Shark Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 6)

by David F. Berens

  “Dammit, dude. You ask a lot of questions. You writin’ a book?”

  “My bad. Just makin’ conversation.”

  “We ain’t here to conversate. Now help me load these.”

  They muscled the crates onto the boat and slid them back under a bench. Country dug a tarp out of a nearby storage bin and laid it over them. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the trip out to sea. As it turned out, they never got to the island. Instead, once they were far enough out that they couldn’t see land, Troy spotted a seaplane sitting in the water. The pilot did not look like a resident of Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket. He looked more like a member of the Tijuana cartel.

  Country idled the boat up to the plane, and the man inside stepped down onto the pontoon to pull the boat close and tie it off. Troy helped Country get the crates up and over to the man on the pontoon. He was big but not that fit, and to Troy’s surprise, he took the crate by himself.

  “Get that other’n ready, dude.” Country waved him back into the boat and stepped over to the plane.

  He and the cartel man disappeared into the cockpit, likely to check the box and trade a big wad of cash for it. Troy looked down at the crate slid back up under the lip of the boat. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t guns. He knew they were, but wanted to be sure. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the two men were still inside the plane. Seeing no sign of them, he bent down and unlatched the two black clasps holding the lid on. He knew he was going to find AK’s inside. The lid creaked as it opened, but the waves were loud enough that he felt sure the men wouldn’t hear it.

  The contents in the box were covered with a layer of foam padding, and Troy took a corner and lifted it up. To his surprise, he did not find guns. And he didn’t find drugs. Hell, there weren’t even any stacks of cash. Signs. He found two big stacks of signs declaring in some way that Frank McCorker was running for governor, along with the wire struts that would be used to stake them into street corners and along the highways of Massachusetts.

  “Dangit,” Troy muttered.

  “Feller,” Country’s voice came from behind him. “I don’t know what in the hell you think yer doin’, but you better have a damn good explanation.”

  Troy turned around to see that the man had a pistol pointed at his head. It was a small pistol, maybe a .22, but Troy figured it would do plenty of damage if the man scored a direct hit from this distance. He raised his hands and opened his mouth a little. He did not, in fact, have a good excuse. Country flexed his fingers and Troy cleared his throat. He decided to do what Frank, the consummate politician, might do in this situation—dodge the question.

  “Well, shoot fire, son,” he grinned and leaned down to pick up one of the signs. “I just wanted one of these for my yard. Don’t ya know I’m a big supporter of Frank’s from way back?”

  Country’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know they was in there?”

  “Come on now.” Troy ignored him. “Tell me you can spare one ... heck, maybe even two of these beauties.”

  Troy could see the man’s resolve wavering and decided to go big.

  “I’m here to tell you, if’n we don’t get Frank elected, this whole state is gonna go to hell in a handbasket. I mean, with the crime and the … uh…”

  “Illegals?” Country added.

  “Dang straight.” Troy said. “And then there’s all the…”

  “Abortion clinics?” Country was getting into it now.

  “Abso-frickin’-lutely.” Troy held up one of the signs. “And this is the man to change it all.”

  Country lowered his gun, his suspicion trickling away. “That’s what I’ve been tellin’ everybody.”

  “I sure am glad we had this talk.” Troy laid two signs out and closed the lid. “Now, let’s get this thing loaded on the plane.”

  “Oh, that one ain’t goin’,” Country said. “We just needed it for counterbalance.”

  “Ahhh,” Troy said, touching his temple with a finger. “Good thinkin’.”

  “You’re all right, Bill.”

  “Much obliged, Country. And uh, Bill’s what my mama calls me. It’s my first name. But most folks call me by my middle name. It’s Troy.”

  “Well, alright, Troy. What say we get back to town and grab a drink. I know a hell of place with cold beer and buck naked ladies prancing around. We can talk about the next job.”

  “Much as I’d love to,” Troy said, “I better be gettin’ back home.”

