Randy stood on the dock, grinning through his shaggy gray beard. He held a boat hook in his right hand. I felt a knot in my stomach as I remembered the cold metal in my hand as I heard the crunch of Garrett’s throat.
He stretched the hook toward my bow and caught it on the forward cleat. The motor was already in neutral; inertia pushed the hull forward. When the first ten feet slid into the slip, I pushed the throttle into reverse for a second to slow Carina down. By the time the engine was back in neutral, we were at a stop.
Randy caught the dock lines and tied us up. “That was graceful,” he admitted. “It’s like you’ve done it a time or two.”
“Yeah, if it had been anyone else on the dock, I’d get caught with a prop wash that would scrape the hell out of the hull.”
Randy laughed. He noticed Lily in the cockpit and raised an eyebrow.
“Who’s this little lady?” he asked.
“This is a friend,” I answered vaguely. “She needed a ride back from Bimini.”
Randy nodded and offered her his hand as she climbed off the boat.
“I didn’t call the boss yet,” he told me.
“I’ll see her,” I offered. “We’re going to grab a burger.”
Randy bowed his head to Lily. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she responded demurely.
“Come on,” I urged her. “I could use some beef.”
She smiled and followed me up the steps to the back entrance of the Tilly Inn. The door actually took us into the Manta Club, the hotel’s bar and grill.
The barstools were all filled with murmuring customers. Since Lily wasn’t old enough, I didn’t direct her to the bar. A table on the raised dining area was empty, so I directed Lily toward it.
“You work here?” she asked.
“Yeah, when I’m not at sea. I tend bar.”
She studied me before saying, “You don’t act like a bartender.”
“How does a bartender act?”
She shrugged. “They don’t usually kill people.”
I nodded. We hadn’t discussed what happened on Madge. Killing is an incredibly personal action. For me, there is always regret. There has never been a life I took that wasn’t necessary. The guilt doesn’t seem to care about the need for it. During battle, those faces often get blurred. Others, like Garrett, are burned into my brain.
“What you saw is going to stick with you a long time,” I explained.
“You did it so fast,” she whispered.
“I was trained to do it. I spent over 10 years in the Marines. Most of what I did was in conflict or training for conflict.”
She stared at me. “Have you killed people before?”
My head cocked as I looked at her. “Normally, that’s an extremely personal thing to ask someone.”
“I’m sorry,” she blathered.
“It’s fine,” I assured her. “We’ve already been over this together. I have had to kill people. Nothing about it is good. If anything, it’s the opposite. I lose a piece of myself each time.”
She nodded, and Kristi, the cocktail server, bounded to our table.
“Chase,” she exclaimed eagerly. “You’re back already?”
“Hey Kristi,” I greeted her, ignoring the question. She was barely 20, if even that, and when I worked with her last, she had about as much regard for me as she would for single-barrel whiskey. The girl had Fireball taste.
“Who’s this?” she questioned. Lily squirmed in her seat.
“This is my cousin,” I lied.
“Nice to meet you,” Kristi blubbered.
“We need two cheeseburgers,” I ordered.
When she left us, I looked over at Lily. “I’m going to step out and talk to my boss. Don’t leave here, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed.
The Manta Club’s other entrance was off the hotel’s lobby. I turned the other way and found a flight of marble stairs that descended into the basement.
Missy Seine’s office was behind the hotel’s fitness center. The desk of whatever assistant du jour she had was empty, likely gone for the day.
My knuckles tapped on the door twice.
“Come in,” a voice replied from the other side.
Pushing the door open, I saw the lowered brunette head focusing on the computer screen in front of her. The black business attire was meant to show both a feminine acuity and a stern take-no-shit work ethic. It was hard to say which part I found the most attractive.
Her green eyes swung up from the screen, expecting someone else.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, dumbfounded.
Slowly closing the door until I heard the resounding click, I remarked, “Maybe I missed you.”
As my fingers flicked the lock on the knob, she rose from behind her desk and moved around to me. My arms caught her; our lips touched. Her nails scraped down my back as she pushed me back into the door.
Falling back onto the black leather couch along her wall, I ran my hand up the smooth curves of her taut thighs. Her fingers cradled my chin as we continued to kiss.
Within seconds, the eight-inch zipper on the back of her skirt was unzipped, and she shimmied out of the slick black fabric. The top four buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned. I couldn’t remember if I had done that, or her, but the result was her breasts, bound by a plain black bra intent on subduing her form.
Her left hand was pulling my shorts off my legs while she gripped my shoulder with her right. She arched her back and moaned heavily.
A few minutes later, she slid off of me with a lingering kiss on my lips.
“You did miss me,” she quipped.
“If you’d just dump this joint,” I joked, “we could be sailing to Barbados.”
She wadded the black thong she was wearing earlier and stuffed it into her purse. “I’m not selling the Tilly,” she stated flatly.
“Better not let the lawyer find those,” I remarked.
The skirt slid back up over her hips before she twisted around for me to zip it.
“Michael’s gone till tomorrow.” She tossed my shorts to me. “Get dressed before someone comes down.”
“I need a room for a few days,” I informed her. “Think you could arrange something off the books?”
