"You know something," he stated flatly.
"Lots," I confirmed. "Nothing about where Tristan is."
"He owes me a great deal of money." Moreno glared at me.
"Something like 25 grand, I hear. Am I right?"
A curt nod came from the man.
"What happened?" I asked, "Did Tristan say that the Coasties boarded him? He had to dump the drugs?"
"So he says," Moreno answered. "Though, that is not my concern."
"In your business, that's pocket change," I pointed out.
Moreno growled, "If you let the dog steal your scraps, before long, he will be taking the food from your mouth."
"I see. Good old gangster logic. I bet your employees go all out for Boss's Week, don't they."
"Is Locke working with Agent Kohl?" he asked.
"That I can answer," I said excitedly. "He is not. That's not Tristan's style."
"But you work with Kohl?" he asked.
"Again," I said, "I do not. Kohl is looking for any traction to get you with. He seems a bit desperate."
"Where is Locke?"
"I said, 'I don't know'." I added, "I know you didn't kill him, so there's that."
"Maybe he took my drugs and sold them. That kind of money can hide a man for a while."
"Maybe," I responded. "I don't think so."
Moreno stared at me. He seemed to be thinking. Then he asked, "Do you think he is still alive?"
My expression must have given away my thoughts. I was taken back by the question.
Moreno smiled, "But you don't know for sure, am I correct?"
I shook my head, "I don't know. I really don't."
"May I make a..." he paused as he looked for a word, "guess? Locke may have stolen my package and attempted to sell it to someone else. That person might have been greedy and decided that killing Locke meant he could have the money and the product."
That scenario hadn't occurred to me. If Tristan was dumb enough to get involved with Moreno, he might be dumb enough to think he could out-think him. Kayla mentioned him complaining about the Coast Guard, though.
"I'm afraid you have little to offer me," Moreno stated.
"But wait, there's more," I said. "If you act now, I'll throw in one of those towel things that never get wet."
"You make jokes," Moreno said. "Are you not afraid of me?"
"No, I'm not," I told him. "Wait, is that what you are going for?"
"What about your friend, Locke?" Moreno asked.
Smiling, I shook my head. "Nope, not afraid of him either, but between the two of you, he'd take the lead. Besides, you think he's dead now."
"I'm only making a guess," he said.
I remained still. Measuring in my head the distance from my arm to the Sig Sauer still pointed at my gut.
Moreno scowled. "Are you not afraid I'll find and hurt him or his family?"
"Mr. Moreno," I began. "May I call you Julio?"
Scar squinted at me. I wasn't sure if he spoke English or not. Judging from his reaction, I think he did.
"You may not," Moreno said.
Defiantly, I said, "Julio, I can only tell you this. If something were to happen to Tristan's family, then the number of days you get to spend above ground is going to be single digits."
"Eres tonto," he muttered. Then he translated, "You are a fool."
"No, señor," I corrected. "You are. What did you know about Tristan before you let him run drugs up and down the coast for you? What did you know about me before you dragged me into your car?"
His face twisted. "You were in the Army with Locke," he said confidently.
"Wrong," I said. My elbow popped up and caught the gunman in the jaw as my right hand crossed my body and picked the Sig from his grip. The barrel of the Sig cracked Scar on the nose before he could draw his own gun. In the half a second that Scar was stunned, I elbowed the first guy again in his nose. This time an audible crack resounded through the Hummer.
The Sig was leveled at Moreno. I locked eyes with him. "Tell him to very slowly remove whatever weapon he has. I feel the least bit uncomfortable, and I will blow the back of your head off a second before I put one in his eye."
Moreno looked at Scar and nodded. Scar pulled a Colt .45 from his side, he held the gun by its barrel. I guess he did speak English.
I grabbed the grip and hit the guy next to me one more time, this time in the throat. He gasped for air. He was the closest to me, and that made him the most dangerous. Rules of engagement are that the most dangerous threat be eliminated first.
