Eye for Eye

by J K Franko

  Susie looked at Joan, then around them as she considered their predicament. She couldn’t stop crying.

  “Susie. If we don’t get rid of her, we’re going to jail. Is that what you want?”

  Now, decades later, Susie took a swallow of her spiked coffee, then lit a cigarette with shaking hands as she remembered.

  After they’d pushed and rolled the body over the edge of the ravine, Deb had told her exactly what was going to happen next.

  “Sometime in the morning, they’ll figure out that she’s missing. They’ll start looking. If we’re lucky, the river will carry the body away. If not, they’ll find her sometime late tomorrow. They’ll think she fell. That’s what it looks like.

  “Then they’ll ask around to see if anyone saw anything. All we have to do is say ‘no,’” Deb said, “tell them that we were in our cabin all night. Asleep all night. I’m your alibi, and you’re mine. We stick to that. Keep it simple. We know nothing. We saw nothing and then that’ll be the end of it. Okay?”

  But Susie was unable to reply. She just sat there staring into space, her body aquiver.

  Deb tried to put her arm around her, but she pulled away. She didn’t want to have anything to do with her. With this.

  It didn’t work out exactly as Deb predicted, but close enough. As soon as the authorities found the body the next day and told the girls, Susie called her parents to say she wanted to go home. They picked her up that same evening. She’d never even been formally questioned. Although, at the request of one of the deputies, the camp director contacted the parents of all of the girls who had left camp early. Susie’s parents received a call, and they asked her if she had seen anything unusual.

  “No. Why?” she had answered.

  And that was it. That was the extent of her questioning. That had been the end of it.

  Susie had wanted to forget all of it, as though it had never happened. She felt the same way about Harlan now. Sure, there was a difference. Complicity in Joan’s murder was forced upon her. Harlan’s murder had been a choice she’d made with eyes wide open. Still, she felt the same way about both deaths. Thinking about it tired her. She just wanted to forget.

  She just wanted Roy back.

  At 9:30, Roy was over four hours late.

  Susie was beside herself. She had no idea what to do beyond drinking and smoking. She’d finished what was left of the Baileys, and as she was about to go back down below to explore her options, she saw a jet ski coming in at the far end of the marina. As with all the other jet skis she had seen that morning, her heart somersaulted.

  She squinted into the distance. The rider was bare-chested —no wetsuit—and wasn’t wearing goggles or a life vest. Roy had been wearing both.

  Dammit!

  Her heart sank. She wanted to cry. Scream. Call for help. She couldn’t do any of these. Instead, she trudged down to the galley and opened a bottle of scotch.

  Roy’s Macallan. As she poured herself a half glass, the smell of it reminded her of Roy. Her thoughts wandered, albeit reluctantly, to what life might be like without him. She felt isolated. Alone. And those tears that wouldn’t come before were starting to well in her eyes.

  Maybe she should call someone. Her mother? Roni? Maybe Deb? She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t bear being alone.

  She took the glass with her and began her ascent once more. She needed air.

  As she emerged topside, she heard, “Hey…” She looked over, and there he was, wetsuit around his waist, clambering off the jet ski. No goggles. She could see now, up close, that he had been sitting on the life jacket.

  “Oh, thank God!” She tried not to overreact. As he stood on the swim platform, holding the jet ski handle to keep it from drifting away, she rushed over and handed him a line to secure the craft.

  Roy straightened up stiffly—he was sore, she could tell, but she couldn’t help herself from throwing her arms around him. “What took you so long?” she demanded.

  “Inside first,” he said, ending the embrace and opening the door to the saloon. She followed him in.

  “What a fucking night!” he began as he dropped on the floor and began stretching. “The waves sucked. Too high. So, I had to run slow. Like at fifteen. Then, I almost got run down by a fucking yacht at about the halfway point. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even see me. Probably on autopilot. I went over. Into the water. The kill switch saved me. I came up and swam like crazy to grab the motherfucker—the jet ski, I mean. Lost my fucking goggles.”

  “Oh God, Roy! I’m so sorry.”

  “Fucking stupid. I was tired. Not paying attention.

  “So, I finally managed to get back up on the jet ski, then I look behind me and see two or three more boats more coming at me—I mean they were at a distance, but gaining. So, I course-corrected south, trying to get out of the direct path from Miami to Bimini. Of course, going south is just like changing lanes in traffic. On the new course, all the boats heading to Cat Cay were still behind me.

  “Again, I course-corrected further south. And further, until there were no boats coming. I ended up coming over onto the Banks at Browns Channel, way south. Of course, by the time I got there, it was sun-up.

  “So, I just puttered around the east side and back up to here. But I had to stop to refuel. Then, I had to deal with some crap line that got caught in the impeller. I had to shut the thing down, get under it, and cut that shit out.

  “Oh, and I forgot to put on the Vaseline when I left. So, I stopped and put some on when I remembered—because of the burn.”

  Susie giggled. He looked like Kim Kardashian doing duck face. She was staring at him now, relieved to have him back in one piece.

