Pineapple Pack II

by Amy Vansant

  “So we’re cool?”

  She nodded. “We’re cool.” Her gaze darted toward her purse. Declan noticed.

  “Mostly because you just realized you have a case to work on and it’s all you can think about now?” he asked.

  She grinned, squinting one eye at him. “Maybe a little.”

  He chuckled and released her hand. “By all means...don’t let me stop you.”

  In all the commotion following the attack on Jackie’s, she’d forgotten to finish checking Ryan’s phone for information. It was a miracle she’d remembered to plug it in again after returning from the police station.

  She called up the voice mail as she walked back toward Declan.

  “Mr. Finnegan, this is Rob from maintenance. Just wanted to let you know we’ll be up there to fix your sink on Thursday.”

  “Anything?” asked Declan.

  “A phone call from maintenance about his sink from two months ago.”

  “That seems useful. Put it on speaker.”

  She switched the phone to speaker for the next message. There was a beep and a second message played.

  “Dad—it’s Craig. Craziest thing...I think I saw Firehead...”

  The message ended there with what sounded like nervous laughter. Charlotte felt her jaw creaking open as she listened. She played it a second time.

  “Did he say Firehead?” asked Declan.

  “It’s hard to tell. It’s garbled.”

  “Like he has a bad connection.”

  She nodded. “The date is the same day Craig died. This could have been his last message.”

  “You think he kept it for nostalgia?”

  “Maybe...” Charlotte pulled her own phone from her purse and did an Internet search for Craig Finnegan death. She found a newspaper article and read through it.

  “Didn’t Jackie say her disco already had the bar when she moved in? It had already been a club?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the building was owned by Georgette Enterprises?”

  “Named after Louis’s mom.”

  Charlotte held out her phone. “Guess where they found Craig Finnegan dead?”

  Declan squinted at the screen. “At Jackie’s club?”

  “Not far from it. He was dead in his car of an apparent overdose.”

  “You think he was at that club?”

  “He does sound a little giddy on the recording. Maybe he’s drunk?”

  “That nervous laughter at the end kind of gave me the chills. It’s like he was afraid of Firehead and was relieved to be away from him...”

  “I know what you mean—” Charlotte gasped. “Could he have meant a redhead?”

  “You’re thinking the guy who shot the man in the parking lot?”

  “Pirro. Has to be, right? That’s why Ryan was watching the crew on the corner. He’s trying to find Pirro. Firehead.”

  Declan frowned. “And Pirro found him instead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gloria entered the Irony Dry Cleaners, nodding with appreciation. The building was enormous, an old one-level brick building converted into a dry cleaning mecca.

  When Georgette detached her family’s finances from the drug world, she certainly hadn’t returned any of the money to the junkies and pill-heads. Now her ungrateful son owned the largest dry cleaning operation in the state.

  A woman approached the counter.

  “Pick up?”

  “No. I’d like to see the owner.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Are you sure? Mr. Beaumont? Louis?”

  The woman shook her head. “He isn’t here. Do you want to speak to Mr. Pirro?”

  “Mr. Pirro?”

  “He works with Mr. Louis.”

  Gloria considered the offer. Her goal was to find Ryan Finnegan. Maybe Mr. Pirro could take her on a tour of the premises and they would stumble on where Louis was holding Ryan. Worse case, maybe he could tell her where Louis was lurking. “Yes. I’ll talk to Mr. Pirro.”

  The woman walked to a windowed office on the right side of the building. Gloria couldn’t see anyone inside, but even over the machines she heard a man barking something. A body leaned forward and peered at her through one of the office’s windows.

  He stared, and Gloria blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks. The man had dark skin, but his hair was bright, light red.

  The man left the office pushing by the woman who had gone to gather him. She scurried away, disappearing into the bowels of the building.

  The man looked furious. He pounded on the counter, his gaze locked on Gloria. “You want something?”

  Gloria straightened, rising to her full height of four foot eleven.

  “I’m looking for Louis Beaumont.”

  “He ain’t here.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  “Are you Mr. Pirro?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m a friend of Louis’s family. He was supposed to give me a tour of the premises today.”

  Pirro’s expression suddenly changed from angry to quizzical. “Hey...do I know you?”

  Gloria scowled. “I don’t think so.”

  Pirro stared at her a moment longer. After a moment the tension in his posture snapped like an over-stretched rubber band and he grinned.

  The man had an unfortunate face, and the effect was unnerving.

  “What is it you wanted again?” asked Pirro.

  Gloria wrapped her arms across her chest. “I..uh...nothing—”

  “A tour. Right? I’ll give you a tour.”

  Pirro pushed open the half door to allow her behind the counter and held out his hand to usher her through.

  She eyed the door as if it were booby-trapped. “Are you sure? I could wait for Mr. Beaumont...”

  “No trouble at all.”

  Gloria bit her lip. “Okay. I did drive all the way here...”

  “Sure.”

  She walked through. “I need to see every room of this building.”

  The man chuckled. “Sure. Dallas!”

