What Lies Beneath: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 10)

by Scott Cook

  “I can’t see much past the water’s edge,” I said. “Ambient light is very low out here.”

  “Use the IR light on the device,” Scott said, “and I’ve got something that might help, too…”

  I hit the little push button to turn on the built-in infrared light on the monocular. It helped, brightening the immediate area but the water itself was still pretty foggy. At least that’s how it looked through the monocular.

  Suddenly though, it was as if the entire world got brighter and the monocular’s range suddenly doubled. I looked out with my naked eye but nothing had changed that I could see. No bright lights or a break in the clouds.

  “What the…” I muttered.

  “Infrared LED spotlight,” Scott explained. “Invisible to the naked eye, but like a super-bright Q-beam to the NVGs. I’ll set it up here and it’ll paint the whole area. See it yet?”

  I increased the mag on the monocular and peered out over the water, or what I could see of it through the trees. The lakes behind the property, that ran from almost as far north as 192 and south past Ronald Reagan weren’t really lakes in the traditional sense. It was more a swath of low wetland that meandered through scrub pines and in between neighborhoods and undeveloped land. Probably not more than a few feet deep at most. Although with all the rain we had that day it was almost certainly getting deeper.

  I wasn’t sure what I was looking for until I heard the clunk. It was a sort of plastic or wood on metal sound and it wasn’t until I heard it for the fourth time that I realized that it was. I spotted the source at the same time.

  “Two dudes in a canoe!” I exclaimed softly. “Paddling toward us.”

  “Bingo,” Scott said. There was something in his voice. A subtle change that had taken me quite a long time of knowing him to pick up on.

  Scott is just about the best-natured guy I’ve ever known. Obviously he’s funny and silly and thoughtful. He’s one of those people who would rather smile than frown under almost any circumstances. He finds life amusing and has no trouble being self-effacing.

  So it’s a subtle thing when that nature changes. It’s as if a mask falls away to reveal a person beneath who’s almost identical, but when you learn to recognize it, you realize just how deadly the unmasked man is.

  I say deadly but only to his enemies. It’s this change from easy going good nature to dangerous warrior that makes him a hero to his friends and a terror to anyone who stands against him. Sometimes it gives me a shiver when I see it happen. Most people wouldn’t even notice the difference, but I do now. I heard it in his voice, with just that one word.

  When he said “bingo,” I heard the mask fall away. Scott was deadly serious now. I felt an odd electric thrill crawling up my spine. Part excitement and part fear. Again, not for myself… that would never be a concern… but a sort of empathy for the poor bastards who had to go up against that man.

  “Helluva time to go for a canoe ride,” Scott stated.

  “Well… it’s quiet out here,” I offered.

  “Yeah… too quiet.”

  “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines,” I said in a gravelly tone.

  Scott snickered. Yet even so, the warrior was still evident in his tone when he said: “Can’t make them out yet, looks like two tangos for sure, though… wearing rain gear…”

  “Yeah, must be nice,” I grumped. “Oh, and look, skipper… bright yellow rain suits. Too bad we didn’t have those, huh?”

  “I’m sensing some mild reproach in your tone… isn’t it better that we remain stealthy? Concealed by darkness and weather?”

  “And pneumonia?”

  “Pfft! Okay, they’re definitely coming ashore right at the spot.”

  “Should we accost them?”

  “Yeah… but let’s give them a minute and see what they do. Either they’re here to search for something or recover something they already know is here.”

  We waited. The two men nosed their canoe up to the small sandy beach and the man in front got clumsily out, nearly tipping the canoe and dumping the man in the stern. He managed to get a paddle in the water and stop the capsize, but just barely.

  “The fuck, man!” the guy in back griped.

  “Dude, its fuckin’ slippery out here,” The man who’d gotten out said as he dragged the bow of the canoe up onto the pine needles. “Sides, it ain’t like we haven’t been out in the rain for like a half hour. So quit you’re bitchin’.”

  “See?” Scott muttered.

  “Bite me,” I replied.

  “As you wish.”