"Marine," I said bluntly. "We were both Marines."
"You are making a mistake," Moreno hissed through his teeth.
Holding both guns at Moreno and Scar, respectively, I asked, "You think I made a mistake? There are three of you inside a closed space and only one of me."
"You had surprise," Scar growled.
"Yes, and I won't get you that way again, will I?"
Scar bared his teeth slightly.
"Here's the thing," I explained. "What I said about going near Locke's family. I mean that. I can pick you with a rifle from seven hundred yards. I can wait days for you to stick your head out of the ground. Walk out of Padrino's with your belly full of borsch or whatever that shit is, and bam, you will be dead on the street."
"Not if I kill you first," Scar threatened.
I looked at Moreno. "Tristan and I were in a unit with four other Marines just like me. We are all alike, and if something happens to me, then Julio, my friend, you are going to be the number one target."
Scar bristled, and Moreno put a hand out to calm him.
"I seem to have underestimated you, Mister Gordon," he said calmly. "It is a mistake I don't tend to make."
"No," I responded, "I expect it isn't. Let's call a truce of sorts. I think perhaps this small change you have missing should just be written off. I'll stay clear of you, and you stay clear of me, Tristan, and his family. We can all live a much longer life that way."
Moreno said, "If Locke shows up, then we will decide the status of his debt at that time. However, I'll assure you that the decision will be civil. Will that be fair?"
"I'm a little sad I don't get to try the roast beef thing," I said.
"Hector," Moreno said to the man next to me, "please let Mister Gordon out."
Holding his bleeding nose and still trying to gasp for air, Hector struggled to get out of the car.
"Thank you, Señor Moreno," I offered. "I hope you don't mind if I keep the guns a bit longer. While you seem to be reasonable, wild hares have caused all sorts of trouble in the past."
Moreno nodded as I stepped out. I retrained the Sig on Hector. While he was somewhat subdued, he was still the closest threat. He got back in the Hummer and shut the door. I backed away from the SUV as they pulled off the curb.
When the taillights were gone, I exhaled slowly.
17
My eyes opened, and I blinked a few times. I wasn't used to having the sun beam through the window to wake me up. Rolling my face away from the sun, I stared at Missy's naked form lying next to me.
After my encounter with Moreno, the best course of action, I thought, was to find a different place to spend the night. Moreno might decide that my insolence should be punished. Men like him don't always think of themselves as vulnerable. There was no point in letting him send Scar to kill me while I was sleeping in my berth.
Missy booked a room in the Tilly, and we decided to hide out here with a bottle of champagne.
But the flaw in this hotel was the east-facing windows. Everyone wants a view of the sea, but at six in the morning, the sun was a jarring wake-up call-my own fault for not closing the curtains before falling asleep.
Missy didn't seem fazed by the light. She breathed short, shallow breaths that huffed through her lips every second.
My watch said it was 6:20, and I contemplated taking a shower. Instead, I let my head sink back into the pillow and thought about Tristan.
Moreno had a
ll but confirmed that he hadn't found Tristan. My gut was still telling me that my friend had succumbed to a terrible fate. Maybe I was completely wrong about that. Perhaps, I was completely wrong about Tristan too. I assumed that the Tristan I had served with would never leave his wife and child. But the fact was that I didn't know the Tristan that got married and had a little girl.
Throw out all your assumptions, I told myself.
What if Tristan did steal Moreno's drugs? What if running drugs wasn't just a way to feed his family? I thought about what Detective Schilling said about the guy from his unit. Nothing could save him, no matter what Schilling and the other guys from his unit tried. Perhaps Tristan was just a low-rate criminal. Considering the circumstances that got him dishonorably discharged, the shoe might fit.
I felt confident that Moreno wasn't going to make a move against Kayla and Abbie right now. I needed to rethink Tristan's life. Where had he been hiding? Who was he associated with?
I sat up and stared out the open window.
"Where are you going?" Missy asked.
