Troy helped the paramedics load Samantha into the back of the ambulance. One of them noticed his hand and insisted that he come and get treated for what looked like third degree burns. Begrudgingly, he went along for the ride.
46
Savannah Smiles Again
Troy sat beside the hospital bed where Samantha was spending the next day recovering from her gunshot wound. Although it was only a scratch, the staff had insisted she stay for at least twenty-four hours to watch for infection. He’d had his hand bandaged and was diagnosed with mostly second-degree burns, and was given a good chance to live by the cute nurse who’d treated him.
“So, they found the painting, eh?” Troy asked as she sipped on a Sprite.
“Can you believe it?” she said. “Old LeFleur had it the whole time.”
Troy shook his head. “I guess that was the print I saw when I went on my date with him.”
“Uh huh,” she said, and smiled. “Says he didn’t even know it was there. Claims he got those tubes from the museum.”
“Yeah, that would make sense,” Troy said. “I’m bettin’ old Bobo stashed that thing in the storeroom at the Jepson, thinkin’ he’d be able to keep an eye on it, and somebody else gave LeFleur the old tubes not realizing it was in there.”
“Yeah,” she said, “maybe.”
“And I heard that a rich dude from Silicon Valley bought the painting and the funds were deposited into your account.” Troy smiled and sucked his teeth.
“Now, that much is true,” she said. “I got a bid from a contractor on what it would take to build a new battered women and children’s shelter here in Savannah. Mr. Gates… er, I’m not supposed to tell anyone that… but anyway, he paid that exact amount and then some to help us get started.”
“A very worthwhile endeavor,” Troy said with a smile.
“I’m going to call it the Tayler Evan House,” she said in a thick voice, “in honor of him. And his print will hang in the common room.”
“Nice.” Troy felt his throat get heavy too. “A nice tribute.”
They sat in silence for a second. It was one of those afternoons that sent sunlight streaming in through the blinds as the dust motes circled in the air. Troy’s eyes felt heavy.
“Well,” he said, slapping his good palm on his leg and standing, “I gotta be ramblin’ on.”
“Where will you go?” Samantha asked. “We could always use help around the build site.”
“As much as I’d like to,” Troy said, “that ain’t my story. I’m the guy who gets out of Dodge when things get real.”
“You know,” she said, “you could change that story.”
“Yeah.”
Troy stood looking at her from the doorway. She was the perfect image of the painting Tayler had created. Her left shoulder was bruised and the sheets behind her flashed with sunlight… almost like a smoldering fire. But this girl’s eyes were different… beautiful, and full of hope. He almost walked back into the room…
Instead, he tipped his Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat, and said, “See ya ‘round, kid.”
One stray tear fell from her eye and traced a path down her cheek as he turned and walked away.
Becky Patton and Alain Montgomery greeted Troy in the lobby. Shockingly, Alain was dressed in black spandex pants and a fire-engine red tank top… crossfit gear. Becky was dressed the same.
“Well, well, well,” Troy said, smiling at the pair. “She’s gotcha doin’ the old crossfit, eh pardner?”
“Yeah,” Alain said sheepishly, one hand tugging at the embarrassingly tight shorts. “I promised I’d at least give it a try.”
“Good for you, pal,” Troy said and smacked a hand on his shoulder, “anything it takes to please a woman is a worthwhile endeavor.”
“Can I get that in writing?” Becky said and laughed.
“You bet,” Troy said, “I’ll send it to you on a postcard.”
“You’re moving on then?” Alain asked with a little surprise in his voice.
“Yup,” he said, “that’s how my story goes. I come to a new town and wear it out for a bit. If I stay too long, I start getting’ antsy and such… like a junkie without his stuff.”
“That’s too bad,” Becky said, a wry smile on her face. “I might’ve had you crossfitting before long.”
Troy laughed and tipped his hat back on his head. “Darlin’, the last thing anybody wants to see is this old butt in those tight shorts.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” a voice said from behind them.
They all turned to see Mortimer LeFleur standing at the doorway with his arms crossed and leaning against the jamb.
