Shark Skin Suite_A Novel by Tim Dorsey

Author:Tim Dorsey [Dorsey, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Humor & Satire, Humorous, United States, Humor, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, crime, Contemporary Fiction, american, General Humor, crime fiction
ISBN: 9780062240019
Amazon: B00JZOPYYO
Barnesnoble: B00JZOPYYO
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2015-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

CHANGE OF VENUE

The afternoon sun danced off whitecaps in the Gulf Stream. Along the mangrove shorelines, fly-fishermen cast hand-tied lures into the shallows, hoping for the Florida Keys Grand Slam of bonefish, permit and tarpon.

If it were a movie, a camera-laden helicopter would swoop over the Seven Mile Bridge, filming a white Jetta crossing the hump of the span at Moser Channel.

Inside the car: “Change of venue?” said Brook. “That’s pretty rare in a civil case.”

“Except the Broward jury pool is crammed with foreclosures, even higher among those who can’t get out of jury duty. But Judge Boone would have granted whatever they asked for anyway.”

Brook had her hand out the window, catching the breeze like a child. “At least we get to go to Key West.”

“I’ve never been,” said Shelby. “You know the area?”

“Actually, I do . . .”

Soon they were wheeling luggage down Duval Street. Coming the other way: a tourist stream of floral shirts, sandals and Rum Runners in to-go cups. A barefoot man sat on the curb, weaving a hat from palm fronds. A local rode by on a bicycle with a cockatoo on his shoulder. A guitar case sat open on the sidewalk with loose change and dollar bills. “ ‘Wastin’ away again . . .’ ”

Shelby stopped wheeling his Samsonite in front of a clapboard building and looked up at an old neon sign of yellow on green. SOUTHERN CROSS.

“How’d you pick this place?” he asked.

“It’s a spit away from the courthouse on Whitehead. That’s the next street,” said Brook, wheeling past him and leading the way down a side path to registration. “It gets noisy at night on Duval, so I booked our rooms upstairs in the back. But that’s nothing compared to the racket just before dawn.”

“Why?”

“Roosters,” said Brook. “That’s why you avoid ground-floor rooms on Duval if they face an alley.”

After dumping off luggage and locking up their respective rooms, the lawyers regrouped in the hallway. “What’s the matter?” asked Brook.

“We’re going to be stuck down here for who knows how long,” Shelby said with a touch of melancholy.

“I get it,” said Brook. “You’re going to miss Jack.”

Shelby shrugged. “I got a job to do.” Then he brightened with a smile. “We have a little downtime before the witnesses get here. Know anything good to do?”

“Come on.” Brook headed for the stairs. “I’ll give you the tour . . .”

In quick succession, Shelby was shown the cremation holes in the bar at the Chart Room, Jimmy Buffett’s secret recording studio at Key West Bight, the hanging tree in Captain Tony’s, pressed cheese bread in 5 Brothers Grocery, the cemetery . . .

“What’s the matter?” asked Brook.

“I have to go to the bathroom pretty bad, but no public restrooms for the last ten blocks.”

“Follow me.”

They entered the venerable La Concha hotel. “Ah, there’s one.”

“No,” said Brook.

He tried the handle. “It’s locked.”

“You need a room key.”

“But I thought you said there was a restroom.”

“This way.” She led him to the elevators. The doors opened in the rooftop lounge surrounded by the observation deck.

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