by Jon Mills
“If it works, sure, but have you ever seen anything that Jimmie has pulled together work?”
“I don’t know how he managed to arrange that contact with Ray.”
“Fucking Ray can’t see the forest for the trees. Did you know I had to dump two girls’ bodies?”
“Who?”
“Molly and Sandra.”
“Are you serious?” Chris whispered. “If Ray catches wind of that he’s going to be sticking his nose in and asking a hell of a lot more questions.”
“I know. That’s what we are dealing with here — a complete idiot. The only way we are going to be free of Ray is if he’s dead and there is no chance in hell that anyone is going to get past his guys. They are with him around the clock, and if Jimmie thinks he’s going to just go along with him to some secluded spot where he can shoot him in the back of the head, he’s out of his goddamned mind.”
They watched Garcia knock a few times before he returned to his cruiser. His eyes swept around before he got in and drove off.
“Alright, let’s go.”
They moved back into the dim light that came from a light hanging outside of the RV, and then they banged on the door. The door opened and an inebriated black guy answered. “Yeah? What you want?”
“Sorry to bother you, sounds like you’re having a blast. I wondered if I could borrow some sugar? We’re all out.”
Another guy came into the picture, his eyes looked heavy. Hopefully Anna-Belle had managed to spike their drinks.
“Sure. Um, one sec.”
The white guy turned to head over to the sink while the black guy looked at Chris.
“You guys into fishing?”
“Oh yeah, you see that boat over there?”
As soon as he turned his head, in one smooth motion Willie pulled the Beretta and fired a suppressed round into his skull. He fell forward and Chris caught him as Willie leaned in and unleashed another two slugs in the white guy. Both of them had no idea.
“You want to help me here?” Chris asked trying to prop up the dead guy’s body. Willie pulled him in and they closed the door tight. He cast a glance at Anna-Belle who snorted some cocaine off the table before lifting up a badge that showed the FBI symbol.
“You did good, girls. Real good.”
Jack pulled at the black tie. He wasn’t used to wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie. He bought it simply for the fact that Jimmie told him to show up dressed to impress. Ray was a man of high taste and had a strict party dress code. Jack had never been one for style. He preferred jeans, T-shirt and a loose-fitting jacket. It was underrated. He scoffed as he caught sight of his reflection in the window of the truck as he got closer to the address for the party. Gafino, if you could only see me now, he thought. He had assumed it was going to be at the condominium or in the Everglades but here he was making a trip four hours north of Chokoloskee. It was absurd. Who the hell operated in the south of Florida but threw parties in the north?
When he arrived, he took in the sight of the structure. Beyond the wrought-iron gate, towering trees and stucco walls was the pink home known as the Howey Mansion. It was set back on a wide lawn with a horseshoe-shaped driveway that had palm trees either side of the doorway. The roof was made from Spanish tile, and moss and dark vines crept up the sides of the two-story historic home.
A security guard on the gate stepped out from a small booth that had nothing more inside than a chair, a radio and a small TV. He was dressed in a white uniform and wearing an earpiece.
“Jack Redford,” he said. “I’m here for the party.” He nearly said Winchester. The security guard spoke into his two-way radio and leaned back into the booth and pressed a button to open the gates. He gave him a nod and Jack pulled ahead. There were several trucks and exotic-looking sports cars out front. Jack parked behind a pink Lamborghini and stepped out. The entrance was as marvelous as the rest of the property he’d seen driving up. An arched double doorway was topped by a square casement window that had a screen on it and an ornamental bas-relief with a grille surrounded that.
Two stone cherubs framed either side of the huge wooden door that opened into a stained-glass foyer. Inside, curved walls rose from floor to ceiling covered in travertine tiles and at the center, there was a curved stone stairway with a wrought-iron banister. Off to the left was a huge ballroom with a massive fireplace. The walls were decorated with ornate candleholders. Beyond that was an office and then a library. To the right was a vast dining room with a huge stone fireplace and an ornate mantel. Everywhere he turned he was greeted by the sight of marble, and glittering chandeliers.
“Jack.” Jimmie’s voice called out to him. He turned to find him standing with Noah and several other men that he hadn’t seen before. “Glad you could make it. Where’s Chris and Willie? I sent them over to collect you.”
He shrugged.
“Bloody fools,” he muttered.
“I wasn’t able to find Isabel, so she won’t be attending,” Jack replied as Jimmie handed him a beer.
“Nonsense, she’s already here.”
“What?”
“And what a stunner she is. She cleans up nicely.”
He turned to see Isabel walking beside a well-dressed gentleman.
“This is Ray Edmonds,” Jimmie said motioning to the man as he approached. “Ray, Jack Redford.”
“Jack. Isabel here was telling me all about you.”
“Good things I hope.” He shot her a look and squinted his eyes. What was she playing at? He didn’t want her here. Not that he minded having her around but getting caught up in all of this. No. He eyed her and tried to smile politely. It was all about putting on a front. Giving the illusion that they were on board.
“I hope you brought an appetite, I’ve had my chef make some hors d’oeuvres.”
