That Way Lies Madness: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 8)

by Scott Cook

“Marie,” The woman stated, “Marie Franco.”

  That explained her New York accent. Although there were no doubt many Franco’s in the world, I suspected this was no random coincidence. Lisa must have had the same thought because she cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Pauli Franco is my husband,” Marie clarified, her eyes defiant and her tone just short of a challenge.

  I sat back down, “That’s not a crime, as far as I know.”

  “Pauli told me you was a smart ass,” Marie stated. There was definitely some coarseness.

  At first it seemed to contradict how she looked. Upon reflection, though, I thought that maybe it complimented it. While she was certainly pretty and the shape of her body was enticing… she wasn’t slim. Not fat, either, just built sturdily, like a peasant girl who was deliciously curved and yet could help haul barrels of wine or carry heavy baskets of grapes on her family’s vineyard.

  “Guilty as charged,” I replied.

  Marie smiled thinly, “That’s okay, I like smaht asses.”

  “So how is my good buddy Paul?” I inquired.

  Marie snorted, “Yeah, hah? I know yous two have had your differences… but from what Pauli says, you buried the hatchet a while back.”

  I shrugged, “he made an effort back in October and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since… so I guess so.”

  “Good, cuz he needs yuh help,” Marie stated, fishing in her Louis Vuitton for something. Her hand came out again holding a pack of Newport’s, “Mind if I light up?”

  I frowned. I didn’t like cigarette smoke, especially inside my office. However, I did have two large windows I could open. I frowned and nodded. Lisa got up and went behind me to open the two windows. It wouldn’t be long before the summer heat would overpower the AC. I hoped that she’d suck her weed down fast enough for it not to get sweltering.

  I took out a zippo from my top drawer and snapped it in front of her. She leaned in and got her pill going and smiled at me, “Such a gentleman. Just like Humphrey Bogart.”

  She pronounced it “Bogaht.”

  “So is old Pauli in trouble?” Lisa queried as she sat back down next to Marie.

  The Sicilian woman looked at Lisa for a quick second and frowned. The idea that this younger and extremely beautiful woman might know her husband tweaked her a bit, “You met him?”

  Lisa shook her head, “I’ve only heard the name. All good things, though.”

  Marie chuckled and puffed, “Two smart asses, hah? So will you help me, Jarvis?”

  “Help you do what, Mrs. Franco,” I asked politely.

  She smiled at me and her brown eyes glimmered a little, “Call me Marie, hah?”

  “Okay, Marie,” I said. “Exactly what’s Pauli’s trouble? I can’t imagine that he couldn’t handle it on his own with his crew, however many that might be… not to mention that he’d want help from me.”

  She blew a slow stream of noxious smoke out of her nostrils, “He’s got his guys, it’s true… and as for him hiring you… I don’t know how he’d feel about it. It’s me wants to hire ya’. Pauli is a proud guy, y’know what I mean? He won’t ask for help from nobody… at least no outsidiz. But… but he needs it, I think.”

  I honestly couldn’t give a damn about Paul Franco’s welfare. In my book he was a cheap hood. A gambler, a pimp and probably a dope peddler. Yet his wife had a genuine air of concern about her, so it was the least I could do to listen.

  “Go on,” I finally insisted.

  “So you heard about that bombing at the cop house?” She asked in what I was now starting to think of as her hardboiled manner.

  I nodded, “Yeah… so what? I can’t imagine Paul feels too bad about it… unless you’re saying he’s behind that?”

  Marie waved that off, “Blowin’ up cops? C’mon… that ain’t good for business. No, it’s nothin’ like that. But we heard some things. About the note from this Shade asshole.”

  I looked at Lisa and she frowned but said nothing. I considered Marie again, “Nobody knows that but the cops.”

  Marie smirked, “you do, obviously.”

  I shrugged, “I used to be a cop with Orlando. I’ve got some inside connections.”

  Marie chuckled and tapped her long ash into the glass ashtray I’d provided, “Yeah, well so do we. We got a broad gets us inside dirt. Anyways… we heard about that note, see?”

  I nodded.

  She suddenly seemed tense, “Well, yesterday we had a big crowd at the club. Lot of bread comin’ in, lot of credit card receipts and like that.”

