Retribution: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t know,” I said. “You know the Burger King on 301, near the Ringling School?”
    “Know it,” he said.
    “Kid works there named Mickey. Don’t know his last name. Must be about twenty. See if you can track him down, find out where he lives. Adele might be with him.”
    “If I find her?” he asked.
    “Leave a message on my machine,” I said. “You ever hear of a writer named Conrad Lonsberg?”
    “I have.”
    “He lives out on Casey Key. He might know something about Adele. I’m waiting for him.”
    “Want help?”
    Which meant, do you want me to come down there with a shotgun, break down the door, and threaten the noted man of letters.
    “Not yet,” I said. “You read any of his books?”
    “Liked
Plugged Nickels”
said Ames. “Didn’t read the poetry. The first one,
Fool’s
… something.”
    “
Fool’s Lover
,” I said.
    “Fool’s Love,”
he said. “Couldn’t get through it. Too much feeling sorry for everybody.”
    “It’s considered a classic,” I said.
    “Not by me,” Ames said.
    “Can’t say I’m looking forward to finishing it,” I said.
    “Put it away. Try
Plugged Nickels
if you have to read him. I’ll call you.”
    I hung up, got back into the Cutlass, and drove over the bridge. It was almost dark when I parked across from Lonsberg’s gate. Across the Gulf of Mexico I could see the sun balanced big and yellow-red on the horizon line. A white heron flew in from the water and landed about a dozen feet from the car. It strutted, long-necked, gracefully, and then stood as still as a pink lawn flamingo. I was watching the sun beaming off the heron till the bird decided to look at me and fly back out over the water. I watched the sunset. A few seconds after it was down I heard the gate open.
    It was on some kind of automatic device like a garage door. A battered blue Ford pickup rumbled out and the gates closed behind it. I had my lights off though it was dark enough to use them. I followed whoever was in the Ford down the road, off the Key, and over the bridge toward the mainland.
    I stayed far enough behind that I hoped he wouldn’t see me but close enough that I wouldn’t lose him. He wasn’t going fast. Since the windows of the pickup were tinted, I couldn’t see who was driving but at least it was a human from the Lonsberg enclave. It was a start.
    The pickup went north and turned into the mall just before Sarasota Square and parked near the Publix. I parked in the next aisle.
    A lean, average-sized man with white hair, gray chinos, and a black short-sleeved polo shirt got out. The shirt wasn’t tucked in. I knew Lonsberg was about seventy. This man walked like a man twenty years younger and in a hurry. I followed. He got a cart at Publix. So did I. I followed him around and got a few decent looks. The face was sun-darkened, lined, good teeth that looked real, a serious look. He selected grits, eggs, cheese, a wide variety of vegetables, meat, chicken, fresh grouper, and a big jar of Vita herring in sour cream. He added six gallons of bottled water and six half gallons of Diet Dr Pepper before deciding he had all he needed or wanted. His eyes met no one’s and no one seemed to take note of him.
    I got behind him in line with my four cans of albacore tuna.
    While he emptied his cart, he looked back at me for an instant and in that instant he knew I recognized him. He turned his eyes back to his unpacking, his back to me.
    While the clerk was putting his groceries in plastic bags, I paid for my tuna and followed him out to his pickup.
    “Conrad Lonsberg,” I said.
    He said nothing, just piled his bags in the back of his pickup truck.
    “Adele Hanford,” I said as he opened the door of his pickup and started to get in. He stopped, turned his head, and looked at me. He knew how to stare someone down.He had obviously had a lot of experience. We were a good match. I had a lifetime of patience and since he didn’t close the door and drive away I was sure this