  “Aw, hell.” Country slapped him on the back. “I’ll bet you got a little honey waitin’ for you back home. Am I right?”

  “You know it.”

  “Well, okay, partner.” Country reached over and started the boat. “Let’s get you back to yer girl.”

  A fleeting image of Prosperity flashed into his mind. He hoped she was still alive, but was starting to have serious doubts. He was anxious to get back to the house, but he wasn’t sure what his next move would be. He decided that staying close to Country would likely give him the clues he needed to find her.

  “You’ll let me know about that other job?”

  Country eyed him, a tiny crease forming in his brow. Troy wondered if he’d pushed too far.

  “I don’t know if I’ll need ya for the next one.” Country nodded and turned to look over the wheel. “I got another hand on deck for that, but if it turns out I need ya, I’ll give you a ring.”

  Troy watched as a squall turned darker and boomed with thunder and lightning. He figured he’d spend his last night in the Boonesborough house and hit Country up for a place to stay. He had a bad feeling that this guy had something to do with Prosperity disappearing and he aimed to find out what.

  13

  Cabana Day Dreamin’

  Country dropped Troy off at the Phillips station, and he watched the man’s rusty truck pull out of the parking lot. He thought about walking into the Black Dog for a drink, but then decided against it. The bartender had likely been the one to call that cop on him. He slid into the bug and flipped on the radio. Raindrops began to spatter on the seats and he pushed the button to raise the top. As if on cue, Jimmy Buffett began singin’ about barefoot children in the rain.

  Troy took a long, slow breath and eased his car out onto the road. Lightning lit up the sky in front of him and he flinched. To his surprise, he felt a tear trickle down his cheek ... or was it just a stray, leftover drop of rain? He wiped it away. Here he was again, messed up in a kidnapping, maybe even a murder … He pushed the thought out of his mind. He was going to believe that Prosperity was alive and okay until he found out otherwise.

  By the time he reached the massive Boonesborough Airbnb, it was pouring rain. He ran into the house and shook himself off in the foyer. He decided a hot shower and some dry clothes were in order, and the thought reminded him of his first meeting with Prosperity. He walked down the lonely hall toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt. He climbed into the shower and turned it up to lava. It burned for a second, but felt better as he grew accustomed to the steam.

  “You know you cain’t wash it away, Troy,” he said to himself.

  “I know.”

  He dried himself off and put on his last clean shirt and shorts. He grabbed a couple of Coronas from the fridge and padded out to the screened-in porch to watch the storm. Before he could take his first sip, his phone rang. This time, he recognized the number. It was Country.

  “Hey, dude,” Troy said. “Long time, no see.”

  “Yeah, well, I got ta thinkin’,” Country said. “This next job we got comin’ up, it’s a real big one. I got another guy I’m gonna get to help, but there’s probably some work for you too, if you want it.”

  “I do,” Troy said.

  “Okay, good.” Country sniffed and Troy immediately had the impression that he was the Barney Fife of the organization. “Everything is on a need-to-know basis, so I’ll fill you in when you need to know. Capiche?”

  “Capiche, compadre.” Troy grinned at his mixed slang.

&nbs
p; “What’s that?” Country didn’t get it. “Compadre?”

  “Oh, um, it’s Spanish. Means friend.”

  “Of course. I knew that. Aight, friend. I’ll call ya in a day or two with some details.”

  “Hey, Country,” Troy said, before the man hung up. “Say, I might need a place to crash for a while after tonight. You know of anything?”

  “Aw, shit.” Troy could hear a smile in Country’s voice. “The little lady done got mad and is throwin’ ya out. Is that it?

  “Uh, yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

  “Don’t you worry, brother. I’ll check around, see if I can find you a room. And hell, if we cain’t, you can come crash on the couch at my place. Cool, compadre?”

  “Cool.”

