Deep Blue Trouble

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘Good.’ I exhaled.

  Monroe nodded. ‘I’d say it’s been a pleasure but…’

  ‘It’s been something, for sure.’

  ‘Yeah. That.’ Monroe turned to go, then changed his mind. ‘One other thing. Tate isn’t well enough to leave medical care right now. They’ll check his insurance, then move him to Florida Medical.’

  I frowned. They were transferring him to the same place Monroe had set up Gibson’s escape from; that made me real suspicious. ‘You’re kidding me?’

  Monroe held up his hands. ‘Not my decision. I’m just passing along the message.’

  I didn’t like the sound of it. Wondered if this really was over, or if Monroe had another plan, some other play to make. I put my hand in the left pocket of my jacket and gripped the chess piece – a knight on a rearing charger – tight. If Monroe went back on his word, I’d need a bargaining chip. I figured I’d best hold onto this one for a little while longer.

  56

  As things went, Monroe’s word wasn’t as important as I’d reckoned it would be. The officer in charge of the investigation called me while I was at the hotel, packing my things into my backpack before leaving to get my plane.

  Turned out that the state trooper shot by the man who’d taken JT, Dakota and me hostage when I was on my last job, and forced me to drive him across state, had regained consciousness in the early hours of the morning, Florida time. By midday, he’d told the local cops his story. He’d seen that the man on the backseat of the Mustang had been holding me and my child at gunpoint; so our story checked out. On another thing he was real clear, too – it wasn’t JT sitting on the backseat, it wasn’t JT who shot him, but he did remember a man hollering from inside the trunk.

  Whether it was the state trooper’s words, Monroe’s influence or a combination of the two I wasn’t real clear, but the precise why of it didn’t matter none. What mattered was that all charges were dropped and JT was released without charge. His insurance company had made the arrangements for him to be transported to Florida Medical.

  I thanked the officer and ended the call. Relief rippled through me. JT was a free man and soon he’d be well enough to come home. I stopped in the middle of folding my jeans. Gripped the denim a little tighter.

  Home?

  I’d been thinking so hard on getting him free I’d not given any mind to where he might go when he was. I’d been heading to my home – mine and Dakota’s apartment – but now JT was getting released, we’d have to talk about what happened next for us. Would we live together, as a family? Would he want that, or would he head straight back to Georgia? We’d never discussed what might happen after. All we’d been focused on was getting through the now and the hope that we might be reunited. The question mark over what would happen next made my stomach flip.

  Me and JT, we’d always been like fire and gasoline. There was passion for sure. Love, too, on my side, and I reckoned also on his, although he’d never said the words. But could I live with a man – any man – after all these years? Did I want to let someone into my space, into the workings of my life, into my daughter’s life?

  Now that it came to it, I wasn’t real sure. It hadn’t ended so well the first time.

  I thrust the jeans into my backpack. Told myself I was being ridiculous, getting ahead of myself. I didn’t need to think on that right then; what I needed to do was finish my packing and get on the plane.

  I stuffed the rest of my clothes into my backpack and tucked my Taser into the inner pocket before zipping the pack shut. Back in Florida, Dakota was waiting for me to collect her from camp. Seeing her could not come soon enough.

  57

  I’d dropped the Jeep off at the rental company and was walking through the terminal building to the gate when my personal cell buzzed. Pulling it from my purse, I checked the screen – a withheld number. Oftentimes I don’t answer them, but given everything that had happened I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of speaking with someone connected to Gibson’s case, or my own. I pressed answer.

  I only heard his breath at first.

  My body tensed. My throat went dry. I gripped the cell a little tighter.

  Then he spoke. ‘Lori? That you?’

  My breath caught in my throat. ‘JT?’

  ‘I’m getting out. They’ll transfer me tomorrow.’ His gravelly voice sounded stronger, more like him, than the last time we’d spoken. ‘You did it.’

  I blinked back tears. Nodded, even though JT couldn’t see me. Felt glad that he couldn’t see I was crying. ‘Yes, I found Gibson.’

  ‘Good job.’

