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

by Scott Cook

  So as I was preparing supper that evening, Lisa was sitting in my recliner with the TV on, scanning for anything regarding Shade. And at a little after six, she found it.

  The newscaster was stating that the Orange County Sheriff’s Department had responded to a call in a small residential neighborhood in Ocoee, a bedroom community just west of Orlando built around State Road Fifty.

  “Deputies arrived at 5782 Garden Way,” The anchor woman was explaining. “To find that a local man, Darren West had been shot twice in the chest. He was dead when deputies arrived. There were no signs of struggle nor any sign of robbery. Deputies were baffled until a note was found near the body. We go now to field reporter Danielle Ling for details.”

  The view switched to an attractive young woman of Asian origin standing outside a trailer. Next to her was a slightly overweight deputy who stood a head taller. He sported a crew cut and a fluffy porn stash.

  “Thank you, Veronica… I’m here outside Mr. West’s home,” The reporter began. “With me is Deputy Ted Logan of the Orange County Sheriff’s office. What can you tell us, deputy?”

  “Well…” Logan began, clearing his throat. “We found a note not far from the deceased’s person.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” Lisa grumbled. “Veronica what’s her face just said that…”

  I chuckled, “See why I don’t watch the news?”

  “Can you tell us what the note said?” Ms. Ling asked patiently.

  The deputy hitched his belt up and squared his shoulders importantly, “It doesn’t say much. And normally, we wouldn’t share evidence so openly… but considering the nature of this crime… I can tell you and your viewers, Danielle. The note said, ‘Always clean up your mess.’ And it was signed…”

  A dramatic pause.

  “Shade,” Logan finished with a gleam in his eye.

  “That’s certainly interesting,” Ms. Ling added. “Not to mention alarming. The name Shade is quickly becoming a household word in Central Florida. Any clues as to the identity of this mysterious celebrity, Deputy Logan?”

  “Yeah, we know exactly who he is, we’re just holding out to build suspense… Geez…” Lisa grumbled.

  He chewed on his stash for a moment, “Not yet. Whoever this guy is, he’s very careful.”

  The view switched back to Veronica what’s her name again.

  “Thank you, Danielle,” She stated. “As you may know, Shade first made himself public in a letter to the editor last week in the Orlando Sentinel. We’ve also made contact with the Orlando police department as well as other sources. It seems that Shade has been targeting criminals and people of interest. Unconfirmed sources say that a local private investigator may be involved in the attempt to locate Shade. Additionally, we’ve recently discovered that an Orlando police detective was hospitalized on Saturday evening after a near fatal car crash. Further investigations indicate that the RV fire on Orange Avenue early Sunday morning may also be connected with Shade’s activities.”

  Lisa chuffed and turned the TV off, “Geez… just keep spreading rumors! That’ll help.”

  I sighed, “Yeah… if it bleeds, it leads. Friggin’ twenty-four hour news… Still, did you see the photo of West they threw up?”

  “Yeah,” She said.

  “He looked remarkably like the big hairy biker lookin’ dude that I chased up Church Street the other day.”

  Lisa went and turned on the stereo and looked back at me, “Always clean up your mess… assassinate the assassin?”

  I nodded, “In a manner of speaking. This West guy must have seen Shade… and had to die for it.”

  “Maybe that’s true for Soares as well?” Lisa suggested.

  I nodded, “something like that. I can’t believe that Soares and Shade aren’t connected. This guy is really careful… damn him.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?” Lisa asked.

  I sighed, “I don’t know. So far, it doesn’t seem like Shade is targeting me or you… and if he’s to be believed, then Wayne was a mistake… or… or Soares planted that bomb.”

  Lisa went pale, “you think? And maybe that’s why Shade offed him?”

  “Could be,” I said, not entirely convinced. “Which means that Shade, if not on my side, exactly… isn’t out to get me or hurt what you might call the good guys.”

  That, unfortunately, would soon change.

