To Honor We Call You: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 9)

by Scott Cook

  “And by the way,” I said, taking a step closer to Winston. “You’re not gonna hear from Tom or Earl anytime soon.”

  Winston scoffed, “OH, yeah? And why’s that?”

  I grinned nastily, “Because they’re dead. Murdered. Still think this is all for nothin’?”

  A murmur of surprise drifted up from the three men below and aft of me. Winston’s eyes went wide and his cigarette nearly dropped to the deck, “What’re you shittin’ me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Goddamn… who’d do a thing like that?”

  “You tell me,” I said. “But suppose that Mr. Tavares is right and those two… at least… were smuggling dope. Might make sense, huh?”

  “Meanin’ we’re in on it with them, right?” Winston asked angrily. “Hey, fuck you, bitch! You don’t come onto my boat and accuse me of some shit like that. We’re done here.”

  He turned and stalked inside the big wheelhouse. Maybe he was friends with the Morris brothers and I’d just pissed him off by being so callous about their murder. Or maybe he was covering. It didn’t matter either way. He needed a little check in my opinion and sometimes that kind of hard shock will shake something loose. An old cop and P.I. trick Scot taught me.

  I went down the ladder and headed for the gangplank. One of the black men, a tall skinny guy wearing glasses who looked to be about my age stood up and came over, “Hey… you serious about Tom and Earl?”

  I nodded, “The sheriff and I almost got blown up not an hour ago at their trailer. Long story. Sorry… friends of yours?”

  The man, either Eddie or Carl, shrugged, “Not friends, exactly… but decent skipper and mate. Always seem to put us on the shrimp. You said your boyfriend is named Jarvis?”

  I nodded.

  “That detective guy who writes the books?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve read a couple of them. Pretty good.”

  I grinned, “Can you tell me anything… uhm…?”

  “I’m Eddie,” he said with a smile. “Follow me aft and we can talk while I finish my painting.”

  We headed back to where the two men were covering up some rusty spots with new paint. Eddie crouched down and picked up his brush.

  “What are you looking for?” He asked.

  “Not sure…” I said. “Maybe something to prove or disprove the smuggling angle. When you guys were out that last time, did you hook up with anybody on the water?”

  Carl looked up and met his friend’s gaze and then cast a quick glance back at the wheelhouse. I noticed Miguel frowning as well. Eddie sighed.

  “Yeah… a charter boat pulled up to us,” The deckhand stated. “Pretty good sized sporty. Had a weird name, though… what was it, Carl?”

  “Maestro Pescador,” Miguel piped up from his mending.

  “It means master fisherman,” I said, grinning at Miguel.

  “That’s right,” Eddie went on. “Anyways, we’ve met them a few times before. They charter out of Marathon and sometimes buy our by-catch for bait or whatever. This time, the skipper, blonde guy with one of them goofy white names…”

  “Cooper,” Carl said. “Cooper Trent. He works for Tavares, too.”

  I felt a shiver run up my spine in spite of the warm autumn sun, “Yeah… I met the guy last night. You said he came aboard?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie continued. “Didn’t bring anything or take anything, though. At least… I don’t think so. Just talked with Tom and Earl and then took off without buying anything.”

  “Not true, meng,” Miguel piped up, scooting a little closer on deck. “He didn’t buy anything, but Tom did give him a bag of frozen ballyhoo, member?”

  “Shit, that’s right!” Eddie said. “Gave it to him in a grocery bag…”

  “That don’t mean it was junk,” Carl said with a frown.

  “Don’t mean it wasn’t, neither,” Eddie replied. “Just tellin’ her what I saw.”

  “Tell her about the last time,” Miguel said conspiratorially. “About the Zodiac.”

  “Oh yeah…” Eddie said.

  “Zodiac?” I asked. “You mean like an inflatable dingy type thing?”

  “Yeah, but more like what you’d see aboard a ship,” Carl put in. “Like what you’d use out at sea in big swells. ‘Bout a twenty-footer with a big ass two hundred on it and built-in seats and shit. A rigid inflatable, I think.”

