The Bourbon Brotherhood

by F J messina

  Brad put down his glass. “And that raises another question. How long has he been missing? How long was he marinating in that barrel?”

  There was a moment of silence as all four of them thought about both questions. It was Jet who spoke first. “You know, Mason Holiday didn’t say. Honestly, I don’t think he knows.” Her eyebrows went up. “I don’t think anyone knows.”

  “If this was an official NCIS case, I could find out how long he was in the barrel by getting the body into the lab.” Brad unconsciously pulled on his ear. “But that’s not going to happen.”

  Sonia looked directly at Tee. “Brad still has connections at NCIS and can find out things most people never could. And he’s got a Corvette that’s loaded with cameras and other equipment that would blow your mind.”

  Jet gestured with her bourbon glass. “I’m guessing the best one to ask is Missy Charles. She’s his business manager. She must expect regular contact with him.” Jet nodded, agreeing with herself. “She’s the one to ask.”

  It appeared clear that everyone else agreed as well. Brad picked up his glass and toasted Jet. “Well, I guess we know who you’re talking to first thing in the morning.” He turned to Sonia and Tee. “Now, how are we going to split up the rest of the interviews?”

  Sonia raised a finger. “First, though, don’t we have to ask who benefits financially, I mean directly.”

  Brad was quick to respond. “Right, who inherits Victor’s money.”

  Jet looked at Sonia. “You figured out the family relationships. Given he’s divorced and only has the one son, wouldn’t the boy inherit everything?”

  “I guess.” Sonia ran her fingers through her hair. “But we should probably try to find out if that’s true. That is, if we can do that without raising a lot of suspicion.”

  There was a long moment of silence as everyone in the room seemed to be thinking about how they might pull that off. Finally, Sonia reached out and put her hand on Brad’s knee. It just gave her a sense of comfort to be near him, to be working with him again. “Let’s get back on track. I’ve got to say, I think the bourbon guys are the key to this. Someone in that group must know something. First thing in the morning I want to get in touch with Ed Rollins out at the James Bennington distillery. He’s one of the real key players. If nothing else, I think he can give me some context for all of this stuff, send us in the right direction.”

  “Sounds good.” Brad leaned forward. “I’m going to take a shot at the old man. If there’s one thing experience has taught me, it’s that if a man and his son are in business together, one of two things is true. Either the old man thinks the son hung the moon, no matter what the truth is, or the old man is pissed at the kid. If that’s the case, it’s either because the kid’s no good at doing the old man’s job, or because the kid’s too good at doing the old man’s job. I’d like to find out which of those it is.”

  A bit uncomfortable with Brad assigning his own task, Sonia hitched, unconsciously squeezing her fingers into a fist. Eventually, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Okay, then. At least we know how we’re starting tomorrow. As soon as we’ve spoken to that first layer of folks, we’ll get in touch with each other and figure out where to go from there.”

  “Hey,” Tee’s voice had an edge to it. “What about me? What am I doing first thing tomorrow morning?”

  Sonia gave her a motherly look. “Now, Tee. Remember, interviewing folks in a case like this isn’t as easy as it looks on TV. You’ve got to know what to ask, how to read their faces, their body language. I don’t think─”

  Tee struggled to sit up taller on the soft, cushioned couch. “You don’t think what? That I can ask a few simple questions. How the heck am I going to help you guys if all I do is wave goodbye as you go off to interview folks? Is my job simply going to be running downstairs to Magee’s to get everyone fresh coffee?”

  Sonia wanted to answer “Yes.” She still wasn’t comfortable with Tee getting involved, really involved, in a dangerous case.

  “She’s right,” Jet interrupted. “Listen, Sonia, we need all the help we can get, and that means letting Tee talk to at least some of the more peripheral folks, you know, just to cross them off the list.”

  Sonia turned to Brad, looking for support. She was disappointed by the look on his face. “I’m afraid she’s right, Babe. Lots of folks to talk to, leads to follow, and no guarantee people will be telling us the truth. For me, if Tee’s in, she’s in. Let’s use her.” His voice softened and his bright blue eyes smiled at Tee. “We need to use her.”

