Peter Pavia - Dutch Uncle (Hard Case Crime)

Vicki was in the Jacuzzi with Mimi, in the water up to her neck, holding the Chihuahuas head just above the churning surface.

The lawn chair where a towel or a bathrobe shouldve been hanging was empty.

Leo said, Are you naked under there?

Get in and find out for yourself, Vicki said.

Mimi had been appealing to Leo with her eyes. Just her luck her mistress would be the one person in the world who thought this was a cute idea, a Chihuahua in the hot tub.

The sliding glass door was locked. Leo tapped the Jags ignition key against the pane, a clinking that brought Beaumonds eyes, yellow and dilated, out from behind the curtain. The dining room table was cluttered with boxes of baking soda, a roll of sandwich-sized baggies, and a jar of unlabeled powder.

Beaumond and Fernandez had gotten hold of two triplebeam scales, strategically angled near their places at the table. Dumped on the Business section of the Sunday Herald, the kilo sparkled under the glow from a hanging lamp.

Howd you make out? Fernandez wanted to know. He was puffing the tobacco part of the Newport.

Not too good, Leo said, grabbing his lighter and sparking a Marlboro. Im supposed to meet El Negrito in a little while.

Whatre you gonna tell him? Beaumond asked. He was using a yellow sandbox shovel to blend baking soda and cocaine. He dumped a heaping tablespoon of the jarred powder into the batch.

Im gonna deny everything.

Fernandez said, You think thatll work?

What choice do I have? Leo said. I dont know about you guys, but Im too young to die...

SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS

YOU WILL ENJOY:

MONEY SHOT by Christa Faust

ZERO COOL by John Lange

SHOOTING STAR/SPIDERWEB by Robert Bloch

THE MURDERER VINE by Shepard Rifkin

SOMEBODY OWES ME MONEY by Donald E. Westlake

NO HOUSE LIMIT by Steve Fisher

BABY MOLL by John Farris

THE MAX by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr

THE FIRST QUARRY by Max Allan Collins

GUN WORK by David J. Schow

FIFTY-TO-ONE by Charles Ardai

KILLING CASTRO by Lawrence Block

THE DEAD MANS BROTHER by Roger Zelazny

THE CUTIE by Donald E. Westlake

HOUSE DICK by E. Howard Hunt

CASINO MOON by Peter Blauner

FAKE I.D. by Jason Starr

PASSPORT TO PERIL by Robert B. Parker

STOP THIS MAN! by Peter Rabe

LOSERS LIVE LONGER by Russell Atwood

HONEY IN HIS MOUTH by Lester Dent

QUARRY IN THE MIDDLE by Max Allan Collins

THE CORPSE WORE PASTIES by Jonny Porkpie

by Peter Pavia

A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK

(HCC-012)

First Hard Case Crime edition: July 2005

Published by

Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street
London
SE1 OUP

in collaboration with Winterfall LLC

Copyright 2005 by Peter Pavia

Cover painting copyright 2005 by R. B. Farrell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Print edition ISBN 978-0-85768-312-0

E-book ISBN 978-0-85768-384-7

Design direction by Max Phillips
www.maxphillips.net

The name Hard Case Crime and the Hard Case Crime logo are trademarks of Winterfall LLC. Hard Case Crime Books are selected and edited by Charles Ardai.

Visit us on the web at www.HardCaseCrime.com

Miami Beach, 1996

Strolling Ocean Drive on his third day of parole, Harry Healy ran into Leo, whose last name he didnt learn the weekend they threw Leo into his cell, at a sidewalk caf sipping espresso.

Harry started out just Drunk and Disorderly, but when he landed a left on the chin of arresting officer Kenneth Simms, a pack of OLearys fell on him and dealt him the beating of his life. They knocked out two teeth and fractured the fourth rib on his left side, and one cop bent his arm so sharply behind his back it separated from his shoulder, still popping out from time to time so that Harry had to realign it himself. That didnt bother him too much, and neither did the rib after the first eight weeks or so, but he was still pissed about the teeth, holes where an incisor and a bicuspid used to be, making him look exactly like the ex-con he now was.

Leo was Drunk and Disorderly too, and he spent the weekend getting orderly while his fathers attorneys tracked down the connections who got him undone.

Leo was twenty-five or thirty. He had a wiry build that was going soft, a superstar jock who got hurt and had his shot at baseball glory ruined. To hear him tell it, anyway. Leo knew a lot of baseball, good memory for stats, and kept Harry entertained talking about great stars Harry had never heard of. He was an okay guy to spend a weekend in jail with.

Harry squinted into the sun. He asked Leo for a Marlboro.

Leo said, Why dont you sit down?

Because I dont have any money I wanna spend here, and I hate those faggy little cups of coffee, and I aint all that fond of broiling on the concrete, either.

Leo looked at him from behind his sunglasses and his mouth got tight. He waved his Marlboro and shrugged one shoulder. He said, Hang out, man.

A brunette sashayed past the table. She was carrying a portfolio and switching her hips, wearing patterned hose over a g-string. Or, possibly, no panties at all. Peering at life through lenses tinted brown.

In the sun-bleached afternoon, Harry missed his shades, the spanking new Ray Bans that were among his personal effects when he went inside, but werent when they let him go.

Harry made his hand into a visor. He followed the brunette with his eyes. Shes probably a model, he said.

You think so? What tipped you off?

Look at how tall she is and look at her clothes. And her face, well, you cant see it now, but she was beautiful.

Cmon, Flash, of course shes a model. Theyre all models down here. Its the number one industry in this town. Im thinking of taking a shot at it myself, soon as I get my book together.

Leo was over six feet tall. He had smooth skin and a pointy chin and a nose that had never been broken, and Harry supposed he was good looking, but no more so than a dozen other guys hed seen that afternoon alone. Besides, the modeling racket meant getting up when the sun was right and wearing make-up and having somebody blow air at you so your hair went flopping in a certain direction. Not a job for a man, he thought, but he didnt say anything.

Harry, whatre you doing?

Right now? Im trying to get back to New York.

Is that right, Leo said. How much money you got?

I dont know, I got a few bucks. He knew the amount to the penny, $12.97, but there was no reason Leo had to know it, too.

You feel like making some?

Harry didnt know if he liked the way that sounded. What do I have to do?

When was the last time you saw your uncle?

My uncle, Harry said. What uncle? How do you know my uncle?

Leo looked at him like he knew a secret. Im talking about your uncle Manfred.

Manfred? Harry said. You mean Manfred Pfiser?