Trouble in Paradise (20 page)

“One Mr. Marcos rented a Mercedes six months ago, returned
it and then it got stolen, within a few minutes. Brick thinks he’s the thief
and has been chasing it ever since.”

“Why not file grand theft auto charges? That’s what normal
people do.” I shook my head. “Why does Brick think he still has the car?”

“Something shady about this deal. Brick’s clientele tend
towards the criminal element.”

“Really?” I said, sarcastically. “Do you suppose he meets
them at one of his upstanding businesses such as the naked bar or, I know, the
bail bond business?”
A good question would be, “Is Brick on the legal up and
up?”

“Calm down. He did pay you big for that other fiasco.”

“You know how everyone has their price of what they’ll risk
going to jail for? Mine is nothing.”

The look on Fab’s face told me she didn’t believe me. “Video
surveillance corroborates Marcos’ story that he parked the Mercedes on the lot,
and dropped the keys in the box. He drove off. Two seconds later, two men
walked up, used a key, and drove away. They were savvy enough to avoid getting
their faces on camera.”

“So we’re chasing a couple of car thieves? Sounds
dangerous.”

“There are two of us. What could go wrong? I’ve already
checked out two other addresses; no Mercedes. Casio spotted the Mercedes two
days ago, Marcos behind the wheel, cruising around Miami. By the time Casio got
turned around, Marcos vanished. Brick just got this new address from some thug
who owes him money, and asked me to stop and look around.”

“This guy, Marcos, he thought Brick would just give up?
That’s a man who doesn’t know Brick Famosa very well.” How long did it take to
check out a property? Maybe five minutes and we’d back on the freeway.

We turned onto brick paved streets. They looked good but
made for a bumpy ride. The several block area was charming, filled with one
hundred-year-old, historic homes. Fab slowed in front of a renovated green
Craftsman, white trim with the signature wide porch that swept across the
front. A wrought iron fence ran along the property lines and across the top of
the driveway; a double-car garage behind the fence, which was wrapped with a
chain. In the driveway, a pick-up and a Volvo were parked outside of the fence,
one behind the other.

“What’s the plan?” I asked Fab. “Neither of those cars is a
Mercedes.”

“Brick seemed so sure. Let’s get out, walk up the driveway
and get a look in the back.”

“Not very friendly people, are they? There’s no gate bell or
any way to get the attention of anyone in the house.” I scanned the front of
the property. “No mailbox either. I bet the post office loves that. Are we
talking drug dealer here?”

“I’m not liking this either. I’ll go around the cars for a
quick look in the backyard and we’re out of here,” Fab said.

“What are you going to do, climb over the hoods?” I asked
Fab as she maneuvered around the pickup and was already halfway up the drive.

On the other side of the fence, a Doberman suddenly stood
up, snarling and barking. An older woman pulled back the curtains of a large
picture window that overlooked the front yard and driveway, and stared at Fab.

Fab managed to squeeze her way up to the fence. “The
Mercedes is here. It’s parked on the far side of the garage,” she called to me.

I stood behind the truck a couple of feet away, when another
Doberman, twin to the one behind the fence, stood up. It didn’t move or bark
but stared me down. That unnerved me more than the one that wanted to tear us
both to bits. Stepping back slowly, I stammered, “Uh, Fab… time to go. There’s
a second Doberman, this one on our side of the fence. The woman standing in the
window doesn’t appear to be coming to our rescue.”

“Where’s the damn dog?” Fab yelled.

Twin Doberman had lost interest in me as soon as I began to
retrace my steps. “Coming your way, around the front of the Volvo.” I pulled
out my gun. “Back up slowly. I’ll shoot him if I have to.”

The back door flew open, and the woman stepped onto the back
porch, racking her shotgun. “You shoot my dog and you’re a dead bitch!” she
screamed at me. The dog guarding the Mercedes had gone into a non-stop barking
frenzy, jumping at the fence, and showing no signs of calming down.

The dog probably got his evil stare from the woman. “We’re
leaving!” I yelled. “Call your dog off. I’ll only shoot if he goes after my friend.”

“Porn Queen, stay,” she called. Then turning to us, she
hollered, “Either one of you comes back again, and I’ll shoot your ass before
you get up the driveway.”

Fab reached my side. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” The
dog on our side lay back down.