Jack didn’t take his eyes off Isabel. It wasn’t just the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous but he hadn’t seen her in a dress, at least not one that hugged her figure quite like that one. She tended to wear loose clothing, something to do with a body complex. Why? He had no idea as she wasn’t exactly a full-figured woman. In fact she bordered on being overly athletic. She said she didn’t eat much but he’d nicknamed her “Lunchbox” for her ability to scarf down her dinner and still be hungry after.
After he ate and drank more than his fair share of what was served up, Ray took him on a tour of the place. Isabel stayed behind. He gave him some long-winded talk about the history of the place. As if he gave a shit. All he could think about was getting her the hell away from here. She didn’t need to be involved. He could handle this by himself.
Ray made wide motions with his arms. He seemed to revel in the fact that he’d managed to restore the mansion and grounds to their former splendor. To Jack it was money wasted. After the poverty he’d seen down on skid row, he could think of better ways to blow a few million dollars. To Ray though it seemed to be worth every penny. It was overkill. Who in their right mind needed three large fireplaces, a ballroom-size drawing room, twenty bedrooms, a library, swimming pool, grass carpet courtyard with koi pond, a tennis court, an entertainment room and hidden passageways, when there was only one person staying there?
There was a reason this man wasn’t married.
“Isabel speaks well of you. Says you know how to get a job done. I’m looking forward to working with you. By the way, here’s my card. If you ever need to speak to me personally, don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”
Jack glanced at it, and tucked it away in his pocket.
He pulled out a steel case of cigars and offered Jack one. Jack wasn’t into cigars but he didn’t want to decline. Jimmie had warned him that Ray had a hair-trigger temper and anything could set it off.
“Where’s Isabel?”
“Oh don’t worry about her. Women need to mingle with other women. I have her being pampered by some of my girls. You’ve got to take care of a woman, Jack, or she will walk out on you. And based on my conversation with your lady, I have to admit she�
��s got a fire in her belly. You’re going to need some strong reins to reel her in.”
They took a seat in front of the vast grounds which Ray referred to as “the Park.” Full of botanical plants and lush shrubbery, the Park contained a Georgian marble mausoleum that held the bodies of William J. Howey, his wife and a daughter. Ray seemed intrigued by it and stated that he wanted to be buried there. Jack made a note of that, though he couldn’t guarantee it. He was liable to dump his ass in the nearest alligator-infested waters along with the Mitchell brothers.
Over the course of the evening, Ray continued to down multiple drinks. Jack’s head was beginning to get a little fuzzy but that didn’t compare to what came next.
The moment he saw the silver platter containing coke, a needle and a small bag of heroin, he knew he was in trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morning sunlight poured through the gap in the drapes bathing Jack’s face. He groaned as his eyelids fluttered. His skull throbbed like he’d been hit with a two-by-four. The sound of water, a conversation between two people, and a bicycle riding by seeped into his consciousness. His face was wet on one side, drool? As the world started to come into view, it looked different to his last memory. The last thing he recalled was being at the party. Jack brought a hand up to his mouth to wipe the drool away, that’s when he tasted iron. The familiar taste of blood. What? His mind tried to process where he was. Then he saw the table, a chair and the TV. He was on the floor. He was home but how?
“Isabel?”
There was no answer. He wiped at his face and as his hand came into view it was dripping with blood. What the hell? He rose up and noticed his head was lying in a puddle of blood. He immediately started checking his skull. Had he fallen over making his way back inside? As he turned over, that’s when he got his answer.
Lying beside him was the body of Moore, and just a short distance away was Carson. Both of them had multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, and one to the head. As he scrambled back from the grisly sight, a gun dropped to the ground. It had been lying on top of him. Had he done this? Had Isabel done this?
“Isabel!” he shouted and staggered to his feet away from the carnage. Jack stumbled down the hall, his hand pressed against the wall as he tried to support himself. He burst into the bedroom but she wasn’t there. The bed was still made. He stood at the door trying to make sense of what was happening. Shit, shit!
He rushed out to the dining area to find his phone. Where is it? Damn it! He swept papers off the table along with a cup and plate. They shattered. He glanced nervously between the blinds and saw that his truck was outside.
His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. It was a little after nine in the morning. He was meant to be leaving to do the drop at nine-thirty. He went over to his jacket and fished around inside a pocket. Finding his cellphone, he pulled it out and tried to contact Isabel.
It rang several times, then went to voicemail.
He tried again while taking in the sight of the two bodies. What the hell had happened? He couldn’t remember a damn thing. His memory was vague at best. Drinks, lots of them. Conversation. Then it hit him. He yanked up the shirt on his arm and saw the new needle mark. No. No. No, he thought. As he staggered back, panic crept up in his chest. He’d used again. Looking back at Carson he wondered if he had done this in some drunken, drug-induced state. Had he had an argument?
Jack moved back to where the gun was lying on the floor. It was a Beretta. That wasn’t his and yet it was here. He eyed the two men, was it theirs? No, that wasn’t standard issue for law enforcement. Overwhelmed and driven by panic he rushed into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes, he dashed into the bathroom and cranked the shower on then got underneath it. Crimson red circled at his feet, disappearing down the drain. He rubbed his body furiously trying to get the stain off his skin. No matter how hard he scrubbed, it didn’t seem to fade fast enough.
