A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  “Two coffees,” the waitress said. “Will there be anything else?”

  “One breakfast?” Honey suggested and tilted her head towards her companion.

  “Well I-,” Bert started.

  “Bring him double French toast with maple syrup and fresh fruit on the side please, and thanks.”

  The waitress smiled at the assertive young woman and winked at her disheveled companion. She went off to fill the order.

  Bert said, “How did you know I liked that sort of thing for breakfast.”

  “You look like shit, and you look as if you could eat anything.”

  “Charming,” he said and smiled. “I’ll go freshen up and then we’ll talk.”

  Honey watched him as he made his way to the men’s room. Even his walk gave away how shattered the man was. She liked Bert. He was one of those genuine guys that she had rarely met. Bert reminded her of the old beat cops who became a gumshoe. They lived for their job, and in too many cases, died for their job.

  A few minutes later, as Honey sipped her coffee and looked out across the waterway, Bert and the waitress approached the table from different directions. The woman left the plate on the table, nodded and smiled at Honey and then returned to her duties.

  “Now eat,” Honey said. “We’ll have an uninterrupted conversation once you’ve been fed.”

  Bert was grateful for the opportunity to have a proper meal. He was also glad of a client like Honey, who obviously appreciated the effects of exhaustion and hunger. He ate rapidly until he was pulled up by his companion.

  She said, “Nobody’s going to steal it, you can eat slower.” She lifted her coffee and grinned at him from behind her cup. After a sip of coffee, she lifted a key from her purse and placed it on the table.

  “What’s that for?” Bert asked between mouthfuls.

  “It’s for my room at Marjorie’s Place, a motel about ten miles south of here-,”

  “Honey, we hardly know each other, but if-,”

  “After we’ve had our discussion,” Honey said, “if you think you can make it, drive to the motel and get some sleep.”

  “There is much more to you than meets the eye,” he said, “and what meets the eye is quite pleasant.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “but the only French you’ll be getting from me is on your plate.”

  Bert almost choked on the mouthful he was chewing, and they both laughed.

  The tired PI finished eating, took a long pull of his coffee and then burped into his fisted right hand. He looked across the table at his companion and nodded his approval.

  He said, “After the start I had to the day, it has improved dramatically since I saw you.” He sipped his coffee. “Are you ready for my unscheduled report?”

  “Yes, please,” she said and lifted her coffee.

  “I’m sorry about the meeting without warning,” he said, “but things were moving a bit too fast to contact you.”

  “If what you told me is true, I owe you big time.”

  “Oh, it’s true alright,” he said. “You couldn’t pay me to go onboard that boat.”

  Bert explained how the man in the Wanted poster photograph had proved difficult to trace, even using contacts in different departments and states.

  The good news was that he still thought he had two possible leads. One was in Wyoming and the other in New York. Bert said he had been watching the news and pondering which way to go regarding Strickland. A news bulletin changed his plans.

  He said, “I was sure I’d seen that guy Sorrenson before, and it was long before I’d done the first part of the task for you. When I set up a photo gallery in his house, I noticed a framed photograph of him with three other guys at a hunting lodge. Anyway, I remembered why I knew him. One of the others in the picture was your next target, Morgan.”

  Honey’s eyes opened wide, but she remained silent.

  Bert said, “Seeing the two of them together was preying on my mind. You and I had our meeting at Iroquois Park and then you headed off.” He paused to sip his coffee. “I caught a news bulletin and there was a photo shown on screen. It was Sorrenson and his partner; Tony Morgan.” He paused. “I knew it was the same guy you mentioned yesterday.”

  Honey took another drink of coffee.

  Bert said, “When you had talked about Morgan, I didn’t remember him by name, but I remembered him when I saw his face. By the time I’d made a couple of phone calls, I had put the Strickland character on the back-burner. I headed north, trying to get here before you.”

  Honey nodded but still said nothing. Bert was impressive, and he was on a roll.

  He continued, “I remembered reading about an inquiry into improper procedure last year, which highlighted two detectives and their treatment of young women during arrest.” He sipped his coffee before going on.

  “At the time, the Internal Affairs guys investigated the two detectives. It was Morgan and Sorrenson.” He shook his head. “Crime reports had mysteriously disappeared; the girls dropped the complaints, and the whole inquiry fell apart, due to lack of evidence.”

  Honey said, “Why did you come straight here instead of trying to contact me?”

  “I didn’t want you to do anything rash, so I decided to try to locate Morgan before you. I knew that he had a reputation as an unorthodox cop. He doesn’t like to be upstaged, and he has a habit of making things disappear. Apart from reports, it was sometimes evidence or witnesses. I figured you might be walking into a trap.”

  “When did you get here?” Honey asked.

  “Late last night,” Bert said. “I drove here non-stop and had to break a couple of speed restrictions.” He grinned. “I saw you sauntering along the path. You must have just completed a recon of the boat’s location, but I could see that you might be tired, so I let you go.” He saw her brow furrow, so he explained.