  There was silence in the room as everyone waited for Sonia’s response. Finally, she spoke. “Okay. Why don’t you go talk to his sister? Just ask her about background stuff, you know, maybe she’ll shed some light on why he wanted to bring out Sultan’s Choice in the first place. But remember, we don’t know who does and who does not know that Rasmussen is dead. You’ll have to have a good reason for asking any questions about him at all.”

  A smile crossed Tee’s face. “Yes, ma’am. On it.”

  Brad lifted his glass high. “Okay, then. Here’s to the BCI team. May we all have a productive morning tomorrow.”

  “Here, here,” echoed Jet.

  Tee lifted her empty glass as well. The smile on her face made it clear that she more than agreed. Sonia, on the other hand, tried to do her best to be positive. It was all she could do, given her fears for her little sister.

  As Tee and Jet stood and headed for the door, Brad pulled Sonia aside, she assumed for a good-night kiss. He did hold her tenderly, stroking her hair and then kissing her lips gently. But when he released from the kiss, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “You know I love you, Babe, and I’m glad to be a part of this, but I’m not sure you should have signed that NDA.”

  Sonia pulled back, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Why?”

  He continued speaking softly, gently, carefully. “I’m just afraid that could come back to bite you in the butt if this whole thing goes south, legally I mean.”

  His admonition caught Sonia off guard. She respected his many years of experience and the fact that he was just looking after her best interests, but she had carefully considered signing the NDA and she was uncomfortable revisiting her decision. And besides, it was too late now. She reached up, touched his lips with her finger and smiled. “Don’t you worry about it. It’s all going to work out.” She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. God, I hope it’s going to work out.

  10

  Joe Alexander took his normal seat at the bar in Willy B’s, a watering hole inside the Riverwalk Plaza hotel in San Antonio. Though money wasn’t an issue for the tall, attractive man, he liked this place more than the higher-end hotels like the Hiltons and Marriotts. It was a trendy, boutique hotel, with strong, modern décor and live plant installation filling a long wall.

  Dressed in a dark gray, slim-cut suit with a white shirt and subtle French blue skinny tie, he felt comfortable surrounded by business types and well-dressed families. As he planned to tonight, he would often eat dinner sitting at the bar then lose the tie and walk through the hotel’s little art museum. That would take him right out onto the famous Riverwalk itself. It made for a nice, professional, yet relaxed, evening for a man who was new in town and lived alone. It also created some nice possibilities for meeting women.

  He had seen her two other evenings over the past week. Probably close to five-foot-ten and trim, he’d noticed that she was always dressed in nicely tailored suits. Clearly a professional woman of some sort, she had an attractive, full face, dark red lipstick, and shoulder-length blonde hair.

  Like him, she ate dinner sitting at the bar, rather than alone at a table. And although he had seen several men make attempts to join her, she had always found a polite way of making it obvious that she was not interested. Joe was sure of one thing, she was no high-priced escort.

  And yet, he was pretty confident that he had caught her scoping him out once on a
previous evening and at least once again tonight. Already on his second bourbon, a taste he had picked up in a different part of his life, he was getting pretty close to thinking that he might just explore some possibilities. When she turned and gave him just a hint of a direct smile, a voting lever in his mind tripped—I’m going in.

  He walked to her end of the bar. “Listen, I don’t have any good pick-up lines, and I’ve noticed that you’ve made it clear to several other men that you weren’t necessarily looking for company while you ate, but I was—”

  “Sit down.” Her voice was strong.

  “Well,” there was no hesitation in his voice, “I guess I was right.”

  The woman’s eyes seemed focused on the bright blue mosaic wall tiles in front of them, just under the vast array of liquor bottles. “Now don’t go ruining this by getting overly confident. It could be that the only reason I’m letting you sit here is to keep any of those salesmen from Podunkville in their seats so that they don’t come up and embarrass themselves.”

