“Why not?”

“He won’t say anything about the DeMarcos.”

“Then again, he may not know we know about the judges taking payoffs from Talos.”

“Technically, we don’t know. But I’d like to see his reaction.”

“Rattle that cage,” Hawk said.

I nodded. “More than we have now.”

Hawk dove off into the pool. Several women watched him as he started to swim laps. His dark skin and muscular shoulders and arms made him seem as if he’d been born to the water. He did four laps across the pool before he was sidetracked by the woman in the purple bathing suit. She rested on a yellow float and turned sideways, keeping a tricky balance, as she moved to speak to Hawk.

Maybe I could bring Susan back here when things slowed down. We could thaw out for a while. Maybe catch a Rays game and the Dalí museum. Susan could shop. I could drink beer and eat blue crabs. It would be lovely.

About the time I finished my second beer, Hawk paddled up to the side of the pool. He rested his sizable arms on the lip of the pool.

“Making friends?” I said.

“And influencing the ladies.”

“I think her bathing suit was influencing you.”

“Both,” he said. “She invited me to dinner.”

“Fast worker.”

Hawk grinned. I watched the pitch and fall of the sailboat masts in the harbor. The hotel stood pink and proud as it had back in Gatsby’s day.

“Don’t suppose we’re down here to frolic in the water,” Hawk said.

“Even in the water, it’s hard to imagine you frolic.”

“Where to?”

“Let’s go see Zig,” I said. “I don’t know anyone else down here. I only know people in Miami.”

Hawk nodded.

“But it could be useful to check in with them,” I said. “Perhaps they might offer an introduction.”

“Epstein?” Hawk said.

I nodded.

“Good to know some honest Feds,” Hawk said. He turned to look over his shoulder. The woman on the float raised a tropical drink in our direction.

“Meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes?” I said.

Hawk remained impassive behind his designer frames. “Babe, that wouldn’t do the lady justice.”

39

Ziggy Swatek’s office was on the seventh floor of a building in Tampa that resembled a beer can.

“Everything looks like a beer can to you,” Hawk said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But this building must have been designed on a very hot day.”

“Hmm,” Hawk said, standing with me on Ashley Street near the Hillsborough River. He looked upward, shielding his eyes and studying the tall, cylindrical shape. “You just may be right, man.”

We rode up together on the elevator. My knee was giving me a little trouble, but I didn’t acknowledge it. I start to complain about the knee, and soon Hawk and I would be trading cholesterol scores.

The Swatek Law Firm took up three office suites and had an interior that looked to have been designed by Marlin Perkins. Photographs of exotic animals lined the walls. The receptionist noted my staring and informed us Mr. Swatek was a world traveler and an animal lover. Hawk leaned in and said, “Reason he work with Jackie DeMarco,” he said.

“Is Mr. Swatek in?” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s not in the office. But his associate Sydney Bennett is in. Would you like to speak with her?”

“Terrific.”

“And your names, please?”

“Spenser and Hawk.”

“Mr. Spenser and Mr. Hawk,” she said, writing it down. “And may I ask your first names?”

“That’s all of it,” I said. “Kind of like Madonna.”

“Or Prince,” Hawk said.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was being racially insensitive.”

The woman studied us for a moment, not sure what to say, and picked up the phone. She let the party at the other end know a Mr. Spenser and Mr. Hawk were in the building. She put down the phone and gave an unsteady smile. Behind her was a picture of a cheetah chasing down a gazelle. Or maybe it was a small wildebeest. It was really hard to tell from the angle and all the blood. Another photo showed a herd of galloping giraffes. Hawk stood nearby, staring out the window at the river rolling by. A plaque on the wall noted that Swatek donated money to the Lowry Park Zoo.

After a minute or two, a young woman emerged from a hallway and walked out to the front desk. She was tall and moved with a lot of confidence, as if maybe she’d been an athlete in college. She had the build for it, maybe an inch shorter than me, with broad shoulders and muscular legs showing from a herringbone skirt. Her top was white silk and her shoes a modest black patent leather. She had bobbed brown hair and did not wear a lot of makeup. She offered her hand.

“You work fast, Mr. Spenser,” she said. “We only called you this morning.”

“Oh, well,” I said. “We were in the neighborhood.”

She asked if we wanted water or coffee. I accepted a little coffee and she nodded to the secretary. Hawk didn’t speak.

“This way,” she said. “Please. We’re looking forward to clearing up this matter.”

“We?” I said.

“Mr. Swatek is just back to the office.”

“Ziggy,” Hawk said. “Wow. Man sure moves quick.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly expecting you,” Sydney said. “I figured I’d be the one searching for you in Boston. I run the office there.”

“You don’t say.”

“In Brookline,” she said. “If we don’t settle this matter today, I look forward to seeing you there. I fly back tomorrow.”

“‘When strangers do meet, they should ere long see one another again.’”

“Who said that?”

“Let’s pretend it was Shakespeare and not Cary Grant.”

She didn’t respond as we walked down a long hallway. The walls seemed to be made of tan suede. I looked back to Hawk and he ran his finger along the edge. He tilted his head and shrugged. She opened the door to a conference room and waved us in with an open hand.

At the head of an oval table sat an ugly man with a lot of white hair. He wore an ugly suit and had an ugly look on his face. If he’d been cast in ceramic, one might place him in a garden with a red hat to chase away evil spirits. His skin had an orange glow, contrasting weirdly with the cotton white of his hair. His sport coat was some hue of aqua over an open-collared white shirt. The shoes propped on the desk were pink suede.

“I’m guessing there was no court today,” I said.

“Who said that?”

“Your shoes,” I said. “Your client would be guilty on many levels, Zig.”

He grinned. “When I heard you were giving Mr. DeMarco a headache, I had you checked out, Spenser.”

I looked to Hawk. Hawk nodded with appreciation.

“You’ve pissed a lot of people off,” he said. “Your name is high on a lot of shit lists.”

“Shucks.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “You make trouble for people wherever you go. You have a history of stirring up things and pissin’ in the punch bowl.”

“Man just can’t help himself,” Hawk said.

“Who the hell are you?” Swatek said.

Hawk took off his shades and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He didn’t change his expression. “Better for you not to know.”

“Whatever,” Swatek said. “Sit down. I got no problem with this. You want to come in and explain why you two come into Mr. DeMarco’s restaurant and start tearing up the place? Or do I need to call someone at Tampa police to come down and make an arrest?”

“Is there a third choice?” I said.

“I believe so,” Hawk said, smiling.

40