Wild Tide

by Tripp Ellis

  I flashed my badge and introduced myself.

  The two of them exchanged a glance. They didn’t look happy to see me. Or maybe Rick knew I was the bearer of bad news?

  “Glenn’s dead, isn’t he?” Rick said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “He’s been missing since Tuesday, and you’re here investigating. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.” Rick sighed, and a grim look washed over his face.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” I asked.

  “Monday. We had a charter. A couple from Arizona. They wanted to dive the reefs, take some pictures. I can give you their names if you’d like to speak with them.”

  I nodded.

  “We didn’t have anything booked Tuesday. Wednesday he didn’t show up, and I started to get concerned. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never been late, much less missed a booking. I called Debbie, and she said she was going to file a missing person’s report. That was the last I heard of it until you showed up. What happened?”

  “A fishing trawler found his body about a mile north of Urchin Key.”

  His eyes widened. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Do you know what happened? I mean, how the hell did he get way out there?”

  “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

  “Like I said, I hadn’t seen him since Monday.” He paused, processing the information. “Was this some type of accident?”

  “Not unless somebody accidentally put 2, 9 mm rounds into his chest.”

  Rick’s eyes widened again. He swallowed hard. ”What the fuck?”

  “You know anybody who would want to kill Glenn?”

  Rick took a deep breath. “I mean, I wanted to strangle the guy at times, but…” he exhaled, thought for a moment, then frowned and shook his head. “You talked to Debbie, I assume?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t think she’s got it in her to do anything, but you can never be too careful. The only guy that I can think of that really had it in for Glenn was the guy that sued us. Nick Phelps. Real piece of work.”

  “I would assume that Nick Phelps wasn’t a fan of yours either?”

  “I wasn’t there when the incident happened. I was up in Fort Lauderdale at the time. Glenn felt he could manage it by himself.”

  “So, Nick blamed Glenn exclusively?”

  Rick shrugged. “I guess. But who can say what goes on in another man’s mind.”

  5

  “What about you?” I asked the deckhand. “Did you know Glenn?”

  “This is Carlos,” Rick said, introducing us. “I just hired him on a temporary basis. I needed someone to fill in. We’ve got a client this afternoon.”

  Carlos nodded and said nothing.

  "Today's his first day.” Rick smiled. “He's learning the ropes."

  "What did you do Monday night after you finished with your client?" I asked Rick.

  "I went home, had dinner, drank a few beers, watched Netflix, and spent time with my wife.”

  "What about Tuesday?"

  "If you want to stop by the house and talk with my wife, you’re more than welcome. She had me doing Honey-Dos around the house all day. Honey, do this. Honey, do that.” He frowned. "If you're looking at me as a person of interest, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I didn't kill Glenn."

  I paused. “Do you own a 9mm?"

  “Hell no. .45 ACP!” He puffed up his chest with pride. “Now that's a real man's gun."

  "I heard business wasn't doing too good."

  "I'm not gonna lie, it's a little tough right now. I had talked to Glenn about selling the boat and closing the business. We’re 50-50 partners." Rick sighed. “Were 50-50. Glenn was kind of stubborn. He didn't want to let this thing go. It was a dream of his, and he wasn’t about to let it die."

  Rick’s eyes misted a little as he glanced around the boat.

  "Now that he's gone, I feel obligated to carry on the dream,” Rick said. “Which is a little ironic, I know." He paused for a moment. "Hell, at this point I wouldn’t know what else to do. I can’t go back and get a regular job after doing this. I don’t think I could ever sit behind a desk?”

  "I understand that," I said. "Carlos, what's your last name?"

  He hesitated a moment then glanced to Rick before addressing me. “Ramirez.”

  Carlos fidgeted and avoided making eye contact.

  “Ever been on a boat before?”

  Carlos shook his head.

  “Nervous about going out on the water?”

  “I can’t swim, so… hopefully we don’t sink.”

  There were chuckles all around.

  “We won’t sink,” Rick assured.

  “Just don’t fall overboard,” I cautioned.

  An almost imperceptible sneer curled on Carlos’s lips.

  “You don't like cops much, do you?"

  Carlos look surprised by the question. He stammered, “No offense, sir. But my brother was shot by a cop in Dade County. Most cops are just criminals with a free pass."

  That hung in the air for a moment, and Rick looked at him like he was crazy for saying it.

  "I don't mean no offense. It's just my experience."

  I didn't take offense. "There are good cops, and there are bad cops, my friend."

  "Maybe. But I've yet to meet a good one," he said.

  Now I was mildly offended.

  I smiled. "Have a good afternoon, gentlemen."

  I gave Rick my information. "If you think of anything that might be useful, get in touch."

  "Roger that, chief."

  I thanked him for his time, started down the dock, and called an Uber. On the way back to Diver Down, JD called.

  "What's the word?" I asked.

  “Scarlett took the plea deal. We're settling up things now, then we’ll grab something to eat, and head back to Coconut Key. I know one thing for sure, she better keep her happy ass out of trouble."

  Neither one of us were holding our breath.

  "Well, tell her I'm sorry about the outcome, but it's better than the alternative."

