The Black Palmetto Read Free

corner of the lot. A couple of men wore police uniforms.
    “That's the guy,” a man said, pointing in Sam's direction.
    One of the officers turned, seemed to zero in on him, and hurried over.
    Uh oh. The dread returned, this time full blast. Something had happened to the man. Too late to run. He still had the gun in his holster, the butt sticking out. Maybe his shirttail covered it up.
    “You got some ID?” the officer asked. The nametag above his shirt pocket identified him as Lt. Lonnie Cates. Muscle bound, like a steroid freak, he stood a few inches shorter than Sam, had oily, slicked back hair, and a pencil-thin mustache that had taken some time in front of the mirror.
    Sam pulled out his driver's license and handed it to Cates.
    The lieutenant studied it for a few moments. “You're from Miami?”
    “That's right. What's the problem?”
    Cates narrowed his eyes, stuck the license into his shirt pocket, and took Sam by the arm.
    “Come on. I'll show you what the problem is.”
    Cates' fingers dug into his arm. They reached the throng and the people parted. The man who wanted to meet him earlier lay on the ground between two cars. He looked dead. Another man knelt over him.
    “Chief Boozler,” Cates said to the kneeling man, “this is the guy. He could be a professional hit man.”
    The chief turned his head to stare at Cates, rolled his eyes and stood. Unlike the officer, he wore civilian clothes, stood over six feet, and carried a few extra pounds about the middle.
    “Don't you think it's kinda soon to be drawing conclusions, Lonnie?” Boozler asked.
    Cates' eyes darted to the people standing by. “Sure, Chief. Too early for that.”
    Boozler took the license and turned it so he could read it in the light of the floods. After a few seconds, he handed it back to Cates and glared at Sam.
    “This is Jake Bell,” the chief said, pointing to the man on the ground. “Somebody stabbed him. A witness saw you talking to him earlier this evening. Mind telling me what you were talking about?”
    Sam didn't see any reason to lie, at least for the most part.
    “I came here looking for a man.” He removed the photo from his shirt pocket and handed it to the chief. “His name is Sean Spanner. I showed the picture to the bar owner inside, and Mr. Bell here saw it. After we ate, he came up to me and said he knew something about Spanner. He said to meet him at the Blue Iguana in an hour, but he didn't show up. I came back here to see if I could find him.”
    Boozler nodded. “Why are you after this Spanner guy?”
    “He stole some money, and I came here to get it back.” Sam didn’t see any need to go into the stolen flash drive. The simpler the better at this point.
    “You a private detective?”
    “No, not a detective. Just a friend of the man who lost the money. Doing him a favor.”
    “Who is this man?”
    “Sorry, I'm not at liberty to say.”
    The chief clicked his tongue, turned his head for a moment, and fixed Sam with a stare.
    “Son, this man was just murdered, and his father has more money than anybody between Key West and Miami. I think you better come up with a name.”
    Sam shook his head. “Sorry. He had nothing to do with this man's death, and neither did I.”
    Boozler drew a deep breath, let it out, and turned toward Cates. Probably about to tell the officer to put the cuffs on him.
    “You're wasting your time asking me about this,” Sam said. “My guess is that someone did something to Spanner for the money I mentioned, and killed Jake Bell because he knew about it.”
    The chief narrowed his eyes. “That assumes what you're telling me is the truth. Since you won't come clean about who you're working for, I'm not inclined to believe anything else you say.”
    “Listen, Chief, my girlfriend is back at the motel. She's was with me from the time I left this place until a few minutes ago when I came back to see why Jake didn't show up. You can call her if you want.” He pulled out his cell