  “Yeah, I get how a business works,” I said, trying to push her toward her point.

  She narrowed her eyes but only shrugged, “Okay. So me and Pauli are going through the receipts, right?”

  “You… help him with the club?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Because it’s a strip joint,” Lisa put in, “that doesn’t bother you?’

  She scoffed, “What? That my husband sees bare asses all day long? Nah. It don’t mean nothin’. It’s business. He knows who handles his cannoli, capisce?”

  It wasn’t easy, but I stifled the laugh, “Okay, so you’re going through the receipts…”

  “Yeah, and I see this one,” She said, inhaling deeply and exhaling before going on, “A big one, couple of hundred clams. Anyways, the guy signs the thing with the name Shade.”

  Lisa’s brows went up and I leaned forward, “Really? Hmmm… so you think the same guy that blew up Bryce’s car has his eye on Pauli?”

  “Don’t you?” She asked, “What else could you think?”

  “You think Paul is a target?” Lisa asked.

  Marie sighed, “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe the guy’s just being cute, or maybe he admires Pauli… but I don’t like it. Too… what’s the word…?”

  “Cryptic?” I suggested.

  Marie stubbed out her butt and lit another, much to Lisa’s and my chagrin, “Exactly. Cryptic. Point is, I want you to kind of… keep an eye on him.”

  “I’m not a bodyguard,” I stated.

  Marie chuckled, “Bullshit. You watched over that broad on TV last year. Pauli even gave you a tip to help you find her.”

  I groaned, “Yeah, and that had turned out badly. One guy just can’t guard anybody full time, Marie. Besides, Pauli’s got people for that.”

  She frowned, “Yeah… but they ain’t you, Scott… can I call you Scott.”

  “Please do.”

  She smiled and her eyes glinted again, “See, our guys… they’re your typical crew. Bruisers and thugs, to be truteful about it. Good for doin’… what needs doin’ comes to business. Sure, they can walk behind Pauli and carry the gun and like that… but they ain’t… they ain’t thinkers, you know what I mean?”

  “They’re not detectives,” Lisa observed, “They don’t solve mysteries, just problems.”

  “Bingo,” Marie said, shooting Lisa with a forefinger and thumb, “She’s a smart one.”

  I sighed, “Even so, Marie… what do you want me to do? Go and hang out at Venus all day and keep an eye on the office? Frankly, I’d rather sit on a cactus.”

  She chortled, “Oh what? You don’t like titties? C’mon… or does seeing strippiz’ offend your church morals or some shit?”

  Lisa half choked down a guffaw. Marie grinned at her.

  “I’m certainly not averse to gazing upon a naked woman,” I stated with a wry grin, “I’m just not a window shopper. If a woman is going to take her clothes off in front of me, I want to be able to touch as well. The idea of getting all riled up and then going away with oogatz has always seemed stupid to me.”

  She laughed, “You got some Italian in ya, hah?”

  “I can attest to his appreciation for the female form,” Lisa added with what I thought was a wicked grin. As if she were subtly indicating just who in the room would, and only would, be the one to handle my cannoli.

  Dames… who can figure em’?

  Marie laughed, “S
o there’s no harm in it… watchin him at the club, I mean.”

  I shook my head, “Sorry, Marie. The place is loud, stinks of smoke and stale beer and I’d rather be a roofer in August.”

  “Okay, okay,” she relented with a head shake, “Truth is that’s not exactly what I had in mind. It’s more like you could keep an eye on him, and maybe me too, when we’re not at the club. Maybe even stick your nose into this Shade thing. Keep tabs on what the cops are doing?”

  I didn’t tell her that I would do that anyway, “I can’t be a full-time bodyguard. Especially for the both of you.”

  Marie waved that off, “No, I know that. Although does Lisa here do any detective work? That’d give you two sets of eyes… but what I’m askin’ for is that you make us a priority. Watch out for things and try to find out who this Shade guy is and what he wants.”

  “Or she,” Lisa pointed out.

  “You think he’s a broad?” Marie asked, “Nah… this don’t seem like something a broad would do. I want you to be our detective. Christ knows the cops ain’t gonna look out for us. And our guys… like I said, they ain’t investigators. I’ll take care of you with the bread, there’s no problem there. What’d’ya charge?”