“Look, Troy,” he said, “I never meant to be cross with you. I just thought it absurd that you would even think such a terrible thing of me as to… to murder one of my best students.”
“That truly is my bad, Mr. LeFleur,” Troy said, extending a hand to shake the professor’s. “I reckon I was goin’ on bad info.”
“No offense,” LeFleur said, then turned his attention to the hallway behind him. “How is our Samantha?”
“Aw, heck,” Troy said, “she’s fine, they just don’t wanna let her out just yet. Runnin’ up the insurance bill, I s’pose.”
“I’ll just pop in and say hello then,” he said, shaking Troy’s hand.
As their professor walked away, Alain turned to Troy. “Can we at least give you a ride somewhere? Airport? Bus station?”
“Nah,” Troy said, “I’m good. I was actually able to procure a little scooter that was parked out behind the storage units. I’m not positive, but I think it was RayRay’s from after his eyes got better.”
“The cops let you have it?” Becky asked, arching an eyebrow.
“What they don’t know,” Troy said with a wink, and put a finger to his lips, “won’t hurt ‘em.”
She rolled her eyes and tugged on Alain’s shirt. “Let’s go see Samantha.”
They turned and made their way down the hall. As Becky reached Samantha’s door, she leaned back out and blew Troy a kiss. He reached out his hand and caught it.
Well, Troy thought, time to scoot on out of here.
47
Sailing Away
Two-hundred miles out of town, in the middle-of-nowhere, Georgia, Troy pumped gas into the little red scooter he’d borrowed from the scene of the crime. He was been trying to stop the meter at exactly ten bucks – the last of his Club One earnings. Unfortunately, his reflexes being what they were, he overshot by two cents.
He walked into the gas station and handed the attendant the ten-dollar bill. “You got two pennies?” he asked.
The kid pointed at a sign on the front of the counter, that read: No Extra Change For Gas Purchases.
“Dangit,” Troy muttered. “Hold on a sec. Lemme see if I can wrangle up two cents.”
He walked back out to the pump and kicked around the ground. Nothin’. No change, just a bunch of crumpled straw wrappers and a few lumps of old chewing gum. He pulled up the seat of the scooter that covered the storage compartment. Inside, he found a black canvas backpack.
“Gotta be some change in there,” he said to himself, pulling the pack out of the scooter.
He unzipped it and almost fell over. Inside were stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills wrapped in paper rings.
“Well, I’ll be…” he said to no one.
He pulled off the top bill and walked back into the store.
The kid behind the counter pointed at another sign that read: No Change For Bills Larger Than Twenties.
“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” he said, stuffing the bill into his pocket. “You got a mop or somethin’ like that?”
The kid pointed to a dingy bucket behind the counter with a mildewed mop sitting in it. “Clean the bathrooms,” he said, “and we’ll call it even.”
Backpack strapped tight on his back, Troy made quick work of them – having done plenty of similar duty back at boot camp. Then he hopped on the scooter and heade
d north on I-75. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was already making plans for the money. Something with a really big sail… and a pirate flag… and a little Buffet on the radio.
Afterword
A Final Word: So, if you’ve been with me this far in the Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller series, you’ll know that this one was a bit different. I tried my hand at a murder mystery and I hope I had you fooled until the end.
I also wanted to take a little space, and let you know that I most definitely take the time to read reviews and suggestions, and I craft my stories as well as I can to make my stories more enjoyable for you – my reader.
With Rogue Wave, I had a few people say it was too far out – so I dialed back the crazy for Deep Wave. As it turned out, that turned off a few readers who loved the zaniness of the first book. So, I tried to find a nice balance with Blood Wave and it might be my personal favorite. With Dark Wave, I wanted to put Troy in a situation where he wasn’t necessarily aware of who the killer was and neither was the reader… a murder mystery, if you will.
If you liked it, fantastic – please be sure to leave me a review. If not, please drop me a line and let me know what you’d like to see Troy do next. I am already at work on the next one – no rest for our somewhat intrepid hero. I’ve included an excerpt at the end to whet your whistle.
