Johnnie Finds a Dead Body

by DS Whitaker

  Shit. “What did he say?” Johnnie watched the hikers board the bus. Not one ‘thank you…’

  “He wanted to know if you’d be at the beach today. Said he wanted your side of the story. But when we asked for his press credentials, he just gave us a creepy smile and left. I don’t think he’s a real reporter.”

  “Oh, you think?” Johnnie shook his head and stared at his boots. “Sorry, not trying to be snarky. I just need to get these folks on their way.”

  “Roger Wilco!” Candy grinned. “Are you coming with us?”

  “No, my scooter is here. Could you tell Kemper I’m not feeling well? Gonna go home early.”

  “Sure, I got you.” She grinned and held her hand out for a fist bump.

  He slumped his shoulders and raised his knuckles, quickly grazing hers and stuffing his hand in his pocket.

  Chase ran across the gravel parking lot, smiling like he’d forgotten completely about the last few minutes of his moaning and crying. “Mister Ranger! Miss Bus Driver! What happens when a pig gets on an airplane?”

  Johnnie cracked a smile. “Why would a pig go on an airplane?”

  Chase stomped his foot and pouted his lips. “No! You’re ruining it! You’re supposed to say, ‘No, what happens?’”

  “Ok, I don’t know. What?”

  Chase started giggling. “You get…ha, ha…” He clutched his stomach, his face turned red, laughing like he’d explode.

  Candy asked, “What? What do you get, sweetie?” She bent down to Chase’s eye level and smiled at him.

  Chase stopped laughing. “Um. I forget. But it was really funny.”

  Johnnie laughed. “Well, you enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Chase bounced up onto the bottom step of the bus, shouting. “Mooooommm! What do you get when a pig flies in an airplane?”

  Candy clasped Johnnie on the back. “Good luck with your reporter friend over there.” She entered the bus and closed the door.

  Sure enough, Mark was heading his way.

  The bus inched forward, turning its tall tires on the gravel, crunching and spewing small rocks behind it. As it left the lot, a bus window slid down. Through it, Chase yelled, “You get piggy flu!”

  Amidst the rock dust, Mark walked up, cracking his knuckles, glaring. “Crosswell. I suspect you know why I’m here. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  He sneered back. “Am I talking to Bob’s brother, my lawyer, or a news reporter?”

  “Who I am is not relevant. Give me the thumb drive and you won’t see me again.” He stepped closer, his face a foot from Johnnies.

  Mark’s scented body spray—or whatever it was—stunk like iguana dung. It would be so easy to punch this guy, but his ribs were still sore. The hike helped loosen his muscles, but he didn’t want to risk another physical altercation. “I don’t have it. Besides, there was nothing important on it. A friend said it had nonsense numbers.”

  “Wait—you read the contents? Where is it now?”

  “My friend said he threw it away.”

  “When? Where?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe two days ago? My memory isn’t great.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  He really wanted to punch Mark now. “None of your business, dick-breath.”

  Mark poked him in the shoulder. “I say what’s my business, shit-head. And I’m very persuasive. Did you know I met your sister yesterday? Cute lady. It would be terrible if something happened to her.”

  Johnnie’s eyes popped. Fury swirled in his brain like a sand-storm. “You touch her, you die.”

  “Ha! Are you going to kill me? Mr. Mumbles-to-Himself? Now, let’s be civilized. We’ll go to your place, jog your stupid memory, and we’re going to look for this damn thing together, capiche?” He growled, “Get in the damned car.” Mark drew a gun from the backside of his belt and gestured toward the SUV.

  A group of three hikers emerged from the tree line at the trail entrance, walking toward them. They waved. One called out, “Ranger? We have a question.”

  Mark hid the gun.

  Johnnie used the opportunity, walking over to the trio. They asked him about whether certain berries were poisonous. He asked them several questions in return. What size? Color? Where did they see them? He knew the answer. They were talking about the sea-grapes, which were ripe when they turned from green to purple. Johnnie kept an eye on Mark, who looked annoyed, playing with a switchblade.

