The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset

by David F. Berens

  Oops, Remington thought. He was sharp enough to respond quickly.

  “Bastard broke into my place,” Remington said. “Found out I was onto him and tried to steal the evidence I had.”

  “Got it,” Jack said.

  “But I’ve been following him,” Remington lied, “and I know where he is and where he’s holding Mindy.”

  “Go,” he said quickly. “What’ve you got?”

  “On the water,” Remington said. “I need a boat.”

  “I’ll call ahead to the yacht club,” Jack said. “Where?”

  “Stiltsville,” Remington answered, “and I’m headed there now to meet Taz. I’ll have him in custody before morning.”

  “Yes!” Jack Colpiller almost yelled. “Thank you, Mr. Reginald.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Colpiller,” Remington replied. “I’ll expect my deposit by tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Of course,” Jack said. “Thank God.”

  Remington hung up. He hadn’t promised Mindy would be alive. He hoped she still was, but that wasn’t part of the deal. The deal was he would find Caroline… and now Mindy. He clicked back to the text message with Taz.

  -On my way

  -Alone

  -Yes, alone

  -If not, Mindy gets it

  -I’m alone

  It wasn’t exactly a lie; he would be alone… except for Pepe. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew Jack would rally the cavalry. He hoped it would be just in the nick of time to pick up the captor and captee from Stiltsville. Remington clicked open his .22 pistol. One bullet. Well, Taz didn’t have to know that. Hopefully it would be enough to subdue him and take him in… hopefully.

  -Good. Don’t try any funny business

  Remington didn’t bother responding. He just drove as fast as he could without attracting any police attention.

  The Key Biscayne Yacht Club was normally much nicer than it appeared today. There was a massive construction project underway and there were only a few boats in the water, one of which was Jack Colpiller’s massive Ylang Ylang Falcon. It was a daunting sight, but Remington didn’t have time to be daunted. He jumped on board after procuring the keys from the dock commander, and the big boat roared as he fired it up and backed it out of its slip.

  This was the life. Remington wondered just how much money Jack Colpiller had… millions… maybe billions. He checked the G.P.S. coordinates and rammed the throttle forward. The boat was so powerful it felt like it might take off and fly out of the water. Stiltsville was all the way on the opposite side of the island, but he could close that distance in under an hour in this beast.

  Pepe slept soundly, still tucked into Remington’s messenger bag. He hadn’t let go of the Gram doll since they’d left the apartment. Remington smiled; maybe this was what it felt like to have children. Pepe had just adopted the doll and the blanket and Remington was happy that someone else enjoyed them too. And he was happy that Pepe seemed to like him as well. He reached down and stroked the skunk, who purred lightly and arched his back.

  The trip to Stiltsville was shorter than Remington thought, and he quickly spotted the yellow and green house as he slowed to wake speed among the shallows. He wondered idly if the boat would ground out, but it didn’t… the tide was still high.

  Taz’s boat, a small dingy, was parked on the inside of the dock beneath the house. He’d probably parked it there so it would be harder to see from the water. Remington drifted the Falcon toward the dock and expertly reversed just enough to have it lightly touch the buoyed side of the boat.

  Taz was standing out on the dock and waving him in. He didn’t see any kind of gun or weapon on him… this guy is dumber than I thought. He draped the messenger bag over his shoulder and ran out on the bow to toss a line to Taz, who grabbed it and looped it around a cleat. He did the same from the stern. Remington lowered a step-ladder and eased down onto the dock.

  “G’day, mate,” Taz said without humor.

  “Where are they?” Remington asked.

  “Inside,” Taz said and pointed up to the house.

  He turned and walked to a ladder that led up to the raised deck surrounding the house. Remington followed. When he reached the top of the ladder, Taz turned around suddenly.

  “Gimme the bag,” he said, and motioned toward the messenger bag.

  Remington raised his hands. “Taz, I don’t think you want me to do that.”