“Hey, bitches, we’re keeping the car,” she cackled before
going in and slamming the back door.

“You bill that bastard Brick triple!” I yelled at Fab. 

To her credit, she didn’t squeal down the street. “Brick
doesn’t pay for incomplete jobs.”

“I don’t give a damn.” I tried not to yell. “New policy
starting now: he pays, incomplete or not. If dogs or guns are involved, the
bill goes up. Time for a meeting and I’ll happily explain the new terms to
him.”

“That squinty-eyed look you get when you’re mad scares even
me,” Fab said.

“Jail and now this. What I really want to do is shoot Brick
Famosa. We could’ve come here and checked this out, knowing in advance what to
expect.”

“Before you shoot him, keep in mind he pays in cash,” Fab
said.

“How do we spend it, if we’re dead or worse?”

Fab swung into Famosa Motors, damn near side swiping one of
Brick’s over-priced sports cars. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m amazed at your connections,” I said as I grabbed a
recently acquired duffle bag off the backseat.

“Brick’s in his office. I see him standing at the window,
talking on his phone.” Fab pointed.

“No need to call him,” I told Bitsy the receptionist as we
passed by her desk. “He knows we’re here.” Her cloying perfume followed us to
the stairs.

“Is she new?” Fab whispered. “If I had those boobs, my back
would hurt.”

“Bitsy and her two friends are good for business. Nothing
fazes her as far as I can tell. Always smiling. How exhausting is that?”

We walked up the spiral stairs. Brick’s office boasted a
sweeping view of the entire car lot. I wished he had office doors just so I
could have the juvenile satisfaction of kicking them open. We entered
uninvited. I set my bag down on the floor, unzipped it, and then sat in one of
the crappy, uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk.

“The Mercedes is at the address you gave me,” Fab told him.
“Did you know about the chained fence and the Dobermans?”

“Look, girls, some of these jobs aren’t easy.” Brick looked
at me. “You need to man up if you want to be a tough girl.”

I leaned down and took a Mossberg 500, pump action shotgun
out of the bag. On the way to Brick’s, Fab made a quick stop, in and out with
the gun in less than three minutes. I stood and racked it, the sound
reverberating off the walls. “A man would shoot your ass!” I said evenly.
“Enjoying this? Fab and I sure as hell didn’t when the old lady pointed her
rifle, shouting threats.”

“Nobody pulls a gun or rifle on me,” Brick yelled and pushed
his chair back.

“Sit down. This is the second job we’ve done where one of us
could’ve ended up dead. And let’s not forget your little delivery job that
ended up with me getting arrested.”

“That’s not…,” he interrupted.

“Shut up. New rules. You pay whether or not the job gets
done. In the case of extenuating circumstances like tonight, such as Porn Queen
the Doberman and-or when guns come out, there’s an up charge. Cash, no credit,
no checks.” I tightened my grip when my hand started to shake. It finally
occurred to me I’d lost my mind.

“Is that thing loaded?” Brick yelled.

“You betcha.” I pointed the rifle downward. “The fee is
triple; pay us now and we’ll leave. You reach for a checkbook and I’ll shoot
you.”

He flipped the locks on his briefcase and tossed Fab a plain
white envelope. He opened his side drawer and threw her another identical
envelope.

“Madison,” Fab whispered.

Fab’s voice brought me back to reality. I had checked
rational thought at his office door. Consumed with anger, it was time to leave
before I blew his guts all over his leather chair. I packed the rifle back in
the bag.

“Do you think I’ll ever use either one of you again?” Brick
raged.

“Who the hell else would work for you?” I leaned in and
yelled in his face. “You’re lucky I try not to kill people.”

Fab reached out, pulled me back and pushed me towards the
stairs. “Breathe,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“That smug smile of his pushed me over the edge.” I followed
Fab down the stairs. “It scared me to think I was one breath away from pulling
the trigger. Somehow I regained my sanity. Thanks for getting me out of there
before I did something stupid, like shoot him.”

“I’d never let that happen. Just so you know, I told you it
was loaded but I removed the cartridge.”

“You should’ve stayed in the car,” I said. “That way you’d
still have Brick’s account.” Good thing I wasn’t driving, I’d be tempted to
back into one of his expensive cars.
Oops
.