"Sorry, I woke you," I said.
"That's okay, but it's still early. What are you doing?"
"This Tristan thing is bothering me," I told her. "I'm going to do a little digging around."
"What about this drug dealer? Moran?"
"Moreno," I corrected. "I think I'm going to be wary, but I don't think he had anything to do with Tristan. Yet."
"You could just stay here for a bit," she suggested.
Twisting around, I lowered myself down and kissed her lips. Her fingers coursed up through my hair, and she grabbed a handful.
I pulled away. "Why don't we put that on hold?"
She bit her lip. "I'll remember that later."
"Damn, woman," I growled, "you are insatiable."
"You can't go one more round?"
I laughed. "No, I'm gonna be walking funny all day as it is."
She threw a pillow at me as I went to the shower.
"Do you mind if I borrow your car again?" I asked over the sound of the running water.
"Can't today," she said, climbing into the shower with me. "I have to go to a Chamber of Commerce thing."
She started kissing my neck. My arms pulled her closer.
"I thought I said, 'later'."
"I know what you said." She kissed my chest.
My hands braced myself against the side of the shower as I lost all blood flow from my brain.
When she raised back up and kissed me, she said, "You owe me one."
"I thought I was already ahead by two."
She kissed me again. "You were, but you still owe me one."
I smiled. "Now," she said, "get out of the shower. I have to go to work."
Dripping on the floor, I toweled off. Missy was still in the shower when I finished dressing.
It was too early to call Kayla, but I wanted to talk to her in an hour or so. Tristan had to have a couple of friends around that he might have gone to if he needed a place to crash. If Kayla left me the key to her house, then maybe I could find something there that she missed.
I didn't want to monopolize the marina's car. Most people would use an Uber or Lyft, but then most people have smartphones. I stopped by the concierge desk. The concierge on duty was William. Maybe Will. I didn't know. We were only on the nod across the way level of acquaintanceship.
"Hey," I said when I got to him.
"Hello, Chase," he said after what looked like a short struggle to place my name with my face. "What can I do for you?"
"Do you mind calling a cab for me?"
"Absolutely. Are you not working today?"
"Later, but I have to run some errands."
He nodded as he lifted the receiver on his desk. "I'll have them pick you up out front."
"Thanks."
On my way toward the front door, I stopped at the complimentary coffee station and grabbed a cup. When I plopped down on the bench outside the entrance of the Tilly Inn, I just soaked in the morning. The bartending life leaves me missing early mornings more often than not, but when I'm on the hook somewhere among some isolated islands, I enjoy the early mornings. I'll usually dive into the sea first thing for a snorkel and maybe a bit of spearfishing.
After only a couple of weeks back ashore, I was already thinking about heading back out. With Peterson's addition to my kitty, I didn't need to work as long as I thought I would need to. My brain was making little plans already. The Keys were a smooth sail south, and I could jump down to Cuba or over to the Caymans.
Eventually, I wanted to go through the Panama Canal and around the world. But I could spend a lifetime exploring the Caribbean, so I haven't got any set time for that destination.
The yellow taxi pulled up to the curb. I crumpled my empty coffee cup and deposited it in the trash bin.
A little incense holder on his dash filled the car with an aroma of spices. He was rail-thin, not like someone who was malnourished, but more like he hadn't succumbed to the American lifestyle of supersizing everything.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked me.
"3976 Long Shore. It should be out in Loxahatchee."
The driver typed the address into the GPS app on his phone. He clipped the phone into a holder clinging to the air vent over his radio.
The driver didn't seem interested in making small talk. It was a crapshoot. Sometimes cabbies will talk incessantly, and others are afraid to say a word. I didn't mind the quiet. The ride would give me time to catch some of the scenery. Like Miami, my travels don't venture too far inland.
