Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel

by Robert Tarrant

  I glared at him. "You're enjoying this far too much, Moe."

  "Hey, gotta take your fun where you find it."

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I busied myself with simple tasks around Cap's Place the remainder of Friday. By late afternoon I was feeling like I might actually survive my attempted alcohol poisoning of last evening. I had been a cocktail of emotions most of the day. I felt relief and elation from the fact that things had ended so quickly with Elena. It was as if an unseen weight had been lifted from my shoulders. A few minutes later I would find myself lost in thought about Freeman Robinson, wondering what these last few days would be like for him. We all know we are going to die sometime, but to be counting down the days and hours until your death must be a true form of torture. I know I wouldn't be nearly as tormented by his impending execution if I didn't feel in my heart that he was unjustly convicted. What does it say about us as a society, about me as an individual, if we kill someone under the circumstances we are going to kill Freeman.

  To top off the negative side of my vacillating emotions, I hadn't heard from PJ all day. I took that to mean her day was as down as mine and for some reason that bothered me too. Of course, it could mean that she's just busy with unexpected progress on the investigation. Not likely, but a good excuse to call her and commiserate. I had just started for the inside stairs to go up to my apartment and get away from the noise of the bar to call her, when Moe called out to me. I turned and watched him approach from across the room. He made a sudden deviation from the direct route he had set out on, walking around a center section of the bar. I'd noticed him do that earlier in the day as well. It seemed odd until I focused on the area he was avoiding. It dawned on me that it was the area of the floor where he had knelt to face his own execution. The area of the floor stained with his blood. To anyone else it was just one of many stains on the floor, but to Moe it was a much more personal stain. Even a tough guy like Moe would find that constant reminder troubling.

  Moe wanted to show me the choices available for the finishes on the stage area, that had finally been completed. He said that Marge had left the color choices for the stage floor up to him and he wanted my opinion. I sensed it was the act of making the final decision that was causing Moe pause, not the choice itself. This was not like Moe. I couldn't help but speculate that the outcome of his decision to eject the guy who came back threatening us all had eroded his self-confidence.

  Feigning sincere interest, I looked at the choices with him. I said, "Wow, they all look good to me," and asked, "What's your first choice?"

  He immediately pointed at one of the samples and said, "I guess if it was my choice I'd go with this one."

  I reached up and put my hands on the outside of his massive shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes said, "Moe, let's go with your first choice. If there is one thing I've learned in my time around here it's that you always put the best interest of Cap's Place and all of us first, so I'll always go with your choice."

  His face was momentarily blank, but then the corners of his mouth turned up in a controlled grin. "Thanks Boss, I'll tell Rudy." He turned and walked back toward the kitchen, again avoiding the center of the floor.

  I went upstairs and called PJ, but her phone went to voicemail. I left what I hoped sounded like an upbeat message suggesting that we talk and brainstorm where to go next in the investigation. With only one week left, I knew that our chances of success were slim, or none. I just couldn't bring myself to give up with any time at all left and I really didn't think PJ would either.

  I came downstairs and found my stool vacant. A sign from above. Just as I sat down Harry Ward took up residence on the stool along side me. Renee was in the process of turning the bartending over to Dana, so the two of them were deeply engrossed in whatever conversation goes with changing of the guard. Harry cleared his throat loudly and said, "Excuse me ladies, can a couple of road weary warriors get some beers down here." Dana looked up, scowled at us and returned to her discussion with Renee.

  I chuckled and said, "Been hanging around with me too much, Harry. They're giving you the same respect they give me."

  Harry grinned and said, "They only treat us that way 'cause they love us."

  "Sure we do, in your dreams," was the retort from Dana as she set two Landsharks in front of us with a thud.

  "Thanks Harry, you come in and tick Dana off at the very beginning of her shift. You'll eat your dinner and go home, leaving me to live with her the rest of the evening. Thanks a lot."

