Pineapple Pack II

by Amy Vansant

  Darla and a pale, shaky Jackie walked from the office, Darla’s arm wrapped around Jackie’s shoulder.

  “What did you do to her?” asked Darla.

  Mariska scowled at Charlotte. “Young lady, you tell me what’s going on here right now.”

  Charlotte put her hand on her chest. “You think I’m responsible for all this?”

  Stephanie wiped the prints from the gun in her hand with her shirt and motioned towards the parking lot. “This is his gun. I’m going to put it back in his hand. He won’t tell the cops anything. Just say you found him out there.”

  “How do you know he won’t say anything?” asked Charlotte.

  “Two reasons. First, men like him don’t talk to cops. There are things in his world a lot scarier than jail.” Stephanie fell silent.

  “And the second reason?” prompted Charlotte.

  “Oh. Right. He’ll be dead.”

  Jackie leaned on the bar, panting, as Darla stroked her hair. “Your dance club is lovely.”

  Jackie swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not hurt, are you?” asked Mariska. As she took a step toward Darla and Jackie, she noticed the man tied to the bottom of the bar for the first time.

  She yipped, hand on her heart as she gave him wide berth.

  “They’re everywhere.”

  The front door slammed as Seamus burst in, calling Jackie’s name.

  Again, Declan and Stephanie raised and lowered their guns. Jackie dislodged herself from Darla’s embrace and scrambled into Seamus’s waiting arms.

  “I just cleaned this thing,” said Stephanie, again wiping her prints from the gun.

  “What in the name of St. Patrick is goin’ on in here?” asked Seamus attempting to soothe his frantic girlfriend.

  The roar of a muscle car growled outside.

  “That would be Pirro,” said Stephanie, picking up the newly cleaned gun once more. “I give up.”

  “Everyone behind the bar, now!” roared Declan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mariska and Darla scurried behind the bar. Jackie scrambled to the office. Seamus bolted to the front door, locked it, and dropped a large metal bar across it.

  “That’s handy,” said Declan, admiring the thickness of the door’s draw bar. “Is the extra security thanks to these goons?”

  Seamus shook his head. “Nah. Jackie worried about kids breaking into the place and cleaning out her booze. They could drink the place dry by the time the cops ever got here. I made sure the place seals up like a castle.”

  Declan dialed 9-1-1 and then looked at his phone.

  “I’ve got no signal.”

  “There’s no tower out here. There’s a landline in the—”

  “The phone line’s dead,” wailed Jackie as she stumbled over the splintered office door on her way to join Darla and Mariska behind the bar.

  Declan scowled at his uncle. “They thought to cut the line that fast?”

  Seamus’s expression belied his concern. “I guess they’re familiar with the place?”

  “Did I mention one of them is the nephew of Diego Rodríguez?” asked Stephanie from her seat at the bar.

  Declan felt the blood drain from his cheeks. He turned to Seamus.

  “Point me to other possible weak spots.”

  “There’s a back door. Stays locked as a rule but check it. I’ll take care of the window in the bathroom.”

  Jackie’s head popped up from behind the bar like a wild-eyed gopher’s. “Shouldn’t she be back here with us instead of sitting there drinking my bourbon?” she asked, pointing at Stephanie.

  Declan glanced at his ex, who’d grabbed a giant bottle of Bulleit and poured herself a shot. He motioned to the bar.

  “You have a weapon. Can I trust you to watch over them?”

  Stephanie glanced down where the three ladies huddled and shrugged. “Within reason.”

  Declan beckoned to Charlotte and the two of them jogged to the small, makeshift kitchen.

  “How can I help?” asked Charlotte.

  Declan eyed the industrial-sized refrigerator. “Help me push this in front of the door.”

  He gave one side a yank to pull it out from the wall. Charlotte took a position beside him and on the count of three, they shoved in unison. The giant metal box moved a few inches.

  Charlotte moaned and reached for her shoulder.

  Declan instinctively touched her and she jerked away as if in pain. His fingers glistened with blood.

  “You’re bleeding. Hold still.”

  She snorted. “Easy for you to say.”

  He inspected her shoulder.

  “It looks like you were shot. Grazed. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’ll be honest, with all the commotion I forgot. It only hurt right after it happened. Will I live?”

  He smiled. “Just a flesh wound.”

  “Oh good. I hear that in the movies all the time. That means I’m fine.”

  Declan held his smile a moment longer, though inside he didn’t feel very cheery. They were trapped in a box in the middle of nowhere and his girlfriend had already been shot.

  “You look ill,” said Charlotte.

  “I’m worried.” He didn’t know why he thought he could hide his concern from her. She was the most intuitive person he’d ever met.

  Charlotte put her good shoulder against the refrigerator. “I’m fine. On three. One-two-three!” On three they pushed and the refrigerator moved another few inches.

  “I do have a question or two for you, though,” added Charlotte.

  Declan grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that. One-two-three—”

  Shove.

  The unit slid half-way in front of the locked and barricaded back door.

  Charlotte braced herself for the next big push. “How did you fight that guy like you’ve been spending weekends training with the UFC? One-two-three—”

  Shove.