  “What?” he asked, instinctively raising a hand to his face. “My lips are all puffy, right?”

  Susie laughed and gently kissed him.

  “Was it all quiet at home?” she asked.

  “Yeah, well, I got back too early. So, I anchored in the bay for a couple of hours until everyone went to sleep, then went home and made the switch. But yeah, all quiet.”

  They were silent for a few moments, and then Susie took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, that’s it. We did it. It’s done,” she said with a grin.

  “Yeah. Looks like we pulled it off,” Roy responded. “Now, we just wait and see if they can catch us.”

  * * *

  Roy stripped out of the wetsuit, rinsed off in the shower, and went straight to bed. Susie took care of the gear. She unloaded the ditch bag and gas can from the jet ski and then rinsed out his wetsuit. It gave her joy to do so. To care for and mother him.

  Roy slept until 11:30. He was awakened by the ping of a text message on his mobile phone. It was David.

  DAVID:Harlan a no-show.

  ROY:Really? No phone call? Nothing?

  DAVID:Nada. Called his mobile twice. Got voicemail. Didn’t leave a message...

  ROY:Give him a couple of hours. Maybe he went out and partied. Overslept, maybe?

  DAVID:

  Roy got out of bed and showed Susie the texts.

  Now that he was up, Susie told Roy about her conversation with Toni of I Sea U the night before. A snoopy slip-mate was not good news, but there was nothing to be done at this point. She’d seen what she’d seen, knew what she knew, and was gone.

  And then, even though he could have slept more, they decided it was better to go out and be seen. They went to the resort casino and played blackjack for an hour, being sure to get on the security cameras. Then, they had lunch at the Big Game Club Bar—paying with AMEX, of course. Roy told the waiter it was Susie’s birthday, and they brought a cake and sang “Happy Birthday.” The bill was $147.29. Roy tipped the waiter—Jamie—a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, telling him the birthday thing was a prank, but thanking him for going along with it.

  They walked on the beach.

  At
2:00 p.m., Roy called David.

  “Hey, Roy.”

  “Hey. So, still nothing from our visitor from Texas?”

  “Nope. Nothing,” David answered. “I called one more time about fifteen minutes ago, just before you called me. Voicemail, again.”

  “Well, that’s not very professional, is it?”

  “No. But I’m not surprised I guess.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Weird thing is, he texted me last night, so I figured he got here.”

  Roy’s stomach lurched. “Oh, really?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “What about?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. The text didn’t make sense. It said, ‘Sorry we can’t have dinner. See you tomorrow’—something like that.”

  Roy paused a moment, then asked, “You were going to have dinner?”

  “No. That’s what’s strange. That was never discussed. Not a part of the plan.”

  “Humph.” Roy pondered for a moment. “You think he was pissed off? Like, he expected you to take him out to dinner?”

  “I don’t know, man. It’s weird. I saw it around eight last night. So, I wrote back asking if he was writing to me or someone else—figuring maybe he had plans with someone else he knows in Miami, but he didn’t reply. Odd. Who knows?”

  “Yeah. Well, if he got cold feet, he’ll come back around. All we can do is wait, I guess.”

  “You think he just fucked us over to get the free trip to Miami and he’s just out partying?”

  Roy laughed. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Hey, so I went through all the DD on ArtCraft... ”

  They talked through some business items they had pending for another ten minutes or so, then hung up.

  After hanging up and as they walked back to the Sunseeker, Roy shared what he had just learned.

  “Shit,” Susie said. “You think he texted anyone else?”

  “It’s possible. We knew it could happen. We should have checked his phone for text messages when we had it in hand. That was stupid.”

  “Wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose. What could we have done at that point?”

  To Roy and Susie, this was the biggest uncontrollable factor in their plan—the time between Roy contacting Joe and them meeting at the marina.

  Back at the boat, Susie stretched out in her white bikini on one of the sunbeds while Roy chatted with a couple of neighboring boat owners, sharing his business card with one of them.

  Being seen was a part of their plan that they could control.

  DAY SEVEN

  Friday, May 4, 2018

  David’s intercom buzzed. He’d only just returned from lunch and had barely removed his jacket.

  “David?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “Joe Harlan on line two.”

  David smiled. Finally. A day late, but better than nothing. He was curious to hear what excuse the kid would offer for missing their meeting.

  “Joe. Where the hell are you, man? You alright?” he asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Kim?”

  David didn’t recognize the voice. It was much deeper than Joe’s. “Yes?”

  “This is Senator Joe Harlan Sr.”

  Okay. David thought. If the father’s calling, it can’t be good.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Senator. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m calling about Joe. I haven’t heard from him and I know he was meeting with you,” the man said in a cultured Texas drawl.

  For reasons unknown to him, David’s heart skipped a beat. “Actually, Mr. Senator, I haven’t seen Joe. We were supposed to meet at 10:00 a.m. yesterday, but he was a no-show. I tried calling him a few times, but he didn’t answer.”

  There was an unnerving silence at the end of the line, then, “Right. Well, he’s a big boy, and not having heard from him since Wednesday, I didn’t think much of it. But he was supposed to be on the early flight back from Miami to Austin this morning. He was not. I called the airline and they told me he didn’t check in.”