  "I will. She's not much in the mood to hear anything right now. Anything developing there?"

  I caught him up to speed on all the details, and he said he’d touch base when he got back in town.

  The Uber dropped me off at Diver Down. It was Beer:30 PM, so I strolled inside and sat at the bar.

  I ordered, and Madison pulled a long neck from the tub of ice and did her twisty-top maneuver with the bottle opener. Wisps of cool air wafted from the mouth of the bottle. I took a long pull, and the cold beverage tasted good.

  I hadn't heard from Isabella since Monaco, and that was probably a good thing. She was still pissed off at me about the fiasco there, and the fact that I had lost Cartwright. He was still on the loose and living the high life.

  Cobra Company would catch up to him at some point. If it wasn't me, another operative would take him out.

  The organization had a long memory.

  You couldn’t double-cross an agent and leave him for dead and expect to get away with it. But that’s exactly what he had done.

  Cartwright had eluded Cobra Company’s wrath for longer than I had expected.

  I was sort of ambivalent about the whole thing, and I was the one who got shot. But, killing Cartwright wasn't going to change anything that had happened. At the very least, it opened my eyes. And maybe, in a strange way, I should thank him. There was, however, a little matter that I needed to talk to Isabella about.

  I reluctantly dialed her number.

  "What do you need?" she asked, perturbed.

  "I just called to see how you were doing,” I said, putting a smile in my voice.

  "You're a better liar than that, Tyson,” Isabella said, seeing straight through my bullshit. “What do you want?"

  "Well, it's been a while now, and all of my accounts are still frozen. You were supposed to be doing something about that. I'm one of the good guys, remember
?"

  "I put in a request. I don't know why it's taking so long."

  "You have explained to our friends at the agency that what happened in Mexico is not my fault?”

  "Yes, Tyson. You wouldn’t be enjoying the freedoms you now have otherwise."

  "So, I'm square with everyone?"

  "All of our clients, at least."

  Our clients were the big, three-letter agencies.

  "So, what's the issue?" I asked.

  "I'll check into it,” she grumbled, annoyed,

  "You and I both know I have a considerable amount of funds in those accounts. I can't even access my numbered account in Switzerland." I paused. "I'm not even sure how anyone else knew about that one."

  "Do you think I don't know exactly what my operatives are up to?"

  "Cartwright sure caught you by surprise,” I quipped.

  I could almost hear her nostrils flare at that one.

  She paused for a long moment. "I guess it's a good thing that you called. I have another assignment for you."

  "Nope. I'm not doing anything until my account situation gets squared away."

  "I'll remember that the next time you need something from me." She hung up the phone.

  It left me with an uneasy feeling in my gut. As much as I had been trying to get away from my dealings with Cobra Company, I just couldn't seem to break free.

  The company had vast resources, a wide network of operatives, and an unrestricted ability to take action. I'm sure, somewhere, there was some type of oversight. There had to be a secret intelligence committee in Congress that had some kind of leverage over the agency, but I wasn't sure.

  For all intents and purposes, Cobra Company didn't exist. It operated outside the law at the behest of the government, doing all the little dirty deeds they couldn't, or wouldn't do. But the agency had grown to a massive size and had acquired unimaginable funds. They shaped geopolitics in ways that were incomprehensible. Elected officials only dreamed of having this kind of power.

  The tail was certainly wagging the dog.

  After I hung up with Isabella, I called Sheriff Daniels.

  "What did you find out?" he barked.

  "I need you to run a background check on Carlos Ramirez. I also need an address for Nick Phelps. And, I need you to pull up financial transactions, insurance policies, anything that may be relevant to this case."

  "See, now this is where I think you're confused. That kind of stuff is not in my job description. That's in your job description."

  I frowned. "But I thought my job description was to kick ass and take names?"

  Well, you can log into the system and run background checks yourself. Then you can call all the insurance companies and see if they brokered a policy covering Glenn Parker."

  "I don't think that's the best use of my time," I said.

  Sheriff Daniels growled. “I will put Denise on it."

  "Thank you."

  "But don't get too buddy-buddy with her. The last thing I need is you doing the horizontal mambo with one of my staff."

  "Please. I know how to keep professional boundaries."

  Daniels chuckled.

  "Besides, I've never met the girl. Is she hot?"

  "I'm quite certain you would not find her attractive."

  "Then why did you mention it in the first place?” I had a sneaking suspicion Denise was hot as fuck.

  "I don't have time for this. I actually have work to do."

  "Right," I said, sarcastically.

  Daniels hung up.

  I finished my beer and strolled back to the Wild Tide. I grabbed another beer and climbed up to the skydeck and took in the view of the marina. I pulled out my phone and started googling how to take care of a puppy.

  I thought it might be nice to have a first mate.

  6

  "Would you turn that damn racket down!" the crotchety man standing on the dock said.

  He wore deck shoes, a navy polo, and cream slacks. He had a round nose, weathered face, and bushy eyebrows. His skin was red from the sun and too many broken capillaries. He was probably in his late 50s, with salt-and-pepper hair that curled out underneath his ball cap.

  My face crinkled, and I looked at him like he was crazy. I was listening to Led Zeppelin—and not very loud. I glanced at my watch. "It's 8:30 PM."

