She was quick. I had steeled myself to dive to the door, thinking I had time considering her state of inebriation but I didn’t expect her swift action, much less a shotgun. The two big barrels stared at me with cold malice.
“You get out of here right now!” Jeannie Kirkwood said. “I got nothing for you. I don’t know no Allie Fucking Hayes. My daughter Tiffany is dead. Dead. You go back to whoever sent you and you tell them my daughter is dead. She’s dead. She was killed by a drunk driver. A drunk driver hit her and she was killed. And that’s it. That’s how it is. That’s how it will always be. You tell them that. Now get out.”
“Jeannie,” I said, “there’s no need for this. We’re on the same side. I’m doing this for Allie. And for Tiffany. Don’t you want to see your daughter again?”
“I told you. My daughter is fucking dead. Now get the fuck out!”
I put my hands up and backed up to the door, my heart beating out of my chest. I opened it and was outside. I got in my rental car and drove away. I breathed again when I was back on I-75.
Well, that went well, didn’t it?
THIRTY-SIX
THE HOUSE WAS IN LAKE HERON, WHICH WASN’T MUCH of a town. More like a big patch of woods with one paved road cutting through it, just north of Starke.
It wasn’t much of a house, either. It looked more like a series of ragged square stones piled on top of each other by a sleepwalker with bad vision. The roof was made of corrugated aluminum and looked like a hearty sneeze might blow it off. An inside light glowed through a window in the dusk.
According to the online database, the deed was in the name of Vernon Shores. A lean man about twenty-five was working on an old orange-red Ford Bronco in the front yard—if you could call it a yard. A better word may have been slough or dirt-pit. The young man was shirtless in faded jeans and brown boots. He had sleeve tattoos on both arms and some sort of metal band riveted up his nose like a horseshoe, two prongs hanging down like shiny silver snot. He had a long beard and wore a tattered black baseball cap.
He looked up when I pulled the rental car into the long dirt drive.
I put on my energetic but trustworthy face as I got out of the car and walked toward him.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m looking for Hayley.”
“The fuck you want with Hayley?” he said, a large wrench in his hand.
Man, can I ever win them over.
“I’m from a law firm in Miami,” I said. “Hayley may be the beneficiary of a large sum of money, but we’re not sure.”
Vernon Shores shook the wrench like he was thinking of using it and took two steps toward me. He chewed something.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said mid-chew.
“Money. There may be some money for her in a fund. There are three Hayley Thurlows in Florida and we need to determine if she’s the correct one so she can claim it.”
He chewed some more and looked at me, thinking that over. Thinking was always going to be a bother for him.
“How much money?” he said as he turned and spit.
“I’m only allowed to talk to Hayley Thurlow,” I said, “and only if I determine she’s the correct Hayley Thurlow. She may not be.”
He thought some more. The sun went down a little. Crickets chirped.
“You aren’t the guy fucking her, are you?” he said.
I had the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. Not sure why. It’s just been that kind of a day.
“No,” I said with as straight a face as I could muster.
He chewed and thought some more, the gears churning very slowly.
“Fine,” he said, turning back to the Bronco. “She’s at the Horseshoe, working her shift at the bar. Go ahead, I don’t care. Fuck her. I just don’t care anymore. She’s all yours, bud.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I just got in my rental car and drove away.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE HORSESHOE LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE A BAR NAMED The Horseshoe should look. It was a low brown brick building in an unpaved clearing surrounded by tall pines. One door, no windows. I felt somewhat inadequate as I parked my Toyota rental, dwarfed by massive pickup trucks all around me.
Just as I expected, on the inside were pool tables surrounded by good-ol’-boys in cowboy hats swilling longnecks and making sure I knew from their stares that they don’t like my haircut. The bar was long and strangely shaped, running all along the back and then jutting out in the middle before ending near the far left corner. The place was busy.
There were three bartenders on duty, all female. I picked the one who most closely resembled the plump girl in the pictures and took a stool near her, over to the right near the pool tables. If it was Hayley, she’s gotten a lot plumper. Not obese yet, but certainly in the fast lane. I’d guess her age at about twenty-five.
A napkin landed in front of me.
“What can I get you, hun?” she said with big eyes that seemed to glow, even though her face was different from Allie and Jeannie. Freckles and long red hair, but definitely the plump girl in the pictures. She had a pretty smile. Her expression was full of warmth and kindness.
“PBL draft,” I said.
“Tall?”
“There should only be tall.”
“Sure thing, hun,” she said with a laugh.
I watched her as she filled the glass from the Pabst Blue Ribbon tap and placed it in front of me. “Want to run a tab?”
“Sure.”
“Want to see a menu?”
“No, thanks.”
I sipped my beer and watched her work, figuring out the best approach. My batting average wasn’t high today, so I gave it some thought. I finished my beer.
“Another one?” she said as she came over to me.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m Titus, by the way.”
She finished pouring and paused, something out of the ordinary string-of-life bullshit being said.
“I’m Hayley,” she said, placing the glass down with another big smile.
“Nice to meet you, Hayley.”
“Same here.”
“You know, you look like an intuitive person. I bet everybody comes to you for advice, don’t they?”
