Wild Ocean

by Tripp Ellis

  The man would probably spend the next few days in the county jail. It wouldn’t take them long to determine he was undocumented. They’d send him back where he came from, and his employers wouldn’t be happy to find out he had lied about completing the job.

  There was no doubt I hadn’t seen the last of the cartel.

  Madison ran to me with worried eyes and gave me a hug. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  I was surprised to see so much concern from her. I think she was a little surprised by her reaction as well. “I’m fine. The guy was a moron. He picked a fight he couldn’t win.”

  “Do you think that’s the guy who killed Jeremy?”

  “No. I seriously doubt he would confuse the two of us.”

  Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean confuse the two of you?”

  I realized I had put my foot in my mouth. “I mean, he was confused if he thought he could take me down.”

  Madison didn’t buy my response. “What’s going on here?”

  “I don’t think these two attacks are related.”

  “A guy tries to mug you on the dock. Jeremy is killed by the dumpster, and his watch was stolen. You don’t think the two are related?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Why not?” she said in a stern tone.

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “No, we can’t talk about this later.”

  The crowd was starting to dissipate, but they were still within earshot. I suggested we continue this conversation in private. We boarded the Slick’n Salty, and I offered Madison a seat at the lounge.

  “Do you want a beer?”

  “No. I don’t want a beer. I want you to tell me what’s going on!”

  I moved to the galley and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then sat at the dinette. I twisted the cap off the longneck and the compressed air rushed free. I took a long pull and thought about how I was going to position this. This whole truth thing was new to me, but I figured it was time to come clean. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”

  “I’m alarmed.” Her eyes were wide, and her intense gaze demanded answers.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about my life.”

  “That’s because you keep your cards close to your chest.”

  “It’s safer for everybody that way.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You may think you’re keeping the people around you safe with all this cloak and dagger shit. But as evidenced by recent events, it’s not working.”

  I caught her up to speed on everything that had happened since Mexico. The expression on her face was a mix of horror, shock, and rage.

  “I came back because I wanted to be able to keep you safe,” I said.

  “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of it. Jeremy could be dead because of you.”

  “I really don’t think they are connected.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure.” She looked like she was about to explode. She grumbled to herself and clenched her fists. “You should never have come back here.”

  19

  Madison stormed off the boat.

  I ran a frustrated hand through my hair and sighed. I was trying to fix my relationship with my sister, and I had made it worse.

  I called JD and told him what happened. He swung by that afternoon and picked me up. He decided it was best if I improved my attire before the poker game. Most multi-millionaires I knew were rather unassuming individuals. They weren’t terribly flashy and didn’t like to attract attention to themselves.

  Still, cargo shorts and a T-shirt didn’t exude wealth. We drove to Highland Village and shopped at several high-end boutiques. I picked up a nice Zangari cream colored linen suit, a blue cotton broadcloth shirt by Bonaccorso, a blue silk pocket square by Boveri, and leather loafers by Agnellini.

  The whole ensemble set me back $1699. Or I should say, set JD back. He fronted the whole thing. It was a little much if you ask me. “I feel ridiculous.”

  “You look great. Definite high roller.”

  “Jeremy wasn’t a high roller.”

  “Trust me. You want to make Scarpetti feel at ease. If he thinks you will be an easy mark that has a lot of money to spend, he might open up a little. Besides, if you don’t get blood on the suit, we might be able to take it back. I know a girl who can put tags back on.”

  “What about the shoes?”

  “At $600 a pair, we can afford to have them re-soled. Then return them for new.”

  I shook my head. JD always had an angle.

  He payed cash for everything, then we grabbed an early dinner at Blowfish. It was an upscale sushi joint—the best on the island. The stunning waitresses wore skintight bodysuits with low-cut necklines and black sheer leggings.

  It was a feast for both the eyes and the belly.

  Their premier dish, and namesake, was the Japanese fugu fish—a lethal puffer fish that contained tetrodotoxin, which required special preparation to remove the deadly portion of the meat.

  I didn’t need to tempt fate. I had already had enough near-death experiences. The salmon and a California roll would do me just fine.

  I talked Jack out of the puffer fish, and instead he ordered edamame, a spicy tuna roll, ootoro, a Kirin Light, and sake.

  I decided not to drink since I needed to be on my A-game.

  Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off the waitresses. “I think the next ex-Mrs. Donovan might be wandering around this place.”

  “The last thing you need is another ex-wife.”

  “When are you going to settle down, start building a family?”

  I looked at him like he was crazy. “When people stop trying to kill me.”

  “At that rate, you’re going to be single for a long time.”

  “If people would just take the time to get to know me, they might not want to kill me,” I said in a dry tone.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, doubtful. “Your sister knows you pretty well, and I think she’s about ready to kill you.”

  “She is not a happy camper. I don’t blame her. The last thing I wanted was to drag her into my lifestyle.”

  “Jeremy is not your fault. And this guy today… well, maybe that’s your fault. But, in your defense, you eliminated the threat quickly and without incident.”

