Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (17 page)

Zach and Slice walked in. “Morning, ladies,” Slice said.

“No time like the present,” I whispered to Fab.

Zach kissed me. “You look sick.” He slid onto a stool.

I shook my head. “Late night. Fab’s bartending.”

Fab put soda in front of them. Slice picked up the glass from the corner of the bar and nodded to Fab.

I put my hands on Zach’s thighs and slid forward, wrapping one leg around his waist, and leaned in for a kiss. “How about an update on the case?”

“There really is nothing new, I’m not blowing you off. We’re hoping someone does something stupid, boasts to a friend, or fences a painting or piece of jewelry. What was Gabriel’s connection to Maxwell?” Zach wrapped his fingers in my hair and pulled my face to his.

“Fab told me she didn’t think Gabriel knew anyone in Florida. She swears she had no prior knowledge of the theft and was not in on the planning of the heist and I believe her.” I also added, “She didn’t know why he chose the Wright mansion.” 

“There was clearly a third person involved and I hope for your sake it doesn’t turn out that Fab is a big liar.” He kissed me again.

Slice walked around the bar and helped himself to a bottle of water. “Fab got a call and went outside to talk. Guess she thought I’d listen in.”

“Do either of you know what Gabriel did with his free time in Florida before he made his presence known?” I asked.

“We’re still checking to see how he got into this country; he’s not on any flight lists or in the customs data base,” Slice said.

Zach leaned in and whispered, “Are you done using your lips to coerce information out me?”

I blushed. I had several more questions but kept them to myself––we’d only fight. “I’ve got a job and could use some scary muscle. Would you mind if I asked Slice?” I left out the part where I had Spoon lined up but he called with an out-of-town emergency.

“What kind of case this time?” Zach shook his head.

Slice rubbed his massive hands together. “I don’t care what kind of case it is, I’m in. Yours are far more entertaining than anything we get at AZL. Besides, I’ve kept track and I have a nice stack of IOUs with your name on them.”

Not quite a whisper, but almost: “A middle-of-the-night eviction at the car wash.”

They both stared at me for a second and burst out laughing.

Fab returned to the bar. “What’s so funny?”

“Asking Slice to flex his biceps and expedite the Poppins to the curb along with their grubby possessions,” I told her.

“Is Slice getting paid in coon meat?” Fab asked.

Both Slice and Zach shocked at the same time was a rare sight. I glared at Fab. “Slice asked for an IOU from you and I told him you’d be happy to step up anytime.”

“Where do you find these people?” Zach slid off the barstool. He ran his hand under my shirt and up my back. “We’ll talk later about your use of under-handed tactics for information.”

“Have a nice day, honey.” My face was beet red.

“Try and stay out of trouble.” Zach kissed me.

“Call me with the when and where,” Slice called over his shoulder.

Before they hit the exit, Zach said something to Slice and they both laughed.

I looked at Fab. “I saw Slice nudge you and give you a tasty morsel look-over.”

“Slice has always been a good friend to me. He loves women. Have you noticed he’s less intense since he got rid of that ice cube of a wife?”

“I met Jade once. I didn’t measure up to her standards. She mentioned doing the girlfriend lunch thing; frankly, I was happy I never heard from her again.”

“Didier and I ran into Slice and Ana Sigga at the trendy El Lago in South Beach. I saw her lick his fingers, smiling and hanging on his every word.”

“The prosecutor? She’s more high profile than Cruz. Wait until she finds out you and I are friends with her lover boy.”

“Hey, boss.” Phil, the bartender, a leggy blonde, in a very short jean skirt that just barely hit the bottom of her butt cheeks, showing the occasional flash of black lace panties, came through the kitchen doors. She’d taken scissors to her tight Jake’s T-shirt and turned it into a crop-top. She stored her large bag behind the bar.

“It’s all yours.” I slid off the barstool. “All the shipments for today have been unloaded and checked in. The bar is stocked.”

Phil waved from behind the jukebox; she overrode the system, music filling the bar.

I tossed the car keys to Fab. “I’ll tell you what I learned on the way to the car wash.” I related what Zach told me.

“Gabriel used several aliases in France. He had money socked away so he didn’t come out of prison a poor man.”

“What about the Beemer he was driving?” I asked.