  Troy hung up and chugged the first Corona. His head hurt trying to piece together all that was happening. Meet a beautiful girl working as a maid at the Airbnb. Girl disappears without a trace—presumably from the house. House is owned by Senator Boonesborough. Boonesborough is heading up McCorker campaign. Country works for them doing … what? Running drugs? Guns? Troy sat up. Human trafficking?

  “Nah,” he said, lying back down. “Probably not that.”

  He opened his second beer and glanced up and down at the soaked beach. Even in the storm, it was a beautiful place.

  “Hell, I could be governor of Massachusetts,” he said. “Then again, I ain’t got no money.”

  Money. It was all about money. He’d almost worked out the whole circle of guns, drugs, money, and politicians by the time he’d finished his sixth beer. He decided not to think about it for a few minutes and rest his eyes. The rain on the porch roof and the crashing surf lulled him to sleep in seconds. It also covered the distant sound of screaming.

  “What’s that? What time is it?” Troy bolted upright.

  The sky was clear, but it was still dark. Seagulls were starting to squawk and yell. Yell? What the heck is that sound? He rolled out of the hammock and opened the screen door. There was definitely a strange moaning sound that was not a seagull. He took the steps down to the sand and stopped to listen. Someone was crying.

  He started walking faster, trying to follow the sound. His pulse thrummed in his neck, and his breath became shallow.

  “Who’s there?” he called out.

  The moaning sound got louder. It was muffled, but he could tell it was coming from one of the beach cabanas. He jogged over to them and found the voice was inside the middle one. He banged on the door. Prosperity’s voice groaned at him and he could tell she was gagged. She sobbed and Troy pulled at the door. It wouldn’t budge.

  He looked down to see a padlock holding the door shut. Dangit.

  “Hold on, Prosperity,” he yelled. “I gotta get somethin’ to get this dang lock off. I’ll be right back.”

  She cried out and his heart broke. But he ran back toward the stairs. He saw a small shovel tucked up underneath the wooden steps and grabbed it. With two good swings, he broke the lock and clasp away from the door. Prosperity was inside, laying on the floor, her hands tied behind her back with duct tape. Another piece of tape covered her mouth. She had a red bandana wrapped over her eyes. Troy tore it off and picked her up. He ran to the house, ignoring the pain in his knee and stumbled into the living room. He carefully pulled the tape away from her mouth and she cried out. He ripped the binding around her wrists and ankles and she fell into his arms, wracking sobs all over her body.

  “You’re okay, darlin’,” he said, brushing his hand down the back of her head. “It’s all over. Ain’t nobody gonna get you again.”

  She was ice cold. She shivered and gripped him tighter, her teeth chattering. They stayed that way for over an hour before she could speak.

  “It was a guy I know from the club,” she said. “Santee Cooper. He locked me in the cellar.”

  “The club? In the cellar? But I looked down there.”

  “Tail Spinner strip club. I’m a waitress. And somebody moved me a couple of days ago. It wasn’t Santee though, but the man blindfolded me, so I couldn’t see who he was.”

  “So, you work at a strip club?”

  “Seriously, Troy?”

  “Kiddin’.”

  “Anyway, it’s all down there. Guns, drugs, money, everything.”

  “In the cellar? But I didn’t see anything but household supplies.”

  “It’s hidden. There’s a secret room. And ... the last maid is still down there.”

  “Dang.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Troy let it all process as he stood and paced around the living room.

  “We have to stop them,” Prosperity said. “It’s Boonesborough and McCorker. They’re financing his campaign with cartel money. And now it’s turned into murder and kidnapping. Those men won’t let anything or anyone stop them.”

  “A pretty simple operation, ain’t it?” Troy scratched his beard. “But something bigger is comin’. They keep tryin’ to recruit me for some big job.”

  “They must need more money. McCorker is winning, but not by much. With only a week until the election, they must be gearing up for a big last minute push to the polls.”

  “Well, that settles it,” Troy said. “Time to call the police.”

