Wild Gold

by Tripp Ellis

  “Think he did it?" Daniels asked.

  A deputy had taken Chuck down to the station to make an official report.

  JD shrugged. “Always a possibility. I mean, I can think of a million reasons to kill your wife. And 2 million reasons to kill your ex-wife.”

  Jack had six ex-wives.

  “He doesn’t really have an alibi, does he?” I said. “I mean, he could put on a ski mask, come up here, shoot his wife, then go home and act innocent? It’s possible.”

  Daniels frowned at me. “I shouldn't even let you near here."

  "Like I said, I'm ready to go home anytime."

  "The trouble is you two close cases."

  "Isn't that a good thing?" JD asked.

  “We could test Chuck for gunshot residue?” Jack suggested.

  “The FBI stopped testing for GSR in 2006. The science is good, but it’s just not practical. That stuff transfers to everything. And it lasts forever. A defense attorney will tear the evidence to shreds. Chuck’s a CHL holder. He’ll have GSR on every article of clothing in his closet.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Science.” Daniels sighed. His eyes pierced into me. "I just need to know one thing. Did you do anything inappropriate in California?"

  "No! I may have gotten a little rough with the guy, but he did horrible things. What was I supposed to do?"

  "Is this bullshit about you threatening him with a gun true?”

  "Absolutely false.”

  He hesitated for a long moment. "I'm going to officially close your investigation. But you're still on leave. You can tag along with this wing-nut, but no badge, no gun, no official duty. Got me? Not until this mess gets cleared up."

  "Sure thing, boss," I said.

  He leaned in close. "If this bullshit comes back and bites me in the ass, and you get a felony conviction, so help me God…"

  He shook his fist in my face.

  I smiled. "Trust me. It's nonsense. It'll get tossed."

  I wished I was as confident as I sounded.

  Daniels motioned to the crowd of reporters. "I don't need any of these vultures digging around for a story."

  "You seem a little tense," I said.

  "Hell yes, I'm tense. Have you been keeping up with the polls?"

  "I don't really follow politics."

  "Well, you should. They’ve got me behind in the race. Ed Carrero is leading the polls for Sheriff. Can you believe it? He's a City Councilman with two years experience in a patrol car. So unless you want to have another boss, I suggest the two of you keep your noses clean."

  "You're not going to lose to that guy. Everybody loves you," I said. "You can't believe the polls. It's all nonsense."

  "Yeah, well, Mr. Councilman has a lot of money behind him. Fernando Gallo is bankrolling him, and that guy has more money than sense."

  "Why is he bankrolling Carrero?” I asked.

  Gallo was a venture capitalist and angel investor. He’d pumped money into several local businesses and turned them around.

  Daniels shrugged. "Maybe I didn't kiss enough ass at some fundraiser? Who knows? You want somebody to schmooze, find somebody else. You want somebody to clean up the streets, you call me."

  "Preaching to the choir, boss," I said.

  I’d never seen the sheriff this frazzled. He’d been cruising along without much thought about his campaign. He’d been ahead in all the polls until this week. I didn’t know Ed Carrero well, but I knew one thing for certain… He was no Wayne Daniels.

  We left the scene and slipped through the horde of reporters unscathed. I climbed into the passenger seat of JD's lizard-green Porsche speedster. He twisted the key and cranked up the flat six. The engine howled as he launched out of the parking lot. The acceleration slammed me against the leather. The bucket racing seats hugged my form. Jack twisted the volume, and music thumped. Wind whistled through my hair as we headed back to the Sheriff's Office.

  Denise pulled the footage of the jewelry heist up on her computer. We hovered over her desk, watching the grainy black and white footage. Three assailants, wearing all black with masks covering their faces, stormed into the jewelry store. One had a shotgun. The other two had pistols.

  Shotgun stayed by the door, keeping an eye on the street, while the other two emptied display cases into bags. Patrons and employees screamed and hollered. The gunmen forced them down on the ground while they did their work.

  The trio was in and out in no time.