  Another face appeared in the office window, and a tall, skinny, blond young man jogged over to meet them.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come with us. I’m giving this lady a tour.”

  Dallas scowled. “Huh?”

  “Just come with us.”

  The boy shrugged.

  Pirro strode toward the back of the building, weaving between workers busy pressing and sorting clothing. Gloria had to break into a trot to keep up with the men.

  “I guess this is the main working floor?” she asked, trying to maintain appearance as a tourist.

  Neither of her guides answered. The unbearable noise probably kept them from hearing her. Hopefully, there would be some quiet areas coming soon and she could try and probe for more information on where Ryan might be.

  They exited through a door into the back of the building and walked down a hall. Gloria’s ringing ears began to relax.

  “How long has this place been operating?” she asked.

  Pirro and Dallas remained silent.

  Rude. If Louis wasn’t such a little bastard to his mother, I’d tell him to fire these two. As it is, he gets what he deserves—terrible employees.

  Pirro opened a door and they walked into a small room with little more in it than two chairs, a cardboard box with a deck of cards on it and a closet.

  Annoyed by the lack of communication, Gloria was about to complain when something about the chairs caught her eye. Reddish-brown spatter stained the arm of the larger wooden chair. A smattering of cut zip ties lay on the floor beneath it.

  Could someone have been tied to that chair?

  “This time you don’t let her go,” said Pirro poking Dallas in the center of his chest.

  Gloria felt her nerves flutter. “What—”

  Appearing aggrieved by the scolding tone in his boss’s voice, Dallas cut her off. “I told you, Pirro. Louis told me—”
/>   Pirro whirled, his face contorted with rage, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “I don’t care what Louis told you. Who’s in charge?”

  Gloria clutched her purse to her chest and stumbled back. Her leg hit the chair and she reached back to catch herself on its back to keep from falling.

  Dallas paled. “You.”

  Pirro’s gaze shot to Gloria. She lowered her purse, puffing her chest as large as her fear-laden, shallow breaths would allow.

  “Who do you think you are?” she asked.

  He leered. “I know who you are. I saw you when I was following Ryan. You’re the woman he wore the t-shirts for.”

  Gloria swallowed. “You let me out of here immediately.”

  Pirro laughed and left with only a last nod to Dallas.

  Gloria’s jaw fell. She looked at Dallas. “Young man, I don’t know what you or that man think you’re doing, but you need to let me go immediately.”

  Dallas shook his head. “I’m sorry ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to sit in that chair.”

  Gloria glanced at the chair. “Is that where you tied Ryan?”

  Dallas sighed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan parked behind the dry cleaning and hopped out of his car.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  Just have to stay cool a little bit longer.

  Louis wasn’t the man he thought he’d be. The voicemail his boy left him the night he died had been spotty, but he was sure the man responsible for Craig’s death had red hair. Looks like Firehead. He’d told the police Firehead was a creature he’d invented as a bedtime story for his son—a shadowy creature with fire for hair—but they didn’t believe there was a connection. His death had been ruled an accidental overdose and the cops had moved on.

  Only he was left to avenge his son. He’d traced ownership of the club near where they found Craig’s body to Victor Beaumont’s Georgette Enterprises.

  He’d discovered that remnants of Victor’s drug empire had survived his death. He’d started watching the corners, tracing the players. No one looked like Firehead yet.

  Though he hadn’t enjoyed the beating, his kidnapping had brought him to the inner sanctum.

  But still no Firehead.

  He had a plan now.

  Louis Beaumont didn’t seem like a criminal mastermind. He might have been the boss in name, but there had to be more players. He just had to play along and hang out long enough to find Firehead.

  Pumping his arms to give himself courage, Ryan strode across the dry cleaners parking lot to the front door.

  The young lady at the counter winced. He’d forgotten about his mangled face. The swelling had gone down enough that he could again see through the affected eye, but he still looked like a car accident victim.

  “I’m here to see Louis,” he said, smiling in the hopes he’d seem less scary.

  The girl rolled her eyes.

  “He’s still not here.”

  “Still?”

  “A lady was just looking for him. He wasn’t here then either.”

  “Oh, okay. Should I wait? We had a meeting this morning, though we didn’t set an actual time—”

  She held up an index finger. “Wait here for me?”

  He nodded and thrust his hands in his pockets, rocking from toe to heel.

  “You Ryan?”

  Ryan turned to find a man standing behind the counter near the swinging door that separated the retail and work areas.

  Firehead.

  The man had dark skin, he guessed a very tan Latino, but his hair was light red. Stunned, he forgot to answer and the man repeated his question.

  “I said, are you Ryan?”

  “Oh, yes. Hi.” Ryan thrust out a hand. “And you are?”

  “Pirro.”

  Pirro didn’t raise his hand and after an awkward moment, Ryan let his drop.

  “Is Louis here?”

  “Louis asked me to take you back to the office when you got here.”

  “Great. Sounds good. Lead the way.”

  Pirro opened the door and Ryan followed him through the workers, retracing his steps from the previous day. Heading back into the belly of the building, his steps slowed.

  Calm down. You found him. Just get a little more information.