  Finishing a long pull on his beer, "Nope, no dinner here tonight. I've got a date. Only got time for one quick beer."

  Before I had the opportunity to pry into his social plans, I heard Marge walking down the hallway from the office. I stepped down from my stool and met her at the end of the hall. "I thought you were gone for the day?"

  She shook her head, "Nope. Just on my way. You need something before I go?"

  I led her a couple of steps back into the hall away from the bar and said, "I was thinking that with all of the work we are doing around here, now would be a good time to refinish the floors in the bar. You know sand and stain 'em. I don't think it's been done since Mickey bought the place. I'm not even certain he did it then."

  Her eyes narrowed just a bit as she said, "I'm surprised Jack. With all of your concerns about the amount of money the remodeling is costing, I'm surprised you want to redo the floors right now. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a great idea, I'm just surprised."

  "Yeah well . . . as long as we have endured this much disruption we might as well bite the bullet and finish the job." As I was speaking I was looking past Marge to where Moe was talking to someone on the other side of the room.

  Marge turned and followed my line of vision. She turned back and smiled. "Sure Jack, I'll get a couple of bids the first of the week."

  "Great, and unless the bids look like they will break the bank let's just move ahead and get it done."

  Giving me her knowing mother look she replied, "We'll get it done . . . and as soon as possible." With that Marge turned and walked up to where Harry was seated saying, "I'm ready, if you are Harry."

  Harry replied, "Sure am. Just waiting for that slave driver of a boss to turn you loose." He turned toward me and grinned like a kid who just got away with stealing a treat from the cookie jar. "See ya, Jack. Have a good evening."

  I stammered, "Yeah . . . yeah, you too."

  Gesturing toward the twenty dollar bill Harry had left on the bar Dana said, "Hey, hang on a minute Harry and I'll get you your change."

  Harry waved at her and replied, "Take a nice tip out of the change and apply the rest to Jack's tab."

  Dana scoffed, "Ha, that wouldn't even dent one day's interest on Jack's tab." Marge and Harry chuckled and disappeared out the back door.

  I plopped back down on my stool and finished my beer while contemplating the prospects of Marge and Harry dating. I should really talk to her about the propriety of dating customers. Yeah Jack, sure.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  I had just finished my first beer and was seriously contemplating having a second when my cell phone vibrated. It was PJ, so I answered as I made my way back to the office. I could tell as soon as I heard PJ's voice that she had something positive to relay. "Jack, we found Debbie Chapman, well my friend found her."

  The excitement was contagious. "Wow, that's great. Where is she?" It wasn't like Debbie Chapman was the smoking gun that would exonerate Freeman Robinson, it was just that we had nothing else and so we were both no doubt overreacting to this lead.

  "That's the great part, she's still right here in Florida. Evidently, she's living and working in Port St. Joe."

  "Never heard of it, where's it located?"

  "It's a small town on the Gulf Coast up in the Panhandle. Closest airport is Panama City."

  "Airport? We have to fly to see her?"

  PJ asked, "Yeah . . . is that a problem? We could drive but it's at least eight hours each way
. You're not afraid to fly are you?"

  I attempted a casual laugh, but it came out more nervous than casual. "No, of course not. Just surprised. I guess I forget how big a state Florida is." The truth is that I'm not exactly afraid to fly, I'm just not especially comfortable flying. Something about leaving the ground and traveling hundreds of miles per hour with your life in the hands of a bunch of strangers you've never met that I find disquieting.

  Now a weary tone crept into PJ's voice. "Are you available to fly up there with me Monday morning?"

  "Yeah, sure, don't see why not."

  "Great . . . because I already had our travel agency book us flights up and back Monday." I sensed a tone of relief.

  "Do we have an appointment with Debbie?"

  "No, cold call again. I know it's a long shot, but I really think we need to catch her cold if we're going to be able to pull anything from her. She's our last chance to find out what was going on inside the Bennett household. People are too mobile on weekends, that's why we're waiting until Monday, with both her home and work address I'm hoping we can catch her. It's still a long shot that we can dig up enough to help Robinson at this point, but we have to give it our best try."