  When the conversation with the hikers ended, he took a deep breath and sprinted back to the trail, hoping Mark was smart enough not to shoot him in the back in front of the hikers. The trail had good hiding spots and he knew how to double-back without being seen.

  Mark remained in place and yelled, “Where you gonna go, dipshit?”

  He didn’t know exactly. But he wasn’t going with Mark. And he needed to warn Robin and get her to safety. Charging along the path, he flew past other hikers—despite the ache in his sides—until he reached the first bend in the trail where he had a good vantage point. He took out his cell phone. Only one bar. Dialing Robin’s office, the phone rang and rang before a woman answered.

  “Good afternoon Johnnie.”

  This wasn’t Robin. “Who is this?”

  “Dot McPherson. Stay where you are.”

  “What?”

  “Mr. Smith is getting ready to leave. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy wearing black. I can’t talk right now. Just sit tight.”

  The line went dead. None of this made sense. But somehow, Dottie seemed so in-charge and commanding. He didn’t know why, but he trusted that this was a good sign.

  And he stayed where he was.

  A long five minutes later, his phone rang.

  Dottie said, “It’s safe. Come back to the parking lot and I’ll drive you home.”

  ***

  Thomas stuffed his gun back under his belt. Why did they always run? He hated running. This guy was such a pop-eyed dork. Trying to be nice always backfired.

  He stabbed the tires on the idiot’s bike. What grown man rides a scooter? This Crosswell guy was such a loser.

  Rule Number 5, ‘always engage on your own terms and choice of setting’. He jotted down additional notes about not running blindly into the woods after targets. Too many variables.

  He placed a small tracker on the bike and checked the signal on his phone. At some point, loser boy would have to retrieve his lame toy scooter. And he would pinpoint him the second it moved. Rule Number 9, ‘make technology work for you.

  The sister comment really rattled sissy boy. Two birds with one stone. Threaten the sister and get approval for the project and the thumb drive in one operation. But kidnapping a high-profile person went against Rule Number 21. Too much attention by the government and press. No, that would be a last resort.

  Which left him back to basics.

  Who was this friend that threw away the drive? Did this moron even have friends?

  The land-lady would know. And she was easy to get to.

  He got back into his truck and entered a new calendar appointment on his phone. Midnight, Calabash Boom, Landlady.

  A text came in. The boss-man. “Status, now.”

  He texted back. “Getting closer. Working a few angles.”

  Another text. “You have one week.”

  This was why he needed passive income. His clients’ expectations were always so ridiculous. Bribery was a long game. A process of quid pro quo that took years to cultivate. If only they had brought him on sooner. And folks with hero complexes always mucked up the works. Like Bob, who stole the bitcoin for the government bribes and spilled his guts to that goody-two-shoes reporter. Sure, the results of the surveys were falsified, but a few corals, plankton and mollusks weren’t worth killing hundreds of jobs.

  The air smelled fresh and sweet after the short down-pour. A rainbow stretched across the sky to the east. Perhaps he would find the treasure there tonig
ht. But first he needed gloves, duct tape, rope, and tarps. Plus, scout a couple abandoned properties. Ones with attached garages were best.

  So much to do, so little time.

  He turned on the ignition and gulped down the rest of his protein shake before putting the vehicle in reverse.

  The Crosswell freak might run now, but he couldn’t run forever.

  Chapter 18

  ~Twenty-nine Hours Earlier~

  With her new role as Robin’s detective, Dot watched out the office window until Jacque Lords and Thomas Smith appeared on the sidewalk below and their vehicle departed.

  Dot sauntered over to the police station. Arturo was eating a sandwich at the receiving station.

  “Arturo dearest. How are you this fine morning?”

  “Aunt Dot, nice to see you.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  She wasn’t his actual aunt. Arturo’s mom had been a close friend for decades and part of their small, informal astronomy ‘club’. When he was younger, Artie tagged along on their night-time viewings. Her own boy, Nick, had been close to his age.

  “I need a favor. The street cameras outside. Can you get me a plate? It’s important.”