  Leaving the noise of the work floor behind, Pirro led Ryan down a hallway and opened a door. Ryan recognized it as the room in which he’d been held the day before.

  “In there?” he said, stopping ten feet from where Pirro stood. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt as though the right side of his face throbbed just being near that room.

  “You need to wait,” said Pirro, attempting what Ryan guessed was a smile.

  You killed my son. I know you did.

  Ryan pushed on. He rounded the corner into the room.

  His old chair wasn’t empty.

  A small woman sat in the wooden seat he’d once occupied, her arms tied to the armrests as his had been. The woman hadn’t been beaten, that he could see, but someone had tied a shirt sleeve around her face as a makeshift gag.

  He recognized her immediately.

  The woman from my walk. The woman I’ve been seducing with t-shirts.

  In the twin chair sat Dallas, looking sheepish.

  Ryan turned to face Pirro. “What is this?”

  Pirro held a gun pointed at Ryan’s belly.

  “Sit down.”

  Dallas stood and stepped out of the way.

  Ryan glanced from Dallas to Pirro and back again. He couldn’t take them both. Certainly not when one had a gun and the woman sat tied to a chair, helpless to defend herself.

  He sat in the other chair expecting Dallas would tie him as well. Dallas didn’t move.

  Pirro put his gun back in his waistband. “Dallas told me you were going to look at the books for Louis.”

  Ryan remained silent. Frustration and rage roiled inside his brain. He’d found the man who killed Craig. All his planning. All his work—

  Pirro leaned against the wall appearing pleased with himself. “You think I don’t know you. I know all about you. Once you start following my men, you’re asking me to know all about you. That isn’t something you should want.”

  Ryan remained silent and Pirro continued.

  “You’re that kid’s father. The stupid kid who saw what he shouldn’t have seen at the club.”

  Ryan jumped to his feet and Pirro raised his gun.

  “Sit down.”

  Fists clenched, Ryan lowered into his seat.

  “You’re not here for the books. You came looking for me, didn’t you?”

  Ryan’s teeth gritted until he thought they would crack.

  Pirro laughed. “Now you’re going to help me with the books, Daddy. You’re going to tell Louis everything is cool.”

  Ryan found his voice. “Why would I help the man who killed my son?”

  “Because if you don’t, this lady is dead.”

  Ryan glanced at the gagged woman. Her eyes were teary and full of panic.

  This is not how I planned our first date.

  “Do you understand me? Don’t bother telling me you hardly know her. You refuse, and she dies, and you die either way.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “Louis is going to be here soon. He’s going to think you’re helping him. You’re helping me. Remember that or she’s dead. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Hey!” a voice echoed from the hall.

  Pirro tilted back to see who approached. “Hey Louis.”

  Pirro shot Ryan one final glare as Louis appeared in the doorway.

  “Ryan, you came back. I—” Louis’s gaze fell on the gagged woman. He looked at Pirro. “What the—”

  “It’s a present for you, boss.”

  “A present?”

  “Dallas told me you were going to have this guy look at the books.”

  “I—yeah, I thought—he’s like an accounting genius.
He’s going to help us cook the books, so to speak.”

  Pirro cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? You don’t think I’m doing a good job?”

  “What? No. No it’s not that. It’s just—you know. You’re not an accountant. And I’ve got the dry cleaning and whatnot. It’s a lot for one person. You have enough on your plate, too.”

  Ryan watched Louis fidget. He’d been right. Louis was the figurehead with the built-in money-laundering component. His last name opened doors in the narcotics community and his dry cleaning could easily launder money. Pirro needed him. Pirro had allowed the rich boy to think he was the boss, but he wasn’t. Not by a long stretch.

  Louis scratched at his cheek, staring at the woman.

  “So who is she?”

  “She’s his girlfriend. We had to be sure he’s legit, right? If he tries anything, he knows we have her.”

  “Right. Good thinking.”

  Louis stared at the dark-haired woman with what looked like regret.

  Ryan did the math. There was no way Pirro would let him or the woman live. The thug was going to let him look at the books and declare them perfect to put Louis’s mind at ease. Ryan knew the books wouldn’t be perfect. They’d show just how much money Pirro had been stealing.

  When he was done, Pirro would kill him and the woman.

  He couldn’t let them live.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “This is why I hadn’t told you about the Honey Badgers yet, you know,” said Declan as he parked his car down the block from Irony Dry Cleaners.

  Charlotte unbuckled her seatbelt. “Why?”

  “Because of your new vocation. You already take too many risks. I don’t want you dragging me along and thinking you’re invincible.”

  “Hm. Sort of full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  Charlotte grinned and tapped his nose with her index finger. “Boop.”

  He sighed. “I boop your nose. You don’t boop mine.”

  “But you’re so adorable.”

  Charlotte hopped out of the car and the two of them walked towards Irony. She knew the cops said they’d already checked the building, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Stephanie had no reason to lie about seeing Ryan tied up there. Maybe they’d seen the cops coming. They weren’t always subtle with their sirens and flashing lights. Maybe she and Declan could catch Louis and his men off guard.