  Chapter 13

  Drawn from the case file of Gonzalez and what’s his face

  Lisa’s journal entry 3

  Yup, I’m back!

  Almost a whole week went by before we heard anything more about Shade. I almost started to believe that maybe he was done with whatever he was doing.

  In the intervening days, things were pretty quiet and even got back to some kind of normal. One bummer was that Wayne didn’t call Scott all week. I spoke with Wanda in the middle of the week and she said that he’d been let out of the hospital and was staying with her to recover. He was severely depressed and didn’t talk to anybody. I was glad Wanda was there. I wouldn’t think it possible, but Scott and I were a little concerned that Wayne might do something rash in his current mind frame.

  On Tuesday morning, a new client walked into the office. I mention this because it has to do directly with me. Said client was a woman named Virginia Chandler. She was one of those fifty-ish chicks who still looked great. She was smart, tough and successful. She owned a custom home building firm in town and apparently Scott knew her.

  She and Scott had worked together earlier in the summer. It turned out that she had partnered with EcoLife to include some of their newer solar tech into her homes. That gave me a twinge when I heard her say that.

  When I look back at the past year… especially where I am emotionally and mentally now… it makes me uncomfortable. When I left back in October, it seemed like the right thing to do, although one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

  Yet now, with hindsight so crystal clear, all I can feel is that I wasted nine months. Well, not entirely. I did use my MBA and I did begin to qualify for a P.I’s license. However, I also got involved with another man.

  I tried not to think about it, but sometimes the memories came back. Memories of Miles and I in bed together… damn, it gives me a shiver even now. Not a good shiver, either. Miles was, at the time, a good guy… but he wasn’t so great in bed. Especially when I had Scott to compare to. I tried not to do that… but it was pretty blatant.

  Yet just the idea of us together, even now, makes me feel… icky. Not just because of what he did in Costa Rica, but because it feels like I was cheating on Scott.

  I know that’s dumb, but still…

  And I wonder what Scott thinks? Does he think about Miles and me? Do images of us having sex pop into his mind from time to time? Having such a vivid imagination like he does, I can only imagine what goes through Scott’s mind. It must make his skin creep.

  He never says anything, though. Never busts my balls about it… never teases me… never tries to make me feel bad. Except for the angry discussions we had in Central America… to clear the air I guess… he doesn’t hold it against me.

  That makes me feel very lucky. Not many people, men or women, could avoid that. Avoid letting those hurt feelings leak out from time to time.

  Okay, okay… Jesus… this is turning into a Dear Abby!

  Anyway, Virginia Chandler had recently acquired a competitor’s business and wanted some information double checked. She thought Scott could do the investigation for her.

  “Actually, Virginia,” he said from his perch behind his desk. “Lisa here is probably a better fit. Not only does she have investigatory experience, she also holds an MBA from UCF. Considering your situation, I think she can be invaluable to you.”

  Awww…

  So I worked with her for the rest of the week. It was nice. Virginia was a sharp lady and fun to talk to. I did uncover some irregularities for her and she said she’d be able to use the information in conjunction with her attorney to fi
nalize the merger on more favorable terms.

  On Friday morning, Scott and I were having breakfast at Sweet Mama’s, a small restaurant in the Lake Nona area of town. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just a typical shopping center diner… but man, the food is awesome and the Mimosas and Bloodies are like three bucks.

  Anyway, they had a couple of TV’s on, unfortunately. And even more unfortunately, tuned into News 13. However, a local interview caught our attention.

  Danielle Ling was once again interviewing somebody. This time it was a local private investigator.

  “I’m here in the office of Mr. Gregory Foster,” Ling reported. “Mr. Foster is a prominent investigator in Orlando with nearly a dozen staff. He has some interesting news to report regarding O-town’s newest vigilante celebrity, Shade.”

  “Good morning, Danielle,” Foster said.