  “Um. Well, that is strange.”

  “Did y’all by any chance arrange his accommodations?”

  “We did. We put him up at the Intercontinental Hotel.”

  “Is there more than one, or do you have an address?”

  “It’s downtown on Chopin Plaza.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t by chance speak with him after he arrived in Miami?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay, Mr. Kim. If you do hear from him, could you let me know or tell him to give me a call? I’m sure it’s nothing. Boys will be boys. But all the same. I just want to be sure he’s okay since it’s not like him to miss a flight.”

  “Oh, absolutely, sir. Of course.”

  David took down Harlan Sr.’s phone number and they hung up.

  Immediately, David dialed Roy.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Roy, you okay to talk?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Just got a call from Harlan Sr. Says the kid didn’t fly home. He was supposed to head back this morning, but he didn’t even check in for the flight.”

  “Shit, that’s weird,” Roy said. “Are we sure he made it to Miami at all?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, no. I just assumed that he did. His dad seemed to think so, too. And I guess from the text he sent me, I figured he was here. Shit.” David sighed. “Harlan asked me if I’d talked to the kid after he got here. I told him I hadn’t. I forgot about the text.”

  “Well, no biggie. He’ll turn up. But it is weird that he no-showed the meeting and missed his flight back. Should we be doing something? I’m not sure what, but it just kind of feels like we should.”

  “I dunno. I got his old man’s phone number. You want to call him?” David asked.

  “Shit,” Roy pondered. “And say what? Offer to help?”

  “Maybe.”

  Roy sighed. “Yeah. I guess. Gimme his fucking number.”

  * * *

  Detective Travers’ phone buzzed.

  He was having lunch at Jo’s on Second Street. Travers was an Austin native and he loved his hometown. Although the city had changed dramatically in the forty-odd years he had lived there, and although it had more than doubled in size, to him it still felt like the small town he had been raised in.

  One of his favorite pastimes was people-watching downtown—even if the place was being overrun by executive types. More suits. Also, more startup types wearing beards, torn jeans, and Vans. But there was still that funky, hippie, independent vibe to Austin that distinguished it from every other city in Texas.

  Travers looked at his phone. The number looked familiar, but it wasn’t in his contacts.

  “Hello.”

  “Detective Travers.”

  He would recognize that cultured voice anywhere. “Mr. Senator. How are you?” he asked, forcing a smile as if the man could see him.

  “Fine, thanks. And yourself?”

  “Can’t complain. Just finishing up lunch. How can I help you?”

  “I apologize for the intrusion, Detective, but it’s about Joe.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t want to make a fuss. It’s probably nothing. But you see, Joe flew out to Miami Wednesday for a business meeting. The meeting was Thursday morning. He was scheduled to return this morning on a flight arriving here around 9:30. But he missed the meeting and the flight. I called the hotel in Florida, and he did check in, so I know he made it to Miami.

  “I’ve called him, and texted, and he doesn’t answer.” The senator paused. “Again,” he continued, “I don’t want to make a stink just yet, but, well, this is unusual. I was hoping you’d be able make some inquiries.”

  “Was he travelling
with anyone else?”

  “No. Alone.”

  “Who was he meeting with?”

  “A gentleman named David Kim. With a company called Cruise Capital.” The senator gave Travers David’s phone number and the name and address of Joe’s hotel, as well as the name of the young lady in reception whom he’d spoken to confirming that Joe had in fact checked in.

  “Okay. Let me make a few calls.”

  After hanging up, Travers Googled Miami-Dade Police Department on his mobile phone and dialed the main number. He introduced himself and, after a brief explanation, he was patched through to a duty officer in Investigative Services.

  “This is Detective Pérez,” a woman answered.

  Travers introduced himself and proceeded to schmooze his counterpart like only cops can when they need something.

  Rosa Pérez seemed friendly, open, and amenable, and it wasn’t long before Travers felt he could get to the reason for his call. “Listen, Rosa, I need a favor.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, curiously.

  Travers passed on everything he had learned from the senator.

  “Cruise Capital, huh?” Rosa asked.

  “You know them?”

  “Heard of them. Nothing specific. Just rings a bell. Financial guys. And the kid’s name, H-A-R-L-A-N?”

  “That’s right. My guess is the kid’s on a bender,” Travers commented, making light of the situation. “He’s got a history.”

  “Really?” Again, Rosa’s tone was inquisitive. She was eager to know everything there was to know and Travers sensed that he wasn’t going to get far if he held back. So, he gave her a summarized version of the Harlan story, including the Whole Foods altercation.

  “Sheeyit!” Rosa said. “What a mess. You checked out her parents yet?”

  “Nope. Just got off the phone with the senator. The dad’s offices are downtown. I’m thinking of dropping by after our talk. We’re on good terms. They’re nice folks, and, between you and me, I don’t blame him for punching the little shit.”

  Rosa was quiet for a short while, but then promised to make some inquiries, starting with the Intercontinental Hotel.