  These guys were slick. It wasn’t their first rodeo. Their disguises left no exposed skin, so it was difficult to learn anything about the perpetrators’ appearance.

  "Has any of the stolen jewelry turned up anywhere?" I asked.

  Denise shook her head. "Not yet. I don't know where they're offloading it, but they're not dumping it at local pawn shops."

  Denise was a gorgeous redhead with emerald green eyes, creamy skin, and lips that could inspire lurid dreams. She made the drab county uniform look good. As much as I wanted to get her out of it, we had decided to keep things strictly professional. I should say, she had decided. I was always up for breaking departmental rules.

  "How many shops have been hit?" I asked.

  "One last week. Another two weeks before that. Possibly the shop tonight?" Denise said. "That qualifies as a spree, doesn't it?"

  "I believe so."

  "We're going to head over to Tide Pool,” JD said. "Want to join us?"

  "I'd love to, boys, but I'm on till 3 AM."

  "Sucks to be you," JD said.

  She sneered at him, playfully. “Have fun. Think of me.”

  “We will,” Jack said with a lecherous grin.

  We left the station and climbed into the Porsche. In a few minutes, we were cruising down Oyster Avenue. The street was lined with bars and restaurants. Music filtered through the air, spilling out of the establishments. Neon lights painted the streets in a swath of colors. It was THE place to be after sunset. You could find just about anything to suit your taste. Upscale jazz. Dirty blues. Droning techno. You name it. The steady influx of tourists made for an ever-changing landscape. There were always new people to meet. Fresh faces looking for fun and adventure.

  We made our way to the outside bar at Tide Pool so Jack could see one of his favorite bartenders, Harper. The cutie with bright eyes slung drinks from a thatched roof Tiki bar near the outdoor pool. Bikini-clad beauties sauntered around with glistening skin and tiny patches of fabric covering sumptuous curves. Beautiful people frolicked in the pool, and music pumped through loudspeakers. It was easy to see why this was one of Jack's favorite places.

  "I haven't seen you around in a while," Harper said as she slid our drinks across the bar.

  "I was in the hospital," Jack said. "I almost died."

  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she gasped. "What happened? Are you okay?"

  Jack grinned. "I'm fine." He leaned in and whispered from the corner of his mouth. "Don't tell anyone, but I have superpowers."

  She played along. "Oh, really? What's your superpower?"

  He whispered something in her ear. She giggled, and her cheeks flushed.

  "Good to know," she said with a mischievous grin.

  Jack paid for the drinks and stuffed a healthy tip in her jar.

  We strolled to lounge chairs by the pool and reclined.

  Jack muttered. "I'm telling you, I've got her intrigued. It's only a matter of time."

  I rolled my eyes at Jack's optimism. I didn’t think he would ever score Harper.

  Jack took a sip of whiskey. "So, I've been thinking…"

  "Should I be frightened?"

  His face crinkled at me. "We should throw a massive blow out on the boat. Pull out all the stops. One last party."

  "One last party? I thought you said we weren’t going to get rid of the boat, no matter what happened?"

  Jack shrugged. "You’ve got felony charges pending, a wrongful death suit, and a breach of contract suit from the studio. I'm thinking that hanging onto a high-tick
et luxury item might not be in your best financial interest. And swinging the monthly note on that thing all by my lonesome is not ideal."

  4

  I almost didn't see it. The guy was pretty slick about it.

  The blonde he was talking to was completely oblivious. She had been distracted by another guy, and the two men were probably working in tandem.

  In the palm of his hand, he concealed a dropper. He passed it over the blonde’s drink, squeezed in a clear liquid, then slid the dropper back into the bottle. He screwed the lid on tight and shoved it into his pocket without the girl ever knowing.

  The blonde was a knockout.

  Blue eyes, tanned skin, sculpted cheekbones, and all-natural endowments.

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on.

  I launched from my lounge chair and stormed toward the creep.

  The girl was about to take a sip of her newly spiked drink when I knocked the glass of red fruity liquid from her hand. It spilled, and the glass shattered on the concrete. Shards of glass danced like diamonds.