“Gunz ran the plates. Turns out it’s registered to a scurvy rent/buy-here lot, filled with high-end cars in a ratty neighborhood—clearly a front for something else. I stopped by for a look through their records and could’ve bypassed the alarm, but not the two Rottweilers inside.” 

“On one of your insomniac nights, you thought you’d go toss a business?” I glared. “Try walking in the front door during business hours and blackmail them. We, as in you and me, take pictures of the Beemer, trade location for info.”

Occasionally Fab surprised me by obeying all the traffic laws; this was one of those days. “The Beemer’s still sitting in the same parking space at the Yacht Club where he parked it before we launched from their dock.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night or just busy yourself driving around without me?”

Fab pointed to the black Ford. Tarpon Cove had acquired several new unmarked sheriff cars. “Looks like Kevin drew the short straw and he’s on stake out.”

I rubbed my temples. “This is what I don’t get about Quirky. He knows he’s attracted the attention of law enforcement, yet he doesn’t pack his guns, meat, and whatever else, and set up shop someplace else.”

Fab pulled into one of the wash bays. Vanilla came sauntering around the corner in cutoffs that showed off the longest pair of legs and a white T-shirt accentuating her pancake chest.

“You don’t listen very well.” Vanilla glared at me. “Quirky will hurt you. He’ll make you wish you listened the first time he told you not to come back.”

Fab pulled her Walther from her waistband, opened the door, and pointed the gun at Vanilla. “Listen to me, skinny bitch. Get Quirk-ass out here now.” 

“You’re not going to shoot him, are you?” Vanilla sneezed, wiping her nose with her hand and then dragging it into her matted hair. She looked like she’d had several dye jobs, the latest one being pinkish-blonde.

“We’re going to have a one-sided conversation and then we’ll be on our way.” Fab motioned her up against the wall. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

“Quir-keeey!” she hollered. “Get out here.”

Quirky lumbered from the back of the building, wiping his hands on his already stained white shorts. “What the hell do you want?”

Fab shook her gun at him. “Stand next to your sister and shut up.”

Quirky looked at me. “I told you to never come back here,” he snarled.

“Listen up, Einstein,” Fab said.

“Who’s that?” Vanilla whispered, her face drained of color.

“You’re not much of a thinker, neither of you.” Fab pointed her gun at one and then the other. “The sheriff is sitting across the street, staking the place out. It’s only a matter of time until they put you in jail. Pack your crap and be gone by sundown. This is a friendly warning; tonight you’re gone one way or the other.”

“You coming back tonight for a piece of Quirky?” he snickered.

“Can I shoot him?” Fab asked me.

“No one needs to get hurt here unless Quirky insists. You and your sister have over-stayed your welcome, now get out. No more friendly requests.” I stared back at Quirky’s angry face, never flinching.

“Quirky, I don’t want to go to jail again.” Vanilla started crying. “I’m leaving.”

Quirky grabbed a fist full of Vanilla’s hair, jerking her off her feet. She clearly feared Quirky more than Fab and I.

“Where the hell you going? You don’t have a job!” he screamed in her face.

“You’re always hurting me.” Vanilla stepped back, hitting the wall. “I can dance,” she said with a tiny bit of defiance.

“Guys aren’t shelling out money to see women with no tits work the pole.” He slapped her face with his open hand.

Fab kicked Quirky in the upper thigh. He let go of Vanilla, who almost tripped running away. She took off down the street.

“No more warnings.” I motioned Fab back to the Hummer. “Play time’s over.”

Quirky furiously rubbed at his thigh, shifting one foot to the other. “Bitches,” he spit, limping back into the office, slamming the door, and throwing the bolt.

“That was fun,” Fab said. “Quirky’s not going anywhere. He’s too stupid or he’d have been gone the first time he saw the sheriff sitting down the street. Better call Slice. If we do it, we’ll have to shoot him and then have the dilemma of what to do with his body.”

Fab backed out of the wash bay, pulled into the street next to Kevin, honked and waved.

“Kevin only sort-of tolerates me and you doing stuff like that won’t help.” I hit her arm. “Which way did Vanilla go?”

“Toward the trailer park. Stay out of it,” Fab warned. “Let brother and sister kiss and make up on their own.”

“If she’s willing to get naked and shimmy on a pole, why not do it for Brick? He’d make sure she never got abused.”

