by Amy Vansant
Ryan had listened to enough police scanners since his son’s death to know the cop would soon enter the room. Dispatch had asked for the officer’s assistance with a pirate prowler, and then cancelled.
Typical day in Florida.
“Hurry,” Ryan prodded Dallas.
“43. 10-4,” said the cop.
Dallas bolted for the closet and shut the door behind them. They huddled together, noses nearly touching, pressed into a sea of cheap collared shirts.
The door of the room opened.
Dallas held his breath, much to Ryan’s relief. The boy smelled like tobacco chew and spiced-meat sticks.
A few moments later, the click of a door shutting told them the officer had seen enough and left.
“I think he’s gone,” whispered Dallas.
“Give it a second.”
“Hey... Why didn’t you yell out?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you hide? You could have yelled for the cop and gotten away.”
Ryan cracked open the door to the closet and peeked out. The room was empty. The outer door was closed.
He walked to the exit and put his ear against the door, hearing only the hum of machinery.
“I think we’re good.”
Dallas had followed him halfway to the door and stood staring at him, hands on hips.
“Seriously, dude. Why didn’t you try to get away?”
Ryan smiled, lifting the blood-covered white towel in his hand to reveal the gun he held beneath it. In the panic to hide the evidence, Dallas had forgotten he’d placed his gun on the table. Ryan had carried it into the closet.
“For the same reason I didn’t shoot you.”
For the second time in ten minutes, Dallas’s eyes saucered. He raised his hands. “Easy buddy. No hard feelings. I’ve just been doin’ my job—”
“You have to tell me these things—” The door behind Ryan burst open and he stumbled back to avoid being knocked over.
“Louis,” said Dallas.
Ryan could tell the boy didn’t know if he should be relieved or horrified. His gaze shot to the gun in Ryan’s hand. Ryan lowered the weapon and let the towel drop over it.
Louis turned his palms to the air and addressed Dallas. “So now—after I let a cop in because I thought I had nothing to hide—Johnny tells me you’ve been asking to see me about some prisoner you’ve got stashed in here?”
Dallas nodded and glanced at Ryan.
Louis followed his gaze and turned, wincing upon spotting Ryan’s face.
“What happened to the one side of your face? You look like Two-Face, the Batman guy.”
“Kid’s a lefty,” said Ryan.
Louis lifted his hands in the air and let them fall against his thighs with a slap. “What’s going on here?”
Dallas swallowed. “We heard the cop coming and hid in the closet. But—”
Louis cut him short. “Oh, good job. But...how’d you keep him quiet? And why is he standing there like he works for me?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Because I do want to work for you.”
“Boss—” Dallas tried again.
“What?” Louis looked from Dallas to Ryan and back again for explanation. “Who is this guy?”
Dallas scratched his head. “He was watching us. We brought him here to find out why, but you need to know—”
“Who said to bring him to my dry cleaning?”
“Pirro said you wanted us to grab him and find out what he’s up to.”
“I never—” Louis cleared his throat. “Oh, right. I forgot. So, what’d he say?”
“He wouldn’t talk to anyone but the boss, even when I roughed him up.”
“The boss? That’s me,” said Louis. He grinned at Ryan as if he’d just won a trophy.
“You’re the big boss?” clarified Ryan.
Louis’ smile dropped. He seemed unsure. “Yes...”
“You’d be the one to talk to about the books?”
“What books?”
“Clothes aren’t the only things you need to launder, right? Thanks to your other business?”
“Uh...”
Ryan decided not to wait for Louis to ask what other business? “Louis—if I can call you Louis—I’m an expert at hiding money. Money that maybe didn’t derive from a legal enterprise.”
Louis appeared trapped somewhere between confused and angry. He shot his attention back to Dallas. “Is that what he told you?”
“That’s just it, boss. He wouldn’t tell me anything. He said he’d only talk to you. But—”
“So why didn’t you call me?”
“I did. I told Johnny to get you like six times. Thing is—”
“I just saw Johnny. He didn’t say a word until after the cops came in and left.”
Dallas shrugged, shaking his head. “I tol’ him.”
“He did. I was here,” offered Ryan. He didn’t know who Johnny was in the grand scheme of things, but he’d see Dallas ask the man to get Louis earlier. For whatever reason, Johnny had ignored the boy.
Louis turned back to Ryan. “So you were following my men in the hopes of talking to me?”
Ryan nodded.
Louis thrust his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground in silence for some time.
“I’ll be honest with you. The books have been a problem. There seems to be a lot of money missing, but Pirro says—” He scowled. “Wait. How do I know I can trust you?”
“He’s got a gun,” spat Dallas, as if the phrase had been building up inside him for some time.
“What?”
Ryan lifted the towel to reveal the gun. Louis leapt behind Dallas and hissed in the boy’s ear. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to!”
Ryan put the gun on the cardboard box they’d been using as a makeshift card table and stepped away from it.
“I’m not here to shoot you. I told you, I want to work for you. Why would I have hidden from the police if I wanted to get away?”
Louis pondered this for a few seconds. “Oh—I know—what if you are a cop?”