  He grinned. “Anything for you, Auntie.”

  In the span of ten minutes, she reviewed the footage, easily spotting the dandy man and the guy resembling Ben Affleck in Boiler Room getting into a black SUV. The plate was easy to read.

  “Another favor? The name on the registration?”

  With a few clicks, Arturo told her it was leased from Virgin Auto Rentals.

  “Thanks, hon, tell your mom to call me sometime.”

  This was almost too easy. She went back to her desk next door. Robin was on the phone and she decided not to disturb her.

  Within fifteen minutes, she made five calls. Tracking Mr. Thomas Smith and the license plate to the resort was child’s play, considering she knew all the concierges. In fact, they gave her his room number at the Tecoma Sands Resort and volunteered to call her when he returned.

  The technology part was always the most troublesome for her. But after thieves briefly stole her pickup truck two years ago, she got a tracking device so she could always locate her vehicle with her phone. Parting with it for a few days wouldn’t be a problem.

  The next morning, she watched Mr. Smith’s movements around the island. When he stopped at the National Park Visitor Center, she called her friend Candy.

  “Candy, a guy just pulled into your parking lot. Dark hair, tall, mean looking. Be nice and play along, but call me after he leaves and tell me everything he says.”

  “No problem-o, Dottie. Hey, are you up for knitting circle on Saturday?”

  “Maybe. I might be busy. I’ll let you know.”

  “Right-o. Hey, I see him. Gotta run.”

  Dottie chuckled. This was so much fun. And the Smith guy didn’t know who he was dealing with. Her circle was wide and deep. It felt like catching a photon in a black hole.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  ***

  Johnnie walked out of the woods, stepping out thoughtfully, scanning the parking lot. Mark’s vehicle was gone. Dot leaned against her white Toyota pickup, wearing a saffron yellow dress that popped off her dark skin plus oversized round sunglasses like Jackie Onassis. Her cropped brown hair was pulled back off her face with a stretchy red headband. She waved.

  “Dottie, what are you doing here? And why do you have Robin’s phone?” He scratched his arm where it was inflamed from some thorns earlier.

  “Johnnie love, I forwarded her phone to mine. I saw your interaction with Mr. Smith. What did he want? Why was he pointing a gun at you?”

  “Smith? You mean Mark?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been tracking Thomas Smith since yesterday. He was acting strange at the meeting with your sister. But how are you involved with the bridge deal?”

  He pursed his lips and blinked. “Bridge deal?”

  Dottie sighed. “You don’t know about that?”

  “About what? Why was Mark visiting Robin? Did he threaten her? I need to warn her.”

  “No, he didn’t threaten her. Just looked at her strange. Hold on…so you don’t know about the bridge and airport and such?”

  “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. But Mark threatened Robin just now. He wants something and if I don’t give it to him…” And if Cud really threw it away, what would happen?

  “What does he want?”

  Johnnie took a deep breath and scraped a line through the blue rock with his boot. He didn’t want to spill the beans. Could he trust Dottie not to tell Robin? According to Robin, Dot was the town gossip. Nothing was safe with her. Hell, when he had that incident at the ferry two years ago, naked and raving about aliens putting a bomb in his head, Dot was the first to tell Robin.

  “Shit, Dottie. I think I’m in a heap of trouble.”

  She rested her hand on his arm and patted it. “Honey, ain’t nothing in the world that can’t be fixed. Why don’t we go sit down over some waffles and talk it through?”

  “I can’t…I need to warn Robin, talk to Cud, find out where the…thing… is. Maybe buy a gun.” His cheek twitched, and he slapped at it, trying to get it to stop. “Fuck me.”

  “Now, now. Calm down.” She took out her phone and went through some menus. “Look, see? Mr. Smith is heading back to town. I bet Arturo would keep an eye on Robin. That boy has eyes for her, you know. I heard they are going out on Friday. I’ll call him right now.”

  He stopped slapping himself. “What? You’re tracking Mark, I mean Smith? How?”