  "Hey, what the fuck, Mister?" the blonde slurred.

  She was already quite tipsy.

  I grabbed the Creep by the throat and squeezed. His eyes bulged, and his hands clutched at my wrists. "What did you put in her drink?"

  "Nothing man, I swear,” Creep scratched out.

  His friend took a swing at me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fist careen toward my face.

  I spun the Creep aside, blocking his friend’s blow with his head. The punch knocked Creep to the ground, and by the time his friend reared back for another swing, JD was there, flashing his badge.

  "Deputy Sheriff!" Jack shouted.

  He loved saying that.

  Creep’s friend backed down.

  Jack pulled a pair of handcuffs from a cargo pocket and slapped them onto the Creep. With his wrists secured behind his back, I searched the pockets of the pervert. I found an amber tincture bottle labeled GHB (gama-hydroxybutyric acid). It had sedative properties, and would bring on drowsiness within a half an hour. Combined with alcohol, it would make the blonde extremely compliant.

  The blonde's eyes widened when she saw the drug. She kicked the Creep in his chest while he lay on the ground. "Fucker! You were going to drug me?"

  "Ma'am, please don't kick the suspect," Jack said.

  He moved to stand in between her and the perp.

  The blonde continued to bark at the Creep. "You're a dick! And FYI, you didn't need to drug me to get some. I was already going to give it up." She sneered at the two men. "I want to press charges."

  I called for a patrol unit, and two uniformed deputies showed up 15 minutes later and arrested the guy. His friend claimed to have no knowledge of the Creep’s actions.

  I urged the young blonde to be a little more self-aware when she was out with strangers.

  She thanked me, then mingled through the crowd, looking for her girlfriends.

  We left the club, and Jack dropped me off at Diver Down. The Porsche rumbled away into the night as I strolled into the restaurant and took a seat at the bar.

  Harlan sat in his usual spot. The old Marine was pretty well liquored up by this point. He'd been sitting there all day. He sat there all day every day.

  Madison worked the bar, wearing her standard uniform of a bikini top and jean shorts—no shoes. Her baby bump was getting bigger. "Can I get you anything?"

  "No. Thanks."

  "You sure? It's last call. I’m about to shut it down."

  "I'm good."

  Madison strolled around the bar, taking last requests.

  A commercial for Ed Carrero flashed on the screen. It was a negative ad and cited the unfavorable statistics of rising crime in the area. Coconut Key was a paradise. The downside was, because of its location, it was a hub for drug trafficking, money laundering, and other illicit activities.

  Harlan muttered, "I like Wayne. But I think maybe we need a change?"

  I gave him a sour look. "Ed Carrero is not the change we need. Daniels is doing a great job.“

  "Do you want me to give you a list of all the crazy shit that’s happened around here lately? That young woman was brutally murdered tonight. What are y'all doing to stop that?"

  "Daniels doesn't have a crystal ball. He can't predict this stuff."

  "Well, I don't know what needs to be done. But something needs to happen."

  "If anybody's equipped to handle the job, it's Wayne Daniels. I assure you."

  Harlan had a doubtful expression. "Hell, I should form my own vigilante posse. I'll clean up this place."

  I chuckled. Then joked, "Maybe Wayne ought to deputize you?"

  Harlan puffed up for a minute. "Will I get one of them shiny gold badges?"

  "All deputies have them."

  He thought about it for a moment, then dismissed it. "Nah, might cut into my drinking time."

  He took a sip of his beer and turned his attention back to the television.

  Madison made her way back around to me. "Hey, I'm thinking of taking a little vacation soon. Alejandro is going to look after the place for me, but can you keep an eye on things?"

  "Sure. When are you going? And where?"

  Her face crinkled. "I haven't decided yet. I just need to escape for a bit. It might be the last time I get a chance for a long while. I'm super stressed out right now. Lot of changes coming."

  I smiled. "Good changes. I'm here whenever you need me. Just let me know."

  Madison flashed her pearly whites. "You know, you're not the worst brother in the world."

