by Linda Ladd
I let her, and then I got in the shower and let hot water pour down on my face for so long that Dottie came back in to make sure assailants hadn’t gotten me again. I dried off, put on an oversized T-shirt and red tights, and slouched down in my trusty old vinyl recliner with my favorite pillow. Dottie was watching me like I was an unexploded cherry bomb. I sank my head into the pillow and closed my eyes. The old recliner was my security blanket. I’d had it so long, my body fit its contours, and it felt like somebody trustworthy was holding me in the palm of his hand.
Dottie moved into the kitchen and stirred the soup bubbling happily on my stove top. “I’m going to turn the burner down real low, but you’ll have to keep an eye on it. And I brought over a hot toddy, which will relax you. You’re going to need something to help you sleep after all this.” I opened my eyes as she came around the counter dividing my living room and galley kitchen. She was dressed in cutoff jeans and a big turquoise shirt and had her hair twisted up in a red clip. She was barefoot. She was always barefoot. She handed me a big white coffee mug and said, “I know you don’t want to talk about it right now, but I’m here if you need to. Ring the dinner bell, and I’ll come running. Sometimes talking helps.”
She meant the big black bell I had attached to a pole on the dock in front of my house. Harve had one just like it. We used it for emergencies, but more often if either of us wanted company. Fact was, at the moment, all I wanted was for Dottie to leave. I wanted to weep uncontrollably into my pillow. I wanted to rid myself of the abject panic I’d felt roped to that chair. Most of all, I wanted to shoot Nicholas Black between the eyes. “I can’t talk about it yet. I’ll come by tomorrow and see you guys. Tell Harve not to worry. I’m okay. I’m just angry, is all.”
“Okay.” Dottie got the message. But she was loving and nurturing, and it felt good when she put her hands on my shoulders. “Lean forward, and I’ll loosen up some of that tension before I take off.”
Dottie was a licensed masseuse, and I obeyed. The moment her fingers began to knead my shoulders, I relaxed and the whole sordid story poured out, almost against my will. She listened, made no comment, just made little comforting sounds. She was one hell of a listener. I guess that’s why I open up to her when I won’t to anyone else, not even Harve. Harve worries about me too much.
Finally, Dottie said, “Do you really think Nicholas Black would do something like that?”
“I heard his voice, and he was talking to the guys who jumped me. He was right there. Maybe he didn’t do it himself; maybe he hired them to scare me off. He hires people for everything.” I got up, my fury whipped up again, angrier than I’d been in years. I began to pace. I stopped in my tracks when we heard Harve’s bell echoing out over the water.
“Harve’s anxious about you,” Dottie said, heading for the front door. “I need to get back and fill him in. You’ll be all right. Eat some soup. Lie down and let the toddy work, and you’ll feel better.” She sounded more sure of it than I did.
“Yeah.”
“Do some yoga. That always calms you down and clears your mind. If you need us, call or ring the bell.”
“Thanks, Dot.”
She hesitated and searched my face. I couldn’t have looked too hot. “You want me to stay the night? Harve’ll understand.”
“No, no, I’m fine, really.”
I walked out to the front porch and watched her run along the path toward Harve’s house. Dottie ran everywhere, barefoot or not. She was the fittest person I knew from all that running and lifting weights. I vowed to start a new routine with free weights as soon as I calmed down. Even my kickboxing practice was going to get more rigid. I was tired of getting jumped and hit in the head. What was the matter with me? Where was my sixth sense? Where were any of my senses?
I walked into the kitchen and turned off the soup. Food just wasn’t going to cut it. I kept thinking about why Black would order such a thing. To frighten me, make me back off from him? Well, I’d be damned if I’d back off. Now I wanted to get him, and I would if it took the rest of my life.
I’d learned yoga when I lived in California, and it had helped me get through the mess I’d been in out there. I was too on edge to do anything else, and I was tired of pacing. Assault and near drowning have a tendency to shake me up. I had to calm myself down in my head, where I was reliving everything over and over.