  I’ve heard this guy’s name ever since I met Scott but I think this is the first time I’d seen him. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He was handsome and looked fit. He sat on one side of a big desk and the reporter on the other.

  “How have you become involved with the search for Shade’s identity?” Ling asked.

  “Mostly I’ve taken it upon myself,” Foster replied. “With all that’s been going on, I thought that with my resources, I may be able to uncover something. My firm and I have also recently been retained by an influential client to pursue the same goal.”

  “I don’t suppose you can tell us who that is?” Ling asked a little playfully. Like she knew she wouldn’t get an answer but secretly hoped she would.

  Foster laughed good-naturedly, “I’m afraid not. However, it’s not really relevant. The point is that my investigators and I are on Shade’s trail. I’m confident that we’ll find something. After all, Shade is one person and we’re ten.”

  “I’m sure Orlando is glad to know that,” Ling replied.

  “Well, the citizens may be,” Foster added with a grin. “However, the police department isn’t as excited about my investigation. They don’t want me treading on their toes, so to speak.”

  “Have you discovered anything that might lead you to Shade?”

  Foster looked into the camera and I swear he winked, “I know a few things already, Danielle. For one, I happen to know that a very talented and dangerous… dangerous to Shade that is… young man is already on his trail. I can tell you from personal experience that Shade should be worried about that.”

  I looked at Scott and winked, “You?”

  He shrugged and ate a bite of corned beef hash, “I am a talented young man, to be sure.”

  I chuckled.

  “On another tack,” Foster went on. To me, he seemed a bit arrogant. Not over the top, though. Just enough to let you know he was an alpha without being irritating. “I’ve discovered that a local crime boss, if I can use that dramatic a word, has had at least two run ins with Shade. I have it on good authority that he’s surrounded himself with men and has a whole team on his wife as well.”

  “Can you tell us who that is?” Ling asked, almost salivating.

  “Paul Franco,” Foster replied. “He owns Venus, a local gentleman’s club and a few other businesses.”

  “Does that suggest anything to you, Mr. Foster?”

  “Call me Greg, Danielle… and yes, it does. I suspect an organized crime connection with Shade. Thus far his MO… that’s his modus operandi… is to go after criminals or those involved in criminal activities. Last week Shade is believed to have set a house fire in the Florida Keys as well as framed a Tampa Bay area private eye for drug trafficking.”

  “Yes, but isn’t it true that a local Orlando detective was nearly killed in a car crash this past weekend?” Ling asked.

  I saw Scott cringe. I couldn’t blame him. In this day and age, between the papers, TV and the internet, nothing was sacred.

  “Yes, but sources tell me that was either a copycat crime or a mistake,” Foster said. “Not to do with Shade. That biker that was killed on Monday was seen at Hamburger Mary’s the day before. He delivered a note for a guest. One of the waiters described the man and it’s clearly this West fellow. My guess is that Shade hired him to deliver the message and then neutralized West so he couldn’t make an identification.”

  “Do you know what the message said and who it was meant for?” Ling asked excitedly.

  “Oh, Christ…” Scott groaned.

  He hated being in any kind of spotlight. He says that keeping relatively anonymous helps him work, at least while a case is going on. I thought that was kind of funny considering that he writes books about all his big cases.

  Foster looked right into the camera and winked again. I got the impression he was looking right at me… or maybe at Scott.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say,” Foster replied sternly. “Without permission from the party in question, I wouldn’t feel right.”

  “I’ll be damned…” Scott muttered. “Guess I owe him another drink.”

  Then I recalled the end of Scott’s sixth book, Sins of the Fatherland. Foster was the one who told Scott about Morgan. They’d had a run in before and apparently had made up.

  I thought that was the end of it. After breakfast, we packed up an overnight bag and the dogs and drove over to Saint Pete. We got the boat ready for an afternoon and sunset sail and maybe another the next day.

  “Officer of the deck, standby to get underway,” Scott said with a grin as he started untying the lines.

