by Tripp Ellis
"I'll have Gloria at the front desk fax an employee list to the department. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"I think that's all for now. Thank you for your cooperation," I said, even though he didn't really cooperate.
We stood up and shook hands again, and he escorted us to the hallway. Mike stayed in his doorway and watched us return to the lobby.
At the front desk, Gloria said, “We updated our system a few years back, so I only have employee data going back five years. Before that, I would have to check the files. We don't have a lot of turnover at the firm, but legal assistants do come and go. It's almost 5 PM, so I can have it to you first thing Monday."
"Thank you," I said.
JD and I pushed through the double doors and stepped to the elevator bank. He pressed the call button, and we waited for the lift to arrive. JD fiddled with his phone, checking the charts on the streaming sites.
A frown tensed his face.
19
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Are you dropping in the ranks?"
"No,” JD said. "But we're only up one spot."
I chuckled. "Give it time."
"I want to hit number one by the end of the day."
We took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped outside. The sun angled toward the horizon, and the temperature had dropped slightly.
"What do you think?" JD asked. "Do you think somebody connected with the firm sent the letter?"
“It's not an employee," I said. "You’d have to be pretty stupid to do that. Something tells me our bomber isn't that stupid."
"What if it’s a deliberate tactic to throw us off the trail?"
"Mike is right. That number is plainly written on the packing slip. Anyone who's ever handled or received a letter from the firm would have access to that shipping number. It’s a poor design on their packing slips. The number should have been blacked out on the copies."
We headed back to Mangrove Bay and found Dawson and Zane aboard the Beer, Bongs ‘n’ Bitches. They were sitting in the cockpit smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Pretty much what you'd expect a couple of guys in their early 20s to be doing on a Friday night.
We stepped to the stern of the boat, and concern tensed their faces as we flashed our badges.
"Evening, gentlemen," I said.
"Howdy, officers," Dawson said in a mocking tone.
They snickered between themselves.
Dawson had short curly brown hair that hung in his blue eyes. He was probably about 6’1”. I couldn't quite tell since they were both sitting down.
Zane had long curly blonde hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore board shorts and a short-sleeve button-down shirt that was open, revealing six-pack abs. He looked like a typical surfer dude. He had hazel-green eyes and a little bit of stubble on his chin that tried desperately to be a goatee but failed miserably.
"Did you guys hear what happened to Helen Carter?" I asked.
"Yeah, I heard somebody choked her out," Dawson replied.
"Word travels fast," I said.
"Any idea who did it?" Dawson asked.
The two exchanged a glance.
"Not just yet, but we have some promising leads.”
The two snickered.
"Is something funny?"
"No, dude, it's tragic," Zane said.
"I can see you’re really broken up about it," I replied.
"I'm sorry, but she was a righteous pain in the ass."
"Why do you say that?"
"She was always calling the cops on us. For no reason! We don't bother nobody. We just like to have a good time. The last time she called the cops, I got arrested."
"What for?"
"The deputy that came out here was a real dick. He arrested me because I had a joint. What kind of bullshit is that?"
"It's still against the law here. Pro tip… if you’re going to do illegal shit, might not want to advertise it on the stern of your boat.”
The duo looked dumbstruck.
“Oh, yeah, right…” Zane muttered.
"What was the deputy’s name?" JD asked.
"Shit, I don't know. Cops all look the same to me, bro. Except you guys. You guys don’t look like cops." Zane’s eyes narrowed at JD, trying to place his face. He couldn’t quite figure it out. “This is going to sound weird, but are you Thrash.”
JD’s eyes lit up. “I am.”
“Dude, I knew you looked familiar!” Zane said with excitement. “You guys killed your last show at the Temple.”
JD tried not to grin too much. “Thanks.”
“Helluva show for somebody your age.”
JD’s grin faded into a sneer.
I steered things back on topic. “Back to Helen… you guys didn’t get along.”
“I know it sounds crappy,” Zane said, “but like I said, she was a pain in the ass. Maybe I’m messed up, but I’m not sad she’s gone.”
"There is one downside, though," Dawson said.
"What's that?" Zane asked.
"There was a constant parade of hot New Age ass coming through here," Dawson said.
“To see Madam Zykov?” I asked.
"You know, chicks trying to figure out if they should break up with their boyfriends, wanting to know if their man was cheating on them,” Dawson said. “That kind of thing. If they want to get back at their boyfriends, I’m always happy to provide an outlet for them.” He grinned.
“You score a lot of these girls?”
He snorted like the question was stupid. “Only the hot ones, bro.”
I looked at him with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“We’ve got a foolproof system,” Dawson said with a cocky smile. He exchanged a glance with Zane, and the two bumped knuckles.
“What’s your system?” JD asked.
“I don’t know if I should give away my secret,” Dawson said.
JD rolled his eyes.
“Well, I guess I can share with you guys. It’s not like you’re going to steal our babes.”
We were veering off-topic, but I always found it was best to let suspects keep talking. They might ramble themselves into an accidental admission.