I always did yoga on the dock, which stretched about fifteen yards out into the lake. Old Betsy, my trusty jon boat, was rocking at the end, tied to a piling with a dusk-to-dawn light on the top. I walked outside under a canopy of black velvet and glittering stars and began to feel better. I was safe at home. I had my cell phone clipped to my waist, right beside my Glock automatic. Usually, I didn’t do my stretches with my gun attached to my person. But hell, this was a special occasion.
About six feet wide, the dock expanded to twenty feet near my jon boat. I’d replaced the rotten boards and sanded them smooth so I could do my yoga poses outside, where I could hear the lapping of the water and cricket songs. I liked to exercise at night under the stars. I’d formed my own routine of poses in an attempt to strengthen and keep limber every muscle in my body. It took just thirty minutes, and it worked. I never missed a day. It helped me think. But I was adding weights to my repertoire tomorrow, without fail.
I warmed up with some easy standing poses, then slowly loosened up my legs with some downward-facing dog positions and warrior stances. My mind had a tendency to empty of thoughts during yoga sessions, and it was working admirably until I heard something behind me. I was out of my stance in two seconds flat, on my belly, Glock out of my holster and trained on the shadowy figure just behind me. Oh, God, not again.
“Don’t shoot; it’s me.” Nicholas Black stepped from the shadows into the light. “I want to talk to you.”
Stunned, I kept my weapon trained on him while I searched the dock and beach for his toadies. I didn’t see anyone. Lucky for Black, he had enough sense to keep his hands in the air. “What is this? If at first you don’t succeed? You here to finish me off, is that it?”
I could hear my own breathing, short, fast, belying my calm words. I cursed over finding myself in a vulnerable position. How the hell did he sneak up on me again? If this kept up, I was turning in my badge. “Get down on your belly, with your arms spread wide.” I started to say Now! but he obviously knew the drill and obeyed without further urging.
I patted him down for weapons and found nothing under his black T-shirt and jeans but lots of hard-packed muscles. “I’m not armed,” he said, and I again searched the lake and shoreline for accomplices. “How did you know where I live?”
He ignored my question. “Look, I need to talk to you, privately, confidentially.”
“Where’s your vehicle? How’d you get here without me hearing you?”
“I kayaked in.”
“You kayaked here from your place across the lake?” That was rich. I didn’t believe him.
“I do it for exercise.”
“Then do it for exercise while you get the hell out of here and off my property. I have nothing to say to you.”
“I have some information that you need to know. I want you to come with me.”
I actually laughed at that one. “Oh, sure, that’s gonna happen. Want me to help you attack me, too?”
“I didn’t assault you, and I can prove it. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
“Prove it here, Black. I’m not going anywhere with you, and if you don’t clear outta here, I’m gonna run you in again. This time I can get you for trespassing.”
“I didn’t hurt you.” His cheek was against the wood planks, facing me and muffling his voice. “But I know who did. And I know why.”
I kept the gun trained on him, my eyes continually searching the darkness. “Is that a fact? Well, hey, go right ahead. Hit me with it.”
“Not here. Come out to the yacht, and I’ll explain everything.”
“You cannot really believe I’m that
stupid, can you?”
He sat up, and I retrained my aim to the midpoint of his forehead. It felt good. I’d been fantasizing about this scenario since I’d left the sheriff’s office. He actually smiled. “Put the gun away. Believe me, I have enough sense not to make any sudden moves. I can prove I’m innocent, and what I’m going to tell you will help you solve Sylvie’s murder.”
“Cut the crap. If you have something to tell me, tell me right here, right now.”
“We have to go now. Tomorrow will be too late. There are people waiting out there you need to interview. They’ll be gone before daylight.”
“Not if they had anything to do with using my head for a boxing bag, they won’t. What people?”
“This has got to remain confidential, for reasons you’ll find out when you talk to them. They can tell you things you have to know to solve this case. And I want it solved.”
“What people?”
“I’m going out on a limb to come here tonight. People can be hurt if certain things come out. And don’t ask me what people, dammit!” He shook his head, a little testy himself. “What happened to you tonight was inexcusable, and I want to prove to you that I had nothing to do with it.”
