I left my house at ten after five and walked downtown. The light was against me at A1A and Centre Street, and I used the break to light a cigarette. On the opposite corner, a kid in a Guy Fawkes mask was waving at traffic and holding a hand-drawn sign that featured a crude picture of an airplane and the words, "Don’t drone me, bro." Kid needed to spend more time on the internet; the reference was already old. Occasionally a passing car would honk in agreement with the sign and the kid would wave a bit more enthusiastically. I wondered if he knew that the Gunpowder Plot had just been an attempt to replace an Anglican despot with a Catholic despot. I wondered if he’d even heard of the Gunpowder Plot. I wondered how fast Jimmy Sweeting’s boys would be along to bounce his ass off of Centre Street. I figured pretty fast.

The light changed and I got the walk signal. As I passed Guy Fawkes I said, "Remember, remember, the sixth of September."

He didn’t correct me. Some people have no respect for history.

###

I got to the Palace Saloon at five-fifty and went in and scanned the place for Dave Tanner and didn’t see him. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Sam Adams and waited.

The Palace was one of the oldest continuously-operating bars in the state. Wyatt Earp could have had a drink here in his prime, if Wyatt Earp had ever been dumb enough to relocate to North Florida. The bar was dark-stained cherry wood and as old as the building, with a brass footrail along the bottom. It was backed by a wall-to-wall mirror of equivalent vintage. Against the mirror in the center of the wall was an intricately carved ship’s figurehead, a bare-breasted sea nymph. It was an old joke in the Palace -- probably as old as the saloon itself -- that if you could throw a silver dollar between the nymph’s breasts and get it to stick, all your drinks were free that night. I’d never known anyone who actually tried. Who the hell carried silver dollars anymore?

The rest of the saloon wasn’t as impressive as the bar. Just bare brick walls, an old, scuffed wooden floor and a pressed-tin ceiling. The Palace’s current owner must not have been a history buff, because he had corrupted the place’s old-timey feel by putting neon beer signs on every wall and, inexplicably, a life-sized plastic statue of Humphrey Bogart on the sidewalk by the open front door. Bogie was dressed as Rick Blaine at the end of Casablanca and had been missing his right hand for as long as I could remember. I’d never asked what happened to the hand. I’d also never asked why there was a plastic statue of Humphrey Bogart at the door in the first place. Some mysteries are worth preserving.

At six o’clock Dave Tanner walked in and blinked a bit while his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the saloon. He spotted me and walked over and nodded. The bartender ambled over and Tanner ordered a whiskey and soda. I told the bartender to make one for me too.

We got our drinks and I said, "Want to get a table?" and Tanner nodded. We found an empty table in the back corner of the saloon and sat. I nursed my drink for a few minutes while Tanner glared at me.

"So I guess we know who Teresa was sleeping with now," he said finally.

"You also know she was using a fake name when she was with me," I said. Tanner nodded but continued to glare.

"Look, Dave," I said. "I’m not a saint. Teresa was not the first married woman I’ve slept with. She probably won’t be the last. But I didn’t know she was married when I slept with her, and I sure as hell didn’t know she was married to you when you hired me. If I had, I never would’ve taken your money."

More glare. "So you’re saying you’re just a poor innocent who was taken advantage of?" Tanner said.

I took a sip of my whiskey and soda and looked at him. "Actually, yes," I said. "That’s precisely what I’m saying."

Tanner glared for another few seconds. Then he looked down at his drink and sighed. "Ah, hell," he said. "You’re right." There was a bit of a hitch in his voice. I imagined he’d been crying a lot that day, and I hoped it was mostly out of his system.

"And frankly, we’ve got bigger problems right now," I said.

"I know."

"Let’s start with why you were there the other night," I said. "You told me Teresa called you, but you were in shock and you weren’t making a lot of sense. Let’s go over it again."

Tanner nodded. "She called me at about seven-thirty. Said she was in trouble, but not the kind of trouble I thought. Said she needed my help, and she’d explain everything when I got there."

"Nothing else?" I said.

"Nothing else."

"And you went, just like that? Even knowing she was stepping out on you?"

"I love her," Tanner said simply, and all at once I felt like the world’s biggest heel.

"I’ll return the retainer," I said. "Innocent victim or no, I do feel badly about this."