  I said nothing. Bit back the emotion that was raging within me. Didn’t tell him that it didn’t feel like a good job, that it felt like I’d trusted the wrong person, and that I’d been going to betray them anyways. The job had conflicted me on many levels, and people had died. I had yet more blood on my hands.

  ‘Lori? You okay?’

  I forced a smile into my voice. ‘Sure, I’m just tired. It’s been a crazy few weeks.’

  ‘For sure.’

  I felt guilty then. JT had been locked in jail, stabbed and had a heart attack. If anyone had been having a rough few weeks, it was him. ‘How are you doing?’

  A pause. Then he said, ‘Better.’

  ‘Good.’

  The conversation was stilted. It felt like there was so much to say, so much to talk about that it was impossible to begin. I didn’t know how to move forward, and JT never had been one for many words.

  So rather than talk about how I was feeling, I focused on logistics. ‘I’m flying back tonight. I’ll get Dakota from camp, then we’ll come visit with you.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Me too.’ And as I said it, I knew it was true. Whatever else was unspoken and undecided between us, I did want to see him. On that I was real clear.

  JT would be out of jail. He was a step closer to safety, and I was a whole lot closer to having my family – my daughter and her father – reunited. That’s why I’d taken the job, to get him free and clear, and give Dakota the chance of a proper future, whatever her cancer threw at us. I’d gotten what I wanted. Now I’d have to learn to live with it.

  My flight was called for boarding. Ending the call with JT, I switched off my cell and strode towards the line. At the plane, I handed my boarding pass to the attendant. She smiled, and directed me down the aisle to the back. As I walked between the seats, I wondered why I felt so weird. I’d succeeded. I’d done all that I’d come out to California to do. I shook my head. Why, if I’d done all that I’d come here to achieve, did I feel so bad?

  Four rows from the back, I found my seat and buckled myself in. Unzipping my backpack, I took out the gold knight and held it in front of me. A lot of people had died for this chess piece – Mr and Mrs Walker, three hospital security guards, Marco Searle. Mia. I turned it over in my hand, looking at it properly for the first time. It was heavier than I’d expected. The craftsmanship was impressive – fury seemed to burn through the eye slits in the knight’s helmet; the rearing charger looked ready to burst into gallop. Running towards trouble or away from it? I wondered. Was I a fool to have kept the piece?

  *

  Later, when we were in the air, the thought struck me: where was the rest of the chess set? Gibson thought Searle had taken it from the Walkers’ yacht after killing them, and Mia must have thought Searle had bought the ranch as a place to hide it. But Mia and Gibson had turned the ranch inside out looking for the pieces and had no joy. Had Searle taken it, or was there something else going on here?

  I zipped the knight into my backpack, asked the flight attendant for a strong coffee, and started thinking through the facts I knew. As I reached up to take the coffee from her, I spotted what looked like a familiar face.

  I froze. What the hell was he doing on the plane?

  I faced forwards again. Gripped the coffee cup tight. Behind me, in the back row on the opposite side of the plane, sitting in the window seat,
was the dark-haired man who’d tailed me in Florida.

  My heart was leaping in my chest like a rodeo horse. I turned, glancing back over my shoulder for another look at him. Inhaled sharply. It was definitely the same guy. Shit. I was stuck on the plane, a sitting target. I wondered what his move was and when he’d make it.

  I waited. Nothing happened. The cabin lights were dimmed. The man didn’t move.

  As the time ticked by I felt the tension building higher. I needed to know who he was working for and what they wanted.

  Tired of waiting, I got up, moved to the back and slid into the empty aisle seat beside him. He sat up straight. Looked surprised.

  I leaned in close to him. ‘Why are you following me?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you—’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me,’ I hissed. ‘You were tailing me the last few times I was in Florida. I’m guessing it was you who chased me in the parking garage at San Diego airport. Did you beat on my investigator, too?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘If you don’t start speaking I’m going to scream like hell and shout that you grabbed me on the way to the restroom and indecently assaulted me. I’ll cry and these people will believe me. You’ll get detained, and I’m betting you don’t want that.’