“Ooh, good one, Louis,” said Dallas.
Louis glared at him.
Dallas cleared his throat. “I mean, Mr. Beaumont.”
Ryan raised a palm. “Take a few days. Look into me. I’m not a cop.”
“And that’s why you were following my men? To help me with my books?”
Ryan nodded.
Louis appeared to consider this. “If I showed you my spreadsheets, could you tell if someone was robbing me?”
“Sure.”
“Would you do it, like, as a test of your skills?”
“You mean on spec? Sure.”
Louis stared at him until Ryan felt the man was waiting for him to hop into action.
“You want me to look at them now?”
“Huh? Oh. No. I guess you’d probably like to clean up or something. Your face—”
“It would be nice to see through two eyes. Maybe get a shower and put some ice on this...”
“Right. Okay. I guess you can go home. Maybe you can come back tomorrow and I’ll walk you through things?”
“Sounds good.” Ryan remained still until Louis grew visibly uncomfortable.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ryan snapped from his thoughts. “Sorry. I—”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Ryan left the room and headed toward daylight at the front of the shop. Men and women working the dry cleaning machines glanced at him and returned to their business.
Ryan couldn’t shake his disappointment.
He thought for sure Louis would be a redhead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte sat at Mariska’s counter drinking coffee. She’d wandered over to make sure Mariska was okay after the ordeal at Jackie’s club.
Mariska seemed normal. She couldn’t stop talking about food.
“That was the worst diner on the planet. Nothi
ng. Not a single bagel. Not even pie.”
Charlotte chuckled. “I’m sure it was better than a metal pipeline under the swamp.”
Mariska rolled her eyes. “Barely. I was thirsty after all that and they didn’t have any orange juice to help with my blood sugar.”
“They didn’t have any food at all?”
“Coffee. But who wants coffee when you’re really thirsty?”
“Maybe they weren’t open yet.”
“There were two men sitting there drinking coffee when we came in. They just about had heart attacks when we all came spilling out of the back room.”
“Maybe they weren’t customers. Was there a waitress or a cook?”
Mariska scowled. “Now that you mention it—no. Those two men drinking their coffee were the only people there.”
Charlotte shrugged. “See? They weren’t open. They were probably workers.”
Mariska nodded. “They looked like workers. They had stuff all over their arms.” She danced her finger over her forearms, which Charlotte knew as Mariska’s sign for tattoos.
Darla walked in with Frank on her heels.
Charlotte was thrilled to see Frank. After being questioned by police following their tunnel escape, Charlotte had discovered very little about the police investigation into the attack on Jackie’s disco. They’d been separated from each other for questioning, so she hadn’t had a chance to compare notes. A late-night call to Declan had gone unanswered. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but she needed to start clearing her plate.
The first thing she’d done upon waking was call Frank and ask him to glean all the information he could from the police who’d handled the disco scene.
“Did you call them?” asked Charlotte.
Sheriff Frank took his hat off as he rambled to the counter. “What a mess that was.”
“Is everything sorted out? Did they find the guys in the swamp?”
“I hope they drowned,” grumbled Darla, getting herself a cup of coffee.
Frank dropped into a seat and leaned back, the old chair tilting precariously to the right.
“No swamp men.”
Charlotte gasped. “None? They got away?”
Frank nodded. “I don’t know how much effort went into slopping around the Everglades looking for them, but yes, they got away.”
“The Everglades are south of here. That’s just swamp here.”
Darla chuckled. “You always were like a little Encyclopedia Britannica.”
Charlotte smiled at both the compliment and the fact that few people on the planet even knew what the Encyclopedia Britannica was anymore. That was a bit of history that still lived in Pineapple Port.
“And no sign of the rival gang,” added Frank.
Charlotte tucked her head back a notch. “What rival gang?”
“That Stephanie girl told the police a rival gang showed up after you left. They killed that man at the door. Heck of a shot. Right between the eyes.”
Charlotte scowled. There had been no rival drug gang. Stephanie needed someone on which to blame the dead men. Someone other than herself. Stephanie shot the man at the door and took a bullet in return, of that she was certain.
I watched Declan take her gun.
But who would believe a pretty, wounded attorney shot the man in the doorway and the man lying in the parking lot?
“Stephanie said another gang showed up?”
“Yeah, well, she guessed they were a rival gang. She doesn’t know for sure, of course.”
“Of course. How could she?” Charlotte wondered if Frank could hear the sarcasm in her voice. He plowed ahead, apparently oblivious.
“That friend of yours is going to be in the paper for her bravery.”
Charlotte straightened. “What? Who? Stephanie?”
Frank nodded. “I’ve had reporters calling all morning trying to reach her. Want to ask her if she was scared, staying behind to protect the rest of you while you escaped. She might have saved you and Darla.”
“I still don’t trust that girl,” mumbled Mariska.
Charlotte felt her mood darken. She’d been the one who tricked the bad guys into the swamp. Stephanie stayed behind because she thought she could talk her way out. She didn’t want to get picked off with the rest of them in the tunnel. That was the opposite of bravery.