“Sorry, Jack, you’re just shit outta luck. I’m not stepping foot on your yacht tonight. We’ll just go back to the station and have a little tête-à-tête in the interrogation room. Won’t that be fun? Stand up. Keep your arms out to the side.”
Obeying, he rose without effort, light on his feet. He was in good physical shape, too. Anybody who could kayak twenty miles across the water had some upper-arm strength and stamina. “I was afraid you wouldn’t listen. Charlie’s due to call you any minute now. What time is it?”
“Time for me to arrest you again. Maybe this time it’ll stick. You know, trespassing on private property, Peeping Tom, stalker, stuff like that.”
“I’ve already talked to Charlie about this. I had a feeling you wouldn’t go with me.”
“Gee, you’re a bright boy, now, aren’t you?” Frowning, I watched him suspiciously until my cell phone rang. I pulled it out with my left hand and flipped it open.
Charlie’s voice sounded in my ear. Impatient. Annoyed. “Get out to Black’s yacht, Morgan. Right now. He’s ready to give a statement, and he’ll only give it to you. Alone. He’s sending somebody to pick you up. Be expecting them.”
“Yeah, he’s already here, and I’ve got my gun pointed at his head. You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere alone with him.”
“Then call a backup and ride over with them. Bud isn’t back from New York, which makes me wonder what the hell he’s doing up there. Winin’ and dinin’ that model, probably. That trip’s gonna cost the department a helluva bundle.” Wow, Charlie, thanks for the concern. He was more worried about Bud spending a couple of thousand than about me getting worked over. “Just get to Black’s fuckin’ boat and find out what he wants to say. Nothing else is gonna happen to you. He gave me his word. Do it and report back to me as soon as it’s done.” He hung up.
I stared at Black. “Charlie might trust you, Black. You like to buy people off with your money. Maybe you’re Charlie’s biggest campaign contributor. Maybe he owes you and is willing to turn his head and let you slide now and then, but make no mistake, I can’t be bought. If you think I’ll let you off if I find you’re involved in this at all, you’re nuts.”
“Maybe that’s why I want to talk to you, Detective. Charlie’s a good guy, but he plays politics. I can’t risk that, not with this information. And I haven’t bought off Charlie, either. We’ve been friends for a long time. He knows I’m not capable of killing Sylvie or hurting you. That’s why he doesn’t mind ordering you to talk to me. Like I said, people can get hurt.”
“And like I said, what people?”
This time he hesitated a long moment. He looked out over the lake a second and considered. I waited, pretty sure he was getting ready to pull something. I kept my finger on the trigger. If I lived to be a hundred, he would never get the jump on me again. “Jacques Montenegro is on the Falcon. He wants to talk to you. It’s important. It’ll clear up some details that’ll help you find Sylvie’s killer.”
Well, knock me over with a feather. He got me again, because that was the last thing I expected. I guess there was some hanky-panky going on between Black and the Cajun boys, after all.
“Now can you see why I came here tonight? Why he wants a private meeting alone with you? It won’t be good for any of us if his presence at the lake gets out.”
“Right, and it especially won’t look good for you. Being Montenegro’s host and benefactor, and all. It might even indicate that you have some serious Mafia ties, right? No wonder you’re slinking around in the middle of the night.”
Black said nothing, which pretty much meant I was right. And was I ever tempted now. Man, was I tempted. Just the intrigue alone was enough to make me want to go see Montenegro. Even Al Pacino wouldn’t have me offed at a meeting set up by the local sheriff. At Black’s request, at that. I’d be safe enough, and if I didn’t turn up tomorrow morning, heads would roll. Montenegro would know better than to pull anything cute, and it was certainly in Black’s interest to get me home safe and sound.
“Okay, let’s go. Get down in the boat.”
“The kayak’s a two-seater. We can take it.”