  “I had just arrived at the entrance to the Blue Marina and you were walking away. You didn’t spot me because you were glancing back at the boats. I hid on a nearby boat until you went past.”

  “What did you do after I walked past you?”

  “I found Morgan’s boat and then curled up under a tarpaulin against the cabin of one of the other boats to keep an eye on him.”

  “So you drove up here a couple of hours after me and you haven’t slept yet?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t afford to. About 15 minutes after you turned and walked away last night, your man Morgan was sitting on the pier having a cigarette.” Bert looked around. “He had a look up and down the path and then proceeded to connect fishing line or some other invisible cord between different parts of the boat.”

  “What makes you think he’d fixed up explosives?”

  “When you wire up a vessel like that, especially in the moonlight, you have to be extra careful that nobody sees you. You also tend only to move in one direction once the explosives are set.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “I know about these things,” he said and winked. “Morgan was walking around backwards on that boat last night as if he was in a minefield,” Bert said. “When he’d finished, he climbed onto the mooring, looked around, and then walked along to that red and white boat about 100 yards away from his own.”

  “He must know the person who owns the red and white one then-,”

  “It’s been rented for about the last four days. He’s obviously got wind of somebody coming after him, and he’s been getting ready for it.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “He hasn’t been seen in the police office for about four days. He’s preparing to run, but I think he knows he’s being tracked down. I reckon his plan is to let his would-be assassin catch up and then leave whoever it is in tiny pieces all over this waterfront.” Bert held her gaze. “I take it that you are here to kill him.”

  Honey said, “I owe you another coffee my friend, but no, I’m not going to kill him.”

  “Coffee accepted gratefully,” Bert said and grinned. “Do you mind if
I ask what your intentions are?”

  “Let’s just say that I intend to leave him with a fate worse than death.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to know after all,” he said and looked into her sparkling eyes.

  Honey waved to the waitress and indicated two more coffees. She got a nod and smile then looked at her companion’s expression a moment before she spoke.

  “What’s wrong Bert?”

  “It’s none of my business, and I don’t like to second guess my clients or partners-,”

  “Come on, I’m a big girl. What’s on your mind?”

  “Just in case Morgan pushes your buttons, and you do decide to silence him,” he paused, “before you terminate him, ask what he knows about the shooting of Detective Bill Forest.”

  Honey was stunned for a moment and swallowed hard as she recovered. It took an effort to speak, and she wondered if Bert noticed her reaction. He’d taken her by surprise.

  She said, “Why should I ask about the shooting of this guy Forest?”

  “According to the source I used to find out about Morgan’s whereabouts, it seems that a crook might not have shot Bill Forest. He was probably murdered by one of the other detectives.”

  “Are you telling me that Morgan killed ... Bill Forest?”

  “No, but I believe he knows who did. Detective Forest was a stand-up guy. It seems like he was well-respected and a bit of a cool character in a tight situation.”

  “What are you getting at Bert?”

  “Professional cops like Forest rarely get taken out by some local hood. My source believes Bill Forest was shot to silence him, and then the gun was planted on a bad guy-,”

  “A bad guy that the other cops shot to lay the blame and give them an alibi?”

  Bert nodded, and as he watched his companion’s expression, he could tell from the rapid blinking and glazing of her eyes that his theory about her true background might well be accurate. He decided not to ask. She was already in a bad place.

  “Thanks for that information,” Honey said and swallowed. “I might ask him about it.”

  For a moment, they sat in silence. It was a mental stalemate between two people on the same side. Bert had a fair idea of his companion’s true identity, and for her part, Honey wondered just how much Bert knew for certain. Importantly though; she trusted him.

  Bert said, “Thanks for the text message about your mystery man on the Wanted poster. If your other contact is right, then it means that one of my channels of information was right too. This elusive guy is probably still using the name Strickland and he is most likely still in New York.”

  “Yeah, the Education Department, which is quite a big concern in New York. My contact on the force in New York will be able to pinpoint him I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll concentrate on Morgan. When he’s out of the way, I’ll go after Strickland.”

  Bert explained the signal he’d use regarding whether Morgan was still aboard the boat, and then he left Honey alone for a while. He figured that she needed some space to get her head together. If she were uptight, her whole operation could be blown.

  *

  Bert was sitting on a bench along the waterfront. When he saw his client approaching, he stood and walked along the footpath so that he was about 50 yards ahead of her. He observed the red and white boat with the low cabin. There was no need to stop to confirm what he saw, he simply removed his cap, swept his free hand through his hair and adjusted his cap when he put it on again. He glanced up at the clear blue sky as he continued walking to the parking lot.

  Honey made her way along the footpath, stopping occasionally to look around, but there was hardly a soul around the place. When she arrived at the appropriate place, she walked along to the mooring point. She strolled along and pretended to be looking at one of the white boats with great interest.

  A movement in the red and white vessel caught her eye, but she managed to ignore it and pretend not to have noticed anything. Just in case of early recognition, she pulled the peak of her cap down tighter and then looked at the other white boat. She nodded as if satisfied with something and then walked along to the end; towards the red and white craft.