  “Yeah, but what about next time?”

  JD thought about this for a moment. “Just don’t get any bullet holes in my boat.”

  I frowned at him.

  Our waitress stopped by to check on us. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  I could see the lewd comment brewing behind JD’s eyes, but he restrained himself. The waitress was gorgeous—raven black hair, pale skin, red lips, fishnet stockings.

  “Just the check please,” JD said.

  She started away, then turned back. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering if you could settle a bet?”

  JD grinned. He knew what was coming next.

  “Honey, I’d be happy to do anything you need me to do.”

  She giggled. “My friend says you’re famous. She bet 20 bucks that you’re the lead singer of this 80s band… Molly Crew? Or something like that.”

  She’d never heard of the band and wasn’t born yet when they were topping the charts. It made both JD and I feel old.

  Under normal circumstances, Jack would have assumed his alter ego and let everyone believe he was a celebrity. But I could tell he didn’t want our waitress to lose the bet.

  “I hate to disappoint, but I’m not famous.”

  The waitress smiled and pulled a fist in celebration. “You just made me twenty bucks!”

  “In that case, do I still need to leave a tip?”

  She squinted at him. “Yes, of course you do.”

  “Don’t worry. The service was outstanding.”

  She flashed a cutesy smile and kicked up her heel like Betty Boop. “Thank you.”

  She returned a few minutes later with our tab, and JD peeled off a wad of bills.
“Keep the change.”

  Her eyes widened at the hundred dollar tip he left. “This is turning out to be a good night. Thank you.”

  She cleared our plates and sauntered away.

  Jack grabbed the receipt from the table and was about to stuff it in his pocket when he looked it over. “Well, would you look at that?”

  He showed me the paper. The waitress had written her number on the receipt.

  Jack grinned. “The next ex-Mrs. Donovan?”

  20

  Jack handed me a fat roll of cash when we got back into his car. And when I say fat, I mean fat. $10,000 in crisp hundreds, rolled up and bound by a rubber band.

  “Big pimp’n,” I said.

  “You know it.”

  We drove to the Seven Seas Hotel. It was a luxury five-star resort. The valet took the car, and we strolled through the opulent lobby. The hotel was centered around a spectacular pool that faced the ocean. There was a private marina, and a small private shell beach. We took the glass elevator up to the third floor. I knocked on #319 and a thick meathead wearing a dark suit pulled open the door. I instantly took notice of the .45 that was tucked under his armpit in a shoulder holster. I flashed the wad of cash and he motioned for us to enter.

  The furniture inside the suite had been replaced with a poker table. There was a fully stocked bar, and two gorgeous blondes in tight cocktail dresses served as much as you liked. Just like Vegas, the drinks were free. Scarpetti was there to oversee the game.

  The game hadn’t started yet, and several would-be players mingled about the suite, drinking and talking to the girls. There was an investment banker from Wall Street, a dentist from Colorado, a tech guru from Silicon Valley, an ad exec from Los Angeles, a cattle rancher from Texas, and a mortician from Georgia. Several others came and went during the night.

  I traded my cash for game checks and sat at the table. No limit Texas hold ‘em. I wasn’t a beginner, but I wasn’t a pro.

  The small and big blinds were posted, and the cards were dealt. My first hand was a disappointment—7 of clubs, and a 2 of diamonds. I folded before the flop. If the whole night was going to be like this, I was in for trouble.

  The next round wasn’t much better. 2 of clubs, 6 of spades. Even if the stars aligned, and the flop was 3, 4, and 5, the odds that someone had a 6 and 7 were high.

  I folded.

  I kept getting these crappy starting cards. I thought I was cursed. I hadn’t lost anything except for the occasional blind bid as the deal rotated around the table.

  Then something changed.

  Cigar smoke filled the air, and chips clacked as players fidgeted with stacks. Ice cubes rattled in drink glasses.

  A pair of aces came my way. That kicked off a streak that was so hot, even I would have thought I was cheating. In an hour, I was up $127,000.

  That’s when I probably should have quit. It would have been the smart thing to do. But I was here to gather information--not win a pile of money. Although that would have been a welcomed bonus.

  I had a bad feeling that my luck was about to run out. Call it gut instinct.

  I got dealt a 10, 8, off suit.

  The pot was $23,500 before the flop.

  The flop—8, 8, Queen.

  Wall Street, Tex, and the Mortician folded.

  Everybody checked at the turn.

  Deuce of Clubs.

  The Dentist looked confident He raised $8,000.

  I re-raised $40,000.

  Tech Giant called at $40,000.

  The River came down—another 8.

  Mortician folded.

  I went all in at $85,000. I had to admit, my BP might have been a little elevated.

  The tech giant called.

  That brought the pot to $281,500.

  The Tech Giant only had a king and a queen.

  I tried to contain my joy as I scooped up my winnings. The tech giant didn’t seem fazed at the loss.

  It was definitely time for me to get out of there. I pushed away from the table and went to cash out my chips. I barely had enough pockets to stuff in all the cash.