Tanner took a deep breath, let it out. "No," he said. "You’re right, we have bigger problems right now than who was fucking who. Keep the retainer. I’m officially hiring you to look into Teresa’s death." His voice was firm and he looked me in the eye. It was surprising to see such decisiveness coming from such a frail-looking guy.

"Dayton County sheriff is already on the case, you know," I said.

"Jimmy Sweeting couldn’t solve the mystery of why he’s such a fatass if he was standing on a scale in front of a buffet table with a plate in his hand," Tanner said. "And Jonah Cooper’s a good man, but he’s working for the worst department in the state. You can at least, um, augment his investigation."

"You know Coop?" I said. I tried to figure out how a South End millionaire would meet a Dayton County deputy and failed.

Tanner smiled at me. "Not really. But we’ve moved in similar circles in the past," he said. "Always thought highly of him."

Oh. That’s how. I started wondering if I should put the word "apprentice" before "investigator" on my business cards.

"You’re bisexual?" I asked.

"Is that a problem?"

"Not for me. Are you out?"

"In this county?" Tanner asked.

I nodded. "Withdraw the question. Did Teresa know?"

"She knew. I told her when we first started dating. I’m monogamous by nature, so I guess it really didn’t matter much, anyway; I wasn’t seeing men when we were together. But I’m also big on being honest, so I told her."

"Did she have a problem with it?"

Tanner shook his head. "Actually, she seemed a bit amused," he said. "Told me at least she wasn’t the only one with a varied sex life."

"Did she elaborate on that at all?" I asked.

"No. Is this germane?" He didn’t seem annoyed. Just curious.

"The fact that you’re double-majoring?" I asked, and Tanner nearly spit his drink. He laughed.

"Thanks," he said. "I’m gonna use that one. But yeah, my double major, Teresa’s varied sex life, whatever. Is it germane?"

"Your sex life? Probably not. Teresa’s? Maybe. Did you know she was arrested twice for prostitution a few years back?"

Tanner put down his glass and looked at me. "No," he said. "I didn’t know that."

He didn’t seem shocked or horrified or disgusted. There was no judgment in his look. Just attention.

"I said a minute ago that she used a fake name when she was with me," I said. "That’s not quite right."

I told him about Sheri’s prostitution arrests, her work as a stripper, the cocaine, the name change. I left Ria out of it for the moment. I wasn’t quite sure why. It just felt wrong to bring her into things quite yet, and I’d learned to trust my instincts.

"Jesus," Tanner said when I was through.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," I said.

"She was a prostitute at a strip club?"

"A strip club owned by Jack Redmond," I said. "Which is why she was arrested but never convicted."

"I don’t understand," Tanner said.

"Jack Redmond is a heavy guy," I said. "Drugs, prostitution, various other criminal enterprises. Really he’s just a glorified middle manager for some guys in New York. But as far as organized crime in North Florida goes, he is the man. He’s also a ruthless son of a bitch. Even the Cubans out of Miami haven’t been able to move in on him."

"Teresa was working for a mobster? Christ, it sounds like a movie."

"Jackie Redmond is not a movie mobster," I said. "There’s no ’family is everything’ Godfather shit going on with him. He wouldn’t bother sending Fredo out in the fishing boat; he’d waste him right in the living room and then watch The Price is Right while the body cooled in the corner."

"Jesus," Tanner said.

"What I can’t figure out is why he bothered making Sheri’s prostitution charges go away," I said.

Tanner looked blank for a minute, and I remembered that he didn’t think of her as Sheri. Then he got it and nodded.

"But if she worked for him..." he said.

I shook my head. "A guy in his position isn’t ordinarily going to sweat it if a hooker gets busted," I said. "He would consider it a cost of doing business."

"You said she had cocaine on her," Tanner said. "Maybe it had something to do with that."

"Be my guess. Maybe she was running drugs on the side for him, maybe she knew enough about the operation to be valuable."

"Maybe that’s what ended up getting her killed," Tanner said. His too-big eyes were bright. He clenched his jaw and took some deep breaths.

"Almost certainly," I said. "Something to do with that, anyway. The question is, why now, after five years or more?"

"What are you going to do?" Tanner asked.

"I’m going to find out," I said.

"And then?"

I shrugged. "Step at a time," I said.

Next Chapter: NINE