Unfortunately, there was no one to see. The park was empty. I checked my watch; sunset was exactly 41 minutes ago-time for me to move.
I crossed the parking lot. Behind the pavilion was a walking path that arched toward the northwest. Intersecting it was a narrow, dirt path made unofficially by those radical walkers that just can't stay on the concrete sidewalk. The angle of the track made it directly behind the pavilion. My foot stepped gingerly onto the dirt. The area was wooded, and the last thing I wanted was to step on was some cold-blooded creature. South Florida was loaded with those types of critters. All you need to get an alligator is have a body of water. The damned things would flock to a puddle if it was deep enough.
Pacing off the distance, I stopped after what I estimated to be 100 feet. In front of me, two palm trees towered in the night. I glanced around for any movement. My breath held momentarily in my chest as I listened for someone in the woods with me. There was no one. I was positive I was alone.
The Amazon package rested against one of the palms. I stepped back and looked around again. I couldn't see anything moving in the park.
My time was up. No one was going to come while I was still here. Retreating, I tried to keep an eye over my shoulder for any movement. Still, I was alone. I double-timed it back to the car, and I waited.
And I waited. No vehicles entered the park.
Half an hour passed, and still nothing. I waited a bit longer. Peterson said he didn't want me to try and find out who was blackmailing him, but he was also lying to me about something. My curiosity was intense. Besides, I recall what Missy said about it being better to know about Michael than be surprised. The same thing applies here. I would prefer to know if I am going to be railroaded by Peterson or his blackmailer before it happened.
After an hour, I considered going back to see if the package was still there. That seemed unwise. If I was watching, so could the blackmailer.
Who would leave that much cash in a park? The answer was simple. No one would. They did the same thing I did. They came in by foot. Through the woods that backed up to the interstate. Easy-peasy. Just park in the breakdown lane on I-95 and traipse through the woods. The entire venture would take ten minutes. The parking lot was visible from the highway, and they could just wait until they saw me walk across it. They could have been in the park and back before I made it to my car.
Wish I had thought of that earlier, I scolded myself.
I started the car and drove back to the Tilly. Before I went north on I-95, I took a peek from the interstate. My suspicions were correct. The breakdown lane heading north provided the perfect place to watch my approach and departure.
The Manta was busy when I came through. Peterson was still sitting at the bar. A few of his cronies had stopped in and were crowded around him. He looked up at me as I entered. I gave him a nod before I passed through the bar to the marina exit.
9
My body was dragging when I finally made it up to the Manta Club to open the bar. Missy showed up around half past midnight. I was already asleep in the v-berth when she woke me, climbing into the bed. She kept me up until close to four before she kissed me goodnight and slipped off the boat.
The opening shift was never fun. Hunter was pretty good about leaving the bar in good shape, so it's just a matter of cutting fruit and adding ice to the bins. The bar opened at ten, but only a handful of people ever showed up before 11:30. This might be South Florida, but only the hardcore start drinking that early. Even on vacation.
Taylor, our other barback, wasn't scheduled until noon. No point, we didn't get busy until the lunch rush. Until then. I leaned against the keg cooler and watched The Price is Right. I didn't mind Drew Carey, but I felt like his talent was wasted here. Plus, he was no Bob Barker.
"Chase." I heard a voice from the door. Looking around the center of the bar, I saw Kayla standing at the door.
"Kayla," I asked surprised. "What's up?"
Abbie wasn't with her, and Kayla looked a little disheveled. Her hair was pulled back but not really brushed. The cotton dress she was wearing was wrinkled. She walked over to the bar.
"You don't look okay," I commented.
"Two men came to the house yesterday, looking for Tristan."
She started tearing up. The girl had been holding it in, and the dam was about to break.
"Sit down, Kayla," I told her. "Let me get you something to drink."
She nodded fiercely.
"You want coffee, or, maybe, a Coke?"
"Can I get a Sprite?" she asked, as a single tear escaped and ran down her cheek.
Filling a glass with Sprite from the soda gun hanging over the ice bin, I added a couple of maraschino cherries to the glass. She smiled slightly when she saw the cherries.
"When did these men come by?"
She took a sip of the Sprite. "Last night, about nine. Abbie was already asleep."
"Where is Abbie?" I asked.
"She's staying with a friend," she explained.
"Were these two men Hispanic?"
She nodded.
"One was small with nicely styled hair, the other a big guy?"
She nodded again. "How did you know?"
"I met them on the Kristol the other day."
Her eyes flashed with fear. "You didn't tell me."
"No, I didn't. I wasn't sure what to tell you yet," I stated. "What did they want?"
"They said Tristan owed them money. They think I know where he is."
I listened.
"They came to my house." Her voice started getting agitated. "My little girl was there."
"I know," I empathized.
"What the hell was Tristan thinking?" she snapped. "Where is he?"
"Do you have any family here?"
She shook her head. "My mom lives in Sanford."
"Near Orlando?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Listen, can you take Abbie and stay with her? At least for a few days."
"Do you think that they will be back?"