Please be sure to visit http://davidfberens.com/readergroup and join my Reader Group so you’ll be among the first to know about my promotions, events and specials!
Thank you, Kind Reader,
Excerpt from Skull Wave
1
Yes, I Am A Pirate
Troy Bodean woke to the gentle sloshing of waves patting the side of his new sailboat. A fortuitous finding of a stash of cash that had come from a couple of bad guys funded his recent purchase of the 1998 Island Packet 40-foot cutter. She was gorgeous and big! Hell, he had more room here than he’d had back on the houseboat in Key West.
He stretched out his arms to both sides and couldn’t touch either wall. Sun streamed through the oval windows, and the rocking of the waves almost put him back to sleep. He had brought his new boat up to Nags Head, preferring to skip right on past South Carolina – too many bad memories there – and had found a fun little place to work called the Austin Fish Company. Just a smidge better’n a dive with a hokey fiberglass shark on the roof, the Fish Company did a ton of business.
Troy caught fish for them by night and worked as a line cook by day, for those customers who – as the menu put it – “didn’t want to do the cookin’”. He knew how to do both those things, and he did them well. As a bonus, the seafood that was about to go out of date was handed over to the employees to do with as they wanted. More often than not, Troy had more to eat than he could handle.
He suddenly sat upright, remembering he’d had a shrimp boil with Kimberly and Dana, a couple of the waitresses from the shop, on board last night. Neither of them was in bed with him, so that was a good sign. He sat up and stretched out the cricks in his neck and his head swam – definitely too many Coronas last night. But the girls were cute, the food was fantastic, and the music was tropical… a fun time was had by all.
Pulling on his khaki shorts, he grabbed his hat and threw it on his head. His new RayBan Wayfarers – the Costas had fallen into the water a few months back – perched nicely on his face and made his grin turn more McConaughey than Cruise… at least that’s what the girls had told him.
He tapped his knuckles lightly on the other stateroom door. Nobody answered. Probably still hung over as hell. He decided to leave them be for a bit, maybe catch a few fish and throw back a mimosa or two… or maybe a bloody Mary.
As if on cue, his head began to pound. The fridge revealed that his orange juice was out of date and empty to boot. The champagne bottle clinked around on the floor – just as empty. There were two beers sitting sideways in the fridge so he grabbed one and popped the top off.
“It’ll have to do,” he muttered to himself and took a long gulp.
When he began to feel slightly more human, he decided to head up on deck and see what the lobster cages had caught. Hauling them in by hand, he was pleased they felt heavy. A good score would put a little money back in the bank for fuel and bait.
Hand over hand he pulled the cage up and was grteful to see several big guys clicking around the wire mesh. And that’s when everything stopped… or more precisely, began to run in slow motion.
At the center of the cage, with a lobster climbing on it, was a head… a human head. It had been chewed on for sure, but it looked like it hadn’t been there long. Dragging the cage on board, he got a better look at it and saw there were – to his horror – two heads in the cage.
The first was Dana’s, the second Kimberly’s – the servers from the Fish Company. Troy dropped the cage and bounded down the stairs to the stateroom. For reasons he didn’t understand, he knocked. He pounded. Nothing. He stepped back and put his foot up. Slamming it into the door, the jamb splintered and it sprung open. Inside the room were two bodies, lying on the bed, covered in blood – both were headless.
“Dangit,” Troy said aloud to no one who had any ears still attached to their body.
Also by David Berens
And don’t forget to check out all of the Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series on Amazon:
Back Roads - A Short Story Collection starring various characters from the Troy Bodean Series
Knuckle Bones - A Troy Bodean Prequel Short
And the Full Length Troy Bodean Tropical Thrillers
#1 Rogue Wave
#2 Deep Wave
#3 Blood Wave
#4 Dark Wave
#5 Skull Wave - Coming Soon!
And if you have kids that might like a mystery story:
Zed Mozart - Virtual Kid Detective 1-3
Dark Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 4) Page 20
