by Tripp Ellis
23
A line of yellow buses roared out of the parking lot. The parent pick up lane was jam-packed. Kids walked through the crosswalk, lugging backpacks, carrying books, listening to headphones. Marcy wore her lime-green vest, ushering students from one side of the street to the other.
Most kids didn't use the crosswalk.
I had Lana’s sketch of the suspect on my iPhone. I studied it again as I scanned the crowd. We rolled through the school zone in Jack's Porsche. I had left my bike at the station. We probably looked like a couple of predators, circling the school several times.
I told JD to turn down one of the side streets and cruise through the neighborhoods near the school. If I were a drug dealer, I wouldn't be slinging dope right in front of the school… I would try to be a little less conspicuous.
Sure enough, we saw the boy with the baggy pants and eagle backpack. I looked at the suspect sketch, then the boy. The resemblance was spot on. He was talking to another kid. Money exchanged hands, as well as a small balloon less than the size of a marble. The slick transfer took place during a handshake.
Bingo!
Jack rolled up to the transaction in the lizard-green sports car. We didn't look like your average cops—not in a car like this. What cop, who's not on the take, can afford a $275,000 exotic?
"Hey, can you hook me up?" I said to the kid in the baggy pants.
His suspicious eyes flicked from me to JD. Then he spun around and took off running.
I grumbled under my breath as I launched out of the car. I sprinted down the sidewalk, chasing after the kid. He couldn't have been more than 17. And he was fast!
Real fast.
My chest heaved for breath, and my legs drove me forward.
He veered left and darted up a driveway, then plowed through the gate.
I followed in time to see him run across the backyard and scale the fence.
This wasn’t his first rodeo.
He'd run from the cops before, and he knew the drill.
But the backpack slowed him down a little. I figured it was mostly for show. There were probably a few books in it in case someone stopped him and asked him questions. But the street dealers had gotten pretty savvy. They typically carried drugs in small balloons that they kept in their mouths. They could swallow them in case of trouble and wait till the merchandise came out on the other side.
The street dealers never kept anything in their pockets.
I wasn’t beyond letting him sit in a cell until the evidence materialized—providing I could catch up with him.
I hurtled the fence and landed in another yard with two yappy dogs that went batshit crazy when they saw the two of us.
In a flash, the punk was up and over another fence.
I vaulted over the fence behind him, and when I hit the ground, the blade of a shovel careened toward my face.
A yard crew was putting in drainage pipes—4” thick, schedule 40 PVC that ran down to the front curb. The crew must have been on break, and the punk grabbed one of their shovels. He swung as hard as he could.
I ducked below the shovel as it swished overhead.
He backhanded the blade toward me again.
I grabbed the shaft, then lunged the shovel forward, punching the handle into his gut. All the balloons he was holding in his mouth spewed onto the yard as he coughed.
I pounced on him, grabbed his wrists, and slapped the cuffs on him as fast as I could. "Looks like today's your lucky day."
"Fuck you!"
His right hand had cuts and bruises on it, like he’d recently been in a fight.
A one sided fight.
"Those are some pretty nasty cuts on your knuckles. Whose ass did you kick?"
"Fuck you! Get off me!"
"Oh, by the way. You're under arrest."
"You ain't no cop."
"Then why did you run?"
"My mom told me never talk to strangers."
I yanked him to his feet and walked him out to the street. Once I knew where I was, I called the Sheriff's Office and had them send a patrol car to pick up the perp. When they arrived, I handed the little miscreant off, then went back to the yard and collected the balloons he’d spit out of his mouth. I didn't know what was in them. Cocaine, crack, methamphetamine, maybe even heroin?
24
"I told you, I ain’t sayin’ shit," the punk said. "I don't talk to the police.”
The kids sat at a table in an interrogation room.
"What's your name, kid?" I asked.
"I don’t gotta tell you."
"Makes no difference to me. You're going to sit here just the same."
He stared me down, trying to act tough.
"Since you don't have a name, how about I call you dumbass?"
He snarled at me. “How about I call you bitch, I'll whoop your ass!"
I laughed. "Where you're going, you will most certainly be somebody's bitch."
He clammed up after that.
"Want to tell me how you got those cuts on your hand?"
"Eating pussy,” he quipped.
"I think you're doing it wrong, kid."
He continued to stare at me, keeping up the tough guy act.
"You're looking at a long stretch," I said.
"Man, you can't touch me. I'm 17. I'm a juvenile. They’re gonna slap me on the wrist, and I'm gonna walk away."
I laughed. "You think this is just about the drugs, don't you?"
His face crinkled at me. Then he asked innocently, "Drugs? What drugs?"
"I'm sure that wasn't baking soda in those balloons."
"I don't know what you're talking about. You planted that shit." He paused. "Matter of fact, I remember you grabbing my junk after you put the handcuffs on me. Then you said you’d let me go if I blew you. That’s what I remember.” A smug grin curled on his face.
I glared at him. This kid thought he could beat the system. Up to this point, he didn't have a criminal record. It seemed like he’d been beating the system for a long time. This wasn’t the first day that he'd been dealing drugs on a street corner.
