Wild Tide

by Tripp Ellis

  Once again, screams of ecstasy filtered through the house with a passionate crescendo. I collapsed on top of her a sweaty, exhausted mess.

  We lay together for a few moments, enjoying each other’s delights. I figured she would kick me out momentarily, so I wanted to soak up the moment as much as possible. She was a passionate woman that burned with deep desire. She didn't do anything half-assed. Whether it was business, or romance, she was in it to win it.

  I eventually rolled aside and caught my breath. I stared at the ceiling as she lay beside me. We didn't say anything. There was no need. This was strictly a business transaction. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Pure pleasure.

  That's when I heard a dull snap downstairs. I recognized the sound instantly, and my eyes went wide.

  It was followed by a thump and a dull groan.

  I slid out of bed, pulled on my shorts, and drew my weapon.

  Luciana sat up in bed, clutching the sheets across her breasts, her eyes wide as I padded to the door and held up behind the frame.

  I heard another snap, followed by a thud, then a thump. A body had hit the wall and fell to the tile.

  The term silencer is a misnomer. It's a suppressor. It attenuates the report of gunfire. But it doesn't make it silent. Not like you see in the movies.

  Someone was downstairs and had just taken out the two bodyguards.

  21

  “Call 911,” I whispered.

  I pushed out of the bedroom and moved down the hall toward the stairs, keeping my weapon in the firing position, trying not to squeak the floorboards.

  An assassin lurked somewhere below.

  I waited at the top of the landing, looking down into the living room for movement in the shadows, reflections in the glass, etc.

  The air was still and thick with tension.

  I hovered a moment, waiting, listening. The constant click of a wall clock in a nearby room sounded thunderous in the silence.

  Initially, I assumed there was a single assassin. But there could have been more.

  There probably was.

  It was standard protocol on high-end jobs. When you absolutely, positively, had to kill someone, why send just one killer?

  I moved back down the hall to the bedroom and announced myself to Luciana with a whisper. "It's me."

  I hovered in the doorway.

  Luciana was still in bed, but she had pulled a pistol from a drawer in a nightstand by the bed.

  "How many?" she whispered.

  I shrugged.

  The bedroom opened to a terrace that overlooked the water.

  It was a big concern. I kept an eye down the hallway to the stairs and glanced to the terrace that lay beyond the sliding glass doors.

  My heart beat elevated, and my temples pulsed. My hand gripped the pistol tight.

  Footsteps on the roof creaked overhead. The tiny, muffled sound of asphalt granules breaking loose underfoot filtered down.

  I pointed to the ceiling as I stepped into the bedroom. I quietly pulled the door closed and locked it. It wouldn't keep an intruder out for long, but it would slow them down.

  I pointed to the door and whispered, “Shoot anyone that comes through."

  Luciana nodded.

  I crept across the bedroom toward the sliding glass doors, knowing someone was right above me on the roof.

  My hand reached for the latch, and I unlocked the sliding glass door. It made a click that was way too loud.

  I grimaced, angry with myself. I had given away my position. Whoever was on the roof knew exactly where I was.

  Fuck it.

  I slid the door open, making a ruckus, then backed away, keeping my weapon aimed at the terrace.

  Sheer curtains blew in the breeze.

  Suddenly, the bedroom door shattered, flying off its hinges as an assassin kicked it open.

  BANG!

  BANG!

  Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel of Luciana’s pistol.

  My ears rang from the deafening report.

  She drilled two bullets into the chest of a masked assassin as he stepped through the mangled doorway. Blood exploded from his chest, and he fell back to the ground. Gurgling gasps of breath escaped his lips as he drowned in his own blood and fluids.

  At the same time, the other assassin dropped from the roof and opened fire.

  Bullets snapped across the room from a suppressed pistol. They whizzed past my ear, and a gentle breeze tickled my skin.

  I took aim and squeezed off two rounds, putting one into the attacker’s chest, and the other into his face.

  He crashed to the terrace, and blood pooled around his body. His weapon clattered against the tile. His body twitched for a few minutes with nerve impulses.

  I moved to the thug in the doorway and kicked his weapon down the hall for good measure. But he wasn’t getting up.

  Neither was the guy on the terrace.

  I pulled off the attackers’ ski masks. They had gang tattoos on their faces and necks.

  I grimaced.

  Julio Ruiz was the head of a powerful Mexican cartel, but surely his people had realized by now that I didn’t kill him? Cartwright did.

  These clowns could have been locally hired assassins, but it seemed like a stretch. I don’t think the Mexican cartel was behind this. There were numerous people who wanted me dead. Too many to count.

  Sirens echoed in the distance.

  Before long, the house was swarming with EMTs and a tactical response team dressed in black with assault weapons.

  “What the hell happened here?” Sheriff Daniels asked, surveying the carnage.

  He didn’t look thrilled about being pulled out of bed this time of night. He was dressed in civilian clothes with a badge affixed to his shirt.

  I stood in the bedroom, shirtless, while Luciana barely had time to find a red silk robe. A Komodo dragon print slithered around her taut form, and the hem rode high on her tanned thighs.

