Deep Threat

by Scott Pratt

  The fireplace in the master suite flickered and steam was rising from the freshly filled spa that overlooked the river at the end of the corridor. Through the frosted glass of the bathroom door, Billy could see Rachel standing at the vanity. She was admiring herself in the mirror, and for good reason.

  He poured the wine and noticed he was breathing a little heavy. She wasn’t even in the room, yet just the thought of her aroused him.

  Billy was a striking man, and the many hours in the gym showed as he peeled off his clothes. He turned on the spa jets and eased himself into the hot water, tilting his head back against a long cushion.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” he said loud enough for her to hear.

  The bathroom door opened and Rachel glided out in all her splendor, wearing a sheer pearl cover-up that left just enough to the imagination. Almost as tall as Billy, with olive skin and piercing hazel eyes, she was a stunning beauty.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  “Looks like I’m right on time. Have I mentioned lately how smoking hot you are? You could be working for Victoria’s Secret.”

  She smiled and stopped to offer a runway pose. “Had you forgotten?”

  “If I had, you just reminded me.” Billy stretched out his hand. “Come closer.”

  “Seems like it’s been a long time,” he said. “Too long.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “I’ll take the blame. But all the work is paying off. We’re on our way, baby.”

  Rachel put a forefinger to his lips. “Enough talk about work,” she said.

  Sweeping her dark hair from her face, she rubbed her cheek against his and breathed lustily into his ear. Is This Love cranked from the speakers above and all was right in Billy’s world.

  His relationships with women had always been temporary. He’d run a gauntlet of them, never sticking with one for long. In the end, they always seemed to turn out to be a distraction he didn’t need.

  Rachel was different from the start.

  She was at ease in any setting, work or play. Her luscious curves tended to catch the attention of prospective clients long before Billy’s business savvy did, especially when she flashed that beautiful smile and turned on the Southern charm.

  She was an asset, at least in his mind. Most everyone close to Billy told him she was trouble waiting to happen.

  ***

  They climbed out of the tub, toweled each other off, and made their way to the bedroom. Thirty minutes later, Billy rolled over in the sheets and exhaled deeply. It wasn’t quite a sigh of relief, but something close.

  “You’re amazing,” he said. “Absolutely amazing.”

  Rachel sat up and reached for her robe. “What did you expect? I hope I didn’t take your appetite. How about some dinner and another glass of wine?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think it’ll compare to dessert.”

  Rachel leaned over and held his face with both hands, looking deeply into his big, brown eyes.

  “I’ve missed you and your body,” she said. “Especially your body.”

  “I could tell, and I’m ready to get reacquainted further. Let’s see if we can make up for lost time this weekend. Fall and football and all those other f-words. Feeling free in Tennessee.”

  “You’re really good with f-words,” Rachel said. “Maybe your f-ing team will even win. Might as well dream big while you’re at it.”

  “I’m afraid my Vols are a long shot at best, but hopefully Jarvis will do his thing. This is a huge game for him on the national stage, and I expect him to rise to the occasion. The kid is going to open some lucrative doors for us.”

  Billy smiled contently.

  “But first things first,” he said. “Let’s eat, and then I’d like another taste of that dessert.”

  chapter nine

  The sea breezes were beginning to freshen again after a long, hot summer on the Gulf of Mexico.

  Frank Romano stood on the bow of his cruiser and looked out over the blue-green water as the speedboat approached just south of Grand Isle. Romano was rarely present for these clandestine deliveries in the barrier islands, but he wanted to be seen and heard on this day.

  The white boat with the canary yellow racing stripes slowed and the two men aboard got to their feet and prepared to make contact. They had the typical look of drug runners in the area – tan and grim-faced, anxious to unload their cargo and head back toward open water. Their boat bobbed in the light chop as the engine idled with a low growl.

  “Hola,” Romano said, leaning on the rail. “How’s the fishing today?”

  “Pretty good,” the driver said. “A big catch for you.”

  They tied off and the other man began pulling out small brown packages in shrink-wrap, dozens of them, and hurriedly tossed them onto the deck of the cruiser. The three bodyguards with Romano collected them, stacked them in the hold and threw a tarp over the pile. In less than ten minutes, the deal was done.

  “That’s all,” the driver said as he reeled in his ropes. “See you next time.”

  “Just one more thing,” Romano said. “Tell your boss that the last shipment fell short. Way short. Didn’t he think I’d notice?”

  “I just bring what they give me. If there are problems, you have to take it up with the boss.”

  Romano flashed a wicked smile. “There are problems. And since I don’t see your boss, I’m going to take it up with you and your friend.”

  The guard standing to the right of the big man raised a submachine gun and leveled it at the passenger on the speedboat. The man froze.

  “Tell your boss I’m personally offended,” Romano said. “And if it happens again, he won’t even get his boat back.”

  The sound of the burst from the Uzi rolled like a wave across the water’s surface. The passenger reeled backwards, coming to rest in a bloody heap at the rear of the boat. The driver looked up in horror, red spatter dotting his face, and gunned the engine. Soon he was a speck on the horizon.