  I thought, it's more than a long shot, it's an impossibility, but kept that to myself. I said, "Okay, I'm in, want me to meet you at the airport? Fort Lauderdale?"

  "Yeah, we're going out of Lauderdale, hang on a second and I'll give you the particulars." PJ gave me the flight info and we agreed to meet at the terminal entrance on Monday morning.

  As we were winding up our call, a question occurred to me and I asked, "How did you book my flight, don't you need my identifying information, name, date of birth? The stuff from my driver's license?"

  "Yeah, that's right."

  The light went on in my head. "Oh, I forgot, you're a trained investigator."

  She added, "I could have called you, but I had the travel agent on the other line and my way was faster."

  I told PJ I'd see her Monday morning. She told me she was going to spend the weekend with Angela, doing mother daughter stuff, and we'd dive back into the case Monday morning. After ending the call I sat in the office a few minutes and attempted to conceive in my mind all of the scenarios that could play out in the next week to save Freeman Robinson from his scheduled execution. I couldn't think of one that seemed even remotely plausible. I trudged back out to the bar for that second beer.

  Saturday and Sunday were pretty uneventful around Cap's Place. Our fleet of table servers was struck with an epidemic of what I call sun flu, so I even pitched in both afternoons. It actually felt good being a part of the action for a few hours. I wouldn't want to make a habit of it, but it was a good distraction from my mind's continuous efforts to create some ray of hope in the Robinson case. I finally tried quieting my thoughts by telling myself that even though the criminal justice system had done him a disservice, he was probably guilty anyway. That only lasted for a few minutes, because I knew I didn't believe it. I really didn't believe he was guilty, I just didn't think we could do anything about it. Helplessness may be the most agonizing emotion of all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  I met PJ just inside Terminal 1 at Fort Lauderdale International Airport at 9:00 a.m. Monday morning. We checked in at the ticket counter and made our way through TSA security with plenty of time to spare before our flight. We found a coffee shop and paid typical exorbitant airport prices for a bottle of water for PJ and a coffee for me. I really should think about renaming Cap's Place, maybe Airport Lounge or something like that, then I could raise prices two-hundred percent.

  As we made small talk waiting for our flight, PJ told me about her weekend activities with Angela. Then she asked casually, "How was your weekend? How's Elena?" I'd be willing to bet that what she wanted to ask was, "How are things going with your stalker, mob connected, girlfriend?"

  I smiled, "Well, she dumped me on Friday." I paused for effect and added, "It's been tough, but I've recovered."

  PJ shook her head and said, "Jack Nolan, you never cease to amaze me, you have to tell me how you pulled that off?"

  "What can I tell you, I'm heartbroken, but life goes on."

  I couldn't precisely read her because PJ still wears a cop face most of the time, but believed I saw positive emotions behind those enchanting green eyes.

  Our flight was called right on time and the small group of us trooped like a gaggle of geese behind the gate agent and down a flight of stairs to the tarmac and the waiting Beechcraft 1900D. You have to appreciate the convenience of the regional air carriers, but I am never comfortable on the small twin-engine turboprop aircraft. I don't know anything about the relative safety records, I just feel more comfortable in the full grown flying machines than I do in the runts of the litter. With only one seat on each side of the center isle PJ and I were seated across from each other four rows back from front of the aircraft. It looked to me like about a dozen of the nineteen seats would be occupied on our flight to Tampa, with people who all gave the appearance of being business travelers. Tampa was the intermediate stop on our way to Panama City.

  We stowed our small carry on bags under the seats in front of us. After our unscheduled overnight stay last week, even I though it prudent to prepare for a layover in case we didn't make our scheduled return flight this evening. One advantage of a plane this size is that it doesn't take long to load. Before I had even gotten comfortable in the leather seat the co-pilot was making his final walkthrough of the aircraft and closing the boarding door. Evidently, something this size doesn't warrant cabin service. A few minutes later we were rolling toward the runway listening to a combination of pre-recorded and live welcoming and safety announcements.