  The sheriff’s cranky eyes flicked from me to her, then back again. He didn’t have to say anything to express his disapproval. His eyes said it all.

  “I’m guessing these two men weren’t here to steal the TV?” Daniels said.

  "I've had some run-ins with the cartel in the past," I said.

  "That doesn't surprise me," Daniels replied. He surveyed the bodies. “But these aren’t cartel. See that tattoo?” he said, pointing. “These guys belong to Los Sombríos Segadores. Local gang. Street thugs. Low level dealing, extortion. That kind of thing. What did you do to piss them off?”

  I shrugged. “It’s my charming personality.”

  “That would do it,” Daniels said, dryly.

  The crime scene photographer snapped photos, we made statements, and Brenda examined the bodies.

  Daniels pulled me aside, making a subtle nod to Luciana. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  "What do you think I was thinking?"

  "She's a major contributor to the mayor's campaign. A prominent social figure. This is not going to reflect well on the department. These men were here for you!”

  “I have a large fan club, what can I say?”

  The sheriff's eyes narrowed at me.

  “We don’t know they were here for me,” I said, not quite believing it myself.

  “I’ve got three dead bodies, including her driver,” the sheriff grumbled. “I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do about how and why this happened. Hopefully the press doesn’t get wind of this. They’ll have a field day. And the mayor won’t be pleased.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He just shook his head and marched away. “Miss Varga, would you like me to post a unit outside for the rest of the evening?”

  “I think, perhaps, that would be wise,” she said.

  The bodies were removed and hauled off to the medical examiner's office. The crowd cleared out, and the house had an eerie stillness about it after everyone left.

  "Would you mind staying for the rest of the evening?" Luci
ana asked. "I don't want to be alone."

  "Sure. No problem."

  "Thank you," she said as she embraced me, clutching tight.

  I wrapped my arms around her. The pounding of her heart thumped against my chest. “Are you sure you wouldn’t feel more comfortable somewhere else?”

  “I have an island retreat. I may go there tomorrow. But I’ll be safe here with you, and the sheriff’s deputies outside.” She smiled.

  "You’re pretty handy with a pistol," I said.

  "I think it's wise to be prepared. I go to the range at least once a week.”

  It was almost 4 o'clock in the morning, and neither one of us could sleep. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins.

  “Do you want breakfast?” Luciana asked. “I don't think I can get to sleep."

  I nodded.

  We moved to the kitchen and Luciana scrambled eggs and fried bacon. She didn’t strike me as the domestic type, but she was quite adept in the kitchen.

  We sat at the breakfast table and ate, talking until the sun came up. Even with a cup of coffee, I found my eyes drooping after the adrenaline had worn off.

  The doorbell rang, and I perked up instantly, drawing my weapon.

  "It's okay," Luciana assured me. "I made a few phone calls and arranged for two more bodyguards."

  "The last two didn’t work out so well," I muttered.

  "Fortunately, you were here. I don't think I would have made it through the night without you. Thank you."

  I made my way through the living room to the entrance foyer. I peered around the corner and could see two men standing on the porch through the frosted glass.

  I was pretty sure that assassins wouldn’t ring the bell, but I was cautious nonetheless.

  I shouted through the door, wondering where the other deputies were. “Who is it?"

  "We are here for Miss Varga. Rodrigo sent us."

  I glanced to Luciana, and she nodded with approval.

  I pulled open the door and allowed the two men to enter. I looked to the street and the patrol car was gone. The deputies had left.

  I shook my head and grumbled.

  Luciana told the replacement guards what had happened, and they assured her that the situation wouldn't happen again.

  I assumed they were from the same agency as the other bodyguards.

  Luciana showed them around the premises and addressed concerns and weaknesses in the overall security. There was no forced entry. The assassins must have slipped in through an open window or an unlocked door.

  Once Luciana had given the new bodyguards their instructions, she took my hand and pulled me back up to the bedroom. We both crashed hard, and when I woke at noon, she was gone.

  There was a note beside me on the bed that read, “Thanks for keeping me safe."

  She drew a smiley face on the note.

  22

  I bit my tongue when I walked in to Diver Down and saw Ryan at the bar. Didn’t this guy have some place else to be? I mean, didn't his wife wonder where he was?

  I took a seat at the opposite end of the bar and tried not to glare. Harlan was in his usual spot, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had made friends with the person trying to kick him out of his home.

  Madison eventually strolled down and took my order. It was around noon, and by this time, I was hungry again. "I'll take a bowl of crawfish bisque.”

  “Where have you been?"

  "I spent the evening with a friend."

  "You look like hell!”

  I forced a smile. "Thanks."

  I didn't feel the need to tell her that someone had tried to kill me last night. I maintained a smile and waved back at Ryan who flashed his pearly whites at the end of the bar.

  Denise called from the sheriff's office. "Ballistics came back on the weapon you confiscated from Nick Phelps."

  "And?"

  "Not a match."

  My jaw dropped. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "I thought sure we’d get a hit on that." I sighed. "Anything on that bullet I gave to the lab?"

  “They are still cross-referencing the database. I'll let you know if anything turns up."

  "Thanks."

