Clearwater Journals

The next morning I slept in until 8:30. I would have slept later but for a sweaty, compact female body named Mia jumping on me in bed after her five mile run. It was 9:45 before we were dressed and ready for breakfast that consisted of a piece of stale bread toasted and a chilled glass of fresh orange juice. Mia gathered her IHOP outfit and stuffed it with her purse into her beach bag. The day was incredible—sunny, warm and clear with almost no humidity—heaven. We had only a few hours before we were supposed to meet Langdon for lunch. We found a quiet sunny spot in Mrs. Reilly’s small partially fenced yard, and sat down on the two blue and white, canvas lounges.

  We slowly pieced together our list of names to check. With phone numbers and addresses found in the telephone listings, we could reasonably expect to find at least some of them. That list was prominently headed by Eddie Ralston, but also included other friends and schoolmates of Vickie’s as well as her doctor and minister if we found out that she had been attending church. I asked Mia to find out the name of Vickie’s Special Education teacher. Some of the teachers that I’d met during my stint as a detective in Toronto had been very perceptive people. Maybe I would get lucky in Tampa. I had met Ted Bullock, her stepfather, and wanted to meet him again—on my terms. I had yet to meet Terry Bullock. I wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. When I did get around to him, I suspected it would be a case of like father like son. I figured that if we got Langdon on board, I could get much of this information from him.

  We practiced the approach we would use on Langdon in the hour before Mia had to go to work. We both agreed that he was more likely to comply if Mia did the initial pitch—female wiles and all. I did all I could think of to boost her self-confidence. If he ever saw her in her red bikini, he’d be putty in her hands—that kind of thinking. Besides, I had already a fair notion about the approach and information that I would use after Mia left us to go to work.

  Mia’s off to work outfit was a pair of cut off faded blue jeans, a black sleeveless T-shirt with half inch white lettering imprinted in the shape of a necklace across the top of it and her pale blue thong flip flops. She tried to appear relaxed. Her hair was loose and her smile was bright as we sat quietly talking. We sipped our iced orange juice and held hands in the sun—idyllic. Then, her left leg started pumping—nerves.

  Suddenly, I opened the fly of my faded jeans and peeked beneath the elastic waistband of my plaid boxers. Mia’s leg stopped pumping. She looked shocked. Had I suddenly turned into some kind of maniac flasher?

  “What the hell are you doing Joe?” she whispered loudly checking to see that none of Mrs. Reilly’s neighbours were watching.

  “I just read the message on your T-shirt.”

  “So?”

  “So, it says that you leave bite marks. I was just checking—false advertisement. There are no bite marks.”

  “Joe, honest to God you had me worried. Does it really say that?—I never noticed. I mean you have me worried. Should I change it?”

  “Don’t worry about it—the message is well blended with the italic letters—it’s fine.”

  “Come on then; let’s go for a walk on the beach. We can come back for my car later.”

  “Doc—did you forget something?”

  “Jesus Max—someday you’re going to give me a heart attack.” How he can just appear like that is uncanny—and unnerving.

  “Frank is available now. Perhaps I can fill in for your walk with Mia on the beach?”

  My stomach lurched. “No I’ll call now,” I said. “Mia can…

  “Mia can decide for herself,” Mia declared as she stood up. “You’ll look like a dork in those clothes on the beach, but I don’t mind if you don’t. Let’s go Max.”

  I believe Max may have actually smiled.

  I took out the little cell phone and called using the preloaded index of numbers.

  “Frank… how they hanging?”

  We talked for around twenty minutes. For me it was torture. For Frank, time is money. He probably blew off forty or fifty thousand dollars during our call. As I suspected, the house that Annie and I had lived in in the north end of Toronto had been sold. After real-estate and legal fees and different transfer costs, I would get around seven hundred thousand dollars. Max would bring me the papers to sign in a day or so. The insurance people were winding down and the television company Annie worked for were offering a nice compensation package. Financially, I was looking good. And then we got personal.

  “Who is this girl you are with these days Doc? What do you know about her?”

  “Frank—she’s a waitress whose younger sister was killed. She found out I used to be a cop and she’s asked me to help get closure—that sort of thing.”

  “Doc—you’re not a cop. Remember that. And Florida doesn’t like schmucks—even if they are cops. I don’t have much juice in the sunshine state if you get my drift.”

  “I got it Frank.”

  “Do you have a gun yet Doc?”

  “No—I don’t need one,” I replied feeling myself loosing it.

  Frank’s no dummy—he must have felt my anger building. “Everybody needs a fuckin’ gun in Florida. Remember that.”

  “Was there anything else Frank?”

  “No, keep the phone—it’s still good. Tell Max if there is anything you need. Take care Doc. Don’t let the little girl get to you before I’ve done some more checking.”

  “Might be too late for that, but thanks for all you have done Frank. I really appreciate it. Don’t worry about finding out more about Mia. Hold it—see what you get on her step father, Ted—Ted Bullock—but we’re good here. Take care.”

  The phone was dead. He was back to making his multi-millions.

  Just at that moment, I heard the distinctive ring of the telephone on the tiny night table beside my bed. It was the head of security at the Sand Key condominium complex where I do part time work. Obviously, Max had re-connected the line during his visit. The condo security company needed me to cover for a guy who was going to be off sick for the next two days. A hundred bucks a day was the carrot—no future employment on Sand Key was the stick. I said I’d report at seven a.m. the next morning. I hung up the phone.

  When I went back outside, Max and Mia had returned. Max nodded and told me he would see me in the next day or so. He left as quietly as he had arrived, but not before turning towards Mia and telling her he enjoyed their walk and their talk. He also mentioned that if the opportunity should arise again, he would try not to look like such a dork. Mia just smiled and waved as Frank’s main man left. As I mentioned earlier, Max can be quite charming when he sets his mind to it.

  I told Mia of my impending wealth—the condo job—not the house sale and insurance settlements. She stifled a laugh and told me that she could make a hundred bucks on a good day in tips alone—particularly if this one sad soul named Doc—some jerkwater groupie from Canada came in to eat. So rain on my parade—“Then it’s your treat at Crabby Bill’s today,” I said trying unsuccessfully to capture the deep sonorous rumble of Langdon’s voice. After she agreed to pay for lunch, we went for our beach walk laughing and interdigitating the whole way. She was very curious about Frank’s phone call with me but seemed satisfied with the generalities I fed her. I skipped my flat stones six more skips than Mia’s best effort. “That’s cause you throw like a girl,” I said as I skipped away from the punch I knew was coming. I was feeling pumped. If Langdon listened to reason, it was going to be a really good day.

  We Meet With Langdon Again