Free The Seadragon's Daughter by Alan F. Troop Page A

this old battered Pinto and saw her waiting by the door. He went beet-red. I swear!
    “When they came inside, they sat fairly near to me. Toba didn’t miss a trick, all wide-eyed, asking questions, batting her eyelashes, flashing her cleavage, touching his arm, his shoulder as they talked, barely giving him any chance to ask questions of his own, finally looking at her watch, telling him she had to go and then rushing out of the restaurant.
    “After he drove away, she came back in and joined me at the counter and told me what he said. I have her written report in the briefcase if you want.”
    “Just tell me,” I say.
    “Toba said, ‘It’s easy with a writer. Just ask them about their writing and let them talk.’ She said he’s thrilled with the play The Dish has given him . . . and the money. He’s been trying to make it as a freelancer for years. Now he thinks he’s finally broken through. Andy said his luckiest break was running into Pepe Santos at John Martin’s during happy hour. He told her he almost went broke buying the guy drinks. But it was all worth it. His editor’s asked him for at least two more follow-up stories. Toba said the guy couldn’t stop bragging about the money.”
    Claudia shakes her head. “She said Andy insisted his old beat-up Pinto and the crummy one-room efficiency he rents on the outskirts of Overtown were sacrifices he made to be able to pursue the truth. But now that he’s found it, he swears it’s time for him to cash in. When the story’s all done he wants to find an agent and try for a book deal.”
    I shake my head and say, “Not that that will ever happen.”
    “When’s the next story coming out?” Chloe says.
    Claudia grins. “We have some time. He told Toba he has most of it written but he’s been having a little trouble tracking down any of the witnesses from when Maria Santos disappeared. He finally got a line on a wino named Sam Pratt, said the man was washing dishes at the Half Moon Raw Bar in Key West. He’s planning to go down and interview him this coming weekend.”
    I start to say something but Claudia continues, “Pop has already been on the phone to someone in Key West. He told me to assure you that Mr. Pratt will be moving on again. This time maybe to California or Hawaii.”
    “What are we going to do about the rest of it?” I say.
    “Malcandado’s the easiest part of the problem,” Claudia says. “We can probably buy him off with an out-of-town job offer. There’s an ex-Herald editor working at a paper up in Washington who owes Pop some favors. And we can turn Toba loose on that Pepe Santos character. Her plan is to start going to John Martin’s on Fridays for happy hour. See if she can meet up with him and find out what he’s about. . . .”
    “And Jordan Davidson?” I say.
    Claudia sighs. “Ian was right. He’s tough. He doesn’t hang out with anybody. He lives alone, on the water in Gables on the Bay. He’s a fishing nut. He keeps a fishing boat at the house and goes out at least a couple of nights every week by himself.”
    “What about what Ian said, about his being gay?”
    “We had to go outside for that. None of our guys are gay. We hired a real honey by the name of Prescott Boyd. The guy knows everyone in town and at all the clubs. But it turns out Davidson doesn’t frequent any of the gay hangouts. The man may be openly gay, but he’s real private about whatever relationships he might have. Prescott said he mostly uses male prostitutes. He met one that told him about some pretty kinky sex. It seems Mr. Davidson likes to make believe he’s a killer. He actually insists on using a loaded gun as part of his sex play. Prescott assures us the prostitute can be counted on to talk with anyone we want—as long as the money’s good. We’re trying to confirm his story but haven’t found any other male prostitutes yet willing to give us anything we can use.”
    “What about the other problem?” I say.
    Claudia looks at me.