  Reflexively, Joe moved back a half-step. A moment later he motioned for the bartender to bring him another bourbon. “Can I at least buy you a drink? You know, just to make the charade look a little more realistic.”

  “Merlot.” It was the only word she spoke.

  Joe slid his body onto the tall stool next to the woman, all the while wondering if this was a mistake.

  Finally, she spoke. “Jane. You can call me Jane.”

  He nodded slowly then spoke cautiously. “Joe . . . but I would have expected a beautiful woman like you to have a more exotic name.”

  She turned and gave him a snarky smile and a wink. “I do, but you can call me Jane.”

  They sat in silence as the bartender brought Joe another James Bennington on the rocks and Jane a glass of merlot. As he waited, something tingled in his mind, something based on his past experiences.

  Joe was usually pretty skilled at playing this game, but this woman had him off balance right from the start. He took another shot. “So, you’re obviously in town on business.”

  Before he was able to get to his next sentence, she turned to him. “Are you” she dropped her chin, “in town on business?”

  He stumbled over his words. “Well, actually, no. I just don’t care much for my own cooking and I go out for dinner most nights. I like this place, the food, the people.”

  He expected a response from her but got none. Eventually, he felt the need to plow on. “So, am I way off base? You do work here in town, don’t you?”

  “I work where the work takes me. This week it takes me here. Now, are we going to continue the banal chatter all through dinner or are we going to get out of this place and go somewhere more comfortable.”

  Once again, Joe was knocked off stride. He recovered quickly. “Do you have a room here?”

  She looked at him dismissively. “I may or I may not. Either way, we’re not going to my place. I’m no fool. If you want to spend some time with me, we go to your place.” Giving him no time to think about things, she put her hand on her purse. “Are we going or am I ordering dinner and sending you back to your end of the bar?”

  Joe looked at the bartender, waving his hand over their drinks. “How much do I owe you?” He threw some cash on the bar, the tab plus a generous tip, and took the woman’s arm as she slipped off the tall bar stool.

  They walked in silence through the lobby and out onto Villita Street. As they approached the parking lot, Joe asked, “So which car is yours?”

  “The red Escalade at the end of the row.” She was walking with him but falling just slightly behind. Offhandedly, she asked, “So what do you do for a living, Joe?”

  As his mind filled with vague visions of what the evening might bring, he answered. “Oh, I guess you could say I’m in the import-export business. You know, bringing stuff in from other countries.”

  By the time she responded, the woman was standing a full four steps behind him. “Funny, Joe. I work for people who bring stuff in from other countries.”

  A flash of recognition tore through Joe’s mind. Every hair on his body stood on end. He spun around, only to find the woman standing, legs spread, pointing a black handgun at him.

  His training kicked in. Just as she fired, he leaped to his right, along the passenger’s side of a parked, red Jeep Wrangler. His move was quick—but not quick enough. The bullet tore through his left side, scorching pain searing his mind. He couldn’t help squeezing his eyes shut. Lying on the ground, he froze for an instant.

  Within seconds, he heard the sound of her high heels clicking rapidly toward him. Pushing the pain out of his consciousness, Joe lunged to the front of the Jeep, slid around it and squatted as he moved down the driver’s side. When he stood, he had his own Glock 19, a small 9mm semi-automatic, in his hand. Looking into and through the car, he saw the woman standing directly opposite him on the other side of the vehicle. Almost simultaneously, she sensed his presence and he fired his weapon. Glass shattered on both sides of the Jeep and a yelp flew out of her throat as she winced and fired at Joe through the same strange portal.

  He, of course, had ducked down, certain that neither handgun could penetrate the body of the car. Slipping toward its rear, he was forced to make an instant decision—turn right behind the back of an adjacent Toyota, another SUV, or left behind the vehicle that had already been violated.

