Bad Monkey

On the other side of the bar stood Philip, the taxi man. Egg waved him over and arranged a ride later to the airport. First he had to pick up a gold necklace he’d left at the Dragon Queen’s place last night. Hanging on the chain was a miniature gold anchor inlaid with real diamonds. The piece was quite expensive, and Egg couldn’t believe he’d forgotten it. The Dragon Queen had told him to remove it so she could lather him head to toe with some smelly green cream she’d said would stop the pain in his privates.

“Mr. Ecclestone, one more ting.” It was Weech again, standing beside him. “Be wise you don’t tell your boss we’re here.”

Egg said, “Mon find out soon enough. Dot’s his old lady.”

He jerked his chin toward the water. Eve was at the wheel of a gleaming new fishing boat idling toward the ramp at the conch hut. Egg recalled she was crazy about the chowder, seasoned with sherry. She’d piled her hair under a blue ball cap, and she was wearing the flowered top of a two-piece swimsuit and white jeans. Her husband wasn’t aboard.

The RBDF officers were hard to miss, and Eve spotted them right away. Instantly the three loud outboards began rumbling in reverse. As she spun the boat’s bow toward the bight, the name painted on the stern came into view: Lefty’s Revenge.

Eve gunned the throttles.

Weech said, “No prollem. She ain’t goin’ no place we cont find her.”

Egg believed that to be true. He set the wicked monkey’s pipe on the bar top and walked off.

Plover Chase already had received the Miranda spiel, but Agent John Wesley Weiderman recited it again.

“My lawyer advised me not to talk with you,” she said.

“I’ll leave the minute you ask me to.”

“Cody said you seem like a decent sort. Open-minded. Straight shooter.”

“I was sorry to hear about your husband,” John Wesley Weiderman said.

“Oh, let’s not go there.”

“I spoke with the hospital. The nurses said he moved his right hand yesterday.”

“I don’t doubt it. That’s how he got where he is,” said Plover Chase.

The agent told her the prosecutors in Key West would agree to probation on the arson, but only with a guarantee that she’d go back to Oklahoma and do at least two years for the old charges.

“Two years for what?” she said. “This time around, Cody won’t be testifying. He’s saving it all for his book.”

“We don’t need Cody. You jumped bond, Ms. Chase. That’s a separate crime.”

“But I’m not going back to Tulsa. I plan to stay right here and be near Andrew.” She pulled an orange thread from the sleeve of her jumpsuit. “I’m not scared of a trial. It isn’t like I tried to kill somebody. Nobody was in the house when I lit the match.”

She was something of a surprise to John Wesley Weiderman, the level way she looked at him, her poise and confidence seemingly unshaken by the grubby experience of jail. For some reason he’d been expecting despondency or a teary plea for lenience.

Instead Plover Chase came across as a strong, composed woman who’d just happened in a heartsick lapse of judgment to torch an unoccupied structure. Clearly she was rehearsing for court.

“I’m in it for the long haul,” she added.

“Your lawyer will advise you that’s a foolish choice. The judge in your old Tulsa case is deceased. The lead prosecutor is now farming soybeans. There’s no longer much interest back home in making an example of you. The state just wants to close the file. Two years is a real fair deal.”

“And lose Andrew forever? No, sir, I won’t be going anywhere.”

It was warm in the interview room. John Wesley Weiderman felt like loosening his necktie, but he didn’t. After twelve years on the job he was still puzzled by people who were determined to live in turmoil. Plover Chase wasn’t a career criminal, yet she was making it impossible for her to be treated as anything less. Oklahoma wanted her sent back as soon as possible, the arson having upended the assumption that she was harmless.

The agent explained to Plover Chase that she was fortunate to be offered basically a free pass out of Florida. It happened that the Monroe County state attorney was unenthusiastic about expending his limited resources on a flaky love-triangle case while a cold-blooded murder remained unsolved.

“I read about that,” she interjected. “They’re good about letting us see the newspapers.”

“The young man—Phinney was his name—he was shot down in cold blood. There’s heavy pressure to find the killer and put him away.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Point is,” the agent said, “they’re happy to ship you home and save the taxpayers here some money. However, if you insist on fighting extradition, forcing a trial, talking to reporters—”

“Hey, she called me—”

“—then you’re going to aggravate these Key West prosecutors, and they’ll come down hard on you. You could get five years for burning that house and, when your hitch is done, then they’ll send you back to Tulsa to face the music.”

Plover Chase was undaunted. “I plan on being acquitted of the arson,” she said.

John Wesley Weiderman put forward his opinion that she wasn’t insane.