The Drop Dead Blonde

by Bill Craig

  “You shouldn’t tease me like this, angel. One of these days I might surprise you,” Harker told her.

  “No, you won’t, AJ. You are too worried about ruining your friendship with Manny to make a move,” Tina said in a low-breathy voice.

  “You got me on that one. Did she sign the contract?”

  “She did. Did she give you the cash?” Harker waved the envelope at her.

  “She did.”

  “So, what are you going to do next?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Harker shrugged.

  Chapter Ten

  Harker had called Lisa and made dinner plans. Now, they were sitting in the Grove Bay Grill, looking out over the bay as darkness approached. Harker filled her in on Sylvia Cain after she filled him in about the jurisdictional circus that the drugs for guns bust had turned into. She had gotten a great story out of that mess.

  “I’m not sure that you should call your friend, Shane, for a while. Not unless you send him a case of Jim Beam first for his troubles,” Lisa smiled at him.

  “I can do that,” Harker told her. “Emma Cain’s aunt showed up today and hired me to catch her killer.”

  “AJ, you know who did it, it was Costanza,” Lisa shook her head.

  “No, Costanza took the fall for it. Raoul Cervantes was the one that gave the orders. But I have no idea who actually committed the murder. I’m going to keep digging until I find that out,” Harker told her.

  Harker had ordered the conch fritters while Lisa had ordered the peal-n-eat shrimp. They shared a bottle of Chardonnay.

  “Do you want company tonight?” Lisa asked.

  “You’re always welcome to spend the night, baby. You know that,” Harker told her.

  “I do, but it is still nice to be asked,” Lisa replied, putting her hand in his.

  “I know that. But sometimes it is hard for me to ask.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Me too, AJ, me too,” Lisa told him.

  The next morning, Harker rolled over to see Lisa’s sleeping face. It made him feel good. He loved her, though sometimes it was hard for him to put it into words. Sometimes, their jobs got in the way. Sometimes, it didn’t. He slipped out of bed and made his way to the bathroom where he took care of business before shaving and showering before dressing and heading downstairs to the kitchen. He had already fried bacon and was cooking eggs when Lisa stumbled down the stairs looking like an extra from the walking dead. Harker handed her a mug of coffee which she clutched as if it were a religious artifact, sipping as if it were the holy grail. Finally, she looked at Harker.

  “What do you have planned for the day?” Lisa asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Harker replied, putting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it? Looking out for the little people that the cops lose sight of?” Lisa took a sip of her coffee.

  “Sometimes it is, sometimes not. It goes on a case by case basis,” Harker shrugged.

  “Admit it. That can be scary.”

  “It can be, yeah.”

  “So why are you doing it?”

  “I’m doing it because I can. Emma was murdered because she was coming to me. I need to know why. Emma was a good girl by everything I have been able to find out about her. It ain’t much, but it’s what I’ve got,” Harker explained.

  “You hate not knowing,” Lisa observed, looking more human as the caffeine jump-started her brain.

  “That’s part of it. I mean, knowing what she had found that got her killed, that’s all well and good. But why did she decide to come to me? That is something that I need to find out. This not knowing crap drives me up the wall.”

  “But you’ll not let go of it, will you?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “It’s part of who you are, AJ. You love puzzles and riddles, but once you get onto one, you’re like a dog with a bone,” Lisa shook her head.

  “So, now I’m a dog? You didn’t mind where I was digging last night,” Harker laughed.

  “I was happy to make you howl, honey,” Lisa smiled back. They were quiet as they ate breakfast, but it was the comfortable silence of a couple that appreciated the subtle nuances of each other. When they were finished, Harker put the dishes in the sink while Lisa carried a second cup of coffee back to the bedroom to drink as she showered and got dressed.

  Harker used his cell phone and dialed Joella Cain’s number. He was a little surprised when Sylvia Cain answered the phone. “Hello?” she asked.

  “Good morning, Miss Cain, I was wondering if I could speak to your sister,” Harker told her. So, she had been telling the truth about being Joella’s sister.

  “Just a moment,” Sylvia said. He could hear her speaking, “Joella, it is Mr. Harker. He’d like to talk to you.” There was a moment of silence and then Joella Cain was on the line.

  “Good morning, Mr. Harker. Do you have any news?” her voice sounded hopeful, but it carried an edge of sadness to it that was nearly heartbreaking.

  “I found out why Emma was killed, but I’m still working on who actually did it,” Harker explained.

  “Why? Why did my baby girl have to die?” Joella asked, her voice shaking.

  “She stumbled onto a secret that her employer didn’t want found out. The big bust in the paper this morning, the drugs for guns story? That’s was what Emma had stumbled onto.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that Emma is a hero, Mrs. Cain. She threw a major wrench into the local guns for drugs trade,” Harker said softly.

  “She didn’t need to be a hero. She didn’t need to die!” Joella wailed, before hanging up. Harker looked at the phone. That could certainly have gone better. He figured he would be hearing about it from Sylvia later.

  Tina was already in the office when Harker got there, and he noticed that she had the top drawer of her desk open, her Ruger SC9 inside with the safety in the off position.

  “Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.

