Stranger in Paradise

Driving carefully behind them, Crow was cautious. They would be looking for him now. But the Escalade was big and uncommon on the streets of Marshport, and Crow stayed with them easily enough. He was driving a grayish-beige Toyota, of which there were usually three or four in sight at all times. At Horn Street, the Escalade parked. Two of the men got out and walked down the alley. Crow turned right and then left and parked on a parallel street where he could see the Escalade through a parking lot. In ten minutes the two men came out onto Horn Street and got into the Escalade and drove east. Crow drove parallel for a couple of blocks and then swung up onto the same street several cars behind them. He followed them for a while and then turned off left, took the next right, followed them in a rough parallel course until he passed them and turned back to their street, coming out ahead of them. He drove ahead of them, watching them in the mirror until they turned off. Then he U-turned and fell in behind them on the road to Paradise.

The Escalade parked on Sewall Street, near the house where Fiona Francisco had lived. Crow parked up on Washington Street where he could see them. The same two men got out and went to the house. The front door was locked. There was a lot of foot traffic. After a moment the two men walked around the house and Crow couldn’t see them. He waited. After about fifteen minutes the two men came back and got into the Escalade. The big car drove down Sewall Street and parked on the wharf outside the Gray Gull. All three men got out and went into the restaurant. Crow drove in and parked at the far end of the wharf.

Crow sat and looked at the restaurant, and in a short while the three men appeared on the outside deck and sat at a table. Crow sank a little lower in the front seat of his car so that he could just see through the steering wheel. They had a drink. They read the menus. Crow studied them. Why had they gone to the house? Were they looking for him? No. They wouldn’t look for him there. They were looking for the girl. If they found her, they’d take her straight to Miami. So who was going to kill him? Francisco would not let it slide. It wasn’t how he worked. No one was allowed to cross him.

Crow sat in his car and watched the men drink and eat on the deck. He could probably step out of the car and kill all three of them…too easy. Crow wanted the war to evolve a little. Such a good opportunity, though. He got out and walked between the parked cars to the near edge of the wharf. Across about ten feet of harbor water he fired one shot and hit Mongo in the back of the head. Mongo pitched forward onto the table. The tableware scattered. Romero and Bobby Chacon hit the floor behind the table, fumbling for weapons as they went down. By the time they got them out and squirmed into a position to see, Crow was gone.

51.

“Another guy from Miami,” Suit said.

He handed Mongo’s driver’s license to Jesse.

“Carrying a forty-caliber semiautomatic,” Suit said. “Full magazine. Got a room key, too. Marshport Lodge.”

“Molly,” Jesse said. “Get the Marshport cops. Give them the room-key info, see what they can find.”

“Armed and dangerous?” Molly said.

“You might mention that,” Jesse said.

Molly went to one of the cruisers.

“Witnesses?” Jesse said to Suit.

“Lot of them,” Suit said. “Nobody knows what happened. Three guys came in, sat down, ordered lunch. They’re eating lunch, there’s a shot. Nobody knows from where. Nobody saw the shooter. The other two guys hit the floor, they have guns. After a minute they get up and run from the restaurant.”

“Car?” Jesse said.

“Nobody dared look,” Suit said.

Jesse stood looking down at Mongo’s body sprawled across the table.

“Shot had to come from the wharf,” Jesse said. “No place else a guy could stand and hit him in the back of the head.”

“Unless it was another long rifle shot,” Suit said.

“Most people on a long shot don’t aim for the head,” Jesse said.

“Unless it was a lousy shot that worked out,” Suit said.

“ME will tell us what kind of bullet,” Jesse said. “Meanwhile, I’m sticking with the wharf.”

Suit nodded. Jesse went out the restaurant and across the little gangway to the wharf and walked over so he was standing where he figured the shooter had stood. Suit walked with him.

“You think it was Crow?” Suit said.

“Yes.”

“Can we prove it?”

“Not yet,” Jesse said.

Suit was silent. They both looked at the corpse on the deck. It was an easy shot.

“You told me Crow could really shoot,” Suit said.

“He’s as good as I am,” Jesse said.

“Wow!” Suit said.

Jesse smiled slightly.

“Right answer,” he said.

“So a good shot,” Suit said. “Standing here. Probably using a semiautomatic with ten, fifteen rounds in it. Why didn’t he kill them all?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said.