In It for the Money

by David Burnsworth

  With more than a hint of disbelief, Billie said, “The two men, one of which you shot twice?”

  “Yes.”

  “He tried to grab me,” Tess said, “and Blu shot him.”

  While the truth was supposed to set one free, this wasn’t one of those times. Billie did not need to have the image of her man trying to be a hero by saving another woman. She was not a jealous person, per se, but he didn’t want to find out where her limits were. It was bad enough he was working with Harmony and Tess. Worse would be getting caught in a compromising situation. The day’s events could almost qualify.

  Billie said, “I see.”

  The tone she used said to Blu she very much didn’t see, and didn’t want to see, and really didn’t want to hear anything else.

  So, of course, Tess said, “He really did save me.”

  Needless to say, the evening for Blu went downhill from there.

  Tuesday

  Alone on his island home the next morning, Blu received a call from Crome. His business partner had spent the night in Myrtle Beach, a fine time for a vacation getaway, Blu thought but didn’t say, especially since Billie didn’t let him spend the night and had sent him off with Tess with nothing but a peck on the cheek. Tess bailed on him as well, citing a date with a newly-minted doctor.

  Patricia, most likely sensing his lack of companionship for the evening, had invited Blu back to her house. If he didn’t know better, and Blu usually didn’t, he’d say her motives were not entirely pure either. Sometimes the young, attractive females weren’t the ones to worry about. Sometimes the older, more experienced women were the real vamps. Blu hoped his impression of Patricia was wrong inasmuch as she and her staff had been helpful. And after one cup of coffee, he did manage to escape her lair with nary a physical impropriety. Maybe his mind was just playing tricks.

  Crome said, “What happened?”

  Blu gave him the chain of events.

  “You talk to Gladys yet?”

  Blu had a perfect view of the lowcountry marsh from his front porch. He said, “Why would I need to talk to Gladys?”

  “The plates I got her yesterday,” Crome said. “You know, just because you had to shoot some fat loser doesn’t mean you have an excuse for brain scramble. I mean, get with it or pick another profession.”

  The call ended.

  Typical Crome.

  Sometimes his bedside manner left a lot to be desired.

  Either that, or the biker was right. Why was Blu feeling so out of it? Putting two slugs in some thug shouldn’t have bothered him in the least. The guy had called him out, tried to make a move, and Blu showed him he meant business.

  What he should be worrying about is retaliation from the man’s brother, if that’s who he really was.

  And how to smooth things over with Billie.

  But in the meantime, where the hell was Jimmy?

  More important, where the hell was Jeremy Rhodes?

  Thanks to Maureen, and now Gladys, Crome had a lead on Jimmy. At least a few addresses to check out. Something told him Jimmy was a key to this, otherwise the whole hostage scene was one big fluke.

  He rode his bike a few blocks west of the bar where Maureen worked to the first address Gladys had given him belonging to the guy in the green shirt. It was an old mill-style home set back from the road with a sand and gravel drive, sparse grass, and junk lying around the lot. Along with one of those satellite dishes for picking up television channels. And, lo and behold, there was Jimmy’s pride and joy, a 1972 Monte Carlo, white with a black vinyl top, polished Rallye rims, and white wall tires.

  While the mid-level gangster could have just about any set of wheels he wanted, Crome liked the fact he kept it old school, classic and original. Crome wouldn’t buy anything made in the 2000s unless it had Harley-Davidson written on it somewhere. And for cars, he might have chosen a different make and model, but at least the Monte Carlo was the right vintage.

  Crome idled easily to a stop beside the classic Chevy, shut his bike down, and leaned it on its kickstand.

  Three pit bulls bounded out from behind the house at full gallop.

  Crome reached behind him and slid out his Glock.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Someone yelled, “Break!”

  The dogs, one black, one spotted, and the other a light gray, all snarling teeth, pointed ears, and anger, slowed to a walk and encircled Crome and his bike, each staying a few feet away.