  “Gimme the fookin’ bag,” he said through gritted teeth. “You think I’m fookin’ stupid? You could have a gun in there.”

  Remington could feel the gun tucked into his sock, so he shrugged and handed the bag to Taz. Taz didn’t open it, and simply pointed to the door of the house. Remington turned the knob and went inside.

  The house didn’t have the typical furniture one would expect; in fact it didn’t have any furniture at all. That made sense, as the houses had all been vacant for several years. As he looked around, alarm bells sounded in his mind. There wasn’t any furniture, and there weren’t any doors leading to other rooms. The house was a shell. And there wasn’t anyone else in the room either. Shit, Remington thought, a trap. But he kept his cool and decided to act like nothing was up.

  “So, how we gonna handle—”

  He turned as he spoke, just in time to see Taz’s tennis racket slam into his face. He felt the bones in his left cheek crack. He slumped to the floor and tried desperately not to lose consciousness. If he did, he was a dead man. The racket cracked the back of his skull and he slammed face first onto the floor.

  “Noooo…” he moaned.

  “What the fook?” Taz shouted suddenly.

  Remington was able to lift his head just enough to see Taz holding the messenger bag outstretched at arm’s length. The flap was open and Pepe was emerging. The skunk looked like he’d just been woken up… and wasn’t too happy about it. He lifted his tail and sprayed hard. Remington smiled through the pain, smelling the extreme stench fill the small house.

  “Geezus Croist!” Taz yelled and flung the bag away.

  Pepe jumped at him and scratched his arm and tried to sink his teeth into Taz’s hand. But the tennis pro was too quick. He flung the skunk hard against the back wall. Pepe fell to the floor, motionless.

  “Oh, no… not Pepe,” muttered Remington.

  Taz was furious. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” he yelled. “Who carries around a damn skunk!!”

  He grabbed the handle of his tennis racket and raised it over his head. This blow would certainly kill him, Remington thought.

  With every bit of strength he could muster, he reached down into his sock, pulled out the .22, and raised it at Taz and fired.

  The bullet caught Taz in the face. It tore off half his cheek, and Remington saw charred flesh and teeth in the opening. He stumbled back and dropped the tennis racket. He tried to speak, but then grabbed the side of his face and screamed something completely unintelligible then ran toward the door.

  As Remington heard the smaller boat crank up, he finally lost consciousness.

  Taz was probably on his way to kill Mindy. But if she wasn’t here… where the hell was she?

  28

  This Girl Is On Fire

  Mindy Colpiller was on the brink of passing out due to extreme dehydration. During the daytime, the heat that radiated in through the large, circular bank of windows was excruciating. The sun was setting now, but she was afraid that if she passed out tonight she might never wake up. Scooting on her butt around the edge of the wall, she was able to stay in the shade for most of the day, but the super-humid, greenhouse-heated air inside was stifling to say the least. She felt like she was breathing hot, sticky vapor.

  She had long since given up trying to escape her prison, and had decided Taz was probably not coming back. The fear of dying up here… alone… in dehydration shock and starvation had long since given way to the thought that maybe just laying down and going to sleep might not be so bad. It would definitely be better than the horrible fate Caroline had su
ffered.

  An image of Taz’s disgusting face filled her mind. She hated that bastard for what he had done to her sister… and now what he was doing to her. Though her rage for him was strong, if he came back now, her strength to do anything about it was gone.

  She’d long since used the last of her sister’s lipstick to keep her lips moist. Now they were cracked, dry and bleeding. Her eyes were dry too, and when she rubbed them it felt like they were full of sand. She knew she was in deep trouble when she started shivering for no reason… in the one-hundred-degree plus temperatures at the top of the lighthouse.

  She’d tried in vain to hurl the oil box at the windows in an effort to break one, but naturally, being constructed to withstand hurricanes and tropical storms, the glass was unbreakable. And it was difficult to throw the box with any force because it was slimy with Caroline’s blood and the oil residue from the lighthouse’s ancient fuel.

