Powder Burn by Carl Hiaasen & Bill Montalbano

Author:Carl Hiaasen & Bill Montalbano
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction:Detective
ISBN: 9780375700682
Publisher: Vintage Crime/Black Lizzard
Published: 1998-06-30T10:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

THE TWENTY-STORY OFFICE BUILDING near the Miami River was like all its big brothers around the country. Promptly at 5:00 each afternoon it emptied as though someone had pulled a plug. The drones rushed from the air-conditioned lobby, braved brief assault by the sweltering afternoon sun and plunged into the air-conditioned boxes that would take them home. Machines reinforced the routine. At exactly 5:15 computers shut down the escalators and turned off the air-conditioning.

Lane Redbirt prided himself on his appearance. As he rode down on the elevator, he caught a refreshing glimpse of himself in the mirror. His light double knit was well cut, with flared pants and a tight, de rigueur vest. His blond hair was carefully sprayed; his blue eyes were alert. Redbirt knew he was the perfect image of a young lawyer on the make. He enjoyed that.

When the elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor to load more passengers, the girl edged closer to the young lawyer.

“I’ll bet it’s a scorcher out there, Mr. Redbirt,” she said.

“Near ninety, I think, Virginia,” he replied. She was his secretary, and she typed well enough.

On the ground floor the modish crowd from Redbirt’s office clustered for a moment to exchange Friday afternoon banalities.

“Have a nice weekend.”

“See you Monday, if I make it.”

“Bring me some fish.”

“I’ll have the Mitchell brief ready first thing Monday morning, Virginia.”

“Fine, Mr. Redbirt, I’ll be waiting for it. Have a nice weekend.”

“You, too.”

The secretaries and the paralegals scattered for the parking lot, and the law partners strolled with more measured pace to their own cars, which waited in covered executive parking.

Lane Redbirt lingered behind the rest. He stopped at the lobby newsstand to buy cigarettes and breath freshener. By the time he reached his Porsche it was 5:09 and the parking lot was nearly deserted.

The brown Toyota pulled up sharply alongside him. “Hurry, Lane, I’m so horny I can’t wait,” she called from the driver’s window.

“Ginny. I…”

“Do you know what I’d like to do tonight for a change?” She told him what.

Redbirt’s groin tingled. “Give me one hour. I have to make a stop.”

“An hour is too long, the way I feel right now.”

“Fifty minutes,” he lied.

“I’ll start without you,” she challenged.

“Wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Redbirt went back into the lobby, easily evading the gaze of the wizened security guard. He summoned the elevator and pushed 18. Virginia was as unimportant to him now as his wife.

“Morgan Jones” had called just after lunch. And as usual, he had caught Redbirt off guard.

“I have thought about what you said the last time,” said the voice named Jones, “and you are right. There is too much disorder.”

“It’s not disorder; it’s madness now,” Redbirt wailed. “Nobody understands what’s happening anymore; the whole thing’s crazy. You said it would get better. It’s worse. Deal me out. Whoever you are, deal me out.”

“Just now? When your patience is about to be rewarded?”

“What do you mean?”

“I will explain that when we meet.”

“When we meet?”

“Yes, my friend, I have concluded you were right about that, too.

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