by Bob Mayer
“We need to get Cole back,” Chase said over his shoulder.
They reached the end of the dock and walked up the short grass slope. Chase slid open the back glass door, realizing he hadn’t locked it, realizing further that he had no keys for the house, and the front door had been unlocked when he’d arrived. And the power and water had been on.
Who was paying the bills?
He was too tired to delve further into that line of thought. “We all need some sleep, but we have to post security.”
“Roger’s Rules of Ranging,” Gator said. “Half the party stays awake while the other half sleeps.”
“We don’t need fifty-percent security,” Chase said, “but we need at least one person. Gator, since you’re the Ranger, you take first watch. Our primary concern is from the road, but keep an eye on the boat, too.”
“Yes, sir,” Gator said. He hefted an M-203 and walked out the front door to begin his patrol.
“Neighbors are going to love that,” Riley said.
“Fuck them,” Chase replied. “It’s my land.”
“Okey-dokey,” Riley said as he walked over to the cooler Gator had brought the previous day, which now seemed an eternity ago. He lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of beers, dripping with water from the melted ice. “I’m going to take the edge off and crash.”
“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Chase asked.
“Isn’t it a little late to be worrying about that?” Riley replied. His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. “Bets for the Super Bowl coming in. I’m out of the business.” He went to settings and shut down his text messaging alerts, and thus ended his bookie career.
Kono nodded toward his boat. “I will rest onboard.” He walked out and back down the dock.
They heard voices arguing in the front of the house. Riley and Chase went to the front door. Gator was staring down at Rollins, barring his way. The neighbor was wearing pajama bottoms and a half-buttoned shirt, and was barefoot. He had his big gun in his hand, but Gator’s M-203 was bigger.
“Where’s Mikey?” Rollins demanded, as much as one could demand when faced with Gator. “He wasn’t on the plane when it got back. What happened?”
Chase and Riley exchanged a tired glance. “We’ve got it, Gator.”
The Ranger shrugged and walked away.
“Did Mikey have family?” Chase asked.
“Oh, fuck,” Rollins said. “I told you not to mess with the Russians.”
“I don’t recall that,” Riley said. “Do you, Chase?”
“Nope,” Chase said. “You almost seem to have encouraged it. You did lend use of your plane. Did Mikey have anyone who would miss him?” he repeated. “Except you, of course.”
“Fuck you,” Rollins said. “Mikey had no family. Had some on-again, off-again piece of ass he used to hook up with. She won’t miss him.”
“Your concern is overwhelming,” Chase said.
“Fuck you.”
Riley pulled out the dogtags. “These are Mikey’s. You want them?”
“What the fuck for?”
Riley took a step toward the businessman. “Pay some fucking respect. You ever serve?”
Rollins took two steps back. “Hey, I gave the guy a place to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Riley said, slipping the tags back in his pocket. “He’s sleeping permanent now.”
The gun was just hanging in Rollins’s hand, and both Chase and Riley could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Did you get Karralkov?” he asked without much optimism in his voice.
“No,” Riley answered.
“What did you do that got Mikey killed?” Rollins demanded.
“You’re not involved anymore,” Chase said. “And I’m sick of you waving that gun around.”
Before Rollins could react, Chase took two steps, covering the distance, and snatched the large revolver out of his hand. “And get the fuck off my property.” Chase’s hand drifted over the handle to his own pistol.
Rollins’ face flushed red, but he turned and stomped away.
“Getting a bit touchy,” Riley said to Chase.
“Ditto.”
They both headed back to the house. Sarah and Erin were waiting for them in the doorway.
“Show’s over,” Chase said. “Let’s get some rest. We’ve got a long afternoon ahead.” They entered the house, and Chase shut the door. “Sarah, why don’t you take the master bedroom, and Erin, take the guest room next to it?”
Sarah hesitated, staring at Chase as if trying to send him a message, but what had happened on the Zodiac was already in the past for him, his mind a jumble of the possibilities, most of them bad, that the day would bring.