He stuck to the main roads, and I wasn't sure exactly which ones we were traveling down. The businesses and commercial buildings began to taper off as we passed the Florida Turnpike. Golf courses and neighborhoods constructed atop what once was swampland passed us by. When he turned north, the scenery changed as we drove along the western side of a natural preserve.
My mind switched off after a while. Trees and Spanish moss racing past my view hypnotized me. When he came to a stop, I was jolted back.
I paid the driver and asked, "Can you wait a few minutes?" I held up a twenty-dollar bill.
The cabbie nodded without saying a word, and I held the bill forward for him to grab.
Tristan and Kayla lived in a small house, maybe 800 square feet. It was a small cube of cinder block painted and covered with chipped and broken stucco. The microscopic front yard was layered in rock and sand. A doll and a small toy Jeep were baking in the Florida sun, left no doubt by little Abbie. Modest attempts to make the house look like home were planted along the walkway. A hibiscus and a mango tree were on either side of the yard. It looked like they could only afford a plant or two at a time, and the gaps between anything planted seemed sad and large.
The front door was ajar, and I froze on the step. The wooden frame was splintered, where a foot had shoved the bolt through the wood. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the driver playing with his phone.
My toe pushed the door open. The inside looked like a tornado had ripped through it, a couch was sliced up and overturned. Things were scattered everywhere. I stepped in slowly, attempting to find an empty floor space to put my foot.
Don't touch anything, I reminded myself.
The search seemed both intense and thorough. The sheetrock walls were busted open, and gaping holes covered every wall. Even the ceiling had been ripped down.
This didn't feel like Moreno's work; he was more interested in sending a message. This devastation was visceral. Framed pictures of the Locke family were crushed underfoot. The frames were mostly intact, only the glass was broken.
The freezer door was open in the kitchen. Any food that had been in there was scattered on the floor in puddles. Some were beginning to smell as it rotted in the hotbox of a house. Drawers were flung around, and their contents scattered everywhere.
Even poor Abbie's room wasn't immune. Toys and stuffed animals were ripped and broken open. Her mattress was cut open and tossed aside.
> The tank on the toilet was uncovered. The toilet itself spared from the trashing that the rest of the house had endured. All of the air registers had been ripped from the wall. That made sense. They come in looking for something, and they started with the most logical and easiest to access hiding spots. The vents and toilet were early searches. As they didn't find what they were looking for, they got more frustrated.
Walking around to the back of the house, I found a tool shed. It hadn't escaped the search either. The door had been ripped open and hung loosely from one hinge. A hammer had been thrown through the window in the shed. Once I found a small handful of nails, I pulled the door the rest of the way off the hinge and carried it around to the front. Covering the busted door, I nailed the shed door over the opening. It was far from Fort Knox, but it might keep someone out of the house.
The awning over the front door had a small piece of wood where I hooked the hammer by its claw. I couldn't do much else here.
The ride back to the inn felt twice as long. Things were twisting in the wind.
When I was back, I found Joseph behind the bar. He works just a couple of days a week as a relief bartender. He's semi-retired in his sixties. He worked in Vegas back in the eighties, and he has some great stories about the orgy of excesses that coursed through Sin City back then.
"Mornin', Chase," he said as I came into the Manta. "Haven't seen you since you got back. How was your trip?"
"Great. I'm ready to head back out already."
He nodded. "Yeah, Janet doesn't want to have to use the head all the time. She'll let me go out for a few overnight fishing trips, but not longer than that."
"Sacrifices," I commented.
"Nah, I enjoy boating. I don't want it to become too much work."
"Can I borrow the phone?" I asked.
He tossed the cordless phone to me and returned to set up the bar. "You coming in later, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm in at four," I answered as I dialed Kayla's number.
"Hello," she said.
"Kayla, it's Chase. Have you heard anything from Tristan?"
"Nothing. I keep thinking that he might just call or something. I'm so worried."
"I am still looking. I want you to stay up there with your mom. I don't know what Tristan has gotten involved in, but it's too dangerous for you and Abbie. At least until I figure a few things out."
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