  “Little old ladies have their ways. Okay, waffles.” She clapped and rubbed her palms together. “I always think best with some warm syrup and a cup of coffee. And we have lots to discuss.”

  Waffles sounded great, a change to dry clothes sounded better. “Can we go to Gertie’s? I need to talk with Cud. Find something…”

  “Great idea! I missed Gertie at the bake sale. Let me call her next.”

  Johnnie shook his head. How did she know everyone? And when did her job description include tracking dangerous men? None of this added up.

  After a minute on the phone, Dot said, “We’re all set. But we’ll pick up some milk and batter mix on the way. And I like the fake maple syrup, so I’ll get a bit of that too.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead, he examined the Pig. Both tires were flat. “Jumpin’ Joe, did Mark do that?”

  “Sorry, love, yes. We can try loading` your scooter in the back of my pickup. Do you think it will fit?”

  He did some mental estimations. “With the tailgate down.”

  Soon enough, they were on their way to Gertie’s.

  On the way, Dottie relayed the details of the bridge proposal. Johnnie chose to listen instead of sharing what he knew about the thumb drive. He needed to find out if Cud really threw it away. Because if he had, the Mark guy would probably seek a retribution of the highest order.

  And the outcome could be life or death.

  ***

  Cud came in from weeding the garden and heard Gertie on the phone on the couch. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and looked at her. “Waffles? Who was that?”

  Gertie put down her phone and chuckled. “My friend, Dottie. She’s with Johnnie. They’re coming over to discuss something important. A man was making threats.”

  “Threats? Oh, no. I bet it’s that Mark person. I knew he was going to be trouble.”

  “Mark?” She put away her needlepoint in a wicker box.

  “The fellow pretending to be Johnnie’s lawyer. He wants something that Johnnie and I took.”

  Gertie walked into the kitchen and picked up her apron from the hook. “So, give it back. You don’t seem like criminals.”

  Cud winced. “It’s worth thirty million.”

  Gertie crossed her arms. “I could see why he wants it back then. What is it? Jewelry?”

  “A thumb drive with bitcoin information.”

  Sh
e tied the apron around her waist. “Well, just give it back. Maybe Mark will go away and problem solved.”

  “You’re probably right, I hope it’s that simple.”

  She gave him a shy smile and a side glance. “Although, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have that much money? What would you do if you were rich?”

  Cud’s eyes went wide. Did she know and was fishing? And if she didn’t know, what would happen when she found out? He gulped and wrung his hands. “I don’t know. But I have all I ever wanted just being with you.” The truth.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, we are very blessed. Now, help me put out plates and get the kitchen ready.”

  He dodged telling her the whole truth, but he would have to tell her at some point. And what would happen then? Would Gertie still love him for who he was now? Or would she crave the life he could have given her and resent him for it?

  He wanted to marry her, almost from the first time he saw her. Which was nuts, but his heart had taken over his senses. Should he propose first and then tell her? Or be upfront? Would they need a pre-nuptial agreement? Or would he give her everything after he was gone?

  Money complicated everything.

  He watched her move around the kitchen, taking out a skillet and mixing bowls. What if Gertie was play-acting? Trying to get him to confess about his fortune?

  She walked to the dining table with spray wax and a rag, wiping down the wood veneer, preoccupied, humming a tune. Fear gripped his chest—he couldn’t take the suspense.

  “Gertie?”

  “Yes, dear heart?” She continued cleaning.

  “Um…technically…mind you…I don’t…”

  “Yes?”

  He clenched his face. “I have three point one billion dollars…I mean…used to have.”

  She turned, dropping her rag. “But you gave all the up, correct?”

  His eyes bulged. “You know?”

  With a hand on her hip, she stared at him. “Be serious. Most everyone on this island knows!”

  “Well, it’s not exactly irreversible. My grandson manages the estate, but I’m still the owner of the company on paper. It was best at the time not to scare investors.”

  Gertie picked up her rag and spray bottle. She strode past him back to the kitchen, crouching down to put away her cleaning supplies under the sink. “So, why are you telling me this?”