by Tripp Ellis
Plus, a little mystery and reclusiveness never hurt anyone. People talked about you more when you weren't around.
Zaven drove me to the airport, I hopped on the Gulfstream, and I was back at the Wild Tide by midnight.
It had been a long day.
My eyes were bleary, and my lids heavy. I pushed into the salon and called out for Reagan.
There was no answer.
I made my way below deck and checked the guest quarters. Her luggage was here, but the boat was empty.
I figured she might be at Diver Down, not wanting to be aboard the boat alone. I strolled down the dock to the restaurant. I needed to pick up Buddy and Fluffy, anyway. There were a few patrons lingering in the bar. Harlan had long since gone home. Reagan wasn't anywhere to be seen.
I took a seat at the bar and asked Madison if she'd seen her.
"No, I haven't."
In the back of my mind I began to grow concerned. There was a killer on the loose, after all.
"How did it go?" Madison asked.
"It went… okay," I said, still not sure what to make of my whirlwind of a day.
"That's good. Do you want Buddy and Fluffy back now, or can I keep them for another day?" A hopeful smile flashed on her face.
I pretended to contemplate the situation.
"Please?" she begged, looking sad and pathetic.
"I guess I can leave them with you for another day."
"Yay!"
It was nice to see her smile.
"How are you holding up?" I asked.
She groaned. "I'm hanging in there. Trying not to think about it." A frown pulled her face, then she tried to shrug it off. "You want something to drink?"
"No. I'm going to crash. I’m beat."
As I pushed away from the bar counter, my phone rang—it was Reagan.
"What are you doing?"
"Leaving Diver Down," I said.
"Where have you been all day?"
"Are you keeping tabs on me now?"
"Professional curiosity," she slurred.
"Are you sure it’s professional?"
"Keep dreaming," she said, flatly. "I'm out with a girlfriend. Meet us for a drink."
"A professional drink?"
"Neither of us are amateurs, are we?"
"I'm really tired."
She mocked me in a whiny voice, "I'm really tired. Quit being a pussy."
My brow lifted with surprise.
"Come on. We're at Dunes. It's your kind of place."
I thought about it.
“Don’t make me beg. Then she whispered into the phone, “Okay, I’m begging. I have a situation.”
"What kind of situation?”
"These guys have been buying us shots all night. I think they're looking for a little something in return, if you know what I mean. But Peggy is into one of them, and I don't wanna have to jump on a grenade. You need to come save me."
I hesitated. "Okay. But you owe me.”
"See you in a few." She hung up.
I caught an Uber to Oyster Avenue. I had a few rules about my bike, and one of them was never ride after drinking. That monster needed my full attention, and I had no desire to eat the pavement again.
Dunes was the kind of place that had bikini contests, wet T-shirt contests, mud wrestling, and anything else they could think of to bring in business. Cash prize was $1000. They had an event every night, and there was never a shortage of new contestants. The bar was like going on perpetual spring break. There were sand volleyball courts in the back. They served beer, hard liquor, and an assortment of frozen drinks.
I didn't really figure it for Reagan's type of place. The bar had a full crowd, but there was still breathing room. Reagan and Peggy sat at a hightop table near the bar, and two burly biker dudes with tattoos and cut-off jean vests hovered around them.
As soon as Reagan saw me she leapt from her seat and flung her arms around me, planting a fat kiss on my cheek. "Hey, babe," she said, loud enough for the bikers to hear, pretending there was something between us.
The guy Peggy was into couldn’t care less that I showed up. But his friend felt otherwise. A sour look twisted on his face, and he glared at me, looking like I had kicked his dog.
My presence had derailed his plans.
He had blond hair, narrow eyes, and a mustache that trailed down to his chin.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Edgar from the rehab facility, standing a few tables over. He was talking to a girl, then he dug his hand into his pocket and casually slipped her a baggie of a powdered substance that I was pretty sure wasn’t baking soda.
The transaction was smooth. Effortless. Almost invisible.
She took the drugs and slipped him several folded bills.
“I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch,” I muttered to myself.
“What did you say?” Mr. Mustache growled, probably thinking I was cursing at him.
“Nothing,” I said.
He glared at me for a moment, then turned his attention to Reagan. "Now, sugar, why do you want to hang on a pretty boy like that, when you can have a real man like me?"
Reagan shrugged. "What can I say, I've got a soft spot for pretty boys."
I rolled my eyes.
"I've been buying you shots all night, and you didn’t say word one about a boyfriend. Now this loser shows up?"
“The only losers I see here are you two," Reagan said, emboldened by the liquor. "I mean, if you're dumb enough to spend all your money on a girl who has no interest."
The man snarled at Reagan.
I pulled her behind me. "Easy there, honey." I smiled at the man as I tried to keep Reagan from escalating the situation. "You have to excuse her. She gets a little mouthy sometimes."
Reagan glared at me.
"If you hadn't showed up, your girl would be getting mouthy on my dick right about now. How does it feel to know your girlfriend is a whore?"