“Have you seen Brick’s dancers?” Fab put her hands under her boobs like a platter.

I pulled out a business card from the console and scribbled Brick’s number on the back, then added some cash I always had stashed. You never knew when you’d be starving for a hamburger and out of money.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fab asked.

“A phone number and a little cash gives her options that she apparently doesn’t have at this moment.” I pointed up ahead. “There she is sitting on the abandoned bus bench.” There was no bus service in Tarpon Cove. If you didn’t have a car or a bicycle, you walked or begged your neighbor for a ride.

Fab pulled to the side and I lowered my window, sticking my arm out. “Vanilla, if you’re interested in dancing, call the number on the back of this card and tell Brick you got the number from me.”

Her eyes were red and swollen, round as saucers, and filled with fear, which matched her cheek. “I don’t want to go back there. Please don’t hurt Quirky; he won’t leave on his own. We’re making more money here than any other place we’ve been.”

“Good luck to you,” I said.

“Thanks for the cash.” Vanilla counted the money as we drove away.

Fab handed me my phone. “You better call Brick with a heads up.”

I lucked out when it went to voicemail. “Brick, it’s Madison. Sending a girl named Vanilla your way, wants to be a dancer or something, needs to stay out of The Cove.” I looked at Fab. “I should’ve had Mother call, she makes him nervous.”

“What are you planning now?” Fab asked.

“Let’s go to the Yacht Club, then the car lot to exchange friendly hellos.”

CHAPTER 25

“This might not have been one of my better ideas,” I said. “They’re not doing business with the locals, wonder why they picked this neighborhood?”

“Let’s stay outside. We don’t step foot inside the office and we do our dealing in the parking lot, in plain sight of the street. My guess is if we screamed, no one around here would call the cops. You have your Glock on you?”

“I never leave home without my other best friend.” I flipped my skirt up. “I’m giving us some added insurance.” I hit speed dial.

“Who are you calling? Put the call on speaker.”

 Creole answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“If I don’t call you back in ten minutes, we need help. Or if I do call back and tell you to feed the dog, I’m in big trouble.”

Dead silence. “Where the hell are you?” Creole yelled.

I gave him the address. “We’re at the car lot where Gabriel got his Beemer.”

“Leave there now, that’s a drug- and crime-infested neighborhood.” 

“Remember: ten minutes.” I hung up. “One of these days, I fear there will be a price to pay for always hanging up on him, like strangulation.”

“Look they’re waiting for us.” Fab pointed to two men who slithered out of the office.

“Nice ride, ladies,” said the one in neck-to-ankle tattoos. They were both dressed in linen shorts and tropical shirts, leather loafers and blingy watches. The gaudy diamond rings could easily put an eye out. “I recognize you.” He pointed to Fab. “We have you on tape trying to break-in last night.”

The other one whipped out his gun. “Come on in the office.”

Fab’s Walther came out the same instant his did. “We’ll stay right here.”

“We’re not here for a gunfight,” I said. “We’d like to trade some mutually beneficial information and be on our way. In the interest of disclosure, I have to make a call in,” I looked at my watch, “eight minutes, or cops will arrive.”

“What kind of information?” The other one, the color of watered-down milk, must be from one of those abnormally cold Northern states; he’d never seen a day of sun, ever.

“Wouldn’t you like to have your Beemer back, license number SOUMIA?” I held up my cell phone in one hand. “Here’s a picture.”

The two men exchanged a look. “And you want what?”

“A look at the rental application.” Sweat trickled down my back, more from fear than the humidity.

“I’m not showing you crap. You tell me where my fucking car is and Oren here won’t shoot you.”

“You look smarter than that,” I said as I looked at my watch.

A black sedan with dark tinted windows blew into the driveway. In the moment of distraction, Fab shot the guy holding the gun in the shoulder, dropping him to the pavement. Two men stepped out of the car, looking fresh off a stakeout, bone-tired with beard stubble, guns drawn, and law enforcement badges hanging from the front of their jeans.

“Let’s play nice here,” one of the officers called out. “Carlos, your associate need an ambulance?”

“The hell with him, she’s got my Beemer and I want it back.” Carlos pointed to me. “Oren, pick your sorry ass up. If you’re bleeding, clean it up.”