Erin stared at Sarah, staring at Chase, and then, with a slight shake of her head, disappeared into the guest bedroom.
Riley picked his beers back up and disappeared down the other hallway.
A clusterfuck, was the conclusion Chase came to as he walked outside. This was a clusterfuck.
He walked out onto the walkway to the dock. The Fina was a dark shadow in the early-morning light. A stark contrast to the modern, sparkling cabin cruisers resting in their boat lifts on either side. As his house was a stark contrast to the homes on either side. Perhaps when something was so different, it didn’t belong, Chase surmised, another great leap he thought Sylvie would have been proud of, except Sylvie was a history that was growing fainter with each passing day.
He turned as he heard footsteps behind him.
Sarah came up and put an arm around his waist.
“Come to bed.”
“The others—” Chase began, but Sarah put a finger on his lips. “Come to bed with me.”
* * * * *
Riley was moaning slightly, a trait he was unaware of, not having slept in the same room with another human being in years. His legs were vibrating, both from whatever dark dreams and memories haunted his unconscious brain, and from the unaccustomed finning he’d done just hours ago. He was beginning to tighten up, muscles that hadn’t been exercised in years, tingling and twitching. He was in the middle of a deep sleep cycle when his cell phone buzzed irritably near his head, next to his pistol, both of which were unholstered and ready for action.
His hand shot to the grip of his pistol on instinct, fingers curling around it, thumb slipping to the safety and flipping it off. He sat up abruptly, the blood draining from his head, and he felt faint. Blinking through bleary eyes, he scanned the room.
No threat.
Then the phone buzzed again.
Riley reclined on his back, resting his head on the bunched-up jacket he’d used as a pillow. He put the pistol down and grabbed the phone. He hesitated before pushing the accept button, because his clients always texted, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had called him, other than the people here in this house in the past twenty-four hours. The phone just said PRIVATE.
“Yeah?”
“Mister Riley, my friend from Dafooskie.”
“What can I do for you, Mister Farrelli?”
“I’m hearing you’ve been a bad boy.”
Riley sighed and closed his eyes. “What do you want?”
“If you’re going to go after someone,” Farrelli said, “you shouldn’t do a single body punch. You’ve got to chop the head off.”
Riley said nothing, waiting for Farrelli to cut to the chase.
“As I mentioned,” Farrelli continued, “Mister Karralkov and the Quad have business interests that tangentially intersect. I perhaps forgot to mention, as I reveled in the enjoyment of our enlightening and entertaining conversation, that I also have business interests that tangentially intersect with our Russian friend.”
“He ain’t my friend,” Riley said.
“Good point,” Farrelli agreed. “A wrong choice of words on my part. Our Russian, umm, hmm, give me a word to describe the relationship, Mister Riley?”
“Our enemy.”
“Ah, no, no,” Farrelli said. “You cannot
make competitors into enemies if you are going to have business arrangements. That is where your friend, Mister Chase, it is Chase is it not, went wrong. He threatened. He went in belligerently to someone he wished to negotiate with. He had other options that would have been wiser.”
“Such as?”
“You came to see me,” Farrelli said. “But only for information. No man likes being used as a sponge. What was in it for me? You could have used me as a disinterested intermediary with Mister Karralkov, with the right enticement. Instead, you choose the direct approach, or should I say, Mister Chase did? You seemed brighter than that, although I am beginning to question that assumption.”
“Karralkov been in contact with you?” Riley asked, finally getting a glimpse through the fog of Farrelli’s words and his own sleep-muddled brain. He looked at his watch. It was 11:42. A little under seven hours until the deadline. Plenty of time for Karralkov to have learned there was a problem. Plenty of time for Karralkov to have killed Cole.