“You heard about how I tricked those guys into the swamp, right?” she asked.
Frank stood to get himself some coffee. “What’s that?”
Charlotte slumped in her chair. There were so many stories circulating she didn’t want to provide any more information until she could keep things straight. The more they all talked, the more likely they’d end up in trouble. She was starting to feel guilty of something and wasn’t sure why.
Watching Declan take that gun makes me an accessory to something, doesn’t it?
She sighed. “Never mind.”
Frank held up his index finger. “Oh, and we got confirmation that the guy you tied to the bar was definitely mixed up in the drug trade.”
“Mm.” Charlotte’s gaze fell to the floor, musing what that man had seen after the truck crashing through the front door and gunfire awoke him. He could have seen everything. Either way, he probably wasn’t saying much.
Probably for the best.
Like a little girl, she wanted to confess everything to Frank, sit back, and wait for him to make everything better. Too bad she was no little girl confessing to accidentally breaking a vase anymore. She had unexplained murders and drug lord attacks needing sorting. She had to help Jackie unravel herself from the men who wanted her club. She had to grill Declan about his past with the Honey Badgers and his future with the gun that killed the man in the disco’s doorway. She had to find out if Ryan Finnegan was being held by Louis like Stephanie suggested or if he was already dead—
Ryan. I nearly forgot.
“Frank—I told the police I’d overheard something about that Ryan Finnegan I told you about.”
“The guy whose condo you broke into?”
“That’s the one. I told them I’d overheard he was being held by Louis Beaumont. Did they look into that?” She left out the part about it being Stephanie who told her.
Frank nodded. “That Louis Beaumont—turns out his dad used to be big in the drug trade.”
“Did they look for Ryan at his dry cleaners?”
“They did, apparently. Went over there last night and he let them right in the front door. They didn’t find anything. He seems legit. Family’s not involved in drugs anymore.”
“Did the cops go to Ryan’s condo? I told them about the condo and the signs of struggle.”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. They had their hands full with Jackie’s place. You might want to check in with them if you still think this Ryan fellow’s missing.”
She nodded. “I’ll follow up.”
Frank sat again. “Now, if you’re finished peppering me with questions, I need to drink my coffee.”
“Yep. I should probably go check on Jackie.”
Mariska nodded. “That’d be nice. Tell her we all hope she’s feeling better and we’re sorry about her disco.”
“Tell her I’m working with the Tampa P.D. to see what we can figure out for her. I assume her insurance will cover the damage,” added Frank.
Charlotte said her goodbyes and borrowed Mariska’s car keys.
She already knew her visit to Jackie would wait a little longer.
She needed to talk to Stephanie to clarify what she knew about Ryan before he showed up dead.
And, she needed to talk to Declan.
She tried her boyfriend on her cell as she walked to Mariska’s car. Again his phone went to voicemail.
That does it.
She drove directly to Declan’s house. Seamus’s jalopy sat on the curb outside, but Declan’s car was absent from its usual spot in the driveway.
“Where is he?”
Charlotte pushed through Declan’s front door and fou
nd Seamus on the sofa in his boxers with a beer resting on his thigh. His head swiveled in her direction.
“Jaysus, woman. Have you ever heard of knockin’?”
“Your nephew the drug war soldier. Where is he?”
Seamus stared.
There’s something I haven’t seen before. Seamus speechless.
After a moment, the Irishman sniffed. “He told you about that, did he?”
“Yes. Right after he beat up a thug like he was Bruce Lee.”
Seamus laughed. “Declan has a real talent for that kung fu stuff.”
Charlotte felt the corner of her mouth curling into a smile as she recalled the fight.
It was kind of cool.
She forced a frown. No. Stop it. This is serious.
“Is he here?”
“He isn’t. Wasn’t here when I woke up.”
Charlotte sighed and sat on the chair opposite Seamus, who held aloft his beer can.
“You want a beer?”
“Little early, don’t you think?”
“It’s middle of the afternoon in Ireland.”
“You haven’t been in Ireland for decades. I don’t think you’re still on Ireland time.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Seamus stood and disappeared in the back of the house before reemerging wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He walked to the refrigerator and returned with another beer.
“I’ll be honest. My nerves are a bit shot after yesterday,” he said.
“Have you talked to Jackie?”
“She went to her sister’s. I offered to stay with her but she was scared to sleep in her own house. I’m lettin’ her sleep in before I call today.”
Charlotte tapped her fingernails to her teeth. She suspected everyone involved in the previous day’s attack was a nervous wreck. She definitely didn’t feel normal.
“So tell me. You hooked Declan up with The Honey Badgers? You didn’t know they were basically mercenaries?”
Seamus chewed on his lip. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to share at this juncture.”
“But that part is true?”
“I’m sure whatever Declan’s told you is true. He doesn’t like to lie. Especially to you.” Seamus took a sip of his beer and squinted at her. “Didn’t you know on some level?”
“Know what?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why he looks like he does? Why he swims like he’s trying to escape a hungry shark every day in that crazy jet pool of his?”