“Gee, thanks, man, but I don’t think so. I prefer to be in the driver’s seat. So step down in the bow, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
I must be out of my frickin’ mind, I thought, as I stepped down into Old Betsy’s rusted, twenty-year-old, camouflaged stern. Somehow I thought Black was on the up and up. Why, I couldn’t say, but I could handle myself well enough with a gun in my hand. And it wasn’t going to leave my hand, trust me.
I jerked the cord on the outboard, and of course, it wouldn’t start right off the bat. It was obstinate. It liked to be coddled.
Black twisted around to look at me. “Is this thing gonna make it to my yacht? I can call for the launch to pick us up.”
“Just shut up and keep your hands on top of your head where I can see them.”
I finally got the motor running, and even though it smoked and knocked hard enough to make somebody answer a door, I knew it’d make it. And if it didn’t, I was one hell of a mechanic. I operated the stick with my left hand and kept my right hand busy with my gun on Black’s back. The next few hours were going to be interesting, if I got through them alive.
17
As it turned out, the Maltese Falcon was anchored in the deepest part of the lake, about five miles outside my own cove, due north, making Black’s kayaking feat not quite so impressive. Even I could kayak five miles. Dottie could probably do twenty or thirty, if she had a mind to. The yacht stood in the darkness, with its strings of bright lights outlining the deck railings and cabin lines, looming like a last vision of the Titanic before it went to the bottom. Not a good analogy under the circumstances, I told myself as I nudged my ugly-little-stepchild craft up alongside the sleek and gleaming black-and-tan launch. Poor Old Betsy, probably felt like calling a plastic surgeon. But I was getting over being knocked into the lake tied to an iron chair. It’s amazing how holding a gun to the head of a man like Nicholas Black can make you feel empowered. Go figure.
“It’s okay,” Black called up to the concerned-looking security guard standing at the top of the ladder, as if the Doc often arrived home in the dead of night with a cop prodding him at gunpoint. Maybe he did. Stranger things have happened. To me.
“You can put your gun away now,” he said once we were on deck.
“Thanks for your permission, but I’m sort of attached to it tonight. Please, lead the way.”
He led the way, and the guard grinned like he was glad somebody finally refused something to the big boss man. I found that sort of endearing, but I motioned him ahead of me, too, just in case he was smiling because he was planning to jump me. Black headed for his private quarters and I did
n’t see anybody else, not even the crew. The motor yacht was anchored for the night; everybody was tucked into their little black-and-tan beds.
“Rogers, return to the bridge. Everything’s under control here.”
“Yeah, Rogers, and if you hear gunshots, call 911.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I liked Rogers. He was all right.
Inside Black’s quarters, in front of the wall of windows and a little balcony, sat Jacques Montenegro. He had on a gray Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt and chinos, and no doubt expensive Docksiders without socks. He was sitting behind Black’s desk as if he owned it, and he just might. Three of his big, burly lieutenants sat in easy chairs around the office. None of them were my friends Jean-Claude and Thierry. They all had on black sweatshirts and snug black sweatpants. Murderous, burly guys definitely should not wear snug black sweatpants. It just didn’t do their figures justice.
“Don’t get up, gentlemen. It’s easier for me to shoot you sitting down.”
Two of them laughed. The other didn’t get my wit, I guess. He was sporting a black eye and swollen nose, and I suspected his crotch was throbbing a little, too. Montenegro smiled; oh, my, he was Mr. Debonair. “Good evening, Detective. I’m glad Nicky could persuade you to come here for a little chat.”
“Your friend Nicky didn’t do squat. I’m here on orders from Sheriff Ramsay, so say your piece and get it over with.” I emphasized the name because, truth be told, I am sort of a smart-ass, and I was also a little embarrassed because someone in my present company had slapped me around and tied my wrist to a chair, and now I couldn’t even shoot him. For some reason, that brings the sarcasm just boiling to the top.
Nobody laughed now. Black moved away and stood by a large porthole on the starboard side as if he were contemplating diving through it when the shooting started, but I could still cover them all with my gun. Unless they all drew on me at once. I decided that was unlikely, and besides, Rogers would call 911 if they did.