  Declan swallowed. “There are a couple things I need to tell you. One-two-three—”

  Shove.

  They gave the unit a last mighty push and it moved into place, blocking entry through the back door as best it could.

  Charlotte brushed her hands together, staring holes through him. “You were saying?”

  Declan inhaled and released a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was sort of a mess. Angry at the world about my mom’s disappearance and my father leaving. Seamus hooked me up with a job in Miami for a while. Sort of an underground drug task force called The Honey Badgers.”

  Charlotte laughed. “The Honey Badgers? Seriously? I thought Stephanie was kidding.”

  “It was around the time that honey badger don’t care meme came out. It was silly. Anyway, Seamus figured their training regimen would be good for me. Knock the angry out of me, so to speak.”

  “They taught you how to fight?”

  He nodded and tried to hold her gaze. He knew if he looked away she’d dig even deeper.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

  Declan stared at the floor and sighed. “I don’t know. To be honest I’ve pushed that part of my life out of my head. It isn’t something I’m proud of and I don’t like to think about it.”

  “How long did you do it?” she asked.

  “Not long.”

  “Something went wrong?”

  Declan nodded. “That’s a nice way to put it. The man who ran the program, Mateo, was supposed to combat drugs on our shores, but decided to take things up a few notches and fly us to South America. The Honey Badgers was a civilian shadow organization, so there wasn’t any real oversight. I didn’t like the way he handled things.”

  “They sound like mercenaries. Why would Seamus get you involved?”

  “He didn’t know how bad it would get.”

  “So you refused to go to South America?”

  “No. I went. But soon after we scattered and it was over.”

  He could tell Charlotte knew a larger South America sto
ry had been tossed aside by his one-sentence summary.

  “So...Stephanie said the man training Louis’s men is an ex-Honey Badger. You told her about your time there?”

  And there it is. The bit he hadn’t wanted to share right now.

  Declan’s voice caught in his throat as he croaked his painfully honest answer. “She was there.”

  “Stephanie was a Honey Badger?”

  He nodded.

  Charlotte took a moment to absorb this new information.

  “Why can’t I get the picture out of my head of you two running sweaty and half-dressed through the jungles of South America with AK-47s in your hands?.”

  “You really have to watch less television.”

  She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You know, that makes sense. It explains her obsession with you. You’ve been through a lot more than just growing up together and dating for a while.”

  “I suppose.” His eye drifted to a first aid kit mounted to the wall. “We need to patch that wound of yours.”

  “Is it bleeding?”

  “Not bad. It’s just a graze but you don’t want it getting infected.”

  Careful to avoid her shoulder, Declan wrapped his arms around Charlotte and held her to him, talking low in her ear.

  “You stay near me until we’re out of this, okay?”

  She pushed back far enough to plant her lips on his.

  “I’d be crazy not to, now that I know you’re a trained assassin.”

  He chuckled and pushed away his fear that she’d realize her guess had been close to the mark.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlotte and Declan explored the few offshoot rooms of the disco, searching for weaknesses. Because the building had once served as a shipping warehouse, there were blessedly few points of entry to secure. The structure was built like a giant shoebox.

  “We’re getting lucky with the windows and doors here, Rambo,” said Charlotte as she peered into a closet.

  “Don’t start that,” said Declan.

  “You prefer Mr. Bond?”

  Declan tried to flash her a disapproving stare but a smile split his stony expression. “I should know better than to tell you anything.”

  Charlotte giggled and glanced into Jackie’s tiny office. It wasn’t difficult, with the door exploded on the ground at her feet. Nerves danced in her stomach. Not only were they under attack, but now she dreaded discovering more about Declan’s past with The Honey Badgers. She knew her teasing and nervous laughter would only distract her from the gravity of the situation for so long.

  Office clear, she returned to the main room. As she passed the desk, the strange piece of paper Jackie had found in her parking lot caught her eye. A menagerie of meaningless squares scribbled on it, but...now something about the shapes’ configuration felt more familiar than it had upon first inspection.

  Charlotte stared at the drawing. What is it? Something about this grid—

  She sucked in a breath.

  It isn’t a grid. It’s rooms.

  No wonder the shapes felt more familiar. The boxes represented the rooms she’d been searching for the last ten minutes. Having explored the club, it became obvious the paper was a rough map of the disco. She recognized the smaller boxes representing the bathrooms, the large one for the dance floor...

  The remaining confusing bit was a skinny strip that led away from the building constructed by two dashed lines. A road? Maybe they were planning to build a road to the disco. Maybe to use it as a drug warehouse.

  That would make sense. The property was in the middle of nowhere, where the occupants wouldn’t have to worry about too many prying eyes.

  The road led to another box. Maybe their current warehouse?

  That second box had another offshoot that led nowhere.

  Maybe the lines didn’t mean anything.

  There wasn’t time to speculate on the mapping skills of drug dealers. Charlotte folded the paper into a tight square and stuffed it in her pocket. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important. Maybe tomorrow—if she lived until tomorrow—she could give it additional thought.

  Maybe the men outside wanted the map? She could toss it out the door and they would go away. That would be good. Though the drawing seemed too crude and easy to reproduce for that to be true.