"Making a false complaint is a criminal offense," I said.
"What about making a false arrest? The way I see it, a predator like you ought to be in jail."
I wanted to smack the cocky grin from his face.
JD pulled open the door and motioned for me to exit. There was a sparkle in his eyes. I knew he had something interesting to say.
I stepped into the hallway and closed the door to the interrogation room behind me.
"This little shithead’s fingerprints match those on the drawer handles in Warren’s bedroom. That puts him at the scene of the crime."
"Do we know his name yet?" I asked.
"Denise sent the sketch to the principal at the high school. He said it looked like Davon Jones. I pulled up his social media profile." Jack showed me the display on his phone.
Sure enough, we had put a name to our suspect.
A slight grin tugged on my lips. I spun around and pushed back into the interrogation room. “Davon Jones… ” I said as I walked into the room, letting it hang in the air for moment
His eyes went wide. "Aw, man!"
"You think I wouldn’t figure it out?"
"Big deal. So you know my name? That doesn't change the fact that you're a creepy motherfucker that likes little boys."
“Do you know Warren Russell?" I asked.
"Who?" he asked with a scowl.
"So, you'd have no reason to be in his home?"
"Hell no! I don't even know who you're talking about."
"The dead old man. I'm sure you’d recognize him if you saw him. He was beaten to death by a right-hander. We found your fingerprints inside his home. Care to explain that?"
The punk’s smug grin faded.
"You could have probably pleaded down the drug charge. Not served any time. First offense. You could have probably walked with probation. But murder? You’re gonna be a really old man before you see daylight
again. Because guess what… in this state, you can be tried as an adult."
Davon swallowed hard. "Bullshit.”
"Hand to God. In a capital case like this, you'll be tried with the big boys. No slap on the wrist. No clean record when you turn 18."
Sweat misted on Davon's skin.
"At this point, it's open and shut. I’ve got your prints. I’ve got a witness who saw you enter the house. You’re toast."
I didn't have a witness, but Davon didn't know that.
His hands trembled slightly. "Look, man. I didn’t have nothing to do with that old man dying. He was already dead when I got to the house."
"Really?"
"I swear to God. He was dead on the living room floor. Somebody put a hurting on him real bad."
"I don't suppose you know who this somebody is?"
"I’d tell you if I knew. But I don't know shit."
“What time were you there?”
Davon shrugged. “Midnight.”
"What were you doing?"
Davon was silent a moment.
"Go ahead. Keep quiet. Makes no difference to me. Like I said, I got enough to put you away for this, whether you did it or not."
Davon grumbled to himself. "The old man was always getting up in my shit. See, I'm a businessman. I'm just trying to do business. He was interfering with my place of employment. I mean, if people didn't want my product, I'd be out of business. I ain't the problem. Don't hate the player, hate the game."
"So you decided to go to the house and rough him up?"
"Man, pull your head out of your ass. I didn't decide shit. I don't decide nothing. I do what I'm told."
"Who told you?"
"Shit, I tell you that, then I'll really be dead."
25
"He can proclaim his innocence until the cows come home, but that doesn't necessarily make it so," JD said.
We stood in the hallway with Sheriff Daniels outside the interrogation room.
"We’ve got more than enough to make a case," Daniels said. "I'm pretty confident the DA will want to move forward. A kid like this is just a mule for a bigger dealer. And I guarantee you, his replacement is already on the street. Formal charges may put enough pressure on him to reveal his employer. We might be able to get the big boss on a conspiracy charge, if nothing else. Let's see how this little punk reacts after a few days in a cell, staring down the barrel of a life term. I'm guessing he’ll start to sing real quick."
"With the abrasions on his hand, there could be trace DNA on Warren's cheek,” I said. "Has Brenda found any?"
"I think she’s still waiting on the lab results," Daniels said. "In the meantime, see if you can figure out who this kid is hustling for."
"You got it, boss," JD said.
"How's your dad doing?" I asked.
Daniels sighed. "Holding steady, I guess. I'm looking around at the facilities here. It all kind of seems like a nightmare. I don't want to put him into a place where he'll be ignored. I hear horror stories of elderly laying in pools of piss and shit for hours while waiting on someone to take them to the bathroom."
JD and I cringed at the thought.
"You’ve been to C-KALF?” Daniels asked. “What did you think of the place?"
I shrugged. "It seemed clean. The staff was attentive, I guess."
"The reviews online seem okay. None of these places get great ratings, to tell you the truth." Daniels paused.
"I'll see what I can find out," I said.
"Well, I've got to do something quick," Daniels said. "I worry about Dad living alone."
"Let us know if there's anything we can do," I said.
We left the Sheriff’s Office, and JD followed me back to the marina. I took Buddy for a walk. Afterward, we headed to Wetsuit for happy hour. Jack couldn't get enough of the waitresses in skintight neoprene. They looked like they belonged in a Bond movie.
"You two are getting to be regulars," Isla said as she took our order.
