would not devastate his and Agnes's finances. The man could easily have asked for much more.
He wondered why the man hadn't asked for more. He was taking quite a risk exposing himself like this. Why not go for the big payday? Unless he was playing a different game altogether, one Harry couldn't even begin to fathom.
Somehow the possibility of that filled him with an even deeper dread.
Chapter 9
To my good buddy, Jack, said Crazy Mike Mannon, proprietor of Mike's Bikes and Jack Swyteck's best friend. He raised a bottle of Michelob. May you come to your senses and never find another job as a lawyer.
Jack smiled, then tipped back his Amstel and took a long pull. After a day of phone calls to friends about potential job openings, he'd let Mike talk him into dinner on South Beach. A couple of beers and cheeseburgers at a sidewalk cafe sounded good.
They enjoyed the ocean breezes and watched bronzed bodies on roller blades weave in and out of bright-red convertibles, classic Corvettes, and fat-tired jeeps blaring reggae and Cuban salsa. By eight o'clock the sun had gone down and everything trendy, sexy, and borderline illegal was parading down Ocean Drive beneath colorful neon hues.
Whoa, said Mike as a deeply tanned blonde with a seriously plunging neckline sent a ripple of whiplash through the cafe.
Jack smiled with amusement. Mike was one of those guys who was forever on the make - a frat boy stuck in a man's body. Even so, he had an irrepressible spirit that most people found charming. He had a way of not taking life too seriously, of following his own desires and not worrying about what others thought or said. Jack envied him for that.
You know, Mike, there's an orthopedic surgeon over at Jackson Memorial who would love to see your X rays. She's doing a paper on swivel heads.
Easy for you to be so pious, Mr. Monogamous. But some of us don't go to bed every night with Cindy Paige.
Yeah, well, Jack said, looking away, I'm beginning to wonder how much longer that's going to last.
Uh-oh. Trouble in Camelot. That's okay, I'll find a honey for you, too. How about that one? Mike said, nodding at a leather-clad bodybuilder with spiked burgundy hair.
Perfect. She looks like the type who'd go for a guy without a job. And if she seems undecided, I'll just mention that some maniac wants to turn me into roadkill.
Mike gave him an assessing look. Any new theories about that car thing yesterday?
Your guess is still as good as mine, Jack said, shrugging. I suppose it could be Goss having fun with me. This killer on the loose' stuff is his style. But I'm not sure he has the attention span. First the phone call three days ago. Now this. It's a real campaign. Someone is obviously furious about the verdict.
Mike's head swiveled to follow two halter-topped women who'd emerged from the ladies' room. Maybe you should call the cops.
Jack smiled. The Miami Police Department would like nothing better than to hear Jack Swyteck is being hassled. They'd probably offer the guy the key to the city. I don't think the cops are an option right now.
Well, you watch your back, Mike said with emphasis. He grinned. You might even want to consider a new line of work - you know, greeting-card salesman or something.
Jack nodded. Maybe Mike had a point. Maybe he did need a clean break - even a move to another state. Away from Goss, and out of the shadow of his father, for whom the best was never enough, and Cindy who was always pushing him to open up. Hell, why couldn't he open up? Everyone else in America was unloading their thoughts. You couldn't turn on a talk show these days without watching someone turn his guts inside out in front of the camera.
Hey, Mike, Jack asked, his mind drifting. Do you get along with your family - you know, do you chew the fat regularly with your mom and dad?
Mannon had made eye contact with some woman in tight purple capri pants. Huh, he said, refocusing on Jack. Oh, family well, yeah, you know. My mom and I talk.
He wondered why the man hadn't asked for more. He was taking quite a risk exposing himself like this. Why not go for the big payday? Unless he was playing a different game altogether, one Harry couldn't even begin to fathom.
Somehow the possibility of that filled him with an even deeper dread.
Chapter 9
To my good buddy, Jack, said Crazy Mike Mannon, proprietor of Mike's Bikes and Jack Swyteck's best friend. He raised a bottle of Michelob. May you come to your senses and never find another job as a lawyer.
Jack smiled, then tipped back his Amstel and took a long pull. After a day of phone calls to friends about potential job openings, he'd let Mike talk him into dinner on South Beach. A couple of beers and cheeseburgers at a sidewalk cafe sounded good.
They enjoyed the ocean breezes and watched bronzed bodies on roller blades weave in and out of bright-red convertibles, classic Corvettes, and fat-tired jeeps blaring reggae and Cuban salsa. By eight o'clock the sun had gone down and everything trendy, sexy, and borderline illegal was parading down Ocean Drive beneath colorful neon hues.
Whoa, said Mike as a deeply tanned blonde with a seriously plunging neckline sent a ripple of whiplash through the cafe.
Jack smiled with amusement. Mike was one of those guys who was forever on the make - a frat boy stuck in a man's body. Even so, he had an irrepressible spirit that most people found charming. He had a way of not taking life too seriously, of following his own desires and not worrying about what others thought or said. Jack envied him for that.
You know, Mike, there's an orthopedic surgeon over at Jackson Memorial who would love to see your X rays. She's doing a paper on swivel heads.
Easy for you to be so pious, Mr. Monogamous. But some of us don't go to bed every night with Cindy Paige.
Yeah, well, Jack said, looking away, I'm beginning to wonder how much longer that's going to last.
Uh-oh. Trouble in Camelot. That's okay, I'll find a honey for you, too. How about that one? Mike said, nodding at a leather-clad bodybuilder with spiked burgundy hair.
Perfect. She looks like the type who'd go for a guy without a job. And if she seems undecided, I'll just mention that some maniac wants to turn me into roadkill.
Mike gave him an assessing look. Any new theories about that car thing yesterday?
Your guess is still as good as mine, Jack said, shrugging. I suppose it could be Goss having fun with me. This killer on the loose' stuff is his style. But I'm not sure he has the attention span. First the phone call three days ago. Now this. It's a real campaign. Someone is obviously furious about the verdict.
Mike's head swiveled to follow two halter-topped women who'd emerged from the ladies' room. Maybe you should call the cops.
Jack smiled. The Miami Police Department would like nothing better than to hear Jack Swyteck is being hassled. They'd probably offer the guy the key to the city. I don't think the cops are an option right now.
Well, you watch your back, Mike said with emphasis. He grinned. You might even want to consider a new line of work - you know, greeting-card salesman or something.
Jack nodded. Maybe Mike had a point. Maybe he did need a clean break - even a move to another state. Away from Goss, and out of the shadow of his father, for whom the best was never enough, and Cindy who was always pushing him to open up. Hell, why couldn't he open up? Everyone else in America was unloading their thoughts. You couldn't turn on a talk show these days without watching someone turn his guts inside out in front of the camera.
Hey, Mike, Jack asked, his mind drifting. Do you get along with your family - you know, do you chew the fat regularly with your mom and dad?
Mannon had made eye contact with some woman in tight purple capri pants. Huh, he said, refocusing on Jack. Oh, family well, yeah, you know. My mom and I talk.
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