  I lifted my brow, surprised. "You're a lot nicer when you're pregnant."

  She swatted at me, playfully. "I'm nice all the time."

  I gave her a contrary glance.

  "I may have said some harsh things in the past and been a little too quick to judge. But hey, you're the only family I’ve got."

  "I guess we're stuck with each other." I grinned.

  I left the bar and strolled down the dock to the Vivere. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the boats in the marina. Water gently lapped at the hulls, and the boats swayed.

  I scaled the gangway and stepped to the aft deck. As I pushed into the salon, Buddy raced to greet me. I knelt down and petted the little Jack Russell. He had a lot of energy to burn. I leashed him up and took him for a walk before bed.

  In the morning, Jack and I went looking for Lil’ Big Money—A.K.A. Calvin Edwards. The fact that he had threatened Olivia Carson put him high on my list of suspects.

  5

  It was far from a Hollywood production.

  We finally found Calvin Edwards on the set of a music video shoot for his latest single. Let's just say that this video lacked the budget of his previous efforts.

  Sure, there were expensive cars, booty girls shaking their assets, and rappers flashing lots of shiny jewelry. But instead of a state-of-the-art high-end production camera, the cinematographer—and I use that word loosely—used a consumer grade DSLR atop a shaky tripod.

  Calvin lip-synched his song to music that blasted through a cell phone. All of the production budget had gone to rent a red convertible Bentley, with tan interior, for the day. It served as the focal piece to the music video. Lil’ Big Money pranced around the car, gesturing into the camera, throwing up gang signs, trying to look like a badass. He wore several diamond encrusted gold chains, and lots of gaudy gold rings.

  Calvin was a skinny white dude with dreadlocks and tattoos on his face. He had a gold grill that sparkled with diamonds when he smiled. He was trying hard to be a gangster, but underneath it all, Calvin was just a middle class dude from the suburbs.

  The director yelled cut at the end of the take. "Okay. I think we got it. I need some close-ups on the girls. We'll take it again from the top."

  The director picked up the camera and repositioned it for another shot.

  Calvin’s face crinkled when he saw us. He stormed toward us. "This is a
closed set. You can't be here!"

  Jack flashed his badge.

  "What the hell do you want?"

  "Calvin Edwards?" Jack asked.

  "It's Lil’ Big Money to you."

  "We'd like to ask you a few questions," Jack said.

  "I ain't got time for you. Can't you see I'm in the middle of a major production? This is going to be the number one, greatest music video of all time."

  "I have no doubt," I said, my voice thick with sarcasm.

  Calvin glared at me.

  "Looks like the music business is booming," I said, taunting him.

  "Fuck you."

  "Do you know Olivia Carson?" Jack asked.

  "Who?"

  "You know her. Custom jeweler."

  "Oh, that bitch."

  "Did you know she's dead?"

  He arched a surprised eyebrow. "Serves her right."

  "So, you two were friends?" Jack muttered, dryly.

  "She's no friend of mine."

  "Can you tell me where you were last night around 9:30 PM?" Jack asked.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because that's the time Olivia was murdered."

  He swallowed hard. "I was knee-deep in some sweet sugar," he said with a cocky grin.

  "And you have someone that can verify this?"

  He called over his shoulder to the booty girls. "Jasmine, Destiny... Can you come here for a moment?"

  The bikini-clad babes sauntered in our direction. JD was certainly distracted by their bobbling assets.

  "Can you tell these gentlemen where I was last night," Calvin said folding his arms.

  The girls each took a position at his side, pawing him seductively.

  "He was with us," Jasmine said. Her voice was like satin.

  "What time?" I asked.

  "Booty time," Destiny replied with a naughty sparkle.

  Calvin grinned.

  "I need an actual time."

  "We had dinner around 8 PM," Jasmine said. "Then we went back to Calvin's and pre-gamed. Then we hit Red Square about 11 PM."

  "So you were at Calvin's from 9 PM to 10:45-ish?" JD asked.

  "That sounds about right," Destiny said.

  "And you’ll testify to this in a court of law?" I asked.