As soon as he was out he slipped into fresh clothes and checked the window again. He was paranoid about police showing up. What if someone had set him up? Why? Was Ray on to him? There was only one way to find out. He sprinted back into the living room, nearly slipping on the blood as he tried to scoop up his jacket from the back of a chair. He threw it on, pulled out his keys and burst out of the mobile home.
Within seconds he was inside the truck, and reversing out. He pulled out and slammed his foot against the accelerator. He tore out of that park trying to get to the south end on time. Then he realized he didn’t have his Glock and he’d left the Beretta on the floor. Shit! He glanced at the clock. It was 9:25, he didn’t have time to go back. He pressed on, driving erratically as he got closer to the Mitchells’ charter business. Dust kicked up in a cloud behind the truck as he tore into the lot and made his way down to the baby blue home.
He jumped out and started calling for Jimmie but there was no answer. His truck wasn’t there. Jack rushed over to the trailer and banged on the door. No one responded. He opened the door and looked inside. Empty.
A witness wishing to remain anonymous had called it in only ten minutes ago. The very mention of Jack’s name had him hanging on every word of the officer who had taken the call.
“Murder? Are you sure that’s what she said?”
Garcia was going to swing by that day anyway but now he had an even more urgent reason. With red and blue lights flashing, and sirens wailing, he and officers in two other squad cars tore into the park and marina. They veered into the driveway and jumped out pulling their handguns. With them all standing behind their cruisers for protection, he called out Jack’s name. No answer. They had no way of knowing if he was still inside. That’s when he looked down and saw a few droplets of blood. He told one of the officers to check it out. Officer Davis went over to the RV belonging to Moore and Carson and knocked on the door. Nothing. He opened and spotted more blood.
“Garcia, you might want to see this.”
Keeping his eyes on Jack’s mobile home he hurried over and stepped inside. Spots of blood were all over the inside. The walls were covered in a fine red mist but there were no bodies. He looked around while Davis remained outside.
“Garcia.”
He poked his head out and saw Davis staring at the ground and following a trail of blood droplets. They led directly over to Jack’s place. Garcia went over and with his gun at the ready he circled around to the door and knocked on it then stepped out of the way.
“Collier County Sheriff’s Office, open up.”
Too often officers had taken a bullet through the door and right now they didn’t know if he was armed and still inside.
“Jack Redford?”
No answer. He looked back at the other officers who were prepared for a firefight. He hated having to call SWAT in unless it was really necessary. It delayed things and right now he was unsure if he would need them. He crept up to one of the windows around the back and peered in. He saw the legs of a body on the floor but no one inside. Immediately he came around and gave Davis and another officer the go-ahead to try the door.
Nervous but ready for the unexpected they yanked on the door and it swung back.
“Collier County Sheriff’s Office.”
No answer. Davis was the first in, followed by Michaels. Garcia came in and took in the sight of the double homicide. Davis stepped out of the bedroom. “All clear.”
Garcia exhaled hard and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well let’s get these two out of here and start the paperwork. I also want blockades set up in a three-mile radius.” He walked over to the table and stared down at the bloody FBI badges. Agents Carson and Moore. What the hell are the feds doing here?
Davis was on the way out the door when Garcia stopped him and added another thing to the list of to-dos. “And get in contact with the FBI.”
Frantically Jack searched the property, returning to Jimmie’s home and beating on the door. “Jimmie!”
He rushed around the side and peered through the windows, all the while shaking. His
body felt out of control. His mind whirling with questions, confusion and rage. Jack slammed his fist into the glass and it shattered. “Jimmie!” He pulled it back and his knuckles were cut and bleeding. His adrenaline was all over the place, and with withdrawal symptoms eating away at his nerves he wasn’t thinking straight. He felt unattached to reality.
“Jimmie, where is Isabel? Where are you?”
He went back around to the front and started yanking on the door to try to get in and that’s when Noah appeared. He came around the corner holding a shotgun up. He was wearing a white muscle shirt, jeans and black military boots.
“Back your shit up.”
Jack turned elated to see someone, anyone. “Noah. Where’s Jimmie?” He stepped off and headed towards him.
“He’s already left to do the drop.”
“What? But he said I was going to do it.”
“Karla is doing it.”
“But…”
“Oh don’t worry, Jimmie and Willie will keep a good eye on her.”
Jack put out his hands. “Listen, you want to put that gun down.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Cops are on their way, so I would advise you to stay back.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.” Jack stepped forward and Noah unleashed a slug near his feet. Dirt kicked in the air and Jack froze.
“The next one goes in your chest.”
Jack nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Look, just tell me where’s Isabel?”
He hesitated before he replied. “You fucked up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you honestly think we trusted you?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “But Jimmie…”
“Jimmie’s a wild card. Do you think you’re the only fed that has tried to dig up dirt on us?”
“I’m not a fed.”
“Oh no? Then who are you? DEA? A cop?”
“I’m no one. Look, who killed those feds back at my home?”
“Who do you think?”