She had straight brunette hair, blue eyes, long lashes, and a body worthy of her Brazilian heritage.
"Two whiskeys on the rocks," Jack said.
"Coming right up!" Isla sauntered away, and her assets drew our lingering stares.
You could tell the girl spent a lot of time in the gym doing bridges, lunges, and Belgian split squats.
It was early still, and the Friday night crowd hadn't flooded in yet. Attendance was still pretty thin, and the music was at a reasonable volume.
Isla returned a moment later with our drinks. The bombshell flashed a brilliant smile as she set my beverage in front of me. Her eyes sparkled. "I'll be back to check on you boys shortly. If you need anything, anything at all, just holler."
With that, she sauntered away. Once again, Jack and I both couldn't resist the urge to follow her with our eyes.
"I believe she could make a dead man walk." Jack lifted his glass.
We toasted, clinking glasses.
Jack took a sip and gasped. "God, I love this town."
Despite all the chaos, Coconut Key certainly had its merits. It was like being on a perpetual vacation.
"Oh shit," I muttered as I looked across the bar.
"What is it?"
I hung my head low, obscuring my face. I didn't want to be seen. I muttered, "Jordyn."
Jack just had to crane his neck over his shoulder and look.
Jordyn saw him. She made a beeline straight toward us.
I lifted my head. It was no use hiding now.
"Hey! What's up, boys?" Jordyn said with a sparkling smile, like nothing had ever happened.
"Not much," I said.
She made a sad face and spoke in a baby doll voice. "Are you still mad at me for the other night?"
I looked at her flatly. "You did cause quite a commotion."
She shrugged. "Shit happens."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe you should ease up on the drinking?"
"Where's the fun in that?" She paused, then conceded, “Okay, maybe I can be a little excessive at times, but I'd rather live life on the edge than in the middle."
"Where's your boyfriend?" I asked.
"Why? You interested?" A seductive glimmer flickered in her eyes.
"I am," Jack said.
She laughed. "He's not my boyfriend."
"He sure looked like it the other night?" I said.
"Whatever. I told him I wanted to see other people. It's not my fault if he still thinks I'm his girlfriend. I told him I'm not." She sighed. "Some people are in denial."
"Well, hopefully you can stay out of trouble tonight," I said.
A sly grin curled on her full lips. "Honey, I'm always looking for trouble." She paused. "I'm out with my girlfriends. Come join us?"
She motioned to a table across the bar with two hotties.
"Maybe some other time," I said.
She frowned and turned out her bottom lip. "I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like me."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" I said, dryly.
She inhaled deeply, then sighed dramatically. "If you don't want to hang out with three gorgeous girls, I guess it's your loss."
She lingered for a moment, then spun around and headed back to her friends, putting a little extra sway into her hips.
Jack looked at me like I was crazy. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
My face crinkled. "That girl is batshit crazy."
"Yeah, but her friends might not be. Besides... psychosex. You know that girl will do all kinds of freaky shit."
"You were the one who suggested I stay away from her."
"I never said that."
"Yes you did!"
"I said that I would pick Denise over her." He pretended to look around. "But I don't see Denise. And you just turned down your only option."
"She's not my only option. The waitress seemed nice."
"Isla only smiled at you because she wants a big tip," JD said.
I sneered at him. "How many waitresses have you dated?"
He
shrugged. "A lot."
"I rest my case."
"It’s fine if you want to remain celibate. But don't screw things up for me," Jack said.
I laughed. "If you want to go over there and immerse yourself in the drama, be my guest."
"We don't know if her friends are as batshit crazy as she is."
"I admire your optimism," I said. "Why don't you go find out and report back."
My challenge was accepted. Jack pushed back from the table. "I will return shortly... or not."
He strutted across the bar to the table of lovely ladies.
I just shook my head.
Within a few seconds of approaching the table, Jack had them laughing. He had his charm, that was for sure. I could only imagine the stories I would hear in the morning.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took the call. Scarlett's squeaky voice blasted through the speaker. "Tyson, I need your help!" She said in a sob. "I think I screwed up."
26
"Slow down, take a deep breath. What's going on?" I asked.
Scarlet continued to sob. "He attacked me!"
My blood boiled. My veins bulged. "Who?"
"My acting coach. Easton.”
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, but my career is fucked!"
"Tell me exactly what happened."
She sniffled and blew her nose. Scarlett took a deep breath, then continued. "I went to a couple classes, and he seemed like a really nice guy. He told me I had talent and a lot of potential. He really seemed enthusiastic about my career. He wanted to put me on the fast track and offered private coaching.”
I knew exactly where the story was going.
"So, we were at the studio, alone, after class one night. That's when he made the moves on me. I told him I wasn't interested, and that I didn’t want to make a career that way. He pinned me to the ground, got on top of me…"
At this point I was about to explode.
Scarlett continued. “I kneed him in the balls, slithered from underneath him, and ran out of the studio. Then I caught a cab back to the apartment.” She hesitated. "My career is over. Do you understand how influential the guy is?”