  She had eventually given up on that plan too, and placed the box back against the wall.

  She’d carefully placed all of Caroline’s remains back in the box. It had taken a while, as she had to take frequent breaks to keep from getting sick as she did it. Her poor sister was unrecognizable in this state. She felt herself crying, even though moisture did not come out of her eyes. Placing the lid back on the box, she knelt and prayed for her sister to feel peace.

  She would almost certainly be joining her soon.

  And that’s when the hallucination came…

  Bonnaroo, 2012.

  Caroline had convinced Mindy to join her on a trip up to Manchester, Tennessee, to experience the music festival.

  “The lineup is amazing this year,” Caroline told her, “Radiohead, Janka Nabay & the Bubu Gang, Phish, Sister Sparrow, and Kenny Rogers. Kenny Freakin’ Rogers is gonna be there!”

  Mindy agreed to go after hearing Kenny would be there. She didn’t know any Radiohead or Phish songs, and she hadn’t even heard of the rest of the bands. But whenever the opening chords of The Gambler came on, she sang along with every word.

  The drive up to Tennessee should have been a warning to stay away. A tractor trailer dropped a huge metal beam in front of them and they couldn’t avoid it without running off the road. It flattened two of their tires in one fell swoop. Thank goodness for Triple A. But they’d been in the deadlands of South Georgia when it happened, so it took a good three hours for the tire replacements to arrive and for the mechanic to put them on. Apparently, they didn’t drive Porsches in South Georgia.

  Once they were back on the road it was smooth sailing, and Caroline used the time to educate Mindy on the more popular songs of the headliners that they would see.

  Upon arrival, Caroline had done nothing but seek out the best weed, and had started smoking right away. She was a good pothead though, laid-back, fun, and happier than she was most other times. But when night fell, she’d been coerced into a tent where much stronger substances were going into mouths, under tongues, and into veins. Mindy decided to sit that one out. She wandered around the grounds, enjoying the music—most of the time—until she found a really cute guy playing a guitar and singing. He sounded great and looked even better, so she’d plopped down and sat in the circle of people he’d attracted until late into the night.

  As it turned out, he was a perfect gentleman, too. Mindy had been surprised he hadn’t invited her into his tent, even though he’d been smiling and making eyes at her all night. Instead, he’d asked if she’d like to check out the bonfire with him. It was kind of a big deal, he said. She agreed. He’d reached out and taken her hand and they’d walked toward the gigantic fire like girlfriend and boyfriend. Staring into the fire, Mindy had laid her head down on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep.

  It was the best night’s sleep she’d gotten in months. The early morning strains of music getting started woke her, and she wasn’t surprised to find he was gone. She’d walked back to where she thought his tent was, but that was gone too. She then walked back out to the central location of the bonfire—which was still smoldering—and asked around about Caroline.

  Someone recognized her name and had directed Mindy to the drug tent. Caroline was bombed. Her shirt was torn and her makeup had run down her cheeks… she’d been crying. The stoners hadn’t raped her, but she’d definitely been taken advantage of… and then they’d vanished into the crowd. In the shape they’d been in the night before, they might not even remember it… Caroline barely did. But she remembered enough to know she was ready to go.

  Through her tears she’d asked Mindy to drive her home. As they made the long walk back to the car, Caroline had pointed to the pile of embers where the bonfire had been and said she was sad she’d missed it.

  Mindy snapped out of the memory. She lifted her head and looked at the box that held Caroline’s body. Stenciled on the side was the single word, OIL. Mindy remembered the box had been slick with blood and the remnants of the decades old fuel residue. She looked down at the pile of Caroline’s things sitting next to her. She snatched up the lighter and flicked it. The flame danced high and strong above the flint.

  She pushed herself up and walked toward the OIL box. She grabbed the edges and dragged it to the center of the room. She slid it directly on top of the locked hatch. She opened the box and noticed the smell of oil more obviously now over the odor of the decaying body of her twin sister.

