The Charleston harbor was surprisingly active at this time, and on a Wednesday, no less. Personal watercrafts buzzed around from many directions, but still gave a wide berth for the large container ship heading up the Cooper River.
Rebecca Morn answered his knock, greeting him with a very nice smile, and waved him in. “Ms. Rhodes will be with you in a moment. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“Sweet tea would be nice, thanks.” If he had driven his old Land Cruiser, the one with the busted air conditioning, he would have needed more than one glass to get cooled off from the heat of the day. Now he only needed something to take the edge off the short walk he just had, as pitiful as it sounded.
This must’ve been what people who flew coach all their lives thought after they got a chance to ride in business class. He wondered how long it was going to take to forget what it was like and return to no AC. And then he thought about how there was no way in hell he was buying another vehicle without it. In fact, if there was any money left from this job after paying off all his bills, and getting another set of wheels, he was seriously considering having air conditioning installed in his home.
All this because two idiots shot up his old truck, forcing him to drive a new one.
While that was going on in his head, Cynthia Rhodes walked into the entryway carrying his glass of tea. She handed it to him. “Mr. Carraway, why don’t we talk in my study?”
With that, she led him through the long hall to the back office she referred to as her study. The old wood planks creaked with their steps and the hundred-and-seventy-year-old wall imperfections cast shadows from the natural light streaming through wavy windows. Through them, he saw Trigger Rick wiping down the Mercedes in the backyard. The guy was still on the payroll, apparently. Rebecca Morn was out there as well, talking to him.
Once in the room, Cynthia Rhodes motioned to a couch facing a large bay window and they sat at opposing ends.
Blu drank from his tea. It was ice cold and sweet enough to rot teeth—in other words, southern perfection.
She said, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
He set the glass on a coaster on an antique table in front of the couch. “How well do you know Jimmy Zoluchi?”
“I’m not sure I do.” Her response was on the chilly side, but not as cold as his tea. She sat straight and rigid in her seat, all indicators on the defensive.
He’d wanted to rattle her with the question by implying he already knew she knew Jimmy. And by the looks of things, he’d succeeded. “I’m sorry to sound presumptuous, Ms. Rhodes.”
Her posture softened just a bit. If he hadn’t already spent some time getting to know her, he wouldn’t have picked up on it.
She said, “I meet so many people at these charitable events. It’s quite possible I’ve met half of Charleston.” She ended her sentence with a laugh, a head tilt back, and a hand to her chest.
Blu would bet money it was a practiced move, one used when she was working a donor or to break the ice. He was no donor and guessed it was for the latter. And he wasn’t going to give in so easy. “He said you two ran in the same circles. He even knows Jeremy.”
The hand left her chest and went to her still open mouth. She said, “Does he know where my son is?”
“I don’t think so. Jimmy owns car lots among other things and has the documentation of the sale to Jeremy to prove it. I have an unbiased source confirming the change of ownership of the vehicle. And Jeremy was seen driving a van matching the description yesterday.”
She said, “I think this Jimmy fellow has been to my events before. If it’s who I think it is, he tries to hob nob, but he doesn’t really belong.”
Cynthia could take lessons from Jimmy in knowing who they were dealing with. So could Blu. Intelligence, good intelligence anyway, opened doors.
“What are you going to do next?” She asked.
“I’m not sure.” He finished off his tea and set the glass on the coaster. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”
By the time he got back to his truck, the sun had set. And one of his tires was flat. As he bent down to look at it, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, and then his world went black.
Thursday morning
In his dream, Blu swam through a kaleidoscope ocean. Colors and shapes spun around, changing into new colors and shapes. It was like an LSD trip, or what he thought one might be like. And none of it made sense.
Cynthia Rhodes appeared and he set a course toward her, only she morphed into her son and swam away. Billie waved at him, but when he approached, she split into two naked nymphs beckoning him to come closer. He tried to stop himself but found he couldn’t. The current of the atmosphere set him on a trajectory toward them, and he had no way to stop.
As he drew near, they both opened their arms, welcoming him to become one with them. Backpedaling with all the strength he had only seemed to propel him forward faster. Just as he was about to violate his relationship with Billie, a sharp pain jolted him awake.
Blu opened his eyes. His body ached. He tried to move and found his arms and legs tied to a chair. A belt secured him to the seat.
A dark-skinned man a few years younger than Blu held what looked like a thin, retractable antenna. The metal rod was extended. He smiled and swung it hard across Blu’s shins.
The pain felt like it was about to pop his eyes out. Blu grunted.
“Wakey, wakey.”
A closer inspection, meaning Blu focused his attention on the man’s face, netted large dark pupils glaring back. The man grinned, showing off stained teeth.
Blu felt himself grin. All he needed was one free hand and this guy would get stuffed into the closest blender.
The man with the stained teeth said, “I work for someone who wants you to answer a question.”
“He’s got a heck of a way of asking,” Blu said.