  “It’s fuckin’ dark as shit out here, dawg,” The man who was now climbing out of the rear of the canoe complained. “How the fuck we s’posed to do this in the fuckin’ pitch dark and shit.”

  “I got the NVGs dumb ass,” The first guy said. “Remember? That’s how we fuckin’ got here in the first place. And with these things on, it’s like daylight out here. Come on, gimme a hand.”

  “Uh-oh,” I whispered.

  Scott grumbled an assent. At least one of them had night vision. We’d have to be extra careful.

  “You got the shovel?” The NVG man asked. I thought his voice seemed familiar the more he spoke but wasn’t sure yet.

  “I got it, Deac,” The second man said.

  “Okay… start digging then.”

  “How the fuck I’m gonna dig when I can’t see my own dick out here,” The second man grumbled. They both sounded very street, but this one even more than the first guy. I suspected he was either black or a white guy trying to sound black. Probably the latter since his street thug tone seemed almost cartoonish.

  “I’ll tell you where to dig and you just dig the fuckin’ hole, Troy,” The first man, Deac, declared. “I gotta keep an eye out. And you couldn’t find your little peter in broad fuckin’ daylight, homey.”

  “Shit… I found it in your sister last night, nigga’,” Troy drawled.

  Both men chortled gleefully, obviously finding this the very height of wit.

  “Charming,” Scott muttered.

  “I don’t think they’re looking for anything,” I suggested.

  A pause, “No… I think this is a deposit and not a withdrawal. Interesting… let’s see what happens. I’m recording all of this, by the way. Wish they’d lower their hoods, though.”

  Troy dug for a minute or so and then Deac went to the canoe and brought something back and placed it in the hole. By now, the rain had stopped and Troy took his time filling the hole back in.

  “Least it quit rainin’,” Troy observed.

  “Yeah… I know we’re getting’ a nice bit of skrilla for this job,” Deac added. “But fuck me, dude… coming out in a rainy night when it’s like in the sixties or some shit… hope she appreciates this.”

  Troy snorted, “After this miserable fuckin’ night, she oughta appreciate this…”

  Troy thrust his hips back and forth suggestively and both men laughed again.

  “Fuck that, dawg,” Deac said. “Bitch is old enough to be our mama.”

  “She ain’t bad on the eyes, though,” Troy said. “I’d hit that.”

  Deac scoffed, “Nigga’, you’d hit a warm meatloaf.”

  They roared out again, obviously appreciating one another’s comic genius. Also obviously not worried about being overheard.

  “Jesus Christ…” Scott groaned.

  “Hey, you got one?” Deac asked.

  “You know me, homey,” Troy drawled. “Hang on, I got a baggie to keep it dry…”

  Troy dug around in his rain jacket and pulled out a lighter and a small baggie. Both men threw back their hoods as Troy, who really was black, pulled what looked like a joint out of the baggie and lit it.

  “It’s him!” I hissed. “Deac is the guy who fucked with me at the library this morning!”

  “Hmmm…” Scott muttered.

  “Damn, son!” Deac said as he drew on the joint and began to cough. Even now I could start to smell the rich skunky odor of mar
ijuana. “That’s some good tree…”

  “It ain’t just tree, dawg,” Troy said in that strained tone of somebody trying to hold the hit in his lungs while talking. “This here’s a special bone…”

  “You lace that shit?” Deac asked with pleasure.

  “You know it…”

  “Should we go after them now?” I asked quietly. “Scott, that Deac guy had dirt under his nails, too.”

  “You think he might have been involved in the grave robbing?” Scott asked. “And hasn’t even cleaned his fingernails.”

  I chuckled, “You know what else… he had a weird smell to his breath. Booze and cigarettes… but like… a weird chemical stink. I can’t describe it.”

  Scott was quiet for a moment and then said. “Crystal meth. Tweakers usually have a funky chemical breath. Bet that’s what the joint is laced with. Probably a couple of gang bangers here..”

  “Should we take em’?”

  Scott chuckled, “Dirty Harriet, huh? I’m not sure… if we accost these dudes, then we tip our hand. If we let them get away, then we can retrieve what they planted here… I think we’ll go with that. I think we’re still in the paying out the rope stage here. The more we know that our enemy doesn’t think we know, the better.”