  He scowled. ‘I didn’t beat anyone. And I only arrived in San Diego two hours before this flight. My orders are to watch you is all.’

  ‘Did you leave the note on my truck?’

  He nodded.

  The plane started to judder with turbulence. I ignored it, pressed him for answers. ‘Why?’

  ‘The Old Man wants you to admit what you did.’

  My stomach flipped. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘We know you killed your husband. The Old Man wants you to tell him how.’

  ‘And you’re to take me to him?’

  ‘He wants you to go to him voluntarily.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  The plane rocked more. People queuing for the restrooms hurried back to their seats. The fasten seatbelts sign pinged on.

  ‘He thought of you like a daughter, he wants to give you the chance to—’

  The plane lurched left, the engines roaring. Using the turbulence as a distraction, I jabbed my elbow into the guy’s temple. Knocked him unconscious. I couldn’t have him following me once we got to the other end. Old Man Bonchese didn’t talk things through or give people chances – he was an old-school Mob boss. An audience with him wouldn’t end well.

  Taking the man’s shades from his shirt pocket, I put them over his eyes and positioned him against the seat as if he was sleeping.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, we’ve started our decent into Orlando. It’s a little bumpy, so please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We should be on the ground in twenty minutes.’

  *

  The plane touched down at a quarter after eleven. As I hurried to the exit I saw the dark-haired guy was still slumped in his seat. I knew Old Man Bonchese would get another tail on me soon enough, but I couldn’t dwell on that. I still had things to do, and puzzles to work out. Until the chess pieces were all accounted for, for me the job with Monroe would never be finished. 1,345,000 dollars was a hell of a lot of money to go missing. And in my experience loose ends always unravel in the end.

  58

  The Deep Blue Marina looked real ghostly in the moonlight. I walked along the wooden walkway, my boot heels sounding real loud against the silence. The boats on either side of me bobbed against their moorings. Most were in darkness, but as I neared the end of the jetty, I heard music – blues – playing softly, and saw a light was on inside Red’s houseboat.

  I stepped onto the deck and knocked on the door to the cabin. Thought I heard voices inside. Waited.

  The door was opened. Not by Red, but by a woman. She was younger than Red, but not by much. Her long blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun. She wore a man’s shirt, Red’s no doubt, over a bikini. ‘Hi. Can I help you?’

  I felt bad. It was late, and I’d turned up without calling first. I should have realised Red would have company. ‘Sorry to disturb you. Is Red here?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you’re disturbing no more than me losing badly at cards.’ She turned back into the boat. ‘Red, honey, there’s someone to see you.’

  A moment later, Red appeared. The bruises on his face had faded and the swelling had disappeared. He smiled when he saw me. ‘Miss Lori, you doing okay?’

  ‘I am. I just had something I wanted to talk through. Didn’t realise you had company, I can come back…’

  The woman waved her hand. ‘Oh don’t leave on my account. It’s late, I should get going anyway.’ She went back inside and disappeared into the sleeping cabin.

  Red stepped out on deck. Gestured for me to take a seat. ‘Beer?’

  I nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  He reached into the cooler and took out a couple of beers. Twisted off the tops and handed one to me. ‘I saw you found Gibson. Want to tell me what happened?’

  I took a deep breath, and told him the full story: Gibson getting arrested. Me getting shot. Searle and Mia getting dead. Bobby Four-Fingers and McGregor saving me. Monroe and his side deals and promises. The man following me, and Red himself taking a beating all because Old Man Bonchese wanted to talk with me. JT being released. Jacob Searle, Mia and Gibson’s son, all alone in the world.

  Red let me talk. Didn’t say anything until I’d finished. We sat in silence for a moment before he said. ‘Don’t feel guilty.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I can hear it in your voice, the way you talk about Mia Searle’s kid.’ He shook his head. ‘Sad, for sure. A bad deal for the kid, absolutely. But not your fault.’

  I bit my lip. Right then it sure felt like my fault. ‘I could have let them go though. Like you said before, there’s always a choice, I could have chosen not to finish the job, I could have—’

  ‘Could you?’