  “I learned in the Girl Scouts to always be prepared,” Tina shot back at him.

  “Isn’t that a boy scout motto?”

  “I grew up in a rough neighborhood.”

  “What is my day looking like?”

  “Well, Luther Haynes has some background checks he wants run, but I can handle that with my eyes closed. Artie Gilman wants you to call him about some industrial espionage going on. Oh, and Manny wants you to give him a call about those goons that you shot here in the office yesterday morning,” Tina told him.

  “You should have led with that last one,” Harker told her, as he headed into his office and shut the door behind him. He dropped into his chair and picked up the phone, dialing the local precinct and then Manny Mendez’s extension when prompted by the automated system.

  “Manny, Tina said you wanted me to give you a call,” Harker said, when Mendez answered.

  “Yeah, you could say that. Do you have any idea who those two clowns you shot yesterday worked for?”

  “Raoul Cervantes?”

  “Close but, no. They worked for Walter Gilchrist, who is one of Cervantes’s chief lieutenants.”

  “Is that from you or the boys in the Organized Crime Bureau?”

  “OCB. I’d never heard the connection before.”

  “We have it now. Thanks. That gives me a new angle of attack.”

  “Just make sure that Tina is safe, AJ.”

  “Not a problem, Manny,” Harker said, as he hung up.

  He could return the other two calls later. He walked back out of his office and looked at Tina.

  “Get an address for Walter Gilchrist,” he told her.

  Harker lit a cigarette while he waited, blowing the smoke at the ceiling fans that twirled lazily overhead. Tina got off her computer and printed him an address on a post-it note and handed it to him. Harker gave her a wink and headed out the door.

  Walter Gilchrist had an office on Northwest 7th
Avenue right next to the Miami River. It looked more like a residential neighborhood than a business zone, which probably meant that Gilchrist worked out of his home. Harker slowed down to read the mailboxes and finally located the correct address. He pulled into the driveway.

  Real estate in the area ran in the hundred thousand plus range. That spoke volumes about how much money Gilchrist was making working for Cervantes. So, it was time to tweak the bastard’s nose. He had to make Cervantes come after him. He felt that this might be the best way to do it.

  Harker stepped out of his car and walked up the long driveway. The asphalt was hot, the black material absorbing the heat from the hot sun beating down on it. Harker ignored it as he walked up onto the concrete porch and rapped on the door hard enough to make his knuckles hurt. Harker was actually sweating by the time the door was opened by a butler in full livery, complete with white shirt, stripped tie, and black tails.

  “May I help you?” the man asked.

  “AJ Harker to see Mr. Gilchrist,” Harker replied, looking bored despite the sweat dripping off his forehead.

  The butler ushered him inside where the air conditioning nearly made him shiver. The difference in temperature was more than thirty degrees from outside to inside. Harker followed the butler deeper into the house.

  The house was a two-story affair with close to thirty rooms. Cervantes made his living from the drug trade and so had Gilchrist. It was obvious from the opulent surroundings. Harker wasn’t impressed. He had put guys like Gilchrist and Cervantes away before. It was all about perception, so he made himself look unimpressed. Harker pulled out his cigarettes and shook one free and tucked it between his lips. He used a battered Zippo to light it. He blew smoke into the air.

  “Sir, you’re not allowed to smoke in here,” the butler told him.

  “I really don’t much give a damn,” Harker smiled, blowing smoke in his face. The butler waved it away with a look of disgust on his face.

  “As I can see, sir,” the butler grumbled, as he knocked on a pair of stout wooden oak doors. A voice inside called to enter, and the butler opened the door to usher Harker inside.

  “Who the hell are you?” Walter Gilchrist asked.

  “My name is Harker and I’m a private investigator. I understand that you work for Raoul Cervantes,” Harker told him.

  “Who?” Gilchrist asked.

  “Raoul Cervantes. Surely you know the name?” Harker looked at him.

  “No, it is not one that I am familiar with,” Gilchrist shook his head.

  “I find that odd, given that he is listed as the mortgage owner of this house,” Harker told him.

  “What do you want from me, Mr. Harker?” Gilchrist looked at him.

  “I want Raoul Cervantes, Walter. He had a woman murdered on my sidewalk. I can’t let that pass,” Harker said.

  “You put me in a most difficult position, Mr. Harker. I don’t know this Cervantes that you speak of.”

  “Bullshit, Walter. You see, I have documents that will expose everything about your company,” Harker smiled at him.

  “Do you really? I doubt it,” Gilchrist dismissed him.

  “Do you really want to try me, Walter?” Harker asked him.

  “Have a seat while I make some calls,” Gilchrist told him. Harker tapped off ashes into a crystal bowl on the big man’s desk. He had plenty of time to wait. A lot more time than Gilchrist had.

  “Take your time,” Harker told him.

  “I can do that,” Gilchrist sighed.

  “Talk to me about Raoul Cervantes,” Harker told him.

  “Raoul is a friend, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Raoul has his finger in every underworld pie within the city of

  Miami.” Harker replied.

  “Yes, he does.”

  “So, what has he got to do with the death of Emma Cain?” Harker asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I have no idea who Emma Cain is,” Walter Gilchrist frowned across the desk at him.