  We made a steep climb out over the Atlantic before banking and heading northwest toward Tampa. PJ and I settled in for the seventy-five minute flight. PJ was reviewing her case file and I was lost in thought about the breakup with Elena. A breakup had certainly seemed like the inevitable outcome for some time. I just hoped it didn't somehow cost me my life.

  About forty-five minutes into our flight we began to encounter turbulence. The pilot announced that weather was coming in off of the Gulf and that the ride would probably get bumpier before we landed. Another problem with the runts of the litter, they can't fly above the weather. Another reminder of why flying is not my favorite pastime. Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was reveal my growing uneasiness to PJ. The woman's been in gun fights and drives like Danica Patrick, I'm confident a few bumps in an airplane are nothing to her.

  As we started to descend, rain began to pelt the windows and the sky became as dark as night. The bumps became more a series of rollercoaster drops. I looked around and saw tension on the faces of those around us. Considering my earlier perception that most of these people were seasoned business travelers, I did not take this as a good sign. Doing my best to mask my own fear, I turned to look at PJ. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed. My God, is she napping?

  Just as my stomach reached it's limits we broke out of the turbulence and came in for a relatively smooth landing even though you could feel the wind buffeting us as we taxied. We pulled up to the terminal in Tampa and the pilot announced we would have a forty-five minute stop before resuming the trip to Panama City. With the rainfall and the short layover he suggested that those continuing on to Panama City remain on board. Watching those deplaning attempting to control the umbrellas that were handed them as they exited in the gusting wind we decided to heed his suggestion.

  A few new passengers boarded as the ground crew tended the aircraft. In a few minutes the door was again closed and the co-pilot completed his walk through. Another difference between the small regional aircraft and the large jet liner is the age of the flight crew. The co-pilot looked to be about twenty years old to me. We would have definitely carded him at Cap's. I prefer my pilots with wrinkles and gray hair.

  After sitting for several minutes without moving from the terminal, the pilot
came on the intercom and advised that the weather had worsened and that we were going to hold for a few minutes until it improved. PJ and I started to contemplate what we would do if they cancelled our flight to Panama City. We could always rent a car and drive, but we would be looking at a five or six hour drive in good weather, so who knows how long it would take on a day like this. You gotta love Florida, bright and sunny in Hollywood and a monsoon in Tampa.

  I heard the two men seated directly behind us, who were evidently traveling together, discussing whether they wanted to make the flight in this weather. One told a story about being caught in a bad storm in a small plane like this and how terrified he was before they got down. Their conversation was doing nothing to settle my already jangled nerves. Just as I had gotten up the courage to suggest to PJ that it might be the best course of action to deplane now and drive, rather than wait to see how long the hold was going to be and then have the flight cancelled, the cockpit door closed and the turboprops roared back to life. We began to roll and the pilot announced that a break in the weather had opened and we would be underway soon. I wondered if he was looking out the same windows I was.

  I have always observed that the chatter in an aircraft diminishes proportionately to the increase in speed as you roll down the runway. My theory is that most people become focused on the fact that they are about to be thrust into the sky at a terrifying speed in a huge tin can that defies logic as it ascends. Today, you could have heard a pin drop in the cabin, if not for the roar of the engines. As soon as we were free of the ground the wind began to buffet us like a small boat on a raging sea. I heard audible gasps emitted from several people after especially violent jolts.

  It was difficult to tell when we stopped climbing and reached cruising altitude because we were pitching up and down so continuously. Finally, the co-pilot came on the intercom and apologized for the rough ride. He said that they expected it to improve somewhat in a few minutes, but that it would be necessary to "remain in your seat with your seatbelt securely fastened" for the entire flight. Looking around, I didn't think, even if you tried, you could have pried anyone out of their seat.