  “Damned expensive one, too,” Eddie said. “We was out fishin’ Rebecca Shoal couple of weeks ago. It was a little after midnight and we knocked off for a bite when this Zodiac roars up to us from out of nowhere. Must’ve been doin’ forty knots or more. Couple of Spanish dudes in it. Anyways, they pull alongside and called out Earl by name. He was on watch in the pilothouse. They come aboard with something. One of those cloth shopping bags.”

  “Jesus Christ…” I said softly.

  “Earl said it was Costa Rican coffee and Cuban cigars,” Carl added.

  Miguel snorted, “Sure.”

  “Well, to be fair,” Eddie said. “There was a box of Cubans on the chart table after they left and we did have some good Costa Rican coffee in the morning… so it could’ve been innocent.”

  “Did the men say where they’d come from?” I asked, feeling excited.

  “We didn’t speak with them,” Miguel said with a frown. “In fact, I was in the head when they came aboard. By the time I got back on deck, they were leaving. I said Buenos noches but they didn’t say anything. Just waved.”

  “Earl didn’t say much about it either,” Carl put in.

  “He did say somethin’ about a cargo ship,” Eddie replied. “They took a bag of shrimp with them, so…”

  “Kind of sounds fishy, though, huh?” I asked with a grin.

  The men only shrugged. Winston stepped back out onto the raised deck of the wheelhouse and scowled down at us.

  “Hey, Chiquita, we’re kinda busy here. You gonna hang out all day and distract my guys?”

  “Nope,” I said. “And as you can see, Brad, they’re still working.”

  “Yeah, well… hot little piece of ass like you is a distraction, so why don’t you beat it, huh?”

  I scoffed and spiritually channeled Scott, “Why don’t you take one of those smokes of yours and stuff it up your greasy poop shoot sideways? How’s that sound?”

  Carl, Eddie and Miguel broke into uproarious laughter and hoots. Winston only went red in the face.

  “Thanks, guys,” I said, handing out a twenty and my card to each of them. “I appreciate the info. Feel free to get in touch if you think of anything else.”

  I strode over to the gangplank, stepped onto it and turned around. I came to attention and snapped the three deck hands a salute. Then as I turned around, I tossed Winston the bone.

  Immature? Maybe… but it felt good and isn’t that what really matters?

  14

  Nana and I were surprised to find that Pops was already awake when we got to his room a little after lunch. They’d placed him in a single room on the fifth floor overlooking a large section of the Indian River Lagoon called Ten Cent Cove. The large north-facing bay window provided an expansive view of the Roosevelt Bridge to the west and the mile and a half wide waterway that ran east for several miles. There were two sailboats headed in the opposite direction, a handful of small power boats and a large yacht plowing through the channel. I’m not a big fan of hospitals, yet I had to admit that if I were stuck in one, the view would make it a little more bearable.

  John Jarvis sat partially raised up in bed sipping on a ginger ale. He seemed a little out of it, the anesthetic still working its way out of his system. Other than that, though, he seemed in good spirits.

  “So who’d ya’ piss off this time, Pops?” I asked cheerfully.

  “Scotty…” Nana playfully chastised me.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “That’s what they always ask me when I get shot, punched, stabbed, kicked, shocked, tied up, drowned, dragged behind an airpl
ane…”

  “Shit, son,” Pops said, sounding a little tired. “I wish I knew who the two sons of bitches were. Then I’d know who to track down when they let me out of this germ factory.”

  “You’re going to do no such thing, grandpa,” Nana chided. “You’re seventy-three years old, for God’s sake.”

  Pops scoffed, “I’m as spry as my grandson here.”

  “Yeah… sure ya’ are, Methuselah,” Nana mocked. Yet her grin and the twinkle in her eyes put a smile on his face.

  “I’ve got some news on that front,” I told him. “Warner Grayson showed up at your place this morning. He seems to think that this, and Ray Tavares’ troubles are all tied to… to what happened in Costa Rica and around that Nazi submarine I found. And somebody knows about Katie Cook and her map and deed. It’s all woven together in some screwed up tangle.”

  Pops whistled, “Christ… I knew it was more than just a random break in.”

  I quickly related the conversation I’d had with Colonel Grayson earlier in the morning. Pops listened intently and nodded at certain points.

  “The men didn’t identify themselves at all?” I asked.

