by S W Vaughn
“Elliot Duran.” The man did a double-take when Jude used his real name. He pulled out the bifold and opened it to flash the badge — even though it was technically illegal for a P.I. to present badges to the public. Pretty safe to assume Lobo didn’t know that. “I have some questions about your boss and his little operation,” he said.
The brief flicker of panic in Lobo’s eyes confirmed he was onto something. But the thug recovered quickly and plastered on a sneer. “I work for nobody,” he said. “And you ain’t with the PD. I can smell cops.”
“You’re right. I’m not a cop. I’m a federal agent.” Jude darted a quick glance behind the thugs and saw Gardner on his feet, edging toward the leather jacket on the stool. “We know about the scam,” he said as he replaced the badge in a pocket. “Cooperate, and I might be able to get your sentences reduced. We want the big guy.”
“This is bullshit. First you’re lookin’ to buy a house with the wifey, and now you’re a fed?” Lobo took a step toward him, crossed his arms and jerked his chin. “I don’t believe you. Let’s see that badge, fed.”
Damn, that didn’t take as long as he wanted. Time to move on to the main event. “I’ve got a better idea,” Jude said. “Let’s see what you look like with that pool stick up your ass.”
The abrupt change in tone distracted Lobo long enough for Jude to wrench the cue from his hand and lay him out with a blow that sent him sprawling.
Unfortunately, the other three were already moving.
Jude didn’t bother holding back this time. He dropped T-Man with a kidney punch, kicked a third to his knees, and went upside the head of the fourth with the business end of the pool stick. By then Lobo was up for more, and Jude gave it to him — a split lip, followed by a cracked rib. The man howled and dropped to his knees.
The thug he’d kicked had circled behind him. Arms wrapped around him, pinning his hands down while T-Man came at him with a snarl and a raised fist. He crouched to break the hold, dropped the cue and grabbed Thug Three’s arms, flipping him over his back and straight into a startled T-Man.
Lobo had gained a knee. The fourth thug, a trickle of blood oozing from his temple, had a hand behind him — probably to pull a gun from his waistband.
Jude was faster. The Beretta he’d stowed in an underarm holster was pointed at the bleeder before he even had a grip on his weapon. “Try it,” Jude snapped. “No, really, go on. Give me a reason.”
The bleeder lifted both empty hands. Slowly.
Jude backed up a few steps beneath Lobo’s heated glare. He glanced beyond the thugs, caught Gardner’s eye, and the older man winked.
Mission accomplished.
“When I come back, it’ll be to see all you assholes in handcuffs.” Jude kept moving toward the door, and then looked at the bartender, who was reaching for something under the register. “You,” he said. “Don’t bother calling this in. I’m about to go have a word with the local law.”
He walked out knowing someone would call the cops, eventually. But he’d have enough time to get what he needed first.
Chapter 15
“You’re sure this gadget of yours works?”
Malcolm Gardner sat in the passenger side of the Camry watching Jude’s phone, which was propped in the console. The fire investigator had insisted on seeing the rest of this through, and Jude hadn’t tried too hard to talk him out of it. He owed the man — this would’ve been a lot harder without him.
“I’m sure.” Jude had already pulled up the monitoring app on his phone, ran a test to check the line feed and identify the number he’d tapped. It was definitely Duran’s. The only problem was he had no way of knowing when, or if, the thug would call Quinton.
He could still be wrong about all this. Maybe Quinton really was just an opportunistic scumbag taking advantage of a ruined neighborhood.
If that was the case he’d be back to square one explaining Sherry Price.
“What you did in there…” Gardner trailed off and gave a low whistle. “If you’re done with the CIA, ever thought about a career in law enforcement? Or, I don’t know, maybe MMA fighting? I hear those guys make good money.”
Jude laughed. “Not really.”
“So you’re just retired now.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He stared out the windshield at the darkened, quiet street. “Haven’t really done much since I got out,” he said. “This isn’t so bad, but I’m not sure I’m keeping the P.I. license. I want a place to lay low, off the grid, where I can … recharge, I guess. Shed some of the baggage, you know?”
