“Paige just called me. I’m heading there now, but I’m too far away. You need to get over there now.”
“On my way.”
Blu said, “Push it, man!”
Riding shotgun in the pickup, Blu saw three Isle of Palms police cruisers parked in front of the Pirate’s Cove, lights flashing, when Pelton skidded to a stop behind the last one. They both jumped out of the truck, leaving the doors open, and took the stairs two at a time.
The Chief of Police met them at the top of the steps. “Hold up.”
They both stopped.
To Pelton, the Chief said, “Your employees are fine. So are your customers.” He wiped his head. “Well, most of them, anyway.”
Pelton said, “What do you mean, ‘most of them’?”
To no one in particular, the chief said, “You know, this used to be a peaceful island. Why just this morning, my big task was impounding an abandoned moped two doors down from here. Since Mr. Pelton took up residence, I’ve had to increase my personnel and add more units on patrol.” He shook his head as if done with his diatribe and turned to Blu. “I’m going to need you to wait outside.”
Blu didn’t argue. It wasn’t his bar and he wasn’t a witness. Two officers stood on the upper front porch to their right, one of them smoking.
Blu bummed a cigarette and lit up, saying “Thanks.” He took a deep drag.
The officer said, “So you’re the PI?”
“Yes.”
“You want to tell us what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Blu had the familiar feeling he was going to learn something.
The officer said, “We were commanded to drop what we were doing and head here. Only by the time we get here, some guy is already dead.”
“Already dead? You saw the body?”
“No, but the medical examiner was called. We’re supposed to let the chief know when he gets here. Apparently the guy drank a cup of coffee and just slumped over in his seat.”
The other officer said, “Yeah, I’d stay away from the joe.”
Blu took another drag and exhaled.
Pelton came out and walked over to him.
Blu said, “Everything okay?”
“Not exactly.”
“Let me guess,” Blu said. “Shooter number two is dead.”
“Good news travels fast.”
Blu said, “Did one of your waitresses blow his head off?”
“Nope.” Pelton took out a half-smoked cigar. “The guy just keeled over right in my bar.”
While he lit up, Blu said, “Well that’s convenient.”
Pelton took a drag off his stogie and exhaled. “The guy and his brother shoot up my bar. I kill one of them. We make a plan to catch the other one. And he ends up dying in my bar.”
“I’m betting this wasn’t of natural causes.”
“Ya think?” Pelton said. “We gotta find out what your pal Skip was into.”
“Or,” Blu said, “we could choose door number two.”
“Door number two?”
Blu said, “Yes. Door number two. The one that is already open and oh-so tempting.”
“Oh,” Pelton said. “You mean the one where this mess is nicely cleaned up. There’s no longer a stone-cold killer after me for seeing his face. And the link to why your friend was murdered has disappeared. That door?”
“Exactly.”
Pelton said, “Those two peckerwoods shot up my bar and almost killed me.”
“Collateral damage.”
“Still damage. And I’m pissed. So you can walk away, but I’m going to stick my nose in this one.”
Blu took another drag and exhaled. “Good. If I had been a few minutes earlier, you’d probably have had two customers as stiffs. Whatever Skip was into, he didn’t deserve to be gunned down.”
“So what’s our next move, old man?”
“Old man?”
“Older than me, anyway.” Pelton was smiling.
“And for a moment I was beginning to like you.” Blu took out his cell phone and scrolled through his call log.
Pelton asked, “Is that the phone with the big numbers?”
The kid was really asking for a beating. Blu would have loved a fancy smartphone, but his budget at the moment barely afforded the plan he had, much less an upgrade. He ignored the jab, found the number, and hit the call button.
After a few moments, Gladys answered. “Hi, Blu.”
A decade ago, Blu picked up a domestic abuse case. Gladys had heard of him through a friend of a friend and come to his home office to hire him. At the time, her husband was taking his frustrations out on her physically. Blu handled the case pro bono when he found out Gladys worked at the DMV, a very good contact to have. It wasn’t long before Blu caught her old man in the act. With so many hospital records of her injuries, the police didn’t look too hard into it when the bastard turned up dead with a kitchen knife stuck in his neck.
Gladys had been providing Blu information for his cases ever since without complaint, although lately she’d also began offering her opinion on things. It was this new stage in their working relationship that Blu could have done without. Still, the intel was worth dealing with Gladys’s quirks.
He said, “Hey, Gladys. Need a favor.”
Pelton watched him.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said. “What have you got?”
“The name’s Abner Hollander. He just turned up dead.”
“What a shame.” She said it all monotone. “Give me an hour.”
“Thanks.” He ended the call.
Pelton said, “So you do have some sources. I thought I was going to have to carry you.”
“I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, sonny.”
And that was a true statement. Blu had already gotten the rundown from Gladys on Pelton. That was how he’d found out where he lived and tailed him. The kid had quite a few moving violations on him. And because she was apparently bored, Gladys had also provided a file of news reports on the kid she’d printed off the internet. Pelton had been in more scuffles and gunfights in the last two years than Blu had. The services Blu offered were unique and required unique circumstances. Not something that happened every day.