Dawson continued, “See, when they leave Madam Zykov,” he said in air quotes, “they are in their head, totally focused on what she just told them. They are trying to make sense of it all and see if it rings true, wondering how they’re going to apply the information to their lives. They are so focused on themselves, you can catch them off guard. Now, you would think this would be a bad thing, but you can use it to your advantage.”
“How so?” JD asked.
“A couple of ways. Normally, if you approach a random girl, she’s gonna tell you to get lost. If she’s being nice, she’ll make an excuse and say she’s got a boyfriend, which 9 times out of 10 is just BS. And even if it’s not BS, odds are good that she’s mad at him about something. Anyway, all you gotta do is ask an innocent question and be totally disinterested in her sexually. Hey, did you just get a reading from Madam Zykov? She’ll say yes. Then you say, I’ve got this really difficult decision I need to make, and I was thinking about getting advice from her. Do you think she’s accurate? And she’ll say yes or no. Doesn’t really matter. She’ll ramble on about her situation. Eventually, she will ask you about yours. When she does, you know she’s interested. Then you give her some sob story about your cat having cancer or some shit like that, and how you’re so broken up about it, and you don’t know what to do. Boom! Instant sympathy. Invite her aboard for a drink or get her number and connect later.”
“And this works for you?”
“100% kill ratio,” Dawson grinned. “The cat close never fails.”
He leaned back with confidence and took a drag off a cigarette. The cherry glowed, and he exhaled smoke into the air.
“Where were you two last night between 8 and 10 PM?" I asked.
The two exchanged a glance, conferring on everything. It was like they shared the same brain, neither able to function
solely on their own.
"We pre-gamed here till about 10, then we went to Oyster Avenue," Zane said.
"Did you see anybody suspicious around Helen's boat?"
"No," Dawson said. "I don't remember seeing anybody."
"We were a little preoccupied,” Zane added.
"What do you mean?"
"We had two little hotties over here!” A mischievous grin curled on his lips. "Good times, bro."
"Dude, these chicks were totally banging," Dawson boasted. "It was great. We tagged them both, then went to Bumper, ditched them, picked up two more skanks, brought them back here, and scored again.”
The two high-fived.
“Dude, the boat is a magnet,” Dawson said.
It wasn’t that nice of a sport-fish.
"I'll need the names and contact information for the girls you started the evening with," I said.
The two exchanged a glance.
“Kaitlyn and Miranda,” Dawson said.
"No. Kaitlyn and Matilda.”
“No, it was… shit…”
“Maryam!”
Dawson snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that's it!”
"You know how to get a hold of Kaitlyn and Maryam?”
"Yeah, I got their number in my phone,” Zane said. He shared the contact with me.
“Have either of you been aboard Helen’s boat?”
“No,” they both answered.
“Never had a reading from her?”
Their faces twisted.
“No,” Dawson said. “I don’t buy into that crap.”
“Do either of you know where Helen kept her cash?”
They exchanged another glance.
20
"I don't know," Zane said. "Under her mattress? Is this like a bonus round where we get a prize for answering correctly?”
"No," I said. "I just wanted to see if you knew." I paused. "Are either of you missing a lighter?"
"Nope," Dawson said.
Zane shook his head.
“So, there’s no reason we should find either of your prints inside Helen’s houseboat?” I said, acting like we had found something.
Their faces twisted again. “No.”
“Look, we didn’t kill Helen if that’s what you’re getting at,” Dawson said. “Call Kaitlyn and Miranda.”
“Maryam,” Zane corrected.
“Whatever.”
I gave them a card and told the delinquents to call me if they could remember anything pertinent. They were crass and obnoxious, but I didn’t think they were killers.
We left the marina and headed to Oyster Avenue. The sun had vanished over the horizon, and the gray sky quickly turned black. We parked the car a block away and walked to the avenue. Tourists strolled the sidewalks, and the glowing lights from signage bathed the strip in an array of colors. It was early, and the boulevard hadn’t reached its full potential yet. Most of the live bands didn't go on until later. This was primarily the dinner crowd and the leftovers from happy hour.
We passed a girl who listed down the sidewalk, tacking like a sailboat into the wind. Somehow she managed to keep making forward progress.
Jack scrolled through his phone as we strolled the sidewalk. He had missed a call from his daughter, Scarlett, in Los Angeles. There were hundreds of voicemails and texts on his phone. When he saw that she had called, he immediately called her back.
Scarlett picked up the phone after a few rings. "Oh, my God! Everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking about Wild Fury.”
JD smiled. "You're not the only one in the family with talent."
"Have you seen the streaming charts today?"
"Last time I checked, we were at #8.”
“Well, you’re not #8 anymore."
JD perked up but tried not to sound too curious. "Where are we?"
“Dad, you have a song that is #4 on the charts. At least, that’s where it was the last time I checked. How insane is that!?” Scarlett almost never called Jack dad.
"It's pretty cool."
“What are you guys going to do next?" Scarlett asked.
"Slow your roll there, kid. We haven't finished riding this wave yet."
"You need to strike while the iron is hot. Get another video out, pronto."
