The Black Palmetto by Paul Carr Page A

upside-down because of him, it's on you.”
    “Hey, chill out. It'll be fine. You know anything about Black Palmetto?”
    She frowned. “Was that his explanation for the Palmetto reference?”
    “No, but he mentioned it. You didn't answer my question.”
    “Yes, I know about it. It got disbanded a year or so ago, after a couple of the operatives went off the reservation and killed their handlers.”
    “You're kidding.”
    “No, we had to go in and clean up the mess. We erased everything we could find.”
    “What happened to the assassins?”
    She gave him a stare. “Sorry, that's classified.”
    That probably meant they had died. He was about to ask why she hadn't told him all this earlier, but his phone chirped.
    Glancing at the display, he said, “It's Lora, the reporter.”
    Simone smirked.
    “Hello.”
    “The story's ready, and I'll be here until four if you want to take a peek.” She gave him directions to the place.
    “Okay, I'll be there in about ten minutes.” He closed the phone.
    Sam told Simone he wanted to go by there and check out what she had written. “Shouldn't take long, though.”
    “Do you think that's really necessary?”
    “Yeah. I don't want any attention I can avoid.”
    A smile grew on her face. “You really think I'm smoking?”
    “Did I say that?”
    “Yes, you said it.”
    He grinned. “Then I guess I do.”
    She reached across and ruffled his hair.
    ****
    They located the newspaper office, went inside, and found Lora Diamond's cubicle. She turned in her chair and handed Sam a paper copy of the story. After reading it, he gave it to Simone. She scanned it for about ten seconds and handed it back.
    He laid it on her desk. “Looks good.” She had kept his involvement to a minimum.
    Lora leaned back in her chair and smiled, her eyes locking on his a couple of beats too long.
    “I always protect my sources. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you find your guy.”
    Though he didn't have much use for reporters, this one seemed to be growing on him. Simone elbowed him in the side. “Let's go.”
    He turned to her and she rolled her eyes, as if to say, Can't you see she's playing you?
    “Okay,” Sam said, “I guess that does it, for now.”
    Lora’s eyes widened, as if she just remembered something. “Oh, yeah. I went to the construction site up in Marathon, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It looks like they might be about half-finished with the shopping center. Nobody was working, probably because of Jake's death.”
    “We'll drop by there,” Sam said, “but not today.”
    “I’ll give you the address when you’re ready to go. Oh, yeah, I set up an appointment for you with the attorney. I know what you said about not needing one, but this isn't Miami. You might be in a precarious position. He said he'd see you at 4:30 p.m.”
    Sam glanced at the clock on the wall of her cubicle: 4:25 p.m. Sam didn’t want to meet with the guy, but he didn’t want to be rousted by the police, either.
    “You've got time. His office is right across the street.”
    ****
    Charles Ford seemed frail, had thinning hair, and stood only about five-two. He had a facial tic under his right eye, and wore an empty expression that seemed almost catatonic. Lora had filled Sam in before going over so he wouldn't be surprised. “Don't stare,” she’d said. “He hates that.”
    After introductions, Sam and Simone took a seat in front of Ford's desk. The lawyer wore a beige suit that appeared to be made of linen. He smiled at Simone. The tic rippled down the side of his face.
    “Okay, tell me what happened,” Ford said.
    Sam decided to play along. When he finished the story, Ford nodded. “That jibes with what Lora said. It's a good thing you came in.”
    “They didn't seem too interested in arresting me for it.”
    Between tics, Ford's face morphed into something that resembled a smile, like an expression on a cat with a mouse under its paw.
    “Wait until Morton Bell