  “Emma was a pretty young woman with a long bright future ahead of her before going to work at Costanza Industries. She ran shipping invoices and noticed something funny about the invoices and was bringing her suspicions to me when somebody figured out what she had found and gunned her down on my sidewalk. I take that kind of thing personally,” Harker replied, as he ground out his cigarette in the crystal bowl.

  “That’s awful, but what has it to do with me?” Gilchrist glared at him.

  “You work for Raoul Cervantes, Walter. Even the cops know that. Raoul owns Costanza Industries. So, ultimately, he is responsible for Emma Cain’s death.”

  “I told you, Harker, Raoul is just a friend. Sure, he signed the loan for my house because we’re friends.”

  “You’re trying too hard to sell that bill of goods, Walter. I’m not buying it. Neither will the cops when I hand you over to them,” Harker fired up another cigarette, drawing an even dirtier look from Gilchrist.

  “You’re crazy, Harker. Get out of here before I call the police!” Gilchrist snapped.

  “So, call them,” Harker blew a cloud of smoke at Gilchrist, who fanned it away from his face.

  “I’ve had enough of your insolence, Harker,” Gilchrist stabbed a button on his desk and a loud buzzer sounded. A moment later a door opened behind Harker, but he was quickly on his feet and turned to face two ugly bruisers that had responded to the buzzer.

  “Remove him,” Gilchrist ordered.

  Harker sized the two up. They might have been good once, but had grown sloppy, thinking that as big as they were, nobody would dream of fighting back. Except Harker had been doing this sort of thing for a long time. He did notice that the second guy through the door had hung back to watch. To Harker, that made him the more dangerous of the two.

  The first guy charged him, arms wide open, trying to wrap him up like a linebacker coming in for a tackle. Harker kicked him in the face, standing the guy up, and then followed it with another hard kick in the groin that dropped the guy like a coconut falling out of a palm tree. He kicked him in the head on the ground to put him out for the count. By that time, the second man was shuffling forward, one hand up to protect his face, the other cocked back and loose, ready to uncork at the first opportunity. Harker smiled. He had won the Golden Gloves in boxing back in the days when he had worked as a cop.

  The man threw a punch and Harker slipped it, stepping in and hammering a one-two combo to the man’s body. The man grunted and stepped back, trying to put distance between them. Harker feinted a punch at the man’s face and then stomped on the side of his knee, hearing the muscles tear with a loud pop and the man tumbled over. Harker kicked him in the jaw, putting him out. He turned and looked at Gilchrist.

  “Tell Cervantes that I am coming for him,” Harker said, before walking out the door. He dropped his cigarette on the carpet and ground it out under his foot as he left.

  Harker was three blocks away when he had to pull over because his hands had started to shake as the adrenaline rush started wearing off. He took a few deep breathes and let them out slow, using the technique to calm himself and steady his breathing. It had been a while since he had been in a confrontation like that.

  Harker made a mental note to start hitting the gym more often as he put his car back in gear and pulled back out into traffic. He headed back to the office. He had a feeling that he was going to be having visitors and he wanted to get Tina out of there and out of danger. Gilchrist would call Cervantes, and there was no way that either of the two men would let this sort of affront pass. Not to mention the fact that Harker had cost them a few million dollars in guns and drugs. They couldn’t let that go, any more than he could let Emma Cain’s murder go. No, they would come after him.

  It was early afternoon when he got back to the office and Tina frowned when he gave her the rest of the day off with pay.

  “What’s going on, AJ?” she demanded.

  “You have vacation time coming and I’m insisting that you t
ake it now,” Harker told her.

  “Why?”

  “Because things are slow. Now get out of here,” Harker ordered. Tina flipped him the bird before walking out and slamming the door behind her. Harker grinned, shaking his head. Tina had moxie. He liked that about her. But there was no way in hell that he would willingly put her in danger if he didn’t have too.

  AJ got his Mossberg Persuader 12-guage out of the closet and loaded it with double ought buckshot. He then chambered a round and leaned it against his desk. He also swapped out the 9-round magazine on his Ruger SC40 for the 14-round extended magazine. The pistol was already chamber loaded.

  Manny was probably going to be pissed about the dead bodies that were coming, but he’d just have to get over it. He was already pissed about the number of dead bodies already involved in this case. Harker lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. He was the bait in this particular trap, and he knew that it was too good for Gilchrist or Cervantes to pass up. Whatever happened, he was sure that he would get one or the other. Once that had happened, he would go after whoever was left.

  His cell phone picked that moment to ring. It was Sylvia Cain. Harker answered. “Miss Cain, what can I do for you?” Harker asked.

  “What in the hell did you say to my sister this morning? She was a wreck after talking to you!” Sylvia shouted into his ear. Harker moved it away, so it didn’t hurt his ear quite so badly.

  “When you quit shouting, and allow me to answer your questions, I’ll tell you.” There was a long moment of silence.

  “Okay.”

  “I told her that the big bust in the morning newspaper was because of what Emma had uncovered, and that Emma was a hero. Joella didn’t take it well,” Harker explained.

  “I could see that from this end.”