  I was at the wheel, ready to back us out of the slip. I had no problem driving the boat, but I was still a little skittish about docking and undocking. I told Scott this, so now it was my job every time we went out. His feeling was that I keep doing it until it became second nature.

  “I’m always nervous about this part…” I said.

  He grinned, “I know, that’s why you’re doing it. Groan you may, but go you must, Mister.”

  “Can you at least hand walk her out?” I asked. “I have to back up to starboard and you know that as soon as I put her in reverse, she wants to throw her ass to port like a wanton whore.”

  He laughed, “I know, right? Why can’t they make a sailboat that backs up like a Christian? But no, you’re gonna use prop walk and force her into some notion of her duty.”

  The boat was free of the lines now. I took a deep breath, put the wheel to starboard and bumped her into reverse.

  “Give her a blast of speed,” Scott instructed. “Then throttle down and put her in neutral.”

  I did it, and of course, the prop started to pull the stern to the left.

  “What you want is enough water pressure over the rudder so that it bites and overcomes the pull of the prop,” he explained. “Give her another burst… okay, now put your helm hard to port and give it a burst of forward.”

  I did as he said. Now that we were moving at a little over a knot, the rudder seemed to be working. When I put the boat in forward, the prop, rather than pulling the stern to port now pushed it to starboard.

  “Good… now hard to starboard and another reverse bump,” Scott instructed.

  It worked! The boat slid out of the slip and her butt was going to the right. Once the bow was free and we had a little room, I threw the wheel hard over to port, put her in forward and gave it a little fuel. The sailboat turned to the left almost on a dime and we were headed down the long wide canal that lead out to Pass-a-Grille Pass.

  “A creditable exercise, Mister Gonzales,” Scott said with a grin. “Maintain course, ahead full.”

  “Aye-aye!” I exclaimed.

  The wind was out of the east at about ten knots, so Scott put up the sails while we were still motoring down the canal. Once we made the right turn that took us out into the pass, the wind made itself felt. We killed the iron wind and sailed out of the pass, battling boat wakes coming and going. It wasn’t too bad, though in spite of being Friday afternoon. It was still technically a weekday.

  We sailed out past the big shoal to the sou
th of the pass and Scott had me turn southward toward Egmont.

  “Killick!” I shouted to Scott, who’d gone below. “Killick there!”

  “What now…” Scott said in a nasal, shrewish and put upon English voice and grinned up at me.

  “Be a good fellow for once and rouse out a couple of margaritas, do ya’ hear me there?” I ordered.

  Scott was a big fan of Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey Maturin series. In this series, set in the Royal Navy of the Napoleonic era, Captain Aubrey’s steward, preserved Killick, was described as an ill-tempered, shrewish man who always seemed put upon. He’d mumble all sorts of irreverent things under his breath, and sometimes not so much under. And the narrator of the series, Patrick Tull, did a great job with the voice and it always cracked us up. He’d gotten me into it as well.

  “Which I’m gettin’ it, ain’t I?” Scott grumbled in his peevish Killick voice. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Here’s old Preserved Killick, running about the barquee day and night… fetch this, bring that… never so much as a by your leave…” Scott continued to gripe just loud enough for me to hear.

  “Stop that goddamned muttering and top ya’ boom, Killick!” I roared after him and laughed.

  We had a great day. We anchored off Egmont and went to the beach where the boys could swim and run around. We cooked burgers on the grill and watched a gorgeous sunset as we left Egmont and headed back toward the pass.

  The wind had died down to next to nothing, so we were motoring under autopilot at about six knots. The sun had sunk below the horizon about fifteen minutes ago when I saw a bright flash not far from where it’d been.

  “What was that?” I asked Scott. “Did you see that?”

  We were sitting behind the wheel, I with a glass of wine and Scott with a Landshark. A few seconds after the flash, a low lingering boom floated across the water. He stared off our port bow and then at me. He set his beer in a cup holder and went below.