“Oh my God,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea. I am everybody’s problem-solver. Sometimes I think I should be a psychiatrist. I’d probably make a ton more money.”
“Probably. Well, I’ve got a problem and I could use some help. I know I don’t know you, but sometimes it’s good to talk to a stranger.”
She pointed at me with one hand, the other on her hip. “You’re right. Give me a minute, hun. Let me take care of these boys and I’ll be right back.”
A crew of guys with the aroma of having put in a twelve-hour shift outdoors somewhere had lined up to my right. I predicted they would become loud and boisterous at some point tonight.
I looked around for who could take care of them. I spotted him right away. He sat in the right hand corner in a black hat, black shirt, jeans with a big buckle in the front, and cowboy boots. He was maybe fifty, but extremely fit with a trimmed neat white beard. He didn’t seem to be drinking or doing anything at all besides looking around. The way he sat, completely at ease but with a certain readiness, told me he would be a formidable opponent. I sensed experience.
Hayley finished setting up the new crowd and came back to me.
“So, Titus,” she said, “the doctor is in.”
“I’m trying to help somebody,” I said. “Somebody who’s involved in something way beyond her control.”
“Story of my life, hun. Go on.”
“See, there’s this girl I know who is in trouble. I want to get her out of it because I’m afraid of what could happen to her. She’s surrounded by some very bad people.”
Hayley squinted. “She’s your girlfriend, right?”
“No.”
“Wife?”
“No,” I said. “It’s a long story. I know her through a friend of a friend. The thing is, she
told me about her—mentor—someone she loves deeply who she hasn’t seen in a long time. I’m thinking if I can get in touch with that mentor and somehow get them together I can help her.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled, leaning down on the bar. The way she listened to me and dove into my problem made me like her instantly.
“Honey,” she said, “first of all, you can’t help anyone if they ain’t willing to help themselves. Everyone digs their own graves and they jump right on in. I say move on.”
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve considered moving on. But let’s just say for a moment that you, Hayley, are the mentor and you don’t know how much trouble your former student is in. Wouldn’t you want to know so you could help?”
She thought about that. “Yeah, I guess I would, but coming from a stranger it would be weird.”
“Exactly. I can’t just jump into the mentor’s life and say ‘Do you remember So-and-So? She’s in trouble.’ That would be weird.”
“Definitely weird,” she said.
“So how would you go about doing that?” I said.
She frowned, thinking. “Hm, I don’t know. Let me work on that.” She went off and served some more customers.
The boys next to me began to get louder. Two of them shot dirty glances my way. Nobody else in the bar wore longish hair nor a sport coat. I looked at the guy over in the corner. He was keeping an eye on the loud boys, but he had become fixated on me. He stared at me like a statue with no expression.
I finished my beer. A few minutes later, Hayley returned and poured another one without asking.
“Hun,” she said, “I thought it over. You need to forget this girl. It’s going to be super-weird for you to get involved.”
“Okay,” I said, “but I have a picture of her with her mentor. They were kids. Her mentor is actually her older sister. Mind if I show you?”
“Sure,” she said with a twitch in her eye.
I dropped the ‘Happy Birthday, Tiffany!’ picture on the bar. Hayley picked it up and looked at it.
Her face dropped. She shuddered.
“I’m trying to help Tiffany,” I said. “She loves her older sister and she’s in trouble.”
Hayley folded her arms and backed up a little. I could feel her withdrawing into herself.
“Are you a cop?” she said.
“No,” I said. “I’m a friend of Tiffany’s. She’s in trouble. She needs your help.”
Hayley folded her arms and shook her head. I saw the raw fear as it enveloped her. The walls slammed down.
“I can’t help you,” she said, trembling now. “Look, I got to get back to work.”
I sat some more and sipped my beer, watching her from the corner of my eye. She threw quick glances over at me. She was frightened. I didn’t mean to come across as frightening. My instinct told me that it wasn’t me she was frightened of.
Whatever the hold is on this family, it’s strong. I heard someone yell at her for bringing the wrong order. Then she disappeared into the kitchen and was gone for a while.
I glanced over at the corner. The guy in the black cowboy hat with the white beard was gone too.
Hayley didn’t return. Another girl took over her end of the bar. Nobody offered to refill my drink. It’s just not my day, is it?
I took out a pen and wrote my phone number on the back of the picture along with:
Bug-boo needs her Bumble. Please help.
I folded two twenty-dollar bills under it, reached over the bar, and left it on the underbar station next to the taps facing up.
The guy in the black cowboy hat with the white beard was good. He walked straight through the group of loud boys like they weren’t even there and moved to my right soundlessly. The position of his hands and the way he stood with his weight centered and his shoulders loose again confirmed my suspicion that he was a pro. I could also tell he knew I was a pro.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I’ve had a request for you to leave the premises.”
I get that a lot, don’t I?
“No problem,” I said, my hands up. “I was just leaving anyway.”
We walked to the door together. He pushed it open.
“Have a nice night,” he said.