  Turning to leave, she ran directly into Declan’s broad chest and bounced back. He caught her before she could fall.

  “Watch it there, Bumble,” he said, using a nickname he’d once labeled her after watching her trip no less than five times in one day.

  She blushed, embarrassed. “Hey—I was on my way. I realized—”

  Seamus appeared behind Declan and moved to a bank of three small televisions. He pressed a button and the screens flickered to life, presenting the front and back of the club from different angles. Outside, a dark-skinned man with impossibly orange-red hair stepped out of a car with flames on the hood and a backend wrapped in a red tartan plaid. He drew a gun and walked across the parking lot toward the man writhing on the ground.

  “He’s busy saving his friend. We should go for it now,” suggested Seamus.

  “He’s got a gun,” said Declan.

  “We have two.”

  Declan frowned. “You think we should run out there, start a gun battle with him, and then ask everyone to step over his dead body and get in our cars?”

  Seamus sniffed. “It’s not a terrible idea. He’s planning on gunning us down. Shouldn’t we get him first?”

  Declan shook his head. “There are too many unknowns. For now, we’re safer in here. He might grab his friend and leave—”

  There was a pop! outside and all gazes shot to the flickering screens. The redheaded man had his gun pointed at the man on the ground. The man no longer moved.

  Charlotte gasped. “Did he just kill his friend?”

  “With friends like that...” mumbled Seamus, glancing at Declan. “Still think we don’t know his intentions? The longer we wait the better chance his reinforcements will arrive—”

  As if on cue, another car rolled into the parking lot.

  Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. “Well, that window closed quickly.”

  Declan turned and strode toward the disco area. “They’re going to try and shoot their way in. We need to get everyone safe.”

  Charlotte and Seamus jogged after him.

  “Everyone stay behind the bar. That means you too,” Declan said, nudging Charlotte toward the others as she exited the office. He glanced at Seamus and then Stephanie. “And you and you.”

  “Building secure?” asked Stephanie.

  Declan nodded. “But another car just arrived.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Give me a second to think.”

  “You can think behind the—”

  Gunfire erupted outside. Charlotte had stopped to listen to Declan and Stephanie’s conversation and now dropped to a squat, her hands covering her head. Declan pounced on her, covering her like a muscular blanket. She heard a bullet ricochet off something metal and the sound of Mariska screaming.

  “Yo! Yo!” screamed a voice outside, followed by a string of profanities. The gunfire ceased. “—the building!” was the last line Charlotte heard.

  She dropped her hands from her face as Declan released her.

  “Not many got through,” said Declan, already standing and surveying the damage. “How is that possible? Isn’t this building metal?”

  “I had the building reinforced for storms, noise and to keep the air conditioning bills lower,” said Jackie from behind the bar. “It’s cement block all around, encased by the aluminum sheeting.”

  “Someone has to tell me what is going on!” roared Darla, thrusting a finger at Stephanie from her position on the floor. “That one wouldn’t tell us anything while you were running around. Just some nonsense about drug dealers.”

  Charlotte stood. “Stay where you are.”

  “Who are these people?” asked Mariska, looking terrified. Cha
rlotte wanted to do something to soothe her fears, but all she could think to do was share the truth.

  “We think they want Jackie’s disco to use for drug distribution.”

  Darla’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding me? The drug dealers are real?” She looked at Jackie. “Did you know about this?”

  Jackie shook her head. “I knew someone wanted to buy the place and that they were being really pushy and a little scary but I never dreamed this would happen.”

  Darla fumbled in her purse and pulled out her phone. “I have to call Frank.”

  “There’s no signal,” reminded Jackie.

  Darla scowled. “So we’re trapped in here with drug dealers shooting at the building?”

  “Better than being out there,” said Stephanie.

  Mariska squinted at Stephanie. “This is your fault somehow. I know it.”

  Stephanie shook her head. “Believe it or not, if I hadn’t come you’d all be dead already.”

  “Okay, okay, bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere,” said Charlotte, giving Mariska a glare she hoped would keep her quiet.

  Mariska’s expression darkened as she offered Stephanie one last scowl. Stephanie stuck her tongue out at her.

  Someone pounded on the front door.

  “Stay behind the bar,” repeated Declan.

  “What do you want?” called Seamus in a booming baritone.

  “Leave the building and get in your cars and there will be no trouble.”

  “I’ve heard that one before,” muttered Stephanie.

  “You can’t kill us all,” continued Seamus, ignoring her. “There are a lot of us in here. You can’t kill this many people without blowback. One is the wife of a sheriff—”

  Declan lunged to slap his hand over his uncle’s mouth.

  “Are you crazy?” he hissed. His voice dropped lower and Charlotte crept forward to listen, though she’d already realized Seamus’s mistake.

  “Don’t give them leverage,” whispered Declan.

  Seamus cursed beneath Declan’s palm.

  “Frank will have the whole department out here!” screamed Darla.

  Charlotte whirled waving her hands in the air. “Darla, no!”

  Darla’s brow knit. “What? If they know we’re friends with the Sheriff it will scare them away.”