  "I don't care what time it is. It's disturbing me!”

  He had strolled down the dock from a 40’ sailboat several slips away. The music couldn't have been more than a murmur inside his cabin, yet he was fit to be tied.

  I reached over to the controls and turned the stereo down a notch. "How's that?"

  "It's still too loud."

  "It's on level II."

  He glared at me. "It's disturbing me."

  I smiled. "I don't think we've had a chance to meet. I’m Tyson. Would you like a beer? Mixed drink?"

  "I don't drink with strangers," he growled.

  "Did you just move into the marina?"

  "Yes, and I've already got a bad taste in my mouth."

  "We've got a really good group here. I'm sure once you settle in, you'll really enjoy the place."

  "Not if I have to listen to this noise every night," he grumbled. "I'll give it till 9 o'clock. If I hear this racket after that, I'm calling the cops."

  A thin smile curled on my lips. I pulled my gold badge from my pocket and flashed it. "I'll be here waiting on your call."

  He snarled at me, then stormed down the dock and climbed aboard his boat.

  I chuckled to myself and shook my head. What the hell was Madison thinking renting a slip to this guy?

  There was no way he was going to fit in around here. It was a pretty calm place most of the time. But on the weekends, people liked to enjoy themselves with friends and a few drinks. Sometimes the festivities went on into the wee hours of the morning. This was the Keys—you were supposed to have fun. We all chose this life for a little adventure, and the occasional party went with the territory.

  JD showed up about 9:30PM and was in need of something to sooth his nerves. "I sure am glad that shit’s over!”

  He scaled the transom and pushed into the salon. He met me on the skydeck with a glass of whiskey. He took a seat on the settee, and sipped the amber liquid, gasping with satisfaction. "I swear that girl’s gonna make me grow old before my time."

  "You’re already old."

  He scowled at me. "You'll get here one day."

  "Don't count on it," I said knowing full well my odds of making it to old age were slim, especially with my lifestyle. “How’s Scarlett taking it?"

  “She thinks her social life is over. And it should be. That’s what got her into this mess in the first place.” An exasperated breath escaped Jack’s mouth. “She's still pretty screwed up about Sadie. Maybe this whole thing will serve as a wake-up call."

  We shot the shit on the skydeck for another hour. The full moon hung low in the sky, glimmering across the water. Mr. Miller stormed down the dock and complained once again. Not long after that, I got a call from Sheriff Daniels. "What kind of hell are you two raising now?"

  "Let me guess… You got a noise complaint?" I asked.

  "Damn right I did."

  "The guy is overreacting. I'm sitting here with JD discussing the case."

  "Well, keep it down,” the sheriff said.

  "Can you hear my stereo?"

  "No."

  "See,” I said. “He's just being cranky."

  "You guys represent the department. So put on a good front."

  “That's asking a little much, don't you think?" I muttered, my voice thick with sarcasm.

  "From you two? That's asking a whole lot!” Daniels hung up the phone.

  "I've got a string of firecrackers in the trunk,” JD said. “What say we light those bastards off about 3 AM?"

  The idea was tempting.

  Jack was serious.

  "No need to pull out the heavy artillery just yet,” I cautioned.

  We had another bee
r, then JD made his way home. I climbed down from the skydeck and curled in bed in the master stateroom.

  The next morning I made a trip to the pet store and stocked up on supplies.

  I must have been out of my mind.

  I picked up some premium puppy food, a stainless steel water bowl, a collar, a name tag, a 6’ leash, a dog brush, shampoo, toothpaste, a tooth brush, a few chew toys, flea and tick control, nail clippers, and a crate. No trip to the pet store would be complete without doggy treats.

  I brought the loot back to the boat and started puppy-proofing the vessel. I figured Buddy could have the VIP guest suite all to himself. Of course, I’d have to get Madison to look after him while we were on charters, but I figured she wouldn’t mind.

  Especially after she saw him.

  I called Debbie Parker, and told her I’d like to take Buddy off her hands. But the response I got, surprised me.

  7

  "I'm sorry," Debbie said, her voice crackling through my phone. "I already gave him away. A friend of mine called after you left and said she’d take him. Should have grabbed him while you had the chance."

  I tried to ignore the deep sense of disappointment that twisted in my stomach. "It's no big deal. It's probably for the best, anyway."

  "I'm sorry you couldn't be Buddy’s forever home."

  "I'm sure he found a good one."

  "Have you made any progress on the case? Can you clear me as a suspect yet?"

  "I don't have any new information at this time. I'm sorry."

  I thanked her for her time and hung up. A frowned pulled my face, still trying to pretend I wasn’t disappointed. I figured I would take all the supplies back in the afternoon.

  Denise, from the Sheriff's Office, called. "I have the information you requested."

  I lifted a surprised eyebrow. "Really? That was quick."

  "It wasn't hard," she said with a cheery, bubbly voice.

  She gave me the address for Nick Phelps who was living in Miami. "It looks like there was a life insurance policy worth $2 million, with Brenda Parker named as the primary beneficiary."

  "That would certainly provide a motive for murder."