"Hey now," I said. "That's uncalled for. Apologize to the lady."
"I'll tell you what’s uncalled for… Spending 40 bucks on a dumb bitch and not getting anything out of it."
"40 bucks? What is that, like a year salary for you?" I said. I couldn’t help myself.
His face flushed red, and the veins in his neck bulged. He growled, cocked his fist back, and swung it toward my face.
I leaned back as his knuckles whiffed past my nose. I grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and slammed his head against the table.
A little more force, and I could have pulled his shoulder out of joint.
His buddy grabbed a long neck and swung it toward me.
I pulled Mr. Mustache into the way, and the amber bottle shattered against his skull. The blow knocked him out, and the goon dropped to the ground.
His burly friend’s eyes widened with shock. Then his face twisted with rage. He was a big guy. 6’3”, 330 lbs. He charged at me like a bull.
An extremely drunk bull.
I sidestepped and tripped the big ogre as he passed by. His face smacked the concrete floor.
Before he could get up, I planted a knee into his spine, pinning him to the ground. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and smacked his face against the pavement several times. Blood splattered from his nose, speckling the floor.
A crowd circled around, gasping and gawking.
I sprang to my feet and ushered the girls out of the bar before the goons could get back on their feet. Edgar had long since left, and the girl he sold the drugs to had vanished in the crowd.
I’d deal with Edgar later.
The girls struggled to keep up with me as I dragged them by the arms down the sidewalk, weaving through the horde of midnight revelers.
"What the hell!" Peggy complained. She was totally shit-faced and could barely form complex sentences. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was sloppy drunk. "I liked that guy. He was cute, in a big, teddy bear kind of way."
Reagan wasn't in much better shape. "Trust me, you would have regretted that in th
e morning."
"He told me he had just gotten out of prison. I don't know about you, but mama needs a little loving.” At the present time, Peggy had no filter. "And he was going to take me to pound town. Mmm, mmm!"
Peggy lost her self in the possibilities for a moment.
I escorted the girls into a cab that was waiting nearby to pick up a fare. We squeezed into the backseat, and Peggy pouted.
We pulled from the curb and left the chaos of Oyster Avenue behind. We took Peggy home, and I helped her up the walkway to her front door. It took her five minutes to get the key into the slot, then she stumbled inside.
I rejoined Reagan in the backseat of the cab. She had a sheepish look on her face. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"
"You're a grown woman. You are more than free to make your own bad decisions."
"A momentary lapse in judgment,” she explained. “I was so stressed out. I needed to blow off some steam. You can't blame a girl for having a few too many, can you?"
"I think, right now, with everything that’s going on, it's best for you to maintain good situational awareness. And that's kind of hard to do after seven tequila shots."
"Nine. It's really nine shots." She hiccuped. "We had two shots before they started buying us drinks."
I shook my head.
The cab dropped us off at Diver Down, and Reagan struggled to walk in her high heels. Her ankles turned on each step, and she listed like a sailboat tacking against the wind.
I held onto her so she didn't fall off the dock. She slung an arm around me and grabbed on. "I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
The smell of tequila smacked me in the face.
“Happens to the best of us,” I said.
I scooped her up and carried her onto the boat in my arms. Then I set her down in the cockpit, opened the hatch to the salon, and helped her inside.
She needed assistance descending the stairs to the berthing compartments. If I didn’t steady her, she would have ended up facedown in the companionway.
She tried to walk toward my stateroom, but I turned her around, facing the guest suite. "You're over there."
"Oh, right. My bad."
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.
"I'm fine," she slurred. "I'm surfectly pober."
"Do you want some water?"
"Yes, please," she nodded.
I steadied her against the bulkhead, then climbed up to the galley and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. When I returned, she was practically passed out against the bulkhead.
I snapped my finger. "Wake up, sleeping beauty."
Her eyes peeled open, and she took the water.
She twisted the top and took a sip. Then she looked up at me with her sleepy eyes. "Thank you."
She flung her arms around me, lifted on her tiptoes, and kissed me on the cheek. It was a friendly kiss. Just a peck to express her appreciation.
Then her lips lingered and quickly found their way to mine. The next thing I knew she was about to devour me.
She spilled cold water from the bottle down my back, not paying any attention.
I gently pushed her away. "I think it's past your bedtime."
A naughty glint flickered in her eyes. "Don't you want to take me to pound town?"
I almost laughed. Had she been sober and made that offer, I'd have taken her up on it. But she never would have been that direct when she was sober.
"Go to bed,” I said. “Sleep it off."
She smacked my chest, her face twisted. She didn’t like rejection. "Please. You know you're attracted to me."
"You're drunk."
"I am not," she protested. "I am of sound mind and body." She jiggled when she said it, emphasizing her assets. “And I know what I want.” She continued in her best Marilyn Monroe voice, "I want you to punish me like I've been a bad, naughty girl."