Her eyes narrowed when she looked at me. “Something wrong with the boat?”
Shaking my head, I commented, “It’s not for me. I have a 14-year-old girl that needs a place to stay.”
“Chase,” she scolded, “what are you into?”
Lifting my hands in surrender, I explained, “Not what you think.”
“Oh,” she stated flatly, “I know you. That’s not on your agenda. That means it’s something else.”
I relented and gave her a quick explanation of what happened with Lily and her father.
“That poor girl,” she sighed. “Yeah, I’ll get you something. I’ll put it in my name, but you make sure that nothing looks funny. You know what I mean.”
I nodded. The hotel had security cameras on every level. If something went south, it might look bad if I was seen coming and going from a 14-year-old’s room.
“We are grabbing a burger in the Manta if you can get me that key,” I told her.
She leaned in and kissed my lips.
“I did miss you,” she stated as she pulled away.
“Me too,” I told her as I opened her door.
Missy lingered on me. Her smell wafted around me, enough that I was concerned others would notice the lilac perfume she wore coming off me. The strawberry flavor of her lips kept me licking my lips. An indelible image of her on my lap vividly replayed itself in my head.
For Missy, I was a distraction from a shitty husband that was more a convenience than anything else.
For me, it was different.
If I took myself to the VA and talked to an actual shrink, he’d tell me that I had some repressed feelings about my mother that pushed me to fall in love with a woman that isn’t available. He’d be s
omewhat right. The feelings aren’t repressed. I’m more than aware of how my mother screwed up my sense of self. My dime-store, amateur psychology tells me I’m not the hitch-my-horse-to-someone’s-wagon type.
Of course, knowing who I am and why I’m that way does little to change the nature of my being.
Hunter was working behind the bar. Our hamburgers had arrived from the kitchen, and Lily only had a bite left on her plate. Mine was no doubt cold. It’s a sacrifice.
“Hunter,” I called over the bar. “Can I borrow the phone?”
He grinned. “No problem, Chase,” he responded as he handed me the bar’s cordless phone.
Hunter was already moving around the bar before I could thank him. I dialed a number from memory.
“Detective Delp,” the voice answered.
“Jay, it’s Chase.”
“Flash,” he responded with my call sign, “I thought you were going to be gone awhile.”
“Yeah, my plans got interrupted.”
My friend chuckled, “Hopefully, it’s a girl.”
“Oh,” I sighed, “it is. How’s the new job?”
“So far, so good. I like the Palm County Sheriff. You need to come over to my place while you’re back. I still have a load of furniture in storage up in Pensacola, but I have two chairs and a few clean-ish glasses. Just bring a bottle of rum with you.”
“Has your ex found you yet?” Jay was working on his third divorce when he took the detective position on the Palm County Sheriff’s Department.
“Her lawyer has,” he sounded woeful.
“Who needs money, anyway?”
“Apparently, all three of my ex-bitches.”
“You know, Jay, the common denominator is one thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he quipped. “What do you want, anyway?”
“Can you do a little background on a couple of people? Under the table, of course.”
“Chase, nothing is under the table,” he remarked. “Who are they?”
“Travis and Lily Porter. I think they lived around St. Pete.”
“I can see what comes up. Do I want to know why?”
I answered, “I have a feeling that you don’t. They seemed to run into some trouble in the Bahamas. Jurisdictionally, it’s not your problem.”
“Maybe, but are you going to make it my problem?”
“I’ll give you the bullet points if you want.”
Jay grunted through the phone. “No, better just keep it to yourself.”
I hung up with him and dialed another number for Rob Isip. Rob and I connected earlier this year through Jay. Rob was a Coastie, I mean, Coast Guard. His wife likes to sail, and I accommodated them with a long weekend down to Marathon. The three of us drank heavily, and I pretended to be so drunk that I didn’t notice the noises the two made in the aft cabin.
“Chase, what’s going on?” he exclaimed.
“Hey Rob, how’s Tricia?”
“She’s great. She wants to know when we are going cruising again.”
“Tell her soon. I just got back from the Bahamas today.”
“Oh, sounds awesome.”
“Rob, I was hoping you could help me, though. I had a cigarette boat rip past me yesterday heading west. I wondered if you could tell me to whom the thing was registered.”
There was a long pause. “Sure,” he finally answered, “did you get a number?”
I rattled off the number of Garrett’s boat. Rob responded, “You must have been pretty close.”
“I eat a lot of carrots,” I commented.
“Indeed,” he stated. The clickety-clack of typing was audible through the phone. “That vessel belongs to FC Investments. The address is in Tampa. A P.O. Box.”
“Thank you, Rob,” I said. “Tell Tricia that we should do a three or four-day run over to Bimini whenever you guys are ready.”
“She’ll try to pack and go without me.”
I laughed. “I’d bring her back unscathed.”
“I’ll pass on that,” he snapped.
I hung up the phone and set it on the bar. Missy appeared in the doorway and gave me a “come here” look.
She handed me a key card and told me, “Room 1335.”
I smiled at her. “You know,” I pointed out, “if she’s safe and sound up here, then I’ll be all alone on Carina.”
Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt the electric vibe run through me. “Maybe I’ll surprise you,” she offered as she turned and left the Manta Club.
When I got back to the table, Lily looked at me and stated, “Your food is cold.”
9
The deck rumbled, vibrating the glasses behind the bar. The ringing orchestration of the crystal crawled up Joe’s spine. He leaned back in the leather chair, ignoring the cityscape of Fort Lauderdale outside the ship.
For a man so deeply involved in relationships and the mechanics of bureaucracy, Joe hated the city. Any city, not just Fort Lauderdale. Although most of the coast of South Florida disgusted him. Throngs of people too self-involved to notice how shitty their lives were. Each one seeking some escape to “paradise.” Every one of them was a drain on society. Useless baubles, tanning themselves on sandy beaches.
The vessel’s thrusters changed as the captain maneuvered into the Bahia Mar Marina. The crew had some maintenance that required some time in a shipyard, but for the next few days, the Oceanfast Yacht was waiting for its time in the shipyard here.
Joe was oblivious to that. The day-to-day machinations of this sort only annoyed him if they interfered with his plans. Right now, his focus was on the crumpled form on the floor.
Travis Porter moaned in an almost inaudible tone. Blake stood back as Porter wallowed around in agony. Joe’s man had broken a few bones, mostly small ones. Although Blake was certain that he heard the man’s shoulder crack after a hard swing with a four-iron. He didn’t think Joe noticed the sound, and he was not about to mention it. Despite the broken bones and severe beating, Travis Porter wasn’t talking. His defiance was unnerving, but Blake understood it. If Porter talked, he would eventually die. The only thing keeping him alive was information.
Joe fumed. Blake blamed his men. They were supposed to bring back Porter and his daughter. The little accountant might be able to sustain the pain and keep his mouth shut, but if his little girl was the one beaten on the floor, he’d blather everything.
With his fingers pressed against his temple, Joe said, “Travis, this is ridiculous. I don’t fault a man’s greed. This could all be over if you just tell us where my money is.”
A gurgle came from the almost lifeless body.
“What?” Joe asked.
The gurgle repeated, and Joe could make out the second word, “…you!”
Blake drove the top of his foot into Travis’s ribs. He grunted with the blow.
“Enough,” Joe ordered. “Get someone to carry him down and clean him up.”
Blake nodded and grabbed Travis by the arm, jerking him to his feet. Travis wobbled.
Joe stood and walked to the window. The Oceanfast towered over the other vessels in Bahia Mar, and Joe relished the ability to glare down at the little boats. He knew that the yachties and weekenders were gawking at the massive yacht with jealous reverence.
The tiny remnant of pleasure he found in that view soured as he wondered where Garrett was with the girl. Blake hadn’t heard from him since he broke off from the other boat to return for the girl. That’s been over 24 hours.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Hello,” he said flatly into the phone.
“Sir,” the thickly accented voice on the other end knew better than to use a name. “A patrol found the vessel. She was anchored twenty-six kilometers northwest of Mangrove Cay, near an unnamed cay.”
“Did the patrol find anyone on board?” Joe asked.
“Negative, but the vessel looked like it was closed up intentionally.”
“Did they see a Scarab out there?” Joe asked.
“No,
sir. The only vessel that the patrol boat encountered was a Tartan 40 designated SV Carina. The skipper submitted to a search. They were about 15 kilometers from the unnamed cay.”
“Who was on board?”
“The owner and his daughter.”
“Daughter?” Joe questioned.
“Yes, sir,” the RBDF officer confirmed. “A teen-aged daughter. I don’t know her age. They both had American passports.”
Joe slapped the window. “Did you say it was the Carina?”
“Yes.”
“Did the patrol vessel get their destination?”
“No, they didn’t list it.”
Damn, Joe cursed to himself. “If you hear anything else, call me,” he ordered as he hung up.
This whole deal was a fiasco. The man in Atlanta wouldn’t go near that yacht without the money, exactly as he specified. It was going to end up costing Joe over eight million. The amount was less of a concern. Replacing the Congressman and justice alone was worth that.
The trouble was cleaning that much money that fast. That type of thing needed to be carefully done. Otherwise, it draws attention. People make mistakes and get caught when they get too anxious.
Pacing the floor in front of the window, he allowed his Machiavellian mind to work out the possibilities. The power he would wield when those positions were controlled by him far outweighed the risk.
He turned to see Blake standing at the back of the lounge. His left hand massaged the right as he awaited instructions from Joe. He wasn’t quite the man that Blake’s father had been, but the son had a quality that the father didn’t. Blake had no qualms about torturing Porter, but the act didn’t illicit any joy in him either. Unfortunately, Jack Corder was cursed with a sadistic streak. He garnered a perverse pleasure as Joe’s strong arm. Blake was methodical. He wouldn’t go farther than Joe instructed. In that, Joe saw greater potential.
“I need you to find a boat,” Joe ordered. “A 40-foot Tartan sailboat named Carina. The RBDF intercepted this boat near Porter’s boat. There was no sign of Garrett anywhere.”
Dark Cay Page 5