  Romano turned and calmly walked into the cabin.

  “Let’s get back to shore,” he said. “It’s a damned shame we have to do business like this sometimes. Things used to be more civilized.”

  ***

  It was hard to remember, but there once was a time when Romano was kept under wraps, for fear of what he might become.

  From the beginning, his mother had tried to shelter him. She’d even given him her maiden name, which wouldn’t raise so many red flags along the coast. She tried to occupy his mind with productive tasks, tried to keep him away from the riff-raff that was always coming around.

  But nothing she did mattered for long.

  Unfortunately, young Frankie was his father’s boy. He had that volatile nature, that same cruel streak, and he was headed for a life of crime.

  By the time Romano was old enough to vote – not that he ever considered it – he was already bold, brash, and dangerous. The mob mentality was ingrained in him and he reveled in the sense of entitlement. He idolized his father, who was in control of every situation, almost to the end.

  As he approached forty, delusions of grandeur had long since taken hold. Romano’s ego and growing territory needed constant feeding. A Louisiana newspaper had recently referred to him as “the scourge of New Orleans,” and as the body count grew, there was no question that Frank Romano was a ruthless man indeed.

  At the same time, he was a shadowy figure with few direct lines of access, cunning enough to keep the authorities at bay with payoffs and sheer guile. He had become an underground legend in a city notorious for its corruption and blatantly lawless ways. Some said he was untouchable.

  “Don’t ever feel like you’re bulletproof,” his father used to warn him, “because someone out there will always want to take you down. You just can’t let them get close enough to d
o it.”

  Romano’s father, Anthony Matranga, would proudly leave the family business in the capable hands of his son when the feds finally carted him off to prison. And now, with his own being groomed for greatness, Frank Romano planned to carry on the tradition.

  ***

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Frank said as he sat across from the young man with shoulder-length brown hair and a wispy beard.

  Paul Romano had been casually picking a guitar in the cabin, emotionally detached, it seemed, from the mayhem that had just occurred on deck. He looked strangely out of place with this dark-haired gang of mobsters, but his eyes revealed that he belonged. They were as cold and calculating as his father’s.

  “Take us in,” Frank said.

  Paul carefully laid the Taylor guitar back in its case and moved behind the wheel of the cruiser. The engine fired. The other men braced themselves to keep watch on the short ride back to Grand Isle.

  “So this was my welcome home?” Paul said. “Was it really necessary to bring me out here on a drug deal and kill some poor fool right in front of me? Was that supposed to impress me?”

  “You just need to be aware. It’s a dangerous business full of dangerous people, and sometimes you have to send a message. You have to get your business partners’ full attention. I guarantee you, there will be no more shortages. We’ll have no more problems with those gentlemen. Understand?”

  Paul simply nodded and turned his gaze to the water.

  “Have you done any more with our little project in Tennessee?” his father said. “It’s time to move.”

  “I’m going up there this weekend and try to put things in motion. Tommy and Gene are already there. I think everything will fall into place, one way or another.”

  “Will the girl help us?”

  “I think so. She probably won’t know she’s doing it, but she likes me. We got to be pretty good friends in Charleston.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “She’s a free spirit. She’s fun, not to mention extremely easy on the eyes. I’d like to get her down here and show her around some day.”

  “I don’t think her boyfriend would like that.”

  “Maybe he could come, too,” Paul said with a grin. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

  The men sat quietly for several minutes as the boat made its way along the perimeter of the nature preserve. They had spent many afternoons in the waters around the barrier islands, where Louisianans went to relax and simply enjoy the tranquility of the Gulf.

  “I don’t want any problems,” Romano said. “What if the player doesn’t cooperate?”

  “I believe he will. We can play it either way.”

  “Your grandfather deserves to have this done right. He’d be proud of you taking the initiative on a job like this. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get you back.”

  “Me either. Strange how things work out sometimes.”

  Several brown pelicans glided by in formation, scanning the waves for their next meal. The breeze flowed through Paul’s hair as he drove.

  “I’m looking forward to the weekend,” he said. “A little shock and awe is always good for the soul.”

  chapter ten

  The men were hunkered down in a cheap motel on the edge of town, waiting for instructions. There was a growing sense of unease in the room.

  “This has a bad feel to it. Sending us here, to Knoxville, Tennessee, of all places? Watching a college football player? What the hell is that about?”

  Gene Casey sat on the edge of the bed cleaning a semi-automatic pistol, his eyes darting constantly as he spoke. He was ex-Army, an infantryman, thin with stringy reddish hair and a dark countenance that caused most strangers to steer clear. Even his few friends called him “Mean Gene.”

  Across from him, on the other double bed, Tommy Blanchard looked up from his carton of Chinese takeout and shrugged his shoulders. The two worked together often, and he took his partner’s doom and gloom in stride.

  “We do what we’re told,” Tommy said. “No sense getting worked up about it.”