  Prosperity nodded. Troy pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “You have to make the call,” he said. “The um, local authorities actually might be onto me. I had a little run-in with ’em down at the Black Dog.”

  ”Oh, okay.” She took his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  Prosperity Spartanburg opened her mouth to explain that they had discovered a political conspiracy involving drugs, guns, money, and murder, but then closed it. She wasn’t exactly sure all of that was relevant.

  “There’s a dead body here!” she blurted out.

  “What’s the address?”

  She rattled off the address, looking at Troy. He arched an eyebrow and held up his palms. They could explain the rest when the cops got here.

  “Are you sure the person is dead?”

  “Yes. She’s been dead for a while.”

  “So …” the operator sounded confused. “Okay. Wait. Is there a suspect on the scene?”

  “No, um, I was kidnapped and put in a room in the basement and there was another dead woman down there. Just send someone out and we’ll tell them the rest.”

  “Okay.” Now Prosperity heard doubt in the woman’s voice. “I’m dispatching police to your location. Please stay on the line with me until—”

  Prosperity hung up before the woman could say anything else. The phone immediately rang again and she clicked it off.

  “Well,” she said to Troy. “They’re on the way.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you show me where this all went down before they get here.”

  “Downstairs.” She pointed down the hall to the door to the cellar.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “How ’bout I just take a quick look-see? You stay up here till the cops arrive.”

  She shook her head yes, and he disappeared down the hall.

  It was a stroke of luck that Jed Manning was on duty and available to the call leading him out to the Boonesborough house to check into what the dispatcher called “a crazy lady saying she had a dead body in the cellar.”

  Jed agreed with her and had laughed it off, blaming it on a young woman who probably overdid her first day on vacation. He told the dispatcher he was happy to check it out and take care of any revelers he found on scene. He put the receiver down and immediately called Country.

  “Hey, hillbilly,” he said. “I think our girl has escaped.”

  “How’n the damn hell’d she do that?”

  “No clue.” Jed spat tobacco juice out his open window. “But this is getting ridiculous. I need you to come with me. Let’s get this girl out of the house for good. Whatever you’ve got planned, it’s time to implement.”

  “Well, I don’t kno
w if I can make it happen right now. What about tomorrow?”

  “Huh? Why not?”

  “Jed, Dateline’s on and I need to see who killed this woman on here.”

  “Dammit, Country,” he smacked his steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “It’s the husband or the boyfriend. It’s always the husband or the boyfriend.”

  “Aw, shit, man,” Country whined. “Why’d you have to go and ruin it fer me?”

  “Are you freakin’ ...” Jed started. “Never mind. Get your ass up and get whatever you need to take this girl out of WB’s house and make her disappear. I’ll be at your house in five.”

  14

  The Biggest Balls Of All

  Prosperity peeked out the window by the front door to see the blue lights tearing up the driveway.

  “Troy? They’re here,” she called, but got no answer. He was probably still downstairs.

  The car skidded up in the drive, throwing pea gravel all over the front steps. That seemed a bit strange for a call about a dead body. There wasn’t much cause to be in that big of a hurry. She wondered if it was just her nerves, or maybe she was still in shock from being held captive for so long, but she didn’t feel right about this. She backed away from the window and watched as the cop got out of the car. And when his passenger got out, she felt the blood in her veins go ice cold. She tripped over the rug in the foyer and fell backward and let out a yelp. She propped herself up on her elbows to see the silhouettes of the two men step onto the porch.

  “Troy!” she yelled.

  Still no answer. And then it hit her. If he had found the drug room and gone inside, it was soundproof. One of the men reached down and turned the doorknob, but it was still locked. He jiggled it angrily and for a second, she felt relief. That disappeared when she heard the jangle of keys.

  Shit, she thought. Of course they have keys. She crab-walked backwards away from the door, but she wasn’t fast enough. It flew open and the two men rushed in.

  “Well, well, well,” Country said. “If’n it ain’t my little sexy maid girl.”