The rod whipped against his shins again.
Almost passing out for the second time, Blu felt himself shudder. He struggled but managed to gain control of himself.
The man said, “You’re to remain silent until I ask the question.”
The rod whipped in the air and Blu winced.
With a bark, the man laughed. “Tricked ya with that one.”
Blu felt himself grit and grind his teeth.
“Done talking?” the man asked. “Good. Okay, here goes. My employer wants to know where his product and his money is. That’s the question you need to answer.”
Through gritted teeth, Blu said, “That’s not a question.”
And this time the rod swung through the air. It struck the same spot it had the past three times.
Blu did not flinch or grunt when it hit. Internalizing the pain, he used the energy it generated to flex his arms.
The man didn’t have true interrogation skills, the first of which was to make sure the bound detainee could not free himself.
The cheap twine snapped under the force. Blu’s hands were free.
The whites of the man’s eyes grew as Blu unclasped the belt holding him in the seat with one motion.
Then he hurled himself at the man.
The man tried to step back but wasn’t fast enough.
Blu’s legs were still bound to the chair, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his hands around the man’s neck. They crashed onto the floor, Blu on top.
The man dropped the antenna and grabbed at the hands around his throat.
Blu held onto him like a vise, unrelenting.
The man tried to cough but couldn’t do anything. He slapped at Blu’s face. Blu didn’t let go. The man’s face turned red, then white, then blue, and he stopped moving his arms.
Blu let go of the man’s neck and reached back to free himself from being bound to the chair on top of his legs.
Th
e man lay still.
Blu checked for a pulse. There but faint. He kicked the chair away and got up.
Lucky for him, no one else was with them. Blu scanned the surroundings and found himself in what looked like the same hotel room the naked women had been in.
There had to be more to this. But at the moment, the only one who could answer the question was out cold. Depending on how much blood had been blocked from going to the brain, the man might never wake up. And that would be a real tragedy.
Blu rubbed his wrists, unwrapped one of the complimentary plastic cups in the room and filled it with tap water. He drank several cupfuls while he thought about his next move.
Thursday morning
Crome woke, found himself on Blu’s couch, and remembered how he’d gotten there. To him, headaches were just another ailment that came with age. And a headache that came from sharing a bottle of Crown with Jimmy Z. was easily cured with caffeine and aspirin. Sometimes it paid to have such a large tolerance for the go-go juice.
He stumbled to the bathroom, found a large jar of generic aspirin, and carried it to the kitchen where he found an old orange juice quart jar full of Blu’s cold coffee in the fridge.
After first whetting his whistle with a long swig, he swallowed four of the powdery white pills and washed them down with another gulp.
Yesterday’s conversation with Jimmy came to mind. Jimmy was not dumb. He was hiding out, which wasn’t a good thing for someone at his level. It showed weakness, something he couldn’t afford to do. Which meant Jimmy wasn’t just hiding. He probably had some of his men combing the streets looking for information on who was after him. Which meant Jeremy had another set of problems headed his way.
Crome found his phone and tried Blu, but it went straight to voicemail.
Then he tried Harmony. She answered in her usual perky voice. Crome knew there was a God in heaven because it would have taken someone with infinite power to create perfect specimens such as Harmony and her cohort, Tess.
Yep. Blu could be a pain when he felt the need to follow rules. But he had some really interesting connections.
Harmony, one of the really interesting connections, said, “Tess found a stripper who knows Jeremy.”
“That only narrows it down to every stripper in Charleston County,” he said, his sarcasm having a bit of knife edge because the aspirin hadn’t kicked in yet.
“Easy there, Tonto,” she said. “We’re doing everything we can here.”
Crome rubbed his face. “Sorry about that. Had a long day yesterday.”
“Maureen is one lucky lady,” she said. “Is Blu with you?”
It was a lot to process at one time. How’d she know about Maureen? And where was Blu? He said, “He isn’t here. I take it you and your partner in crime haven’t heard from him?”
“Patricia said he visited with Cynthia Rhodes yesterday evening. She’s trying to get a read on who Jimmy Zoluchi is.”
“Ms. Rhodes knows who he is. If she’s playing the ignorance card, she’s bluffing.” And where the hell was Blu?
Harmony said, “In case you hadn’t noticed—and I’m surprised in your line of work this is really a news flash—people don’t tell the whole truth. It’s our job to put all the pieces together to get the story.”
Who the hell was he speaking to here? Not too many kids on her side of thirty coulda made a statement like that. He said, “Job’s made you a bit cynical, I see.”
“No. I’m a realist. And you should give Maureen a call. She’ll like that.”
Was she giving him relationship advice now too? He leaned over and lightly headbutted the doorway—twice.
She said, “You okay there, Mick? What was that banging?”
“I’m still here,” he said, avoiding her questions. On second thought, damn Blu and his interesting sources. He didn’t need the headache. Didn’t need to be told how to treat a woman by some child barely out of diapers. “Look, lemme get showered up and try to find Blu. We’ll call you back.” He hung up the phone before she could stick another sword in his gut.