  Scarpetti approached and put a hand on my shoulder. He was a big man, late 40s, dark hair, hard face. He had a few scars around his eyebrows from street fights, no doubt. Clearly a New York mafia guy. “You had a good night.”

  I shrugged, innocently. “The cards fell my way.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  He gently ushered me into the next room. One of his bodyguards followed.

  I had hoped to draw his attention by playing flashy and making big bets. It seemed like my strategy worked. I only hoped this wasn’t the part where I got worked over with a lead pipe.

  I couldn’t tell exactly what was behind his eyes. Scarpetti took a rake from every pot. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter who walked away with the money at the end of the night. He got his cut.

  “We always like new players,” Scarpetti said. “A player of your caliber might enjoy something more exclusive.”

  “More exclusive?”

  “I run another, invite only, game. $100,000 buy-in. Seems like that might be right up your alley?”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Third Tuesday of the month. Same place. Feel free to stop by anytime. Congratulations on your winnings.” He turned toward the door, then stopped. “By the way, how did you find out about the game?”

  “Jeremy Phelps.”

  I saw the recognition in Scarpetti’s eyes. “Good friend of yours?”

  “No. Not really. We met in a bar. Got to talking. We both had poker in common. It’s a shame what happened to him.”

  “Yes. It is.” The muscles in Scarpetti’s jaw flexed. He was angry about it.

  “This game seems a little out of his league.”

  “It was way out of his league,” Scarpetti said. “But, let’s just say I was friendly with the kid’s mother. He did okay for a little while. Then he got upside down. I covered a few of his bets. He owed the house about $150,000. The way I see it, whoever killed him, stole from me. And nobody steals from me.”

  21

  “That pretty much rules Scarpetti out,” Jack said.

  The valet pulled JD’s Porsche around, and we climbed in. The flat six howled as Jack dropped it into gear and sped away. I pulled out a couple stacks of cash from my pocket and offered them to JD. Here’s $10,000 for the stake, plus a couple grand for the outfit, and a little extra for the effort.

  His face contorted. “You are out of your goddamn mind. That’s a 50-50 split, son. You wouldn’t have had the game, or the cash if it weren’t for me.”

  “50%?” I said with raised eyebrows.

  “Damn skippy! I took all the risk. I share in the reward.”

  “Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Jack.”

  “Plus, now you can start paying rent.” He flashed a miserly grin.

  "There's no way Scarpetti killed Jeremy while he had an outstanding debt,” I said.

  “Maybe he sent someone to scare him and things went wrong?”

  “No. I think he had a soft spot for the kid.”

  We drove back to Diver Down and divvied up the cash in the parking lot. Despite giving JD his cut, I still walked with $137,750. Not a bad night’s haul.

  I told Jack I’d touch base with him in the morning, and he sped away into the night. I stepped into the bar and settled my tab with Madison. Her suspicious eyes surveyed me and the money. “What did you do? Rob a bank?”

  “Lady Luck smiled on me.”

  “So, you’ve taking up gambling now? That’s great,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

  “My whole life has been a gamble.”

  I had a few beers before heading back to the marina. As I stepped out of the bar, I was greeted with a crowbar to the belly.

  My stomach leapt into my throat. I doubled over with pain, then felt the sharp break of the crowbar against my back. The impact flattened me against the deck. The wood smelled like a mixture of stale bee
r and bleach.

  A voice said, “Quit nosing around. Things could get dangerous for you, and your sister.”

  I didn’t see the man’s face. He wore a ski mask, and he disappeared before I could draw my weapon. He didn’t bother to look in my pockets, or he would have found a nice windfall.

  I pushed off the ground and staggered back into the bar. My belly ached, and my back was already black and blue. It was going to be sore as hell in the morning.

  “Close the bar,” I said to Madison. “Pack your things. You’re leaving tonight.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “We had this conversation. I think you’re the one who should probably go.”

  “It wasn’t a suggestion. Do it. Now.”

  “I am not gonna let you come in here and boss me around. You signed away your rights to this bar a long time ago.”

  “Madison, you don’t understand. Whoever killed Jeremy just attacked me and threatened you.”

  Her face crinkled, perplexed. “What?”

  I lifted my shirt to reveal the welt across my stomach and back. “Somebody just took a crowbar to me.”

  Her eyes widened with horror.

  “Now please. Close this place down, pack a bag, and go stay with one of your model friends in South Beach.”

  She stammered, “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

  I started closing and locking the bay doors. Madison shouted, “Alright. Bar’s closed. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

  There were groans among the patrons—it was well before closing time.

  After we got the bar cleaned up, and the staff left, Madison gathered her belongings. She lived in a loft apartment above the bar. She packed a small suitcase, and I helped her load it into her Jeep.

  “What are you going to do?” She asked, sitting in the driver seat. The top was down, and the cool breeze ruffled her blonde hair.

  “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.”

  “What if you don’t find who did this? I can’t stay gone forever. I’ve worked too hard to keep this bar going, and I’m barely getting by as it is. It’s all I have left of Mom and Dad.”