  He did neither. Taking advantage of the Jeep’s high ground clearance, Joe slid, face down, under the car. Looking along the ground, he could see the woman’s legs and knees as she squatted at the front of the vehicle, clearly waiting for a sound that might help her locate her quarry. In a battle that would probably be over in less than forty-five seconds, the two were frozen in a stalemate that felt like it lasted an eternity.

  Joe watched as the woman cautiously stood and began following his path down the driver’s side of the Jeep. Certain that she would be wise enough to peek under the car, he slipped out from under the vehicle on the passenger’s side. He moved quickly to a position next to the front tire, hopeful it would block her line of sight as he hid, waiting.

  Taking a leap of faith, trusting that she had already peeked under the car, Joe moved. Crouching, he came around the front of the vehicle a second time. Holding his breath, he dared a look down the side of the Jeep. This time, he was rewarded with a view of the woman standing still, her back to him, her ears searching the night for his sounds.

  Taking a kneeling position, Joe Alexander carefully aimed his weapon. Fully aware that leaving a dead body on the streets of San Antonio could lead to more trouble than he could handle, he responded according to his training. He placed the bullet squarely in her hip, shattering it and leaving her in such gruesome pain that she could never get off another round, one that might take him down. On the other hand, if it was important enough to her, she might be able to call for help and get picked up by some compatriot, avoiding difficult explanations to the local authorities. At minimum, he figured, she would do her best to concoct a tale of self-defense, blaming the attack on Joe—and that would be just fine with him.

  By the time the first curious on-looker was cautiously poking his head around the corner of the Riverwalk Plaza, Joe had slipped out of the parking lot and across Dwyer Avenue, grateful that he had followed his instincts—the urging that always told him to park several blocks away from any building in which he planned to spend significant time.

  Afraid to return to his apartment, and holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his burning side, Joe drove his leased Dodge Charger to the long-term parking lot in which he kept his personal vehicle, a nondescript, relatively new Honda Accord. By morning, he would be hundreds of miles away and a simple phone call to the dealership would close out his lease—although with major penalties. He would be in the wind. For now, however, he had to find a busy Walmart and hope that, using his now stained suit jacket to hide his bloody shirt, he could purchase some sort of antiseptic, bandage, and painkiller without arousing too much
suspicion. The wound hurt like hell.

  Day Two

  11

  Sonia awoke on Saturday morning to the sound of rain. Her carriage apartment was over a garage on Central Avenue, and she often felt like there was very little between her and the shingles on the roof above her head. The apartment was a simple two-room affair, with a small bedroom and another space that served as kitchen, living room, dining area, and anything else she could imagine. Still, it was a pleasant place and just a short walk from Magee’s and the BCI offices. The most frustrating part of her living situation was that the walk in either direction ended in some serious stairs, either up to the BCI offices or up to her apartment.

  It wasn’t long before Sonia heard Tee rattling around in the kitchen area, apparently dealing with breakfast. She slipped out of bed and stepped into the larger room. Tee was bent over. She spoke into the refrigerator. “You don’t have much in the way of food here. Have you given up eating or something?”

  Still sleepy in her cotton pajamas, Sonia stretched as she spoke. “I guess I mostly pick up something at Magee’s in the morning. You know, almond croissants, the breakfast of champions?”

  Tee stood up straight and gave her a look. “It wouldn’t be because you don’t sleep here very often anymore, would it?”

  Sonia could feel a flush skitter across her face. She walked to the counter and turned her attention to her Cuisinart coffee maker, the same one that seemed to be on the set of every TV sitcom she’d seen recently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Tee snorted. “Get off it, Sonia. You’re engaged to Brad. He lives in that nice house.” She cocked her head. “You know, the one with the big bed in the nice bedroom. I’m guessing you’ve moved in with him and the only reason I had to sleep on the fold-out couch last night was that you were trying to keep up appearances for your baby sister. Am I right?”

  “Actually, Tee,” Sonia let out a sigh, “you’re not right. I know what you’re thinking, and maybe I should just go live in that lovely house instead of this tiny apartment, but I just can’t get the look on Mom’s face out of my mind.”