  “Not a single name or who they worked for or anything,” Pops said. “I’m sure your grandmother already related that.”

  I nodded and inquired: “Did they ask about Kate’s papers?”

  “Not at first…” Nana said thoughtfully. “They just broke into our safe.”

  “Yeah…” Pops said thoughtfully. “They came prepared. Didn’t bother asking for the combo or anything. They could’ve… if they’d threatened Rachel I’d have given it to them. There really isn’t much in our safe, honestly. Mortgage papers, insurance policies and the like. Some cash…”

  “They didn’t take it,” Nana put in.

  “Strange,” Pops said, rubbing his chin. “The box man just went to work drilling out the lock and the other guy covered us with his pistol.”

  “So how the Christ did you get shot?” I asked.

  Pops scoffed, “When they didn’t find what they were looking for, they tried to get tough. That’s when they mentioned the papers. Then the assholes tried to intimidate us by threatening your grandmother.”

  “Oh, hell…” I groaned. “And you went after one of them?”

  “Both,” Nana said with a scowl and she folded her arms tightly across her chest. Again, though, there was a twinkle in her eyes.

  “You tried to beat down two armed goons?” I asked incredulously.

  “Tried, my ass!” Pops said proudly. “Took down the box man with my first punch. The other guy was surprised and we struggled for the gun… which went off right when he had it pressed here.”

  Pops pointed to the left side of his chest, right about where his collarbone was.

  “What’d the docs say about that?” Nana asked.

  Pops did a half shrug. I empathized. I’d been shot right about in the same spot, although on my right shoulder… twice. Interestingly, the first was right before I quit OPD while raiding a chop shop and the other was at the end of my first big private case aboard Anthony Ravetti’s yacht. I knew it hurt like a son of a B.

  “No major damage,” he told us. “Have to keep the arm in a sling for a few weeks. Limited use after that, the same old story. Not my first rodeo, darlin’.”

  Nana rolled her eyes and sighed, “You’re just a stubborn old mule, y’know that, Jack Jarvis?”

  “But still strong as a horse,” he said with a grin.

  “And damned near as smart,” Nana and I said in unison and chuckled.

  The door to the corridor opened and a very attractive woman in scrubs strolled in. Her pretty brown face split into a grin when she saw me.

  “Amanda!?” I asked in surprise.

  Amanda Wilson, a Navy Corpsman who’d worked with me and helped to resolve the Shade incident hugged me, “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, Scott. Still as handsome as the last time.”

  “Right back at ya’, Petty Officer,” I said with a grin.

  “She’s a Chief now,” Another woman’s voice said from the doorway. “Got a promotion after that business a couple of months ago.”

  I turned to see the petite and strongly athletic figure of Jackie Stevvins stroll into the room. She wore civilian dress, sneakers, jeans and a light blue sweater. The Marine Sergeant grinned impishly at me.

  “I got bumped up to Gunny, too. And she’s right, you’re still cute,” Stevvins stated, coming in for a hug of her own.

  “As a bug’s ear,” I tossed off. “So what’re you doing here, Gunny?”

  “Assigned,” she said.

  “Nana, Pops, this is Chief Amanda Wilson, USN,” I introduced. “And Gunnery Sergeant Jackie Stevvins, USMC. What’s the story, ladies?”

  “I’m here as a… visiting nurse practitioner,” Amanda replied, picking up Pops’ chart.

  “And I’m here to make sure nobody tries any bullshit,” Jackie said and then blushed slightly and looked to my grandmother.

  Nana chuckled, “Don’t stand on ceremony here, Gunny. We’re Navy folk. I assume Colonel Grayson sent you?”

  Jackie nodded, “Amanda here will keep an eye on things while Admiral Jarvis is in here. I’ll be here too until you’re discharged, sir, and go on your trip. Then I’m assigned to Daredevil over here.”

  I chuckled, “That’s Commander Daredevil to you, Gunny.”

  Jackie grinned, “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Our trip?” Nana asked.

  Amanda cleared her throat, “Yes… the Colonel feels that once the Admiral is discharged that it might be helpful for… the healing process… if the two of you took a little restful vacation out of state.”

  Nana frowned and Pops grinned, “Take two players off the board, in other words. Good thinking.”