Gardner nodded. “I hear that. Found a place yet?”
“Nowhere things won’t catch up with me.”
“Huh.” The older man looked at him a minute. “Ever hear of Stone’s Throw?”
Jude frowned. “Is that a place?”
“It’s what they call an ‘unincorporated township’,” Gardner said. “Right on the north tip of Back Bay. Maybe three or four hundred souls, a few little stores, and the best bass fishing in the state of Virginia. And here’s the kicker — you won’t find it on any map.”
“Really.”
Gardner held a hand up, oath style. “It’s true.”
“Then how do you know about it?”
“Did I mention the best bass fishing in the state of Virginia?”
“You might have.” Jude pulled a faint smile. “Stone’s Throw, huh? I may check that out.”
Just then his phone let out a long, dull electronic tone. There was a burst of static, and the screen flashed to life, showing an oscilloscope graph that pulsed in time with a ringing sound.
“Here we go,” Jude muttered. “This better be worth it.”
Gardner glanced at him. “Can they hear us?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Because if you’re right, I’ve got a few choice words to say about Ronnie Quinton.”
The phone rang four times. Jude half expected it to go to voicemail, but a male voice picked up with a harsh, “What? It’s almost midnight.”
“Son of a bitch. That’s him. Quinton,” Gardner said. “I don’t believe this.”
“I know, but you need to hear this.” Lobo sounded twice as pissed off as he looked when Jude left the bar. “Some asshole just came around here asking questions about you and the operation.”
Jude nearly laughed. He hadn’t actually said Quinton’s name or given any specifics. Just threw a bunch of jargon at the thug and let him draw his own conclusions.
“What are you talking about?” Quinton said. “Someone knows?”
“Sure as hell seems like it.”
“Who?”
“Asshole didn’t give a name. He just asked a bunch of questions, and then jumped us. Fucked up my boys pretty good.”
“One man jumped all of you,” Quinton said coldly. “And you couldn’t take him out.”
“Wasn’t all of us. Just a few. I don’t know, he had training. Like a ninja or some shit.”
“A ninja,” Quinton repeated dryly.
While Lobo sputtered something nonsensical, Gardner almost choked on a laugh. “Didn’t know you were a ninja, Marine. How many other jobs you have?”
“One or two,” Jude said with a smirk. “Don’t remember being a ninja, though.”
Quinton had stopped talking for a moment, and the cold coming from his end was palpable. Finally, he said, “Damn it, I need to know who this is and what he’s found out. Does he know about Lunn?”
Jude and Gardner exchanged a glance.
“Fuck if I know,” Lobo said. “The guy shows up earlier today trying to interfere with a sweep we were doin’, and he’s nothing then. We ran him off easy. Then he comes to the bar with a fuckin’ badge—”
“A badge?” Quinton practically roared. “You idiot! What kind of badge?”
“Claimed he was a fed, but it couldn’t have been real. He wouldn’t show it to me.” Lobo almost sounded proud of himself for deducing that. “Anyway, he spouted off a bunch of bullshit about how
they want the big guy and they’ll give us reduced sentences. We gave him nothing.”
“You gave him plenty. Goddamn it.” Quinton huffed a breath. “I want him found,” he said. “I’ll contact our inside people, find out if anyone’s been asking questions. He’d better not have talked to Lunn.”
“Relax. That burnout doesn’t remember a fucking thing. The shit we gave him, he could’ve gunned down the president and he wouldn’t know it.”
“I told you, it’s not tight enough. We can’t have anyone poking at the case. You morons used too much gasoline on him, after I said not to make it too obvious,” Quinton snapped. “You’re damned lucky I cut off the investigation. Or they would’ve locked you and your idiot friend up for obstruction of justice instead of nailing Lunn.”
Jude’s gut clenched, and Gardner swore a blue streak.
“Fine,” Lobo said curtly. “What do you want us to do?”