  The men finished their treat and Troy pitched the roach out into the water, “Let’s get the fuck outta here, dawg. I’m freezin’ my balls off. ‘Cept this time, I’m sittin’ in the front seat. Gimme the goggles.”

  “Fine,” Deac said. “It’s cool… you know how to get us back to the truck, though, fuckin’ Magellan?”

  “If you got us here I can get us back, dick breath,” Troy jibed at his friend. “Course I ain’t so clear headed anymore… maybe we end up in fuckin’ Georgia or some shit.”

  “Georgia is north, dumb-ass… we gotta go south… you know how to go south?” Deac jibed.

  “Yo mama know how to go south,” Troy rejoined as they slid the canoe away from the bank.

  Both men laughed and climbed into the canoe and began to paddle away. Scott and I met in the clearing five minutes after they’d gone.

  “And here you thought this would be a dull evening,” Scott said, unfolding a portable shovel.

  “I’m freezin’ my balls off too, dawg,” I mocked Troy.

  “Least you keep your balls inside,” Scott replied as he dug. “My plumb pouch is shriveled up into a prune at this point.”

  I giggled, “I love your high-brow humor.”

  “Deac and Troy must have rubbed off on me,” Scott said, falling to his knees and rooting around in the foot deep hole. “Hmm… what do we have here…?”

  Scott pulled up what looked like a clay jar. It was about six or eight inches tall and about that wide. It had a lid and when Scott opened it, we could see several shell spear points and a few other items inside.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Scott frowned, “I don’t know… I’m no expert on this, but if I had to guess, I’d bet dollars to navy beans that its Calusa pottery and the stuff inside is from them, too.”

  “You and your navy beans,” I chuckled.

  “Hey, I’m in the Navy,” Scott explained. Then as Sherlock Holmes he said: “Hmmm… curioser and curioser, Twatson… this site has already demonstrated a potential to be an ancient Calusa site… and now, two elements of the unsavory variety have deposited an article, that if found by an archeological study would seem to prove that conclusively.”

  I giggled, “Twatson… okay, so this is weird… why do this?”

  Scott sat back on his haunches, “Virginia said that she thought that the reason Ted Blake stole the survey was to prove this very thing. Should this be marked as an official Calusa site, then it might delay or even derail this project. She’s got a limited time exclusive contract with EcoLife for their top-level solar and other green tech…”

  “You don’t think they’re involved in this, do you?”

  “Nah… but Virginia’s competitor might benefit from a delay…” Scott pondered. “Or it could be something else entirely. I mean… there’s the grave robbery angle, too.”

  “And you think their related,” I stated.

  He nodded, “I can’t imagine this is coincidental. My gut says no.”

  “That’s just hunger,” I said. “I think your gut just wants to cook me dinner. Not to mention get out of these cold wet clothes before we die.”

  “Yeah…” Scott said, but he seemed far away for a moment. Then he smiled at me. “Let’s get back to the cars and head home. We’ll grab a coffee on the way and maybe have something delivered. Remember, I’ve got to head out around nine. Only gives us a couple of hours yet.”

  10

  The feel of the almost too hot water on my body was a blessing. Added to this blessing was Lisa’s wet body pressed close to mine, also enjoying the warmth. Spending time out in a cold rain lets the cold seep deep down into your bones and it seems like it requires external and internal heating to get over the chills.

  “Ahh… so much better,” She sighed happily as we stood under the water. “Even the heat in the car and the hot Dunky’s didn’t quite do the trick.”

  I chuckled, “Spoken like a true Florida girl.”

  She scoffed and clamped a hand on certain exposed bits of mine, “Clearly I’m not the only one who’s effected by prolonged exposure to cold.”

  “Oh, real nice,” I said. “You know how fragile my ego is… You know that the meagerest of pressures can shatter the crystal that is my self-confidence.”

  She laughed, “Baby… I’m using two hands… isn’t that a clue as to my real feelings on the matter?”