  “John!” Nana protested, not so much about going on a trip, I think, but more about being pushed into it.

  “Hell, Rach,” Pops said. “It makes sense. With us out of the line of fire, we’re neither a target nor something all these young’ns have to worry about. Besides, it’s not a bad time of year to go out west and visit your sister anyway.”

  Nana pondered that for a moment and then shrugged, “I suppose. For how long?”

  “However long you want,” Jackie added. “The Colonel will provide transportation. At least a week or two, though, I’d think. Hopefully enough time for the Commander here to solve the puzzle.”

  “Have the doctors said when they might let you out of here?” Nana asked Pops.

  “They said tomorrow… but I’m pushing for this afternoon,” He said. “They patched me up, pumped in a few pints and doped me to the b’Jesus belt… so why should I pay another twenty grand to park my ass in this rack when I got a perfectly good one at home? Think you can swing that, Chief?”

  Jackie didn’t quite manage to choke down a chortle of glee. Amanda smiled and shook her head, “I think so, sir. So long as you promise to stay in your bed at least until this time tomorrow.”

  Pops grinned and winked at Nana. She rolled her eyes again, “She means to rest, you old hound.”

  Pops sighed dramatically, “Fine! Whatever gets me out of the Big House.”

  Jackie turned to me, “Now I begin to understand, Sco—sir.”

  I laughed, “Scott is fine, Jackie. Understand what, exactly?”

  “Where your smart ass comes from,” Nana said with a smile.

  Since it was a fairly minor injury, as gunshot wounds went, Martin Memorial did release Pops into Nana’s custody around four in the afternoon. Amanda rode with them and Jackie rode in Lisa’s Mercedes GLC sport SUV with me.

  That’s right, ole Scotty J was cruising around in the new sizzler!

  Pops, being the stubborn mule that he is, insisted that since we were all there, he wanted to set himself up on one of the couches in the Florida room. He said he wanted to be able to at least look out at the real world while company was over.

  “You’re supposed to be in b
ed, Jack,” Nana chided him to no effect.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Rach,” Pops grumbled. “I caught a round in the shoulder. I ain’t dead yet. I’ll sit here and lounge on this couch and relax. What’s the difference? I’ll be in bed soon enough. So what’ve we got for provisions around here? I’m hungrier than a fat broad on Jenny Craig.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Nana muttered with a shake of her head.

  It didn’t help that Amanda and Jackie writhed and chortled with uncontrolled mirth. I managed to bite my tongue and duck around the archway so I wouldn’t be accused of encouraging him… which of course I always did.

  “We’ve got some hogfish in the freezer and some other stuff,” Nana said with a grin.

  “I’ll whip us up something,” I offered, headed for the kitchen. “You and the Chief get the Admiral lashed up and stowed.”

  Jackie followed me into the kitchen and watched as I went through the fridge and pantry, “You gonna make us one of your famous Jarvis recipes?”

  “Yep,” I said, pulling two bottles of Landshark from the fridge and handing one to her.

  “Cool,” She said, twisting the top off.

  I cut a couple of lime wedges from a fresh lime and handed her one. I then pulled a bottle of pinot grigio from the small wine fridge in the dining room and opened it. I poured two bumpers into two glasses and handed them to Jackie.

  “Nana is a wine girl,” I said. “And I suspect that Amanda might be too. Be a good fellow for once and deliver these, please?”

  By the time the Gunny returned, I’d laid out most of my ingredients. I had a few potatoes sitting next to a bulb of garlic, a bag of fresh cut green beans, half an onion and two red peppers. Five very large hogfish filets were thawing in the sink.

  “So what’re we having, Emeril?”

  I grinned, “Garlic mashed, sautéed green beans with onions and peppers and a baked hogfish with a roasted red pepper Hollandaise. Sound acceptable? I know you army guys like your canned hash and shit.”

  Jackie laughed and punched me in the arm, “Shithead.”

  “That’s Mister Shithead to you, Gunny.”

  I got the peppers and onions cut and the green beans snapped while the oven was pre-heating. Once it was to temperature, I slid a small baking pan with sliced red peppers in. I’d put several tabs of butter and a little olive oil in with them.