I nodded and walked to my car. When I backed out of the space, I noticed the man was still standing out front with his arms folded, watching me. I felt his eyes on me all the way out of Lake Heron and south to Starke, where I rented a room for the night.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE SUN STREAMED IN THROUGH THE HOTEL WINDOW in my room at the Best Western in Starke, where I sat on the bed waiting. 10:55 a.m. No call from Hayley.
The night before—while eating a ridiculously good steak sandwich from an old-school place next door called Powell’s Dairy Freeze—I had bet myself Hayley would call by my 11:00 a.m. check-out time.
Looks like I’m losing the bet.
I sat and stared at Powell’s and at the cars going by on Florida Highway 301. A silver Audi A5 drifted by. In the moment I saw it, I made a decision.
I picked up my phone and ran an online search for ‘sporting goods.’ I quickly found what I was looking for.
I picked up my duffel and left a ten on the bed for the housekeeper. I went to the front desk, dropped off my key, and walked out to the rental car.
At 10:59 a.m., my phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello, this is Titus,” I said.
“Hi,” said a female voice. “It’s, um, Hayley from last night. From the Horseshoe.”
“Hi, Hayley.”
There was a long pause.
“Is Tiffany okay?” she said in a voice that had been crying.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s why I came here. I need your help. I can’t help her without you.”
“Why? How? What’s going on?”
“Where can we meet? I’ll tell you all about it. Pick a place you feel safe. Anywhere you want. Bring anyone you trust.”
There was a long silence. I waited, my stomach churning as I watched a man in a Guns ‘n Roses T-shirt eating a sandwich at an outdoor picnic table next door.
“Meet me at Hendree’s in Starke,” she said. “But I won’t be able to be there until after three. I’m working the morning shift at the dollar store across the street. I won’t have long because I’m at the Horseshoe again tonight.”
“Two jobs back-to-back,” I said. “You must be tired.”
“I have no choice. I have a baby and my husband—well—I have no choice.”
“Okay. What time?”
“Three-fifteen?”
“I’ll be there.”
I thought about leaving, but the guy in the Guns ‘n Roses T-shirt changed my mind. I walked next door to Powell’s Dairy Freeze for another steak sandwich. Because it’s too delicious for words.
Then, I spent the afternoon driving around Starke, familiarizing myself with the general layout—especially the area around Hendree’s and the surrounding streets. Behind Hendree’s was a stretch of woods that went back to a side-street with small cinderblock houses. My plan took shape.
Next, I drove to the Walmart Supercenter, made some purchases, and donned what I bought in a stall in the men’s room.
At 2:00 p.m., I pulled into Hendree’s and drove around the building. I saw only one security camera. There was nobody at the Drive-Thru. Wearing dark sunglasses and a camouflage head wrap, I stopped the car, dove out, and smashed the security camera with the same crowbar that almost crushed my skull a few nights ago. Then, I got back in the car, pulled up to the dumpster out back, and tossed my duffel bag in. Then, I left and drove around Starke for another hour.
At 3:00 p.m., I pulled into Hendree’s again and parked on the side. I removed the camouflage head wrap and sunglasses and walked inside. I ordered a coffee from a tall girl and sat in the front window.
Hendree’s was your typical fast-food chain with a location in almost every town from Florida to Texas. Big windows looked out on Florida Highway 301. I remem
bered how excited I used to be as a kid in Georgia when my mom took us to Hendree’s for a burger and a shake. I wasn’t excited today.
At 3:11 p.m., a silver Audi A5 glided past.
At 3:15 p.m., a Starke police cruiser pulled into the lot. A young pudgy blond cop in dark sunglasses got out. The tall girl went outside and talked to him, pointing at the area of the smashed security camera. They drifted out of sight.
I sipped some coffee.
At 3:19 p.m., a battered red Honda Civic pulled in and parked next to my Toyota. Hayley got out and walked in.
She sat down in front of me with eyes swollen from crying.
THIRTY-NINE
“SO YOU’RE A PRIVATE EYE,” HAYLEY SAID. “LIKE IN the movies.”
“Sort of,” I said. “Not officially. And nothing like the movies. I was hired by a rich lady to find her daughter Allie Hayes. I found Allie Hayes—or who I thought was Allie Hayes, anyway. The pictures seem to indicate she may be your sister Tiffany. She is running from the rich lady. She says the rich lady tried to kill her. She’s gone from boyfriend to boyfriend and even tried to get me to move to L.A. with her.”
“Sounds like Tiff.” Hayley chewed her nail and looked out the window. “Do you believe her?”
“Strangely, I do. Everyone in Miami seems to be looking for Allie—I mean, Tiffany—and they’re all lying to me. If Tiffany is in danger, I’d like to get her out of danger.” I took out the birth certificate. “Tiffany left this with me. It was in the safe of a dead kid named Jake Preston who was using it to blackmail Rexford J. Hayes, the guy running for Senate.”
I unfolded it and placed it on the table, along with the other pictures. When Hayley unfolded and read it, she burst into tears.
Hendree’s wasn’t busy, but the handful of people who were there glanced over at us. I got up and took some napkins from the dispenser. I came back and sat next to Hayley, handing her the napkins. I placed my arm around her and she leaned into my shoulder sobbing as she looked at the pictures.
Miami Burn Page 24