  “I don’t like being told anything by kids. I gave that up when I left Afghanistan. What’s the plan here anyway? We don’t usually go anywhere without knowing what we’re doing.”

  “This is coming from the boss, not the kid, so you know there’s a plan. Paul will be here soon, though, and I guess we’ll find out what it’s all about. Relax.”

  Gene reached over and laid his weapon on the bedside table between them. The Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm was his favorite handgun, and he rarely let it get out of arm’s reach for more than a moment. Old habit.

  “I don’t trust Paul,” he said. “I’m not sure why the boss does either. He’s an amateur, hasn’t proven anything. That can be dangerous.”

  “But he’s family. Big Frank expects him to take over the business one day, just like he did for his father.”

  “Personally, I don’t see it. I don’t think Junior has the stones for this kind of work. Hell, wasn’t he playing in a rock-n-roll band or something not long ago? Seriously? Hard to go from that to this.”

  Gene got up and began to pace. His stint in the Army had molded him into a proficient killer, but it also had left him anxious.

  He parted the curtains and looked out the small window. There was a narrow view of the back parking lot, with the black SUV sitting beside the motel dumpsters. He could see cars whizzing down Interstate 40 in the distance.

  “You remember how to get back to the high-rent district?” he said.

  “Same way we went last time. I remember.”

  “You know I had a bead on both of them. Could have killed him. Could have killed them both. Easy.”

  “We’re not here for a hit, unless something changes,” Tommy said. “That was just a reconnaissance mission. You remember those, right? Maybe our football player ends up like his old man. Maybe not.”

  “Hard to believe he’s even part of the same family. Gonna be a big star in the pros, if he makes it that far. I don’t watch football, but that’s what everybody says.”

  “What about his brother? He sounded more like Daddy’s boy. Have you heard anything more about him lately?”

  “Not since he was down in New Orleans asking questions. I’m not real worried about him. If he’s a piece of garbage like Charles, he won’t be around long anyway. He’ll be flushed away.”

  There was a tap at the door, and within seconds Gene had the gun back in his hand and was staring out the peephole.

  “Housekeeping.”

  The maid tapped again and Gene suddenly smiled. “Want to have some fun while we’re killing time?”

  “What do you have in mind?” Tommy said.

  Gene held up a finger and slid the security chain off its track and opened the door. A plump Hispanic woman who looked to be in her early thirties smiled at him. Her uniform badge said her name was Maria.

  “Would you like service?” she said.

  “We certainly would. Come in.”

  The maid began to grab supplies from her cart as Gene held the door and flashed a sinister nod to his partner. Tommy put his food aside and shook his head.

  Maria walked in dutifully with towels in her arms, and Gene slid the chain back on the door. She stopped with a wary look on her face, and then gasped when she saw the gun in his hand.

  “We’d like the full service. Dos,” Gene said. “We’ll pay extra, of course.”

  Tommy moved close to the maid and waved a few twenties in her face. She dropped the towels on the floor and took a deep breath as Gene walked up behind her and began to unbutton her blouse.

  “You are bad men,” she said.

  “Bad men with money,” Tommy said. “Understand?”

  “Give it to me.” Maria took the cash and smiled. “And put down the gun.”


  chapter Eleven

  The final shots were squeezed off in short order.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  The silhouette showed three lethal hits – two in the head and another right through the heart.

  Billy stepped back from the stall and lowered his weapon with a sly smile. The shooting range owner, a gray-haired woman wearing a UT baseball cap, reeled in the target and nodded approvingly. She reached over with a friendly pat to Billy’s shoulder as they both pulled off their earmuffs.

  “Haven’t lost the touch, sugar,” she said. “A chip off the old block. How’s your father, anyway? He hasn’t been out here in a while.”

  “Don’t see him much myself. You know how it is with cops, Marti. Crime never rests, not even in Sevierville. Dad’s covered up behind a desk most of the time now. Guess that’s what happens when you get to be chief – farther from the action but responsible for all of it. Most days I think he’d rather be back on the streets, or out here target shooting.”

  “Tell him we miss him. There aren’t many guys left who have been members here since I opened. Hell, I remember you and your brother hanging around this place for hours as kids, when you weren’t playing ball. John was pretty good with a gun, but your dad turned you into a champ. And now look at you. How’s the sports agent business these days anyway?”

  “It’s getting better, knock on wood.”

  “Our Vols still aren’t much to speak of, and I hate it, especially with Alabama coming to town,” Marti said, turning her gaze back toward the big man with the braids, who was standing at a distance with earplugs draped around his neck. “But it’s not Jarvis’s fault.”

  Billy waved the receiver over. “Marti here would like to order up a Tennessee victory Saturday. Would you mind?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Jarvis said with a smile. “Just for her… and a couple million others in this state.”

  Marti chuckled and offered another pat for both men. “Y’all have fun. I’ll be watching.”

  “You better be,” Billy said, pulling a loaded magazine from his pocket. He changed it out before placing the black handgun back on the ledge in front of them.