Pelton said, “I know you’ve been at this longer. I’m in the presence of a legend.”
Blu put a hand on Pelton’s shoulder. “Let’s get something straight. I think you deserve one big ass-whooping. But I need you vertical and coherent for what we’re about to do. Step over the line and I will drop you.”
The kid grinned at him. “Impressive vocabulary for a grunt.”
Blu had been serious about his threat, and figured Pelton knew he was serious. And the kid gives him this grin and sarcastic remark. He must be nuts.
While Blu was deciding what to say next, Pelton said, “I’m ready when you are, old man.”
Removing his hand, Blu said, “We’ve got an hour.”
Pelton said, “How about if I buy you a beverage of your choice while we wait?”
Chapter Twelve
As it was explained to Brack by the waitress who’d witnessed it, Abner was sitting at a table in the bar area by himself nursing a cup of coffee when he gasped and keeled over.
Brack reviewed the video feed from the cameras Paige had installed after a guy named Ernest Brown had broken in and stolen his license to sell liquor back in May. The images backed up the story. And also showed several people around Abner’s table, including one really big guy.
He’d let Carraway view it. As much as the guy got under his skin, Brack couldn’t help but like him. Carraway didn’t take crap from anyone, especially him.
Carraway sat at the bar sipping a club soda and lime.
Brack had a large sweet tea with four lemon wedges.
Neither
of them said anything, which suited Brack just fine.
Carraway’s phone rang in his pocket and he stepped away from the bar and answered it.
Paige, the bar’s manager, came up to Brack. Mid-twenties, tan, and in very good shape, she was the one who really ran the Pirate’s Cove. Brack knew that without her, he’d have to close the doors on the place.
She said, “Who’s your good-looking friend?”
“His name’s Blu Carraway. He’s a PI.”
“Private investigator? He’s the guy that came in after the shooters?”
“Yes.”
She sat on the stool next to Brack. “Please tell me you’re not going to get involved in this mess any further.”
Brack said, “I—”
Paige put a finger to his lips. “On second thought, I don’t need you lying to me. I know Trish is watching Shelby.”
“Someone sent those two gunmen here and they shot up our place.”
“I’ve already had the damage repaired. But both of the shooters are dead. I think this should end here.”
Carraway returned from his phone call and Brack introduced him to Paige.
To Brack, she said, “We can’t risk losing what we’ve built here. Or did you forget that we almost lost it all just a few months ago?”
Brack looked down at the newly repaired wood surface of the bar. “I haven’t forgotten anything. If you or anyone else had been working yesterday, they might have killed you, too. That doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Sometimes,” she said, “we have to do things we don’t like. I think you should sit this one out.” She motioned to Carraway. “He’s a PI. Let him handle it.”
Carraway said, “I almost talked myself into dropping this. And I bounced it off the boy wonder here, too. But he said something that convinced me otherwise.”
Paige said, “I’ll bet.”
Brack listened as Carraway continued.
“A man died in your bar. We don’t know why. They would have already cased the place and known about your cameras and how to delete the files. And they would not have left any witnesses. The kid got the drop on them. Bad luck for them, good luck for him because he’s still breathing. But now whoever hired the shooters is probably worried about how they can be linked.”
Page said, “I hear you, but don’t you think that if they see that no one is pursuing this, it will go away?”
Brack said, “The shooter came after me. Someone got to him first. I think they’re cleaning up loose ends. If they find out Skip talked to Carraway, he could be the next target.”
Blu looked at Pelton. Did the kid really just say that?
Pelton said, “They might think Skip told him what he knows and now they have to tie up another loose end.”
It was a stretch and even Blu had trouble buying it.
Paige said, “No offense, Mr. Carraway, but how does that affect us here?”
She had a point.
Pelton said, “I started this ball rolling.”
Paige said, “No you didn’t. At best, you derailed it.”
“And now I want to finish it. I want to send a clear message to everyone that if they bring this into our house, they will pay for it. Whoever is behind this is about to find out what that feels like.”
The hard look on Paige’s face seemed to soften.
Blu had a daughter named Hope. She was a lot like this young woman. The father in him couldn’t help but like Paige.
To Pelton, she said, “I know you want to think you are doing this for all of us, but don’t kid yourself, Brack.”
The kid’s sun burnt face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Paige said, “You haven’t been the same since Darcy left.”
Blu had a hunch Paige was talking about Darcy Wells, a local news correspondent who left for Atlanta a few months ago. According to Gladys’s research, Darcy and Pelton had both been linked to the solving of two murders, one of which was the kid’s uncle’s. Instead of rubbing salt in the kid’s wounds, Blu stayed quiet.
Pelton said, “You’re gonna think whatever you’re gonna think.”
