A Mighty Fortress by S.D. Thames Read Free Book Online Page A

least it brought a rarity for a Tampa August—a mild breeze. Running in the rain at this temperature felt like I was back in Coronado, California. Except I was alone and running for myself.
    Back home, I pulled off my drenched clothes and hung them over the shower. I put on clean gym shorts and called Wilcox.  
    He answered by asking, “Is it done?”
    “Just checking in,” I told him. I explained I knew where Scalzo was having dinner that night, and that I intended to see him there. “By the way, expenses are going to be higher than expected.”
    “Eat whatever you want. Just keep it to one bottle of wine.”
    “Actually, it will be dinner for two.”
    “Is she hot?”
    I pictured Judge Pinkerton wobbling across his parking lot, pushing his bike and scratching his bony rump. “Not exactly. So, any idea what Scalzo looks like?”
    “From what I hear, he’s pretty nondescript. Short guy, short black hair.”
    “No identifying marks?”
    “Christ, Porter, I haven’t seen the guy naked.”  
    “I don’t plan on seeing him naked, either. I just wanted to know—”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here’s one thing I do know, the guy’s always packing.”
    “Oh yeah? And who told you that?”
    “Good luck, Porter.”
    He hung up, probably en route to the nearest toilet. I slid open the top drawer of my nightstand and looked down at my commemorative Sig Sauer 250 resting in its case. I hadn’t taken it out in a while. In fact, I hadn’t fired a gun since I moved to Tampa. Maybe it would like to go for a ride. I asked it, but it was happy sleeping and staying home. So be it. I was, too.  
    I closed the drawer, and went about picking out clothes for my date.

CHAPTER FIVE
You're Served

    Pinkerton was waiting on the corner of Westshore and Gandy. He’d wanted me to pick him up at the Circle K there for some reason, and when I arrived, he was holding a brown paper bag and wearing an antiquated gray suit of thick wool that resembled gabardine. Whatever it was, it was too hot for August. He walked to my car calmly, opened the door, and took his seat.
    “Can I put this in your glovebox?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before he opened it and stashed the brown bag inside.
    “What is that?” I asked. The traffic had cleared, allowing me to head north on Westshore.  
    “None of your business.” He closed the glovebox and reclined his seat a few degrees. I could tell he had showered, but his hair was greasier than when I’d dropped him off. “Pleased to see you’re a man of your word.” He rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. Red veins colored his gray eyelids.
    “Actually, I’m hoping you’ll continue to prove valuable to my investigation.”
    He shifted his head and opened one eye with a worrisome glare. “Fat chance.”
    “All the time you were on the bench, you ever have any run-ins with the Scalzo family?”
    He raised his seat and sighed. “There was a time in Tampa when if your last name ended with a vowel, you were for all intents and purposes above the law. Remember, I started out in the State Attorney’s office. We knew all about Alfonse and his family. Alfonse was one of the old guys, in with Trafficante. But his son, Art, he was a real fuckup. Did too much blow in the seventies. Why do you ask?”
    “Because tonight we’re serving Alfonse’s grandson with a trial subpoena.”
    Pinkerton leaned toward me. “Not we , sonny. That would be you. I’m just along for the ride. And the food.”
    From Westshore, I turned left on Kennedy, passed the Westshore Plaza, and took 60 over to the Courtney Campbell Causeway. Armani’s was near Rocky Pointe, just at the start of the causeway, where a few hotels and restaurants overlooked the edge of Old Tampa Bay. I found the Hyatt and a sign for Armani’s, and pulled up to the valet kiosk.
    “You can’t be serious about valeting this thing,” the judge scoffed.
    He had a point, though he didn’t realize why. I’d rather