"I'll have to talk to my director," JD said, flicking his eyes to me for an instant.
"You know they’re talking about your band on every entertainment website, right?"
"Yeah, but it's not all good."
"Love the haters, Jack. Love the haters. Trust me, you don't even want to see some of the comments I get on my social media posts."
"Oh, I've seen a few."
"Stop stalking me."
"Well, sometimes I have to look at your social media because it's the only way I know what's going on with you."
"Stop. I call you all the time."
Jack scoffed. "Please. I'm lucky to hear from you once a week. You call Tyson more than you call me."
"It's not a competition. Anyway, gotta go. Congrats! You deserve it. We'll talk soon.”
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Jack ended the call, and a few more texts buzzed his phone. His face crinkled as he looked at the screen. “Where did all these people get my number? I've gotten calls and texts from agents, managers, A&R guys, journalists, you name it.”
“Enjoy the attention while it lasts.”
JD scrolled through his missed voicemails and listened to a few. He had no shortage of offers for record deals and artist representation.
JD wanted to catch Happy Hour at Great White. We hadn’t been there in a while, and he was already hungry again.
We walked down the block to the seafood restaurant. The entrance was a giant set of man-made shark jaws. Rows of jagged teeth loomed overhead as we passed through the gate, entering an area of outdoor seating. We stepped inside, and the hostess greeted us. Pictures of ferocious sharks hung on the walls, as well as actual jaws from several varieties of local sharks. The hostess seated us outside, and we took in the sights and sounds of the avenue while we perused the menu.
The restaurant offered pretty standard seafood items—varieties of grilled and fried shrimp, lobster, crawfish, catfish, salmon, redfish, and other catches. You could get Alaskan King crab, blue crab, crab cakes, and of course, a few non-seafood items like burgers and chicken sandwiches. Ironically, the only thing you couldn't get was shark. They had one of the best mushroom burgers on the island.
A perky blonde waitress skipped to the table and greeted us with a smile. "I'm Lucy. I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you started with an appetizer? Oysters on the half shell? Crab balls? Calamari?"
"How about a little calamari?" JD said. "And some crab cakes."
"Anything to drink?"
"You know it," JD said with a grin. “A glass of Jimmy Martin Black Label."
"The same,” I said.
"I'll give you a few minutes to look over the menu and be right back with your appetizers."
She spun around and sauntered to the next table and repeated her introduction. JD’s eyes followed her. She was certainly appetizing.
Even more alluring at the moment was JD’s phone. He checked the song’s rank again and surfed the web for the latest gossip. He was obsessed.
His face crinkled. “Shit.”
21
“What is it?” I asked.
“We dropped down to #5,” JD replied.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I said.
“No, but…”
“The night is young,” I said optimistically.
When Lucy returned, JD ordered the Chilean Sea Bass, and I ordered the Cedar Plank Salmon. Afterward, we met the band at Tide Pool for a little celebration.
By the time we arrived, the patio was packed. The water was heated to 87 degrees, but there were fewer people frolicking in the pool during the winter. The air temp was 64 degrees, which could make scampering around in a teeny bikini a little chilly at times.
JD bought a round of drinks for the band, and there was much rejoicing—though Styxx had a tense look on his face.
“You need to loosen up and enjoy this,” Jack said.
“How am I supposed to enjoy this with all the crap they are spouting about us?” Styxx asked, his voice tight.
“Who cares? Ignore it.”
Styxx pulled out his phone and pulled up a popular music review site. “Wild Fury is a pathetic throwback to a bygone era of excess and gratuitous debauchery that’s better left in the waste basket of history.” He read another quote, getting even more upset. The veins in his neck puffed. “It’s the ‘80s reheated, but stale and moldy.” He found another quote. “With an over-the-hill front-man, and a trio of mediocre supporting musicians, Wild Fury is nothing more than a cover band that should be relegated to a dive bar on Tuesday nights.”
“I’m not over the hill,” JD said.
On the verge of a breakdown, Styxx found one more review. “I’ve heard better noises from my cat’s butt.”
JD just smiled, untouchable. “Yet, the song is in the top ten.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t good for our image. Those quotes will be on the web forever. And they called us mediocre. That’s bullshit.”
JD shrugged. “It comes with the territory. When you put something out there, it’s not yours anymore. In spirit, it belongs to the listeners. It’s theirs to love or hate. And I’m telling you, there are clearly listeners out there who love it.”
“I guess you’re right,” Styxx said with a sigh. “We just always got such a good response from people after the shows.“
“Need I remind you that we’re dealing with the Internet here. People feel emboldened to say things they’d never say to your face.”
“Well, clearly, some of these people haven’t gotten punched in the face enough.”
JD chuckled and patted him on the back. "Come on, let's get you another drink."
We moved to the bar, and JD bought the guys another round of drinks.
Two gorgeous blondes approached Styxx. One of them asked, “Are you the drummer for Wild Fury?"
Styxx perked up. "Yeah."
"I thought that was you." The girl's eyes flicked to JD. "And you're the singer, right?”