  “I’m sorry Caroline,” she said.

  Somewhere deep in her mind, it felt like Caroline had said to do it… she would help her sister from beyond even death.

  Mindy clicked the lighter and held it to the edge of the box. The flame took some time to get going, and Mindy was afraid the fuel in the lighter would run out. But finally, the edge of the wooden box began to catch. In minutes, it was engulfed in flames at least four feet high. Not quite high enough for someone to see through the windows, but Mindy hoped the flickering glow would be enough to draw some attention.

  And she hoped maybe the hatch would burn and give way…

  29

  Back In The Saddle

  Troy Clint Bodean had been dozing off in the ridiculously plush leather chair in front of the massive seventy-five inch television screen in the Colpiller penthouse apartment when the call came in. They had been waiting downtown for the report from the gaggle of cops that had gone to find Taz. They traced his location to an apartment building in Liberty Heights. Oddly, the apartment in question was empty and reeked of skunk, and was rented to the private investigator Jack Colpiller had hired to find his missing daughter, Caroline.

  In the hours that passed, Joe Bond—the detective on the case and an old friend of Troy’s—had reported that nothing new was discovered. They literally had no leads, no clue where Mindy was, no clue where Taz was, and no clue where Remington was… so Joe Bond had suggested they go home and wait. And that’s where they had been until Remington called them and said he knew where Taz and Mindy both were and needed a boat to go get them.

  Jack Colpiller was pacing around the room and wringing his hands together. “Dammit,” he said, “I should never have let Remington take my boat. We should’ve gone out there to get my daughter back.”

  “No, siree, compadre,” Troy said and held up his hands, “that would have been a really bad idea. What we need to do is call Joe and get every last cop in Miami out here to make sure nothing bad goes down.”

  “But you heard Remington,” Jack protested, “if anyone besides Remington shows up out there, Taz will know something is up… he’ll just kill Mindy on the spot.”

  Troy stood up. “But if we get Joe and the Coast Guard out on the water over there, Remington can signal them to let them know he’s got her. Then the cavalry can swoop in.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said, clicking his phone. “I’ll call Joe now.” As he waited for the call to connect, he said, “And then we’re gonna go borrow a boat and get over there.”

  Troy opened his mouth to protest, but Jack turned away.

  “Yes, this is Jack Colp
iller,” he said. “I need to speak to Detective Bond.”

  He listened for a moment, then said, “No, I cannot hold. This is an emergency.”

  Another few seconds of listening.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jack took the phone away from his ear and looked at Troy. “She said she had to put me on hold to connect the call.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Troy said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Jack put the phone back to his ear. After three disconnects and redials and forty-five minutes of blaring hold music, he hung up. “Let’s go,” he said, pointing toward the elevator door.

  He walked briskly and urged Troy to follow. They took the elevator down to the lobby, hopped in Jack’s Lamborghini, and raced the two miles to the Key Biscayne Yacht Club. Jack ran in the door and Troy—after carefully extricating himself from the ridiculously low riding sports car—followed.

  When Troy finally got to the front door and pushed it open, he saw Jack yelling at the Dock attendant.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” he yelled. “There’s not a single boat here I can take out?”

  The young man looked like he might pee his pants.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” Jack leaned over the kid’s counter. “This is a matter of life and death.”

  “Sir,” said the young man, whose nametag read Steve-O, “I’m super sorry, Mr. Colpiller. We’re renovating the slips and everything is in dry-dock.”

  “You mean to tell me every boat is out of the water?”

  “Yes, sir.” Steve-O held up his hands, palms to the sky. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

  Jack Colpiller banged his fist on the counter and the boy jumped. He looked down at his lap and Troy saw that he had actually peed his pants. Walking past the two of them and scanning the marina, Troy saw that it was indeed a ghost town. Nothing.

  Jack came up behind him and inhaled deeply. “We’re stuck.”

  “Yup,” Troy answered, “looks that way.”