She looked at the kid for a long twenty seconds. Blu could tell Paige was about ten years younger than Pelton, which put her two decades younger than himself. But at this moment in time, she was the group elder. Hope, his daughter, was around the same age. Paige’s wisdom made even him a little uncomfortable, in the same manner that Billie could make him uncomfortable. Strong, wise women often did that to him.
Paige said, “I can’t stop you. And I’m not going to leave you or what we’ve built. But if something bad happens, it is entirely on you.”
The kid did the only wise thing, in Blu’s opinion. He kept his mouth shut.
Paige turned and walked through a set of swinging double doors. Blu assumed they went to the kitchen.
Pelton looked down at his hands, which were curled around his iced tea.
Blu said, “Look, kid. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
Their eyes met, the kid’s a cold hard glare. Blu thought he was about to snap. Instead, the kid took a deep breath and said, “I need a smoke.” He took his drink and walked onto the back deck.
Blu thought under the circumstances that an extra Camel wouldn’t hurt anything. He pulled the pack out of his pocket, knocked one out, stuck it in his mouth, and followed the kid outside to light up.
“People Are Strange” by The Doors streamed from the bar’s sound system.
Chapter Thirteen
Brack knew where they had to go next. Since Darcy had left the city, he’d lost his most valuable source. But he hadn’t lost all of his sources. His Aunt Patricia still held a firm grip on the local information through her news empire. While the print edition was on its way down, online subscriptions soared. Darcy had been her star reporter and correspondent. Without her, Patricia had used her savvy business skills and hired two very attractive female TV personalities from Myrtle Beach. What they lacked in credible news chops, they more than made up for in their ability to captivate the TV audience.
As attractive as both of the new-to-Charleston young correspondents were, they weren’t Darcy. Brack had trouble warming up to them, even though they seemed to spend a lot of time in his bar when they weren’t working on their physiques or for Patricia.
Their presence only helped his bottom line because of the amount of men they drew. But Paige had mentioned more than once that they were both after Brack. If only he could get his head on straight and forget about the woman who left Charleston, and any chance with him, to marry some peckerwood. Which he couldn’t.
Brack called Patricia.
She asked him to come into the news station’s main office to meet with her.
He told her he was bringing Carraway.
She said, “Is he as handsome in the flesh as he is in his DMV photo?”
Patricia was in her late sixties and Brack had trouble picturing her with anyone other than his uncle, even though she had begun dating other men again since his passing.
Not knowing how to answer the question, even after he looked at Blu as if to try, Brack said, “I guess that’s up to you to decide,” and ended the call.
Carraway asked, “What?”
“Um, nothing,” Brack said. “She wants us to meet her at her office. You okay with that?”
He took a last long drag off his Camel and stubbed it out in an ashtray. “Let’s go.”
Brack clipped the burning end off his stogie, crushed the cherry under his sandal, and stuck the remainder in his pocket. At twenty bucks apiece, he didn’t believe in wasting a decent Dominican cigar.
They rode in his truck into town at a much slower pace than the ride to the island, both of them seeming to unwind. Satellite radio’s eighties alternative station streamed a New Order classic.
&nbs
p; Brack parked in the lot reserved for Patricia’s employees and both of them walked inside.
Miss Dell, the receptionist, in the middle of taking a call, took one look at Carraway and nearly dropped the receiver. Her face flushed and she said, “Oh my.”
Part of Brack thought it might be a fun idea to leave Carraway with Miss Dell for a few minutes, give both of them something to think about. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that to the PI.
Brack leaned over the desk and gave Miss Dell a peck on the cheek.
Into the receiver, she said, “Do me a favor and check out our website.” She placed the phone in its cradle, eased her chair back from her desk, and raised herself up like a lioness ready to spring into action. Her eyes locked on Carraway like he was prime rib. She wore a white blouse with a healthy dose of décolletage and a tight denim skirt around her ample hips.
Ignoring Brack, she held out a hand to Carraway.
Brack watched the PI smile and take her hand. He said, “This is Blu Carraway.”
She said, “I’m all yours, Mr. Carraway.”
That was saying something, in Brack’s opinion. He said, “Is my aunt in her office?”
It looked like Carraway tried to release her hand, but she held on, and still ignored Brack, to his annoyance.
Miss Dell, holding Carraway’s hand, walked around her desk—no, sashayed around her desk—and led him away like an Old Testament sin offering about to be slaughtered. If Carraway wasn’t as bright as Brack thought he was, Miss Dell would devour the poor sap and be back seated at her desk in time for an afternoon snack.
Lucky for all three of them, Patricia was in her office seated in front of her computer monitor when they entered.
Miss Dell announced, still holding his hand, “A Mister Blu Carraway here to see you.”
Brack watched Patricia’s eyes turn from her monitor and land on Carraway with an expression not all that different from Miss Dell’s. He felt a slight fear that he might not be able to get Carraway out of the den of these two vamps before they sucked all the blood from him.
Blu Heat Page 5