  Crome hadn’t seen anything like it before.

  From the large porch, wearing an untucked short-sleeve bright yellow Hawaiian shirt failing to hide his paunch, dark khaki shorts, and flip flops, Jimmy Zoluchi said, “You’re sure a long way from Charleston, Crome.” To the dogs, he said, “House.”

  The dogs made one last circle around Crome, and then, with the black one leading, trotted back behind the house in a single file line.

  Crome dismounted and walked toward his sometime friend. The day was hot, just like all South Carolina summers, and the smell of the ocean was ever present.

  Jimmy said, “Come on if you’re comin’. Want a cup of coffee? Or something a little harder?”

  It was ten a.m. Time for something a little harder. Blu wouldn’t approve, but Blu wasn’t here. Blu hadn’t come up with this lead and would just have to get over it. Crome had a hunch Jimmy could lead them closer to Jeremy Rhodes.

  “Harder’s just about right.”

  Jimmy said, “I was hopin’ you’d say that. Everybody else here’s gone. I could use someone to drink with.”

  Then again, Crome might have to get Blu to come and pick him up if this turned into an all-day event.

  Jimmy waved him inside the old mill house. The theme of detritus covering the lawn carried over into the dwelling. It looked like men lived there. And only men. No women, at least not of the caliber of Patricia or Billie, who would have rather burned the place down than stepped inside. Soiled furniture, threadbare carpet, and nicotine-stained walls made up the living area. Also a newish big-screen. Jimmy led him past the mess of a living room and into the kitchen.

  Surprisingly enough, it was clean.

  Jimmy said, “I spent an hour getting this kitchen to where even I could stand it, and my standards are not that high.”

  Crome noticed a drying rack overloaded with dishes, a clean countertop and table and chairs, and the mopped floor.

  “The guys here’ll probably want you to stay,” Crome said.

  “Their mama died two years ago,” Jimmy said. “They have no idea how to take care of themselves. But they’re good soldiers.”

  He wanted to ask what his connection to them was but let it drop.

  Jimmy got a bottle of Crown and two tumblers and sat at the newly cleaned table.

  Crome sat across from him.

  “Well,” Jimmy said as he poured two fingers in each glass, “since you tracked me down, you probably want to know what the hell happened at my car lot, don’tcha?” He set the bottle on the table and raised his glass.

  “For starters.” Crome picked up his tumbler and clinked Jimmy’s.

  They both downed their shots.

  Jimmy smacked his lips, let out a chuckle, and poured another round. “For starters, huh?” He poured two more fingers. “Well, I’ll tell you. When that kid came in the office wanting to buy that minivan, the biggest heap we had on the lot by a long stretch, I shoulda known things weren’t copacetic.”

  They clinked glasses and downed shots again.

  Crome was used to getting intel this way. He’d become something of an artist in keeping his cool while the other man got soused. It wasn’t the volume of alcohol that normally did a man in, it was tolerance. And pace. And Crome was about to find out how well versed in this game Jimmy was.

  He was betting the man was a veteran, given his stature in the organization
. The faint of heart did not make it as long and as high as Jimmy in semi-organized crime. A few more years, if this hostage thing blew over the right way, and Jimmy would climb up several more levels.

  Crome asked, “Copacetic like how?”

  “Like the van was a rolling felony. Dark color. Tinted windows in the back. It practically screamed ‘illegal activity herein.’ And here’s this kid looking it over, doesn’t even give it a test run, which had sent three others fleeing in the opposite direction the thing drove so bad. And he pays the full amount. In cash. No haggling.”

  Crome understood what Jimmy said to mean he was not impressed with Jeremy Rhodes on a lot of levels. “That sounds like a lot of kids these days. Hell, I was a young idiot before I went in the Army.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Crome,” Jimmy said. “You didn’t change all that much.”

  “I’d say you’re right.”