  I looked down at my feet, at the condensation on my beer bottle dripping onto the varnished wooden deck.

  ‘If you’d walked away you’d have chosen Mia’s family over your own.’

  ‘I stared at the damp patch on the wooden deck. ‘I know.’

  ‘So you did what you had to.’

  I nodded. Red was right. Didn’t make it any easier to live with though.

  Red cleared his throat. ‘Gibson’s ex-wife called me the day his capture hit the media. Turns out her and her new husband fled their home as a precaution. There’d been no love lost between them during the divorce, and she figured he might be going after her.’

  I nodded. Took a swig of my beer. Didn’t speak. The memories of Mia dying and of Gibson’s sorrow were still replaying in my mind.

  ‘And I found out about Donald Fletcher, like you asked,’ Red continued. ‘He told you the truth. Was clean of anything dodgy. The money he lives on came from a medical insurance payout; critical illness cover – bowel cancer, untreatable.’

  I remembered how gaunt Donald had looked, how different from a couple of years previously. ‘Figures. What about the security at his place, any idea what that’s about?’

  ‘A little. Seems Gibson’s parents weren’t the only ones who got grief over Gibson’s conviction for killing the Walkers. Donald took a severe beating one night after the verdict. He was found on the street a couple of blocks from the bar he’d been drinking in. Apparently there’d been some harsh words exchanged at the bar – Donald threw a punch or two. CCTV showed a group attacking him as he walked home.’

  ‘Were they convicted?’

  Red shook his head. ‘Donald refused to press charges. It was soon after that he added the security to his property.’

  Shit. So many lives had been changed or lost, and everything had been for nothing. In the end, the sting on the Chicago Mob top man had failed and Monroe had tried to cover up the fallout. That wasn’t a satisfactory conclusion. Something more needed to happen. ‘What do you—’r />
  I stopped, interrupted by the woman reappearing in the doorway and stepping out onto the deck. She’d changed into Capri pants and a chiffon top, a wicker basket swung from her shoulder. She looked real elegant, yet relaxed – a look I had no idea how to pull off.

  Red stood as she walked towards him. Kissed her on the mouth. ‘See you soon.’

  She kissed him back. ‘Till next time.’ Then she gave me a little wave. ‘Lovely to meet you, Lori. Nice to put a face to a name.’

  I watched her step off the boat and walk away along the jetty. I turned to Red. ‘Sorry to mess up your evening.’

  He shook his head. ‘You didn’t mess it up.’

  ‘Who was she anyway?’

  Red smiled. ‘That’s Patsy. My wife.’

  He had a wife? I’d never have figured Red for the marrying kind. ‘She doesn’t live here?’

  ‘God no! We work better from a distance. If we live together we damn near tear each other’s throats out within a week.’

  I thought about me and JT, wondered if it’d be the same for us.

  ‘So Gibson’s back in jail and JT is free?’ asked Red.

  I nodded.

  ‘So the job’s done…’

  ‘I guess.’

  Red narrowed his eyes. ‘You want to tell me what else is eating you?’

  I frowned. ‘How’d you mean?’

  He tapped the side of his head. ‘I can see you’ve got a whole bunch of stuff going on it here. Just asking if you want to talk about it.’

  I gave a half-smile. Red always was super perceptive. I guess that’s one of the things that made him a great PI. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the knight and placed it on the seat between us. The figure’s gold shield glinted in the moonlight.

  Red picked it up. Turned it over in his hand. ‘This what I think it is?’

  I nodded. ‘One piece from the chess set. The rest are missing.’

  He frowned. ‘And you have it because…?’

  ‘The package Monroe – pretending to be Donald – sent to Southside Storage two and a half years ago was on the front seat of Gibson’s trunk at the ranch. I recognised the label on the carton. Looked inside and found this. I took it then because I figured it could be a bargaining chip if things got tricky.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t really know why I kept it. I guess because I didn’t trust Monroe to keep his word and thought I might need to wait a little longer to reveal my hand.’