“Find this meddling son of a bitch, whoever he is. And bring him to me.”
There was another burst of static. “Asshole,” Lobo muttered, just before the screen went black.
“Jesus Christ,” Gardner breathed. “Jesus fucking Christ. What should we do?”
“I should get the hell out of here before they come out of the bar.” Jude was already starting the engine. “I can drop you at your truck—”
“No, I’m parked too close. Just … do you mind dropping me home? I’ll have my wife bring me back in the morning.”
“Fine. Buckle up.”
Gardner did, quickly.
Neither of them spoke until they cleared the east side without incident. At last, Gardner said, “I don’t suppose you recorded that.”
“I did, but it’s not admissible. The tap wasn’t legal, no names were spoken except Lunn’s, and neither of them actually came out and confessed.” Jude’s jaw clenched. “They set Lunn up. He’s innocent.”
“Yeah. Christ,” Gardner said. “But who started the fire, then? Lobo? Fucking Quinton?”
“Don’t know.”
Just then, Jude’s phone buzzed with a text. “Richie,” he said. “Do me a favor and see what he says? You can just read it out loud.”
Gardner shot him a dubious look, but he picked up the phone and tapped on the text notification. “He says … you’re a dick.”
He smirked. “Yeah. I am,” he said. “Does it say anything else?”
“No, it’s just … wait. Another one came in.” Gardner held the phone up and read off the screen. “Tidewater Industries. Formerly the Foundation Group Limited, reformed as Tidewater three years ago after declaring bankruptcy. Multiple lawsuits alleging corner-cutting, shoddy construction, and poor management leading to serious property damage and … at least two electrical fires. Dear sweet Lord,” he coughed out. “Both shell companies with complicated offshore backtrails under the parent corporation of…” He looked up. “Quinton Developments.”
Jude drew a deep, calming breath. If he didn’t, he was liable to break something — like his car, when he put a fist through the windshield out of sheer rage. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. He says now you have to tell him the story through interpretive dance.”
His own laughter surprised him. “He wishes.”
Gardner’s answering smile faded fast. “Tidewater built those apartments, didn’t they? Quinton built them,” he said. “And when they went up like a goddamned Roman candle, when all those people died…”
“He scrambled around covering his ass,” Jude said. “Bury everything, start over. This time with a higher profit margin.”
“How the hell are we going to prove it?”
“With extreme caution.”
“Good idea.”
For the moment, Jude focused on driving. He was almost too furious to see straight. There was only one thing he knew for sure.
Ronald Quinton was through getting away with this.
Chapter 16
There was nothing he could do until the morning, so Jude went back to the motel and slept. With one eye open and the gun under his pillow. He managed to doze off a few times and finally gave up trying to sleep around eight.
After a shower and a breakfast of vending machine coffee and crappy donuts, he called Danica. Kept things light, told her he’d found a few leads he wanted to follow up on but nothing solid yet. When she pressed for details, he said it definitely went back to the fire, that was all he knew for sure, and he’d tell her more tonight.
She asked him to have dinner with her. He agreed, not thinking about the implications of that until they’d hung up. Then he decided there were no implications.
Under these circumstances, there couldn’t be.
For now it was probably best if he stayed away from Victory Falls. He had no idea who Quinton’s ‘inside people’ were, and he couldn’t risk running into Lobo or any of his Squad. He’d need a lot of planning and precaution before he tried going into the city again.
But there were a few things he could do from Providence Forge. One of them was talking to people who knew Sherry Price — people who were maybe a little less biased than her ‘fave niece.’ He was hoping maybe she’d talked to someone, mentioned threats from Quinton that would make her change her behavior. Or hinted at the more horrifying idea that she was in on it for the money.
He went back to the laptop and ran a fresh search. Outside of family, it didn’t look like Sherry had many acquaintances. He focused on the Department of Building Development and ran across a semi-familiar name: Luis Costas. It took him a minute to place.