  “See,” Jimmy said, “I knew who the kid was. Know his mother better than you’d think.”

  Crome raised his eyebrows. “So, tell me something. When the kid was in the office, did he acknowledge knowing you?”

  “Not at all,” Jimmy said. “I figured he’d want a friends and family discount or something. Also, I figured the kid wouldn’t appreciate me knowing his mother, anyway.”

  Smiling, Crome raised his tumbler and they clinked glasses again. “So you made some money on a lemon. I’m not sure where this is going.”

  Jimmy said, “That’s because you don’t have imagination.”

  “I consider myself more of a realist,” Crome said.

  Jimmy said, “What I’m sayin’ is even in my field, we run in similar circles.”

  “What circles are those, exactly?”

  Pouring another round, Jimmy said, “The ones with all the money. The kid was a real disappointment to mommy. All her friends had kids in the Ivy League schools. Jeremy barely made it out of high school. Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s got talent. That’s what landed him in the College of Charleston. But from what I heard, Ms. Rhodes wanted a doctor or lawyer in the family.”

  “Instead, she got the purple people eater.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “That’s an old song, even for us.”

  “You sure know a lot about this kid.”

  He gave Crome a grin. “I make it my business to know things. I told you I know a lot more about Cynthia Rhodes than you might think.”

  Crome let that linger in the air, took a drag on his vaporizer, and thought about what Jimmy was telling him. “I don’t get it. How is this connected to you being a hostage?”

  “Someone was sending me a message.”

  “It ended up as the main headline.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “thanks to you and your partner and that bimbo.”

  “That bimbo has better sources than both of us put together,” Crome said.

  Jimmy said, “And she and her alter ego wear the tight dresses to show them all off too.”

  It wasn’t exactly the point Crome was trying to make, but he let it slide. Jimmy’s world was more black and white than his, and this wasn’t the time or place for a debate. He said, “What message were they trying to send?”

  Jimmy tipped his shot back and slapped the glass on the table. “There are people other than you and Blu looking for Jeremy.”

  “I know that,” Crome said.

  “Yeah, but do you know why?”

  “Seems to me,” Crome said, “the kid’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer and did something stupid.”

  “I told you he isn’t stupid,” Jimmy said, “I heard he tested off the charts. He’s not dumb, but I found him lacking in what we call common sense.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Far as I can tell, he stole something from someone big and the big man wants it back.”

  He said, “Is that what he needed the van for?”

  “I’d say yes. But I’m not sure exactly what you can steal that fits in a minivan that only requires one man to handle. Oh, and that’s worth anything. I mean gold or diamonds or something, but if you have so much you need something with that much space to carry, you need a truck with some load capacity, not no minivan.”

  “What else do you know?” Crome asked.

  “About the Rhodes kid? I know no one’s seen him. And these are people with connections. They can track bank accounts and things no problem. As far as I can tell, he’s gone underground.”

  The kid’s living in the van, Crome thought but didn’t say.

  Jimmy said, “This whole thing’s got Merlyne weirded out. She left to visit her sister in Boca Rotan.”

  “Merlyne’s the other hostage?”

  “My girlfriend, yeah. She’s my wife’s other sister. Her husband, my brother-in-law in case you’re having trouble keeping up, charged the police guns. Talk about an idiot.”

  “You were sleeping with his wife, right?”

  “That ain’t no reason to go all nutso,” Jimmy said. “Hell, my wife ran around on me. Must be a sister thing. I decided to go ahead and let her. She wanted a divorce, but I wouldn’t give it to her. Now she’s stuck. Prenup’s got her all locked up. I’ll tell you, it pays to think ahead.”

  “My partner and Tess Ray got busted yesterday in your brother-in-law’s apartment. They were following a lead. Two white guys claiming to be siblings were tearing the place apart.”

  Jimmy downed another shot. “He was into some heavy hitters for two hundred grand, what I heard.”

  Crome said, “I told you someone set us up and used your name. Went so far as to give us a bogus sales receipt for the van.”