  As she got close, she saw a definite movement onboard, and a man appeared in the doorway of the cabin. It was a big man, and it was unmistakably Morgan. He was wearing a white T-shirt, blue Bermudas, and blue sneakers.

  Before he even looked at Honey’s face, he made an obvious appraisal of her from the feet up. He spent a long time studying her long, shapely legs and the contents of her close-fitting shorts and plaid shirt. He finally tried to peer at the pretty face under the front of the baseball cap.

  “Good morning,” he said. “If you’re looking at boats, maybe I can help.”

  “D’yall have coffee onboard?” Honey said, affecting a southern drawl to disguise her true accent. She could do a west coast accent, but she preferred the easy-going drawl.

  “I sure do,” Morgan said, playing along. He ducked in under the curtain hatch and went inside. “You know,” he continued, “it might be my mind playing tricks, but for some reason you remind me of somebody.”

  Honey stepped down onto the deck, took a final quick look around before she stepped through the hatch and reached into her shoulder bag. She looked at the heavily-built, six foot man. Her stepfather held no special place in her mind, except as her next target.

  “Perhaps I remind you of my sister,” she said quietly, “so I think we’ll dispense with the coffee.”

  Morgan half turned, confused by the mention of a sister. He appeared mystified at the sudden change of attitude of his guest and her change of accent. His brow furrowed as he turned to face her and looked down at the pistol pointing at his gut from six feet away. He knew that whoever this woman was, she was capable of using an automatic. It had a suppressor fitted and that usually indicated that the user meant business.

  He said, “You’ve come to the wrong guy if you want to rob somebody. For your information, you really have picked the wrong guy. I’m a cop.”

  “Step back to that bench and drop your shorts Morgan,” Honey said.

  “Do what?” he said his eyes narrowing as he stared at her and stepped back.

  “You heard me,” she said. “Drop the shorts around your ankles and kick them off.”

  A smirk crept over Morgan’s lips, and his head shook slowly from side to side, until he saw her take aim at his right leg. He held his hands out, palms facing her.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m not wearing underwear, so if you want to-,”

  “Just do as you’re fucking told, and do it now.”

  Morgan pushed the waistband of his shorts out and pushed them over his hips so that they fell to his ankles. He continued to look at the woman and gun as he stepped out of the shorts. He stared hard at his visitor and realized that after the initial introduction, the dialect had sounded New York distinctly.

  He’d been expecting a female visitor but his defenses had been breached by Honey’s appearance. The blonde hair and tight shorts had caught his eye and thrown him, but it was suddenly very clear who was now standing in front of him.

  Honey said, “Sit and raise your hands up behind your head.”

  As Morgan made to sit down, a speedboat went past near the end of the mooring, and it caused a rapid rippling effect which lifted the light craft and made it bob up and down several times.

  Honey lost her balance momentarily, and Morgan took his chance. He was a big man so although not fast, he knew one good punch would lay the girl out. Morgan moved his hands simultaneously. He thrust his left out to grip and push away the extended length of the suppressor on the gun while at the same time taking a swing with his right.

  The boat was still lifting and dropping in the water, so the punch didn’t land with the intended force, but still hit Honey a glancing blow on the left side of her jaw. She stumbled backwards but managed to hold onto the gun until her right elbow hit the cabinet behind her.

  When the wea
pon clattered to the wooden floor, Morgan ignored the woman and dived for the gun. The boat lifted again, and his hand landed beside the suppressor. He stretched out to grasp the pistol grip which was to prove a mistake.

  As Honey sat on the floor in the corner between two cabinets, she realized how far she was from the gun. She quickly leant onto her left arm and reached for the harness under the back of her shirt with her right hand.

  Morgan was kneeling on the floor on all fours. At the same time as his desperate fingers started to close on the pistol he felt a sharp pain in his scrotum. He paused with his hand still on top of the gun and looked underneath his body. A large hunting knife was held steadily in a vertical position, the point already making serious contact with his balls.

  “Go on,” Honey said, “lift the gun, and I’ll thrust all 12 inches up inside you.”

  Morgan called her bluff and closed his fingers on the pistol grip, but he was in no position to lift it and turn his hand. When the blade broke the skin, he let go of the gun and placed his hand flat on the floor. He would have to negotiate until he got another chance to kill this woman.

  As Honey sat there on the floor still breathing heavily, she realized that she was right. Killing this man wasn’t the way to go. He had unwittingly shown her where his greatest concern lay. Morgan was a man who could take punishment, but he had a weakness, and it wasn’t an Achilles Heel.

  It was only two minutes since Morgan was first told to sit that he did sit down, and then he looked up at the woman who was once more on her feet and in control. The silenced gun was in her right hand; the hunting knife in her left; his fresh blood on the tip.

  She said, “I came here to kill you, but you’ve just changed my mind.”

  “Look,” he gasped. “I know you want vengeance, but you’ve dealt with all the others.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re only a young woman. They’ll give you the death sentence-,”

  “Where are your cuffs?” Her expression didn’t change.

  He said, “I can give you enough money to-,”