Riley got to his feet, holding the phone tight to one ear, sliding his pistol into its holster on his left thigh and picking up his HK. He went out of the bedroom, into the living room. Gator was seated in a chair, right in the middle of the open front doors, his M-203 across his knees. He glanced at Riley as he entered, and Riley nodded toward the street.
Gator got up and moved outside, taking up a covered position behind the downed tree. He was also talking on the radio and Riley assumed he was warning Kono to be alert on the boat.
“Mister Farrelli?” Riley said, the silence having gone on a bit too long.
Farrelli finally responded. “Mister Karralkov has been making inquiries in a number of directions about a certain incident last night, or more accurately, early this morning. He is quite irate. Perhaps past the point of being reasonable.”
“Is the situation past being resolved, the point of no return?” Riley hoped Farrelli would understand the real question: was the kid still alive?
“I wouldn’t imagine it has gone that far. Mister Karralkov is, first and foremost, a business person.”
“Can you speak to Karralkov?” Riley asked. He was searching for Chase, but he was nowhere to be found. Riley looked out back and saw Kono on the bridge of the Fina, on alert. Using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear, Riley cracked open the door to the other guest bedroom. Erin was a tiny ball curled up in the bed. She stirred at the sound of the door. Riley went to the master and opened that door.
Chase and Sarah were in bed, their naked bodies half-covered by sweat-soaked sheets. Chase stirred, stretched, blinked, and then focused on Riley standing in the door. Riley jerked his thumb, indicating he needed to get out here, then shut the door a bit harder then he needed to.
“Something bothering you?” Even Farrelli could pick up Riley’s sudden mood change over the phone.
“Yeah. Named Karralkov,” Riley said. “Can you set up a meet? He has something we want, and we have something he wants.”
“Ah,” Farrelli drew that out. “And why should I do that?”
“Ten percent of what we’re putting on the table for Karralkov.”
“And what is that?”
“That ten percent is worth several million dollars,” Riley said.
“But if it’s Karralkov’s property, perhaps he won’t agree,” Farrelli pointed out.
“It isn’t his property if he doesn’t have it.” Riley paused. “And what business interests of yours coincide with Karralkov’s? Perhaps you aren’t a disinterested party in this matter, after all.”
Erin walked out, shaking off her sleep. Kono was coming down the dock, assault rifle in hand.
“Maybe you should have stayed on Dafooskie?” Farrelli replied, instead of answering.
“Maybe, but I ain’t there now,” Riley said.
“Some of your clients have already contacted acquaintances of mine, saying you aren’t responding to their, shall we say, business proposals, and they are going elsewhere.”
“I’m out of that business,” Riley said.
“My sense is that your heart was never in it,” Farrelli said. “Is your heart in what you’re doing now?”
Riley held back a sigh. “Yes.”
“I will get back to you.” The phone went dead.
The door to the master opened and Chase stepped out, ready for battle, in full gear. Erin stared at him, then past him, then back at him, then gave a slight shake of head and turned her attention to Riley. “What’s going on?”
“Wait until everyone is here,” Riley said. “Tell Gator to come back in,” he added.
Kono came in through the sliding door, Gator in the front. And then Sarah appeared, her clothes haphazardly thrown on.
Riley held up his iPhone, then slid it into the pocket on his vest. “Karralkov knows his island got hit. Farrelli is going to try to set up a meet. We give him the heroin for Cole. Along with the original blackmail for the Super Bowl.” He looked at Sarah. “That money is already flowing into the account Walter was given, right?”
“Yes. It should be.”
“So Karralkov is getting his money,” Chase said. “Add in the heroin, and I think there’s a chance he’ll take that and write off the men he lost. I’m sure he can replace them easier than he can replace the heroin.”
“And if he don’t?” Gator asked. “We’ve crossed the line. This is war. Total fucking warfare. We go and we take out Karralkov, and every son-of-a-bitch that works for him. Finish it. If we don’t now, this ain’t ever gonna be over.”
“And Cole?” Riley asked.