  “I’m sorry about that. You know that’s not my style.”

  “I know.”

  Jimmy said, “I’m going to deal with it too.”

  The last thing Blu wanted to do was hitch up his father’s old utility trailer to the rental SUV and make the trek to Myrtle Beach to pick up one drunk business partner and his motorcycle. But for all his faults, Crome was just trying to get information. It was, after all, him who tracked down Jimmy. Blu decided to spot him this one inconvenience.

  On the trip up, he spoke with Billie on the phone. She was, of course, still pissed off. But not so mad she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to make it up to her again.

  Blu pulled into the drive of the run-down home at the address Crome had given him and was greeted by three growling pit bulls. He didn’t get out of the truck immediately.

  On the front porch, he saw Jimmy stagger to his feet, wave a hand in the air, yell some command, and fall back into his chair.

  Whatever Jimmy said worked, because the dogs quit barking and sat back on their haunches, now all smiles and tongues out and tails wagging.

  Blu got out of the SUV and hesitantly patted the closest one on the head. Honest to God, the dog licked his hand.

  The other two joined in and soon Blu was playing with all three of them, scratching behind an ear here and patting a belly there, and had all but forgotten about Crome.

  Until, from the porch, Crome said, “You gonna sit there and play with them dogs or are you gonna help me get my bike loaded up so we can go?”

  He didn’t swagger or slur his words, but Blu could tell his friend was drunk. Crome didn’t get sloppy, he became more controlled. Like the way he was now walking toward Blu and the dogs, a directness in his gait.

  Jimmy tried to follow and fell off the porch. “Dammit!”

  Crome didn’t bother turning to help the gangster get up.

  With Jimmy watching them from his new spot on the ground, and the dogs running around, giving a play bark here and a head bump there, Blu and Crome got the bike loaded and secured on the trailer.

  Afterward, they managed to get Jimmy back up on the porch and into his chair again before they left.

  During the drive back, whil
e Blu contemplated more than once about going back and getting the three dogs he’d just met to join him and the horses on his little island, Crome unloaded everything Jimmy had said. Even intoxicated, Crome replayed the conversation in great detail. Then the biker passed out.

  What Blu didn’t like was the part about Jeremy stealing something and now possibly being in hiding. He would rather have the kid making stupid moves and leaving a trail. But if it were that easy, Cynthia Rhodes wouldn’t need Blu Carraway Investigations, she’d need a funeral home because Jeremy would already be dead. At least the kid wasn’t that stupid.

  The one saving grace detail was the van’s registration. Gladys said it was registered to a business the kid listed for Jimmy’s paperwork. As far as Blu could tell, nothing linked Jeremy to this business but the forms at Jimmy’s car lot. And Jimmy didn’t think anyone else had made the connection yet. Aside from Merlyne, Jimmy’s receptionist slash girlfriend, no one else knew, especially since her husband was dead.

  While Crome slept, Blu used the drive back to formulate a plan. He needed to find Jeremy before anyone else did. But he had to be quiet about it. He needed to get information but keep the people being asked the questions distracted. He needed Harmony and Tess.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wednesday, early evening

  Blu dumped Crome off on his couch, unloaded the bike himself, and unhitched the trailer. After all that, he put more water in the trough for the horses, gave Dink and Doofus the last of the carrots, and headed out.

  Something about what Jimmy had told Crome concerning Cynthia Rhodes didn’t sit right. He understood money was money and all that. He even got that Cynthia would be trolling anywhere there might be willing donors, including social gatherings where hoods like Jimmy would be. What he didn’t know was how well they knew each other. And if they didn’t know each other, then how did Jeremy pick Jimmy’s lot out of all the used car lots in Charleston County?

  En route to the city, Blu called Cynthia Rhodes and asked for a meeting. He found a spot in front of Rainbow Row on East Battery, parallel parked, and walked to her Battery mansion.