  “Your hands are small,” I glummed.

  “Good thing,” She teased and squeezed me.

  “Is this just revenge for making you go out in the rain?”

  We laughed and finished our shower. I gallantly ignored what having her hands on my portions was starting to do and tried to focus on business. I did have to drive down to Collier County shortly and we were both hungry.

  “I know he said come alone,” Lisa was saying as we dressed, “but I’m sure he wouldn’t balk at having your partner with you. Maybe I should go with you.”

  “I’d prefer it,” I said. “You’re good company. However, I’m thinking our efforts could be best applied separately. I still want to scope this Clint Proust douchebag. And I think you tailing him around or peeping through his keyhole… literally if necessary… works out better because he doesn’t know you or your vehicle.”

  She considered that as we went to let the dogs back inside, “Do you believe him? About Sharon’s dad’s coffin being empty, I mean?”

  “Hmm… I think so,” I replied. “Not sure why. It isn’t like the man’s got any credibility, on account of he went and frightened me so with his shooty-poo and such. Yet it was an odd thing to say. Why say anything, and if so, why be that specific? I dunno… it’s weird. It’s especially weird because I can’t imagine why A, Sharon’s dad would be buried under a false name and B, why this false named coffin would be buried empty. What the Christ?”

  “I suspect it wasn’t empty,” Lisa opined. “That is, maybe empty of a body, but something was in it to make somebody want to dig it up.”

  “Or the robbers thought there would be something in it,” I observed.

  “Either way,” Lisa said. “Whether they found it or not, they expected to find something. That alone is telling.”

  “You’re pretty sharp for a beautiful girl with a great body and high IQ,” I said.

  “It’s one of my powers.”

  I grinned, “Okay, so you see what Proust is up to while I go talk to Uncle Rick. You know… I wonder…”

  “What?”

  I sighed, “I wonder if Sharon will talk to you.”

  “If she won’t talk to you, why would she talk to me?”

  “Woman to woman,” I said. “You’ve both gone without a father most of your lives… who knows?

  “I’d certainly t
ry, if she’d let me,” Lisa said. “But as you told me earlier, she’s pretty upset and flipped out on you on the phone earlier. I doubt she’d appreciate me trying to wheedle anything out of her. Maybe she should talk to Wanda Jackson, too.”

  I nodded at that. Wayne’s mother was a strong woman who’d raised him alone and had put herself through nursing school. Not only had Wayne’s dad run off almost from day one, but Wanda lost her dad in the 1980’s. He’d been with the Marines in Beirut.

  “It’s worth a try,” Lisa commented.

  “Well… first you can give her a ring while you’re driving. Sharon, I mean and feel her out. Just call to see if she’s okay and needs anything or wants to talk. Don’t push.”

  “I know. Just be a friend,” Lisa said. “I’ll only bring up Wanda if Sharon actually talks.”

  “Good. I have a feeling she knows something… or might. Something that we need to know,” I pondered. “Okay, I’m gonna hit the road, it’s just after eight and the weather still looks shitty. Guess I’ll pick up drive through.”

  Lisa’s large sea-blue eyes met mine and she came and pressed herself close to me, “I wish… wish we had more time. I’d prefer to send you off into the night with a fresh memory of us making love to go with you.”

  I smiled at her, “You and me both, gorgeous. But I’ll be back… sometime. Not sure if I’ll come back after meeting him or get a room down there… maybe even crash at a gas station for a couple of hours before driving back.”

  She sighed, “And you’re headed to Patrick tomorrow afternoon, right?”

  “Yes, got to do this weekend with the teams,” I replied. I was referring to my commission in ICE, the International Counter-Criminal Enforcement agency.

  “So I have to go two nights without you, not including tonight,” she whispered huskily, causing a tingling in my belly.

  “We’ll make time,” I promised.

  We kissed and I was once again off into the night.

  The night was perfect.

  That is to say, the conditions were just right for what I was doing. The night had a very palpable sense of heaviness to it, as if the earlier rain and the low cloud ceiling had soaked the fabric of the atmosphere and the very air I breathed and drove through was waterlogged.