"I'm afraid so. They said Tristan owed $25,000. That's not something they are going to just let slide."
The dam broke, she started crying. I handed her a beverage napkin. Not exactly a tissue, but the best I could do at a bar.
"We don't have that kind of money," she blubbered.
"Can you go to your mom's for a bit?" I repeated.
She nodded. "I'll call her today."
A man in his 70's walked in. He craned his head as he checked out the pretty girl crying at the bar. I ignored him as he walked around to the other side of my bar.
"Don't go anywhere," I told Kayla.
The old man wanted a rum and Coke, but he wanted to be cool, so he asked for a Cuba Libre. The only difference is the lime, which I add anyway to a rum and Coke. I'm lazy. I don't want to have to get it later when the customer realizes they ordered it wrong.
"Want some food?" I asked the man.
"No, I'm just waiting on my wife," he said.
"Where are you from?"
"Philly."
"Great sandwiches," I said. Sometimes finding common ground is tough. Who wants to talk about a big broken bell? But steak sandwiches covered in cheese. That's a bigger demographic.
"Is that girl alright?" he prodded.
"She's fine," I said. "She was just emotionally moved by the cherries in her drink."
He rolled his eyes at me. He was going to leave the same tip no matter what. Even if he doesn't, being snarky is the bartender's inalienable right.
Kayla was staring at the half-empty glass of Sprite. I topped the glass off with more Sprite.
"There is some good news, though," I pointed out.
"What's that?" she asked.
"If these guys work for the guy that Tristan was running drugs for, then we know they are looking for him. That means that they didn't do anything to him yet."
She looked up from her glass. "Yet."
"Well, it's only a little good news. We have to deal with the sit
uation as it unfolds."
She nodded.
I didn't want to keep anything from her, and the involvement of the DEA and Agent Kohl was something she needed to be aware of.
"Have you had any visits from an agent in the DEA?"
Her face was shocked. Then worried.
"No, is the DEA looking for Tristan?"
I nodded slowly. "I think they might be watching his boat. Probably you too."
"What do I do?"
"Nothing," I said. "Be careful what you say on any phone. Just in case."
"Are they going to arrest Tristan?"
Shaking my head, I answered, "I don't know. They might only suspect him. That might be why the Coast Guard boarded him. Tristan is small potatoes. They want the big boss, but they will use Tristan up and toss him out if it benefits them. He will need to be very careful."
Kayla started crying again. "I don't understand him."
I tried to soothe her. "Knowing Tristan, he thinks he is doing what is best for you and Abbie."
"Having him here is what's best," she said.
"I know," I responded.
"Listen, Kayla," I said, "I'm working a double today, but let me give you the number here."
I scrawled the Manta Club's direct line on a bev nap.
"Here," I handed her the napkin. "I want you to get home. Pack a bag for you and Abbie. Then drive to your mom's place. You have enough money to get there?"
She nodded slowly.
"Call me before you leave. Make sure you call me when you get to your mom's."
"Do you think they'll be waiting on me?"
I shook my head. "No, that was just to scare you and hopefully Tristan. They'll give you a day before they escalate. By then, you should be gone from here."
"Thank you so much," she muttered.
"Why don't you leave me a key to your place?" I suggested. "I want to look for anything that might tell me where Tristan went."
"I've already looked, though," she said.
"I know, but just in case." I added, "I promise not to throw any parties."
She smiled under the blond strands of hair hanging in her face.
"I'll leave you the extra key," she said.
"Do you have a mailbox on the street or on the house?"
"Street," she answered.
"Tape it to the bottom of the mailbox. Right under the front. No one will look there."
She nodded.
My periphery vision caught a figure enter the bar, and I looked up to see Michael Seine stop inside the door, survey the bar, and smirk. He walked toward the bar with a smug look.
Ignoring him, I asked Kayla, "Do you need anything to eat before you go?"
"No, thank you. I better go."
I gave her an affirming nod. "Call me," I reiterated.
She stood with a demure smile and left the bar. I watched her leave.
"Can't blame you for staring," Michael sneered. "She's a little hottie."
Cutting my eyes to him, I snarled as politely as I could, "What do you need, Mike?"
"It's Michael," he huffed.
"I know," I responded.
"Give me a Weller and water," he ordered. "I'm having lunch with Missy."
Pulling the bourbon from the shelf, I mixed his drink. I'll admit I was a little light-handed in my pour.
"I thought you were out of town," I commented as I set the cocktail in front of him.
"I bet you did," he remarked. "I just got back."
"Get enough of the mouse?"
He just glared at me. I left him and circled the bar to check on Rum and Coke. He ordered another and asked for a menu. His wife was still shopping, he informed me.
Missy came through the door as I was typing in Rum and Coke's Shrimp Po-boy order. A quick smile flashed at me before Michael turned to look at her. I poured her an iced tea and set it on the bar in front of her.
"You should have asked her what she wanted," Michael snapped. "Maybe she wanted a real drink with lunch."
"My bad," I said. Looking at Missy, I asked, "What can I get you, ma'am?"
