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“Late thirties, early forties, five-six, a hundred and forty, mousy hair, not pretty.”
“What kind of vehicles are driven by the staff?”
“Security drives white Range Rovers, maintenance drives Ford vans and pickups, all white, with the green palmetto thing on the doors.”
“Where are they serviced?”
“In town. We take them to Westover Motors when they need something.”
“Any vehicles there now?”
“I’m taking Barney’s Range Rover in when I leave here.”
“What for?”
“Regular service. We get it back tomorrow. Barney’s a stickler for regular maintenance.”
“Where do you live, Cracker?”
“I have a room in the staff quarters.”
“How many of the staff live on the place?”
“All of them.”
“What do you do for entertainment?”
“They fly us to Miami. Everybody works seven days on and four off. Palmetto Gardens owns a refurbished DC-3 for flying staff back and forth.”
“Which airport in Miami do they fly into?”
“Opa Locka.”
“Tell me the names of some of the members of Palmetto Gardens.”
Cracker looked blank. “I don’t think I know any of them.”
“How do they refer to them among the security people?”
“By addresses. I’ve never heard any names used.”
“What do these people look like?”
“Rich. All kinds of nationalities. There’s some Europeans and some Hispanics and some Americans. There’s a couple of Arabs, too, I think. It’s not like I ever have a conversation with any of them.”
“Do they have wives and children?”
“Women, most of them. I’ve only seen a few kids—that’s less common.”
“How many members?”
“There’s two hundred and eight houses; I guess a member a house.”
“How many employees, total, on the place?”
“Something over six hundred, I think. Half of them are domestics.”
“Six hundred employees are living on the place?”