35
The alcohol had stripped away all of her inhibitions. It surged her hormones and made her quite demanding. I managed to calm Reagan down and dissuade her of the notion that anything was going to happen between us.
I helped her into the guest suite. The minute she climbed onto the bunk, her stomach rumbled and her face went pale. Her cheeks puffed out, and her eyes widened. She staggered to the en suite and worshiped at the porcelain alter.
A few times.
I held her hair out of her face and cleaned her up afterward and gave her some mouthwash.
I helped her back to the bed and tucked her in. She was more lucid now, having rallied slightly.
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah," she said, weakly.
"I'm just down the hall. Holler if you need me."
She curled up with a pillow. "Thanks, Tyson."
I stepped into the companionway and pulled the hatch shut behind me.
I doubted she would remember a thing in the morning.
I set my alarm to check on her in the middle of the night and make sure she was still breathing. Then I climbed into bed and crashed out.
In the morning I got up, took a shower, and cooked breakfast. I ate by myself. There wasn't any movement in the guest cabin.
I called JD and filled him in on the gory details. I told him about Edgar.
"That little bastard is working in a rehab and dealing drugs on the side? What the hell is the world coming to?"
"I have a bad feeling he’s not just dealing outside the facility."
"You think he could be dealing to the girls inside?"
"I'd be surprised if he wasn't. And I don't think those girls are paying for his services in cash, if you know what I mean.”
JD groaned. "I think we need to go pay that son-of-a-bitch a visit."
"I'll swing by your place, then we can ride over to Renew in your car,” I said.
"Don't crash on the way."
Reagan staggered up the stairs as I hung up the phone.
She looked like re-heated dog shit. Dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, hair that made a rat’s nest look organized. She still wore the same clothes from last night.
"Morning, sunshine," I said.
"What the fuck happened last night?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Her eyes narrowed. "Did I call you?"
I laughed. "Yeah."
It took all of her strength to keep her eyes open. "She thought about it for a long moment, glimpses of the past coming back to her. "Did you meet me at the bar last night?"
I nodded.
She thought some more, searching for the pieces to put it all together. "I don't want to know anymore, do I?"
I shook my head.
"I didn't do anything… stupid… Did I?"
"Define stupid?"
She cringed. It looked like even that hurt to do. "Please tell me there's no video footage."
"Not that I know of."
She staggered to the dinette and took a seat.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"There's a part of me that wants breakfast, and there's a part of me that knows better than to attempt it."
“Start with a piece of bacon."
She grabbed a crispy slice and crunched on it. Slowly. She swallowed carefully, trying to see if she could keep it down.
It didn't come back up.
Yet.
She gradually began to eat more and more, measuring each bite, waiting to see the effects on her stomach.
"We didn’t…? Did we?"
I shook my head. "Absolutely not."
“Whew,” she said with a breath. "Because that would be embarrassing."
I stifled a chuckle. "Listen, I've got to run. Are you going to be okay?"
She nodded. "I'll survive. Barely."
"I'll see you later." I grabbed my helmet and gloves and stuffed my holster in my waistband.
As I reached the salon hatch, Reagan said, “Thanks again for letting me stay here and… getting me out of whatever mess I'd gotten myself into last night."
I wasn't sure how much she reme
mbered about the previous night. Maybe she was pretending to forget most of it. Maybe it was a black hole in her memory?
"No worries. Maybe you should go easy on the tequila from here on out?"
The mere mention of the word tequila made her want to puke. Her cheeks bulged, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the contents of her stomach down. "I'm never drinking tequila again.”
36
"We're looking for Edgar," I said as JD and I stepped into the lobby of the rehab facility.
The receptionist looked surprised to see us. "He's off today, but he'll be back tomorrow. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"No, thank you,” I said. "Do you happen to know what he does on his days off?"
She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't talk to people about their personal lives, and I don't want them talking to me about mine.”
She flashed an insincere smile and went back about her business.
We left the rehab facility and drove to the last known address that Edgar had listed with the DMV. We parked down the block and surveyed the house. It was a one-story, two bedroom, in a decent neighborhood. Nothing to write home about.
“You think he’s home?" JD asked.
"I'm about to find out."
"Do you want to do a knock and talk?"
"No. I want to make sure we have something on him first."
I hopped out of the car and crept down the block. I darted up the driveway to the side of the house and peered into the kitchen window. It was broad daylight, and I didn't like doing that type of thing in such high visibility. All it would take was a neighbor spotting me and tipping off Edgar that someone was snooping around his property.
The TV was on in the home, but I didn't see Edgar at first. Then he stepped out of a hallway, crossed the living room, and headed toward the kitchen.
I ducked below the sill, then ran back down the driveway and rejoined JD in the Porsche.
"He's inside," I said.
"What are we going to do? Sit on the house?"
"We don't have probable cause," I said.
"You saw him selling drugs last night."
"I saw him exchange a powdery substance for money. It's reasonable to assume it was drugs. But I couldn't tell you for certain what it was. And I don't have a reasonable suspicion that a crime is in progress right now."