought about the difference between driving a boat that didn’t need to move and watching Stan to see if he could be spotted from the surface. It gave her a case of the giggles.

  She pointed at Mo. Nudged Gen in the ribs. “It’s better than what he’s doing.”

  Then Gen started laughing. Mo soon joined in,and they were all fighting it off when Stan popped his head up. Regulator hanging out of his mouth. Facemask sealed tight enough to make his eyes bulge. “Do you bind?”

  Gen screamed with laughter, falling to the side.

  Ronnie covered her face and shook her head. “No, we don’t mind. You go ahead, babe.”

  “Thags a lod,” Stan said. He put the regulator in and lowered himself back down.

  A soft splash later, and she looked over the edge to watch him sink. His new leg was way more efficient. She could see how much more force he generated with a kick from the frog leg versus his own. She wondered how much he was paying Haggis. Then she wondered if it was enough.

  It wasn’t long before she lost sight of him. She asked Gen if she could see him. Her face was pinched in concentration, and she shook her head. Ronnie nodded, then threw her arm over Gen’s shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn’t make it look so obvious that we’re staring into the water here. Like we just dropped a body off the side.”

  Gen covered her laughter with the back of her hand and nodded, pulling away from looking over the side.

  “Yup,” Mo said. “Just glance down every once in a while. Nobody’s gonna be looking for a guy swimming under them. He just needs to pass a casual inspection. Like somebody drops their beer and is fishing it out. Or looking at the pretty lights reflecting off the water.”

  Gen squinted at the setting sun. “Plus, it’ll be darker when he does it for real, right?”

  “Yeah, this is less than ideal conditions. If he passes here, he should pass there.”

  Ronnie looked down at where she last saw his bubbles. Not seeing him made her throat tighten. What if he never came back up? What if none of them did?

  The sound of the party all around them settled over her like a cage. Something she wouldn’t be able to penetrate. Stuck in her melancholy while everybody else enjoyed their lives.

  Gen walked to the cooler. Two cold seltzers. Both vodka strawberry. Ronnie forced a smile as she took hers. Dropped her head on Gen’s shoulder to wait.

  It was only ten or so minutes, but by the time Stan got back — sputtering as he struggled to get out of the scuba gear in the dark under the boat — the sun had set completely. It felt like it had been an hour.

  He made his way to the forward edge of the deck, and she bent to help him aboard. He threw himself to his back. Laced his fingers over his belly and panted until he got enough breath to speak. “I tried to be as fast as I could … looking up at the lights … that was fucking hard.”

  Ronnie dropped down to straddle his thighs. Slapped his chest with both hands.

  “Ow,” he shouted. “What was that for?”

  “Because you made me worry.”

  “I didn’t make you worry. You did that on your own.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why hit me?”

  She pointed to Gen and Mo. “Because they won’t let me.”

  He put his head back down with a sigh. “Can I get up?”

  “No.”

  “Then can I have a beer?”

  “Later. Did you make it?”

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. Nothing to it.”

  Mo laughed. “The way you were gasping for air when you got back?”

  Stan wiggled out from under Ronnie’s weight to sit up. “I’m not used to swimming like that. And it’s cold down there.”

  Ronnie rocked over to sit next to him. Offered him a drink from her seltzer. He accepted with a smile. “So you think it will work?”

  He put his arm across her shoulder. “After tomorrow, everything will be smooth sailing. The worst part will be waiting for the yachts to come back again.”

  “What happens tomorrow?”

  “We go pay Ty Kirby a visit.”

  When he handed her can back it was empty.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

 

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