Gator was about to say something, then looked over at Sarah and his mouth snapped shut. “Whatever you say, chief.”
“So we just wait?” Erin asked.
There was a moment of silence, everyone looking at Chase. Riley jumped into the pause of leadership. “I say no. This house is known. I don’t think Karralkov will do a pre-emptive strike, but he might. We stay mobile, on the Fina. We stay within cell phone range of shore to see what Farrelli comes back with, but keep everyone together, and we’ve got the heavy weapons onboard if we need them. It’s our best chance of making it to the deadline.”
Chase nodded. “Everyone pack up. Kono, tie off the Zodiac to your boat. We leave in ten minutes. Gator, keep security to the front.”
As everyone split up, Riley walked over to Chase and leaned in close. “What the fuck? I thought you only met her a day ago.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It just happened,” Chase said.
“What? Did you trip onto her and your dick accidently slipped inside?” Riley ran a hand through his graying hair. “You going be thinking with the right head today? Because it’s all on the line in the next couple of hours. Not just her son, but all of us. Everyone who pitched in to help you.”
Chase nodded, searching for the right words to answer Riley, but he couldn’t find them, because there weren’t any.
Riley took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. Let’s do this. When things break, they’re going to break fast.”
Chapter Twelve
As Kono pulled the Fina away from the dock, Riley went to the front end of the boat and called Detective Parsons without consulting anyone about the decision.
“Parsons.”
“It’s Dave Riley.”
There was a short silence. “Was wondering if I’d hear from you or any of your merry band.”
“What have you heard?”
“Nuthin’. Not a thing.”
“So why were you wondering?”
“Sounds to me, from the background noise, that y’all be on the water,” Parsons said. “ A pleasant Sunday afternoon outing?”
“Not.”
“How is that little matter I discussed with Mister Chase turning out?” Parsons asked. “Satisfactorily?”
“We’re still working on it,” Riley said. “Which is why I’ve called. We’re probably going to have to do a sit-down with Karralkov later today. Some bac
k-and-forth bartering of items. Your presence would be quite useful to insure it remains an exchange of non-lethal items.”
“You ever see Scarface?” Parsons asked. “Where that guy, who was Tony Montana’s boss, he used a cop like that? Remember what happened to that cop? Seen the Godfather? The cop, McCluskey, who was supposed to be protection for the gangster, he got killed, too. Maybe there’s a message there.”
Riley rubbed his forehead. He had a bad headache, and wanted a beer. “I’m just asking.”
There was a long silence. “Friend,” Parsons finally said, “you been here a couple of years and you been watching and listening, but being over on Dafuskie and minding your own business, while it was good for you and your business, it means there’s a lot you don’t know. Who’s arranging the sit-down?”
“Farrelli.”
Parsons snorted. “You think he doesn’t have a hand in this play? He chose to work with Karralkov, rather than confront him when the Russians first moved in. That was probably a mistake, in retrospect. For Farrelli. ‘Cause Karralkov has been getting stronger and stronger.”
Another silence. Riley noted that Chase was glancing up at him questionably, but after the events of this morning, he figured the younger man didn’t have much to say about the way Riley tried to approach things.
Then Parsons spoke. “You didn’t get what you were after. Has Briggs agreed to the deal?”
“Yes.”
“So what are you going to be exchanging?”
“Something we took from Karralkov that’s worth a lot.”
“On top of the original deal,” Parsons mused. “Why?”
“We took some other things from Karralkov that can’t be replaced.”
“Damnation.”
“The kid is still out there,” Riley said, tired of all the talking around the heart of the matter.
“I picked that up,” Parsons said. There was a deep sigh over the phone. “I can’t get involved,” he finally said. “Farrelli wouldn’t allow me there.”
“Why not?”
“I’m into him for thirty large.” Parsons rushed on, the explanation that almost always came after the confession. “Tricare doesn’t take care of everything my son needs, and that his family needs.”