He found his vaporizer and took a few hits.
And then he called Maureen, who did, in fact, sound pleased he thought to call. This just got better and better.
As the adrenaline began to dissipate, replaced by grogginess, Blu checked his pockets. His wallet, phone, and keys were gone. He swiped the guy’s phone and used one of the hand towels to wipe his prints off everything in the room. Then he used the towel to open the door and let himself out. He made his way to the reception area of the hotel.
The man working the counter called a cab for him, probably just wanting Blu gone as well. He remembered he’d looked terrible in the mirror.
When the cab came, he thanked the man at the hotel and got in, directing the cabbie to the only place he could think of that would accept him in his current condition and cover the fare, the offices of the Palmetto Pulse.
As the cab drove away, he eased back in the seat feeling exhausted.
When he arrived at the paper’s office, he explained to the driver the news organization was going to pay the fare and stumbled out of the cab.
Miss Dell must have seen him slowly making his way to the front door because she held it open for him.
He pointed to the cab. “Can you get Patricia to pay the man for me? I’m a little short.”
She touched the side of his head. “You okay, baby?”
“No,” he said, feeling things slow down. “Not really.”
Then he passed out. The last thing he felt was falling into her soft bosom.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thursday, early afternoon
Crome hovered over the doctor examining Blu, agitated and unhinged.
The doctor, Patricia’s personal physician, said, “He’s been drugged. Not sure with what.”
“No kidding,” Crome said. “They pay you big bucks for this type of diagnosis, doc?”
Looking Crome in the eye, the doctor said, “I’d guess etorphine. Frankly, he’s lucky they got the dosage right or he’d be dead. I’ll rush the tox screen through just to be safe.”
Patricia pulled Crome away and, to the doctor, said, “Thanks, Dennis. What do we need to do for him?”
“I recommend you admit him.” Dennis the doctor closed a small bag he had carried with him. “Keep him there for observation for at least twenty-four hours.”
Crome started to reply, but Patricia cut him off. “Thanks again, Dennis. Send me your expenses for the day, okay? Miss Dell will see you out.”
Dennis the doctor left.
Patricia looked at Crome. “He was just trying to help.”
“I want to know what they gave him. And then I want to kill them all.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that in case I’m asked in court,” she said.
“You do that.”
Fortunately for everyone, Blu regained consciousness an hour later even more chipper than usual, as if he’d spent the night with Billie or something.
Standing over him again, Crome said, “You really are a pain in the ass. You know that?”
Blu felt himself smile even as Crome called him a pain in the ass. He couldn’t help it. He felt much better. Refreshed, even. He took in Crome, his long hair subdued by a bandana, the week-old beard around his mustache, ripped vest, and worn jeans.
He said, “And you need to think about changing your wardrobe.”
Crome said, “Really? Like I’m going to take fashion advice from the man in black? I appreciate the whole Johnny Cash thing you got going on there, but you look more like the boy named Sue.”
Patricia said, “Well, I guess he’s going to be all right.”
“He better be,” Crome said, “or you’re going to have to get a refund from that doctor.”
“What doctor?” Blu asked,
sitting up.
“The one with the rectal thermometer,” Crome said. “Of course, you were lying on your back, so he had to administer it orally.”
“Very funny. I guess that’s why I have a bad taste in my mouth.”
Patricia said, “That’s probably from the drugs they injected you with. We’re getting a toxicology report on what’s in your system.”
Crome asked, “Any idea who did this?”
Harmony came into the room. “The phone Blu swiped has calls to and from Columbia—the state capital, not the country.”
Patricia said, “That’s not the first time the city’s come up in this.”
Crome seemed to ponder something.
Blu said, “What?”
His partner said, “Skull.”
“Skull? Really?” Patricia asked. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s the biggest hood in the state.”
Blu and Crome had run across this individual before during previous jobs. Based in Columbia, the Capital of South Carolina, the man had until now stuck to his own backyard, letting local minions handle things in Charleston.
Crome said, “The question we need to be asking ourselves is why he didn’t kill you.”
“Thanks a lot, partner. Looking to get my corner office already?”
“Naw,” Crome said. “You know me. My corner office is my bike.”
“My guess is I’m still alive because no one has found Jeremy yet.” Blu swung his feet onto the floor, took a deep breath, and stood. The floor didn’t move on him, and he still felt pretty good. Two weeks after taking the job for Cynthia Rhodes, and all he had to show for it so far was being knocked out by some drug. Just great.
Harmony dropped them off at the SUV. The tire was still flat, and now a parking ticket waved in the wind, partially pinned to the windshield by a wiper. Blu used Crome’s phone to call the agency where he rented the truck from and they sent someone out with another vehicle. The man arrived with a master key, changed the tire, and drove it away.
In It for the Money Page 18