“And miss him squirm in his chair? Not a chance. I kinda
hoped he’d pee himself.”

“Thank your friend Wally for the last minute pick-up.” I put
the duffle bag in the cargo area. “I can return it tomorrow.”

“Wally owes me. He’s a punk, but has an amazing gun
collection. Keep it. Take it to the gun range and get more comfortable with
shooting a rifle, you know, just in case.” Fab revved the engine, leaving skid
marks flying out of the dealership.

“Another good idea of yours. The range has a rifles only
class. I think I’ll sign up.”

“What are you laughing at?” Fab asked.

“I’m surprised that when Porn Queen jumped up, I didn’t pee
on myself.”

“It would’ve been okay… we’re in your ride.”

“Do you want a beer?” Brad asked, walking through the
backyard and into the house.

“You don’t knock anymore?”

“Why should I? Nobody else does.” He yelled from inside the
house, “Good gossip for you!”

“You never gossip.” It was unusual for Brad to stop by and I
was happy it would just be the two of us.

“This is an exception.” Brad sauntered out and lounged on a
chaise. “Who do you think I saw on the docks behind The Croc? Your boyfriend
interrogating a drunk fisherman. You should tell him he might get more answers
if he left the silk shorts at home. You know, dress down when questioning the
low-lifes.”

“I like shorts on him. Gets me in the mood to do other
things.”

“Stop or I’m leaving.” Brad put his fingers in his ears.
“Anyway, not a minute later, Creole comes out of nowhere, puts a foot to Zach’s
ass and sends him flying into the water. Zach swam to the stairs, but Creole
pulled out his gun and yells at him stay put. Called him an ‘mf’ and I laughed
my head off.”

“What was that all about?” I feigned ignorance, knowing damn
well what it was about.

“Not very concerned about whether your boyfriend is dead or
not.”

“Drama queen.” I rolled my eyes. “If he were dead, those
would’ve been your first words.”

“Creole crouched on the docks and unleashed an angry foul
tirade on him. I’m pissed I caught only a few words. The guy cleaning the boat
one slip down could only remember all the curse words.”

“Did Creole shoot him or not?” I asked. At some point, Zach
would probably force me to choose.

Brad took a swig of his beer, “Oh hell no. Creole’s parting
shot was, ‘Don’t ‘f’ with me again or I’ll shoot you for real.’ Then he clicked
off a couple of rounds, close to where Zach was treading water. Do you know
what’s going on?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“I don’t believe you,” Brad said as he took out his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“I’m calling Creole, telling him you’re in danger. Five
bucks says he’s here in less than five minutes.”

Brad was right; Creole would drop everything or send someone
else. “What are you, in junior high school? I don’t know everything.”

“Tell me or I’m calling. Test my theory, collect my money.
Let’s make it fifty,” Brad gloated.

I sighed. “Zach went to Mother and told her that Creole was
drug-dealing scum and should be kicked to the curb.”

“I thought they grew up together, childhood friends. Did
Zach ever talk to Creole? And weren’t they both friends of Elizabeth’s?”

“Ask one of them your questions. I encouraged Zach and
Creole to talk to one another and they both ignored me. Why aren’t you
concerned about the drug-dealing accusations?”

“Remember Stanhope the Third?” Brad asked.

I nodded. Stanhope and Brad were friends in college. I’d had
a crush on him in high school. When Brad found out I had a ‘get rid of my
virginity’ scheme, Stanhope ignored me. Later, I found out a ‘no banging my
sister’ edict had been issued.

“Stanhope’s DEA. One night I docked in Lauderdale and
watched Stanhope and your boy Creole and a dozen other men get cuffed and
hauled off the docks.” Brad polished off the beer. “Turned out to be the
biggest marijuana seizure in South Miami history. Next morning, Stanhope and
Creole were both laughing it up in the same place where they were arrested the
night before. Later I ran into Stanhope, and he said he’d just gotten in from a
cruise. Then cryptically, he said I could read about his exploits in the news,
although he wouldn’t get a byline.”

“Are you going to put in a good word with Mother for
Creole?” I asked.

Brad made a run to the kitchen and came back with another
beer. “Creole’s not going anywhere. The stories would have to be true for her
to take a hard line and they’re not. How long after he shines up his story that
Mother makes him squirm and gets every single detail, down to his underwear
size?”