  I once again faced an ethical dilemma. I didn’t like dirty money. To me, if I took money that came from selling drugs, a murder or three, or even putting the bite on some business person, then I was somehow culpable in the crime. My weekly or monthly payment couldn’t be from some poor bastards vig. If I knew it came from gambling or prostitution, it wasn’t quite as bad. I placed a bet once in a great while, so I couldn’t be a hypocrite in that sense. As for prostitution, I had mixed feelings about it.

  On the one hand, what did it matter what two consenting adults did. If one wanted to pay the other, so what? Yet there was a lot that went along with many forms of prostitution. Drug abuse, physical and mental abuse and humiliation. Often as much for the John as the girl herself. And then sometimes it was just a business transaction where nobody got hurt.

  “He doesn’t take dirty money,” Lisa said for me. Her powers of intuition were quite formiddable. Either that, or she just knew me well. Perhaps both.

  Marie grinned, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay you out of the club’s till. All legit. The only stink on this money would be from being stuffed down a girl’s G. That a problem for ya’?”

  Her amusement was obvious. Lisa just snickered and shook her head.

  “That’s… fine,” I said guardedly.

  Marie laughed, “I ain’t paying you in cash… relax. You get a retainer?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “Four hundred a day and expenses is my rate. I’ll need five days up front.”

  Marie shrugged with elaborate unconcern as she withdrew a checkbook from her purse. A purse that the two-thousand dollar retainer wouldn’t even come close to purchasing.

  She wrote quickly and tore out the check, “I’m gonna give you my numbuh. For now, I’d like Pauli not to know, y’know what I’m sayin’? He’s a proud guy and considerin’ your history…”

  I shrugged, “sure.”

  Marie stood and I came around the desk to walk her out. To my surprise she suddenly hugged me.

  There was real concern and gratitude in her eyes and her voice when she said: “Thank you.”

  I walked her out and came back into the office. Lisa was spraying Lysol air freshener and closing the windows.

  “Well, there you go,” I said, “Your first case, Jessica. Aren’t you as proud as Pontius Pilate?”

  Lisa snorted and in an overly exaggerated impression of Marie said: “Who’d’a tunk it, Jahvis? I ain’t back in the office two, tree days and some mobstuh broad comes in and trows us a case!”

  I laughed, “It’s a livin’.”

  Lisa chuckled and sat back down, “Watch out for that one, baby. From the look she was giving you, she’d like to see what’s under your hood. Maybe wants you to give her the ole saZeech as you say.”

  I snorted, “Not this kid.”

  Lisa grinned, “She’s pretty cute.”

  “You’re cuter.”

  “Well, duh.”

  Chapter 3

  Lisa and I met outside the men’s and women’s locker rooms at Vic’s Gym after changing from our semi-professional attire. It was just before five in the afternoon and the Jefferson Avenue gym was jam packed.

  Several dozen heads turned and even more pairs of eyes gazed longingly at Lisa and me in our workout clothes… well, in truth it was probably ninety-percent Lisa. Due in part to the fact that I was wearing simple shorts with fraying hems and a sleeveless workout shirt that had seen better days. Admittedly, the attention was partly… okay mostly… due to the fact that Lisa wore a black leotard and white headband. The workout togs gave one the impression of a Cat Woman sighting. An impression that required very little in the way of imaginative elasticity.

  “Well raise my rent!” Came a boisterous and slightly northern accented voice that carried from halfway across the noisy gym. I saw Vic Matzano, the owner, weaving his way between machines and customers toward us with a big smile on his face. Vic was a very fit man in his early fifties who looked much younger. He had the body you’d expect to belong to the owner of a successful gym as well as an outgoing personality that helped keep the customers happy.

  “Hey, Vic!” Lisa said as they embraced.

  “You’re back?” he asked, beaming.

  “Should’ve never left.”

  He sighed, “I coulda told you that last year for Christ’s sake. You look as gorgeous as ever.”

  “And you’re as handsome as I remember,” Lisa said and kissed him.

  “Y’know,” Vic Matzano said as he looked us over, “you two are like the opposite of twins.”

  “What’s your point, Vic?” I asked suspiciously.