  I ate my meal and contemplated the case. Just because Nick’s weapon didn't match the slugs didn't mean Phelps was innocent. He could have tossed the 9mm, or it could be somewhere else? There were endless possibilities, and I was no closer to solving this thing.

  I stormed back to the Wild Tide, took a shower, and put on a fresh change of clothes. As I was getting dressed, Sheriff Daniels called. "Get over to Dowling Street, ASAP!"

  "What's going on?”

  "You have to see for yourself. Bring numb-nuts with you."

  I called JD. He swung by the marina to pick me up, then we headed to the crime scene.

  It was probably the most horrific thing I'd seen in Coconut Key. We usually didn't have crimes that made this much of a statement.

  A man had been murdered, and his body had been carved up into sections and scattered across the street. Flies buzzed around the bloody remains. Neighbors looked on in horror at the spectacle. The forensics photographer documented the gruesome scene, and the medical examiner tried to piece things together, no pun intended.

  Dowling Street was a shady part of town. Drug dealers and prostitutes worked the area on a regular basis.

  "From what I've been able to gather from the residents, that's Diego Ortiz, a low-level drug dealer with gang affiliation," Daniels said. He pointed to a severed arm, covered in tattoos. ”Just happens to be the same gang affiliation of the men who tried to kill you last night. Los Sombríos Segadores.”

  His eyes pierced into me.

  "I had nothing to do with this," I said, raising my hands innocently.

  The tattoo was a grim reaper skull with LSS in fancy script underneath it.

  "I'm just wondering what the hell is going on here?” Daniels said.

  "Any witnesses?" JD asked.

  "Nobody's talking,” Daniels said. "They're afraid of gang retaliation."

  "Understandable," I said.

  "I've notified the next of kin, but they didn't want to answer any questions either. You might have better luck."

  Daniels gave the address of Diego’s mother.

  "See what you can find out,” Daniels said. “But I don't have high hopes for this one."

  JD and I left the scene and drove a few blocks to Diego’s mother's house. It was a small, but well maintained, one-story with three bedrooms and a porch.

  "They're not going to talk to us," JD muttered as we strolled toward the door. His red 911 looked out of place in this neighborhood.

  JD pulled open the screen door, and I knocked.

  A few moments later an older woman cracked the door. She had dark hair that was graying on the sides and dark eyes.

  "Mrs. Ortiz?” I asked. “I’m Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Donovan. I'm so sorry for your loss. I know this is a difficult time, but any information you could give us would be helpful."

  "I told you people, I don't want to talk to you. Go away."

  "Ma'am, we understand your concern, but we really have nothing to go on."

  "I have other children to think about. Now go away before someone sees you here."

  She slammed the door in my face.

  “Told you," JD said.

  I thought for a moment. “Come on. I've got a plan."

  23

  We cruised through the neighborhood in Jack’s Porsche, looking for street transactions. Since we weren’t beat cops, and didn't work the area, we were unknown to the local dealers. Hell, we could probably just pull up to a corner and someone would approach us within moments.

  We didn't have to look too hard. Within a few blocks, I spotted money changing hands, and a small bag of dope was passed inconspicuously from dealer to client.

  JD screeched the Porsche to the curb, and I hopped out of the car with my badge in one hand and my pistol in the other. "Freeze. County Sheriff!"


  Eyes went wide, and both the dealer and the client took off running in different directions.

  I chased the dealer across the street and down an alleyway. He hopped the fence into someone's backyard with grace and ease. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. He was a seasoned professional at the game.

  I followed after him and wasn't quite as graceful.

  I ran across the yard, avoiding a plastic baby pool, and several children's toys that littered the yard. I caught the dealer as he was scaling another fence. I grabbed his ankle and yanked him down to the ground.

  His back smacked against the ground, and air rushed from his lungs with a cough.

  With the barrel of my pistol pointed at his face, he was hesitant to make any sudden moves.

  He raised his hands slowly.

  "On your stomach, put your hands behind your head.”

  He complied, and I slapped the cuffs on his wrists. I wasn't gentle about it, and he groaned as I did it. Those steel cuffs could be nasty when smacked against the bones of the wrist.

  The homeowner stepped into the backyard with wide eyes. She looked terrified.

  I held up my badge. "County Sheriff. Everything is under control here, ma'am. Go back inside."

  It was like something straight out of a cop show.

  ”What the fuck you want, man? I didn't do nothing,” the dealer protested.

  "Right." I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I bet you got enough merchandise in your pockets to go away for a long time."

  "Search me. I ain't got shit.”

  “You swallow it?" I asked.

  “Bitch, I ain’t swallow shit.”

  “Where you’re going, you will.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to prison. I didn’t do nothing.”

  "I'm happy to take you down to the station and keep you there till it comes out the other end."

  It was common practice for dealers to keep drugs in small balloons in their mouths and swallow them in case of emergency.

  "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. You tell me what I want to know, I'll cut you loose."

  "Fuck you."

  "You clearly haven't thought this through. When I drag you out of here, I'm going to make sure the whole neighborhood sees us. Everyone's going to assume that you talked to me, because you're going to get out right away with no charges. People will think you had to cut a deal. Snitches get stitches."