He finally realized the familiarity was personal. Costas had been a friend of his father’s, a buddy from his Navy days, and had visited the family on and off when Jude was growing up. The man had recently retired from a longtime position in the department. And he lived in Providence Forge.
It was the best lead he had right now. He’d take it.
Luis Costas and his wife, Bonita, lived in a trim cottage a few blocks from Jude’s childhood home. Bonita was out visiting one of their adult children, and Luis had seemed glad to have Jude stop over when he called.
Now they were sitting on the porch like good Southerners, drinking iced tea and talking about the past.
“I’ll tell you what, I miss your father.” Mr. Costas nodded as if he’d imparted some great universal truth, and then sipped his tea. “It’s a damned travesty what happened to him. To all of you.”
“Yes, sir, it is.” Jude had been careful so far, observing his manners and letting the old party talk. But he needed to start steering the conversation toward Sherry Price. “Mr. Costas, I wondered if you’d mind me asking you a few questions,” he said.
“About what, son?”
“Your job.”
The man laughed. “You mean the building development? That stuff’s about as interesting as drying paint,” he said. “You’re not thinking of going into county regulations, are you? Christ, what a snoozer.”
“No, sir. I’m actually interested in finding out more about one of your co-workers,” he said. “Sherry Price. I’m in town visiting a friend, Sherry’s niece, and she’s concerned about her aunt.”
Mr. Costas let out a long, drawn-out rush of air. “Boy, did you ever pick a hot mess of a topic for asking questions,” he said.
Jude smiled faintly. “Tell me about it.”
“Sherry … I couldn’t even begin to tell you what happened to her,” he said, looking off into the distance. “I mean, she was fine for years. A bit off the rocker sometime, but hell, we all get that way. Then she goes off Lord knows where, and she comes back…” He shook his head. “I didn’t know better, I’d reckon she was a different person.”
“That’s pretty much what Danica says. Her niece, I mean,” Jude said. “Did Sherry ever mention any problems with Ronnie Quinton?”
“Oh, you mean His Bigness?” Mr. Costas snorted a laugh. “I’ll tell you what, that man believes the sun comes up just to hear him crow. I guess she thought just about the same as ever
ybody else — that he’s a grade-A windbag. Come to think of it, though…” A speculating frown eased across his face. “Quinton started getting sweet on her after she took that leave. Maybe he’s anglin’ to make her his new mistress.”
Jude arched an eyebrow. “Mistress?”
“Oh, yeah. Slicker’n owl shit, that man, but the very married mayor was carryin’ on for years with the building chief’s daughter. Karen Copeland.”
“You’re kidding.”
“God’s honest,” Mr. Costas said. “Not too many know about that. Myself, I think maybe the VF sheriff, probably Quinton’s wife Priscilla, though she gave it the old blind-eye treatment. And the chief himself, rest his soul. Ol’ Bernie was fit to be tied over the whole thing. Wouldn’t give Quinton the time of day, once he found out. I reckon he didn’t believe a married man was a good fit for his daughter.”
“Think I’d have to agree with him,” Jude murmured. He was thinking about Lisa Copeland and her last few ruined years of high school, courtesy of her mother Karen. The out-of-work actress. “So the affair is over now?” he said.
“I’d say it has to be. Karen Copeland skipped town, just about six months ago. Up and vanished.” Mr. Costas shrugged. “Her girl thinks she run off to Hollywood. Finally going for that big break, not that Lisa’s too broken up about it. Karen was a real piece of work.”
“Yeah, she was.”
Mr. Costas took another sip of tea. “Funny,” he said. “Now that I think on it, the idea that Quinton’s been sniffing up Sherry Price’s tree — she’s got a passin’ fair resemblance to Karen. Especially now she’s wearing those power suits all the time, or whatever they call ’em. I guess His Bigness has a type.”
Jude closed his eyes. The idea was disturbing, sheer insanity — but the timing was right, and the stakes were high. Maybe high enough for Quinton to attempt something this crazy complicated and balls-out brazen.