  He snorted, “What are you kidding me, Scott? Look at the two of ya’. You’re dressed out in old sweat stained rags and she looks like the cover of a fitness mag.”

  “I’m here to work not to look cute,” I admonished.

  “I’m here to look cute,” Lisa said and grinned at me.

  “So what’s your pleasure this afternoon?” Vic asked Lisa. “I know what Mighty Joe Young here is gonna do. Man handle all my free weights and punish what’s left of my boxing gear.”

  Lisa laughed, “Just some cardio, Vic. Got an open treadmill or stair climber or spinner?”

  “For you, anything,” Vic said, taking her arm gallantly.

  “What about me?” I asked peevishly.

  “You’re on your own, pal,” Vic said with a grin.

  “When did I get to be chopped liver?” I called after them.

  “When you started dating a ten,” Vic said over his shoulder.

  “Oh, and I’m not a ten?” I yelled back.

  Vic stopped and turned to me, “Well… you could probably be multiplied into a ten.”

  I flipped him off and went over to the free weights section. Vic’s was something of a blend of modern fitness and old-school. He had the machines, the cardio gear and the smoothie bar, of course. Yet his gym also featured an open room for mixed martial arts with a special section for boxers that even included a sparring ring.

  I started my workout with upper body, putting four forty-five and two twenty-five pound plates on the squat bar. I liked pressing with the squat machine because it had stops you could adjust in case you got tired and all you had to do to secure the weights was turn the bar half a turn. It made it easier to do heavy weight without a spotter.

  I moved on to rows, military presses and hammer curls with forty pound dumbbells. Then I did a hundred or so ab twists and triceps dips.

  “Hey, what’s goin’ on, Poppy?” This high pitched question, asked in a very convincing Hispanic accent, seemed to be aimed at me. I looked up from wiping down the dipping apparatus and saw Wayne smiling at me from a few feet away.

  “Sup, dawg,” I thugged.

  “Looking good, brother,” Wayne stated
in his normal voice. “Lisa must be putting a little pep in your step.”

  “Always,” I said. “How’s Sheila? Missed her this weekend.”

  He sighed, “Yeah… she won’t be back until Friday night. You gonna hit the bags?”

  I nodded and we started heading for the boxing room.

  “Well, if it ain’t Spenser and Hawk,” Somebody called out from the direction of the lower body machines.

  “Better watch your ass, babe,” Wayne retorted in a deep voice that was not dissimilar to Avery Brooks, who had played Hawk on TV as well as Captain Sisko.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Tony G,” Wayne replied. “Local hip hop manager and, I suspect but have yet to prove… is also a small-time hood.”

  “Nice friends you keep,” I said wryly.

  Wayne shrugged, “part of the job. He’s also a stoolie. Occasionally drops us some useful tips.”

  I chuffed, “Yeah… good way to weed out the competition.”

  “What say we get in the ring,” Wayne suggested. “It’s free now and I could use a good spar.”

  “Okay… but don’t mess up the face… got a photo shoot with Sexy P.I. Magazine in the morning.”

  Wayne snorted and we began to tape up our hands. By the time we’d climbed into the ring, there were at least eight or ten other boxers who’d stopped their own workouts to take a peek at us. That included Vic and Lisa as well.

  “Hey, this ain’t a peep show,” Wayne chided the growing spectators.

  “Well, duh,” Lisa chided. “Otherwise you two would be wearing significantly less.”

  “Pay no attention to them, honey,” I told Wayne and handed him a clean sparring helmet, “they’re just jealous of our love.”

  “Ding, ding,” Wayne said from his corner.

  Wayne was a very fit black man of twenty-seven. He was about my height but maybe fifteen pounds lighter. Aside from being a detective who primarily worked vice, he had aspirations of making a name for himself as a heavyweight.

  Wayne’s friendly demeanor and laid back attitude belied his fighting ability. He was fleet of foot and had a punch like a mule kick. There are several types of boxers yet primarily you find two distinct varieties. The out-boxer, who relies on good footwork and distance punching and the slugger. Sluggers, or punchers or even brawlers, tend to be stronger and use powerful hits to disable their opponents. You’ve also got hybrids, or what are called boxer-punchers. These combine the first two and would describe Wayne as well as myself.