"An iced tea is fine," she said. She looked at Michael and said, "I don't drink while I'm at work. I always have iced tea."
He let out a "harrumph."
"What can I get you?" I asked.
Missy answered, "Put me in a club sandwich."
"No tomatoes?" I asked.
She nodded, and I looked at Michael, who stared at me glumly. "Give me a Cuban."
Taylor walked in as I finished ordering their food.
"Hey, Chase," the 19-year-old kid said. He was taking a sabbatical from school-his words, not mine. Right now, his dream was to become a bartender and get a job at one of the night clubs in Miami. I can't fault the kid, there is a lot of money to be made down there.
"Sup, Taylor. I got a few orders in now," I told him. He nodded as he did his regular walk through and verified that I had stocked all the beer and filled all the ice trays. His work ethic was admirable, and he wanted to learn all the tricks to bartending.
"Make it pink," I told him when he asked me what the main thing is he needed to know.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"If you don't know how to make a drink, and it's not an obvious color, like a Blue Hawaiian, then make it pink. Most people don't know the difference between a Bay Breeze and a Sea Breeze."
That's always my go-to advice for learning to bartend.
Whenever Missy has lunch with Michael, I do my best to be as attentive as possible as far from them as possible. I'm sure it gives him a lot to overthink, but the fact is I don't like him, even if I wasn't sleeping with his wife.
Today was no different, and luckily the next hour proved busy as the lunch crowd started filling in the tables. There was no server on the schedule until this evening, but I was fine with that. I could manage the entire restaurant, and I liked the extra money.
By one-thirty, Taylor and I had hustled our asses off. When we were down to two tables, he asked me if he could grab a cigarette. I waved him off, and I started cleaning up from the rush. The last two tables paid their tabs, and I was ready to rest a bit. I spent the next ten minutes closing all the checks and cleaning the bar. Taylor would clean the tables when he got back.
When he returned from polluting his lungs, I took a quick break. I picked up the phone and called a number from memory.
"Delp," the voice on the other end answered.
Jay Delp served with me and Tristan in Afghanistan. He got out about the same time that I did. Now Jay is working up in Pensacola in the police department. He just made sergeant before I left for the Bahamas.
"Jay, it's Chase," I said.
"Chase, what's going on? You back from your trip?" He sounded excited to hear from me. He was always a bit energetic, but he is one of a very few guys I would want to watch my back.
"It's Tristan," I said. "Have you talked to him lately?"
"No, I haven't. It's been at least a year," Jay said. "What kind of trouble is he in?"
"Bad, I think. His wife came to see me. He's disappeared. Been gone a month, but she hasn't heard from him in weeks."
"Shit," Jay's Mississippi accent dragged the word out for several syllables.
"Couple of thugs are looking for him too. He's been running drugs, I think. Might have dumped a load before the Coasties boarded him."
"That damned kid," Jay said into the phone.
"My sentiments too." I added, "It gets better. The DEA is sniffing around for him too. An agent Van Kohl has already come to visit me."
"Way to dive into the deep end, Chase. What can I do?"
"I'm thinking that the main drug line through here is run by a Julio Moreno. Can you see what is officially out there? Don't overstep any bounds, though."
"Let me poke a little. See what I can find out."
"Thanks, Jay."
"No need, Chase. You know if it gets hairy, I can be down there in a flash."
"I know," I responded.
"Yo
u find that kid, you beat the ever-loving shit outta him. You got me?"
"Got it."
10
My feet were sore. Not that I can complain. There were points at Parris Island when my feet were bleeding at the end of the day. Now, I'd just classify it as sore.
Kristy was doing her side work as Bobby carried the last of the dirty dishes to the kitchen to be washed.
"I need this drink taken off so I can close the ticket," she bitched at me.
Since I operate as the supervisor when I'm behind the bar, I have the authority to adjust or change the tickets. I have to type in my PIN and swipe the "manager" card. One of Kristy's customers didn't like that there was grapefruit juice in their Greyhound. The mind is left to ponder some folks. I removed the Greyhound so that she could close the check to exact change.
"You need me to do anything else?" she asked.
"Everything stocked?"
"Yeah."
"Then go on."
She spread two 20-dollar bills on the bar for me. "Thanks, Chase," she said as she skipped toward the door.
She stopped Bobby as he came through the door and handed him a folded wad of bills.
"Anyone going for a drink?" she asked both of us.
I shook my head. "No, I've been on my feet since open."
"I'll go." Bobby jumped at the chance to have a drink with the girl. "You need anything else, Chase?"
Looking over the bar, everything looked stocked. "I'm good. See ya'll later."
His face lit up, and the two left together. They'd probably hit Marty's down the street. The little pub stayed open till three, and the kitchen was cooking until two.
I started turning off the lights when the phone rang. Surprised, I thought it might be Kayla calling again. She had phoned around six when she made it to Orlando. It could easily be someone checking to see if we were still open.
"Manta," I said into the receiver.
"Hey," Missy said over the phone.
"Hey, back."
"You done up there?" she asked.
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