Wild Captive

by Tripp Ellis

  JD grumbled under his breath. "Do I really have to shake hands with that bastard?”

  I smiled. "Play nice. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  We mingled with guests while we waited in line, making small talk. I had my ears open for any conversations that might be interesting. When we reached the front of the line, the senator shook our hands and thanked us for attending. He looked at JD and said, "I'm such a big fan of your music."

  JD looked surprised. The senator had mistaken him for a famous 80s rock star.

  "Didn't think I liked that kind of music, did you?" the senator said, proudly.

  "No," JD said, playing along. "But it's always nice to meet a new fan."

  "I'm waiting for the reunion tour," the senator said.

  "Me too."

  He thanked us again, then moved on to other guests. There were plenty more donors to greet.

  We drifted about the party, trying to meet as many people as we could. My ears were like satellite dishes listening for extraterrestrial life at the far ends of space. I tried to pick up on scraps of conversations, anything that might contain girls, secluded islands, or illicit activities.

  The conversations were mostly boring.

  People talked about themselves. How they fared in the stock market. The business deals they closed. The new contract they signed. People pretended to listen, but they were just waiting for their turn to speak.

  As dinner neared, we grabbed a table and waited for the meal to be served. Attendants kept our wine glasses full. Every need was catered to.

  The menu was set, but you had a choice of soup or salad. The main entrée was a choice of fish, chicken, or steak. Dessert was either chocolate mousse, or key lime pie.

  JD and I both opted for the steak and started with the French onion soup.

  The food was a culinary delight. It made my tastebuds explode with ecstasy. Maybe I just wanted to like it more because I knew the price?

  The other guests at our table ranged from a young entrepreneur that launched a tech startup, to an older gentleman who had made his money in the shipping industry and was now retired. There was a pro baseball player at our table, and a woman who was a financial planner for clients with a minimum of 15 million to invest. This was clearly a place for her to look for new clients.

  Since the senator had mistaken JD's identity, everyone else followed suit.

  Jack held court around the table, telling stories of wild parties and debaucherous affairs.

  The table hung on his every word as he made it all up. One of these days, his bullshit was going to bite him in the ass. I just hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Especially not now.

  45

  A podium sat atop a small riser at the far end of the dining hall. Between the main course and dessert, the senator took the stage. "I want to thank you all again for coming out. I hope you enjoyed the evening. Feel free to contribute as much as you can. Now, more than ever, we need good leadership in Congress. I have put forth legislation to make our great nation a safer and more prosperous place. With your generous support, we can continue to mount an effective campaign, and secure the seat once again. I promise to uphold the standards of dignity, compassion, and prudence. May God bless you, and God bless America."

  The hall erupted with cheers. Like most politicians, Senator Haklen had a way of speaking without saying much of anything, yet somehow managing to make people believe he cared about their interests.

  My sweet tooth usually craved key lime pie, but I thought I'd change things up a bit and go with the chocolate mousse.

  It did not disappoint.

  After dinner, DJs spun tunes, and people mixed and mingled, and the free drinks continued.

  I knew people would stick around as long as there was free booze. Once that ended, the place would empty out. So far, we hadn't gleaned any useful information.

  It would probably end up as just an expensive dinner. And Daniels would have my ass.

  JD and I split up, working the crowd.

  I introduced myself as a Hollywood writer working on a biopic of Bree Taylor. It wasn't a lie. I approached a group of gentlemen on the patio, smoking cigars, and introduced myself. One was a heart surgeon. Another was a high-powered attorney. The group contained a football player, and a pilot. They were intrigued by my story, and all were fans of Bree.

  Who wasn’t?

  "I wish I was creative," the heart surgeon said.

  "I would imagine your profession has a degree of creativity involved in it," I said.

  "Yes, but it's very process oriented."

  "So is writing."

  "What’s it like to be a big-time Hollywood writer?” the attorney asked.

  "I don't know if I’d call myself big time."

  "How much did you get paid for your last assignment?" the attorney asked.

  It was a little bit of an invasive question, but I answered. "Over seven figures."

  "That qualifies as big time."

  All of these men were worth large multiples of that.

  I began fishing. “I need to get away, clear my head. I’m looking for something tropical. Fun. Unrestricted. Any suggestions?"

  "Hell, that sounds like Coconut Key," the surgeon said.

  “I’m looking for something a little more… exotic."

  "I'm partial to the French Riviera," the surgeon said. "Have you been?"

  "Yes, I have.“ I had just told him about my exploits on the French Riviera with Bree. It went in one ear and out the other. Nobody paid attention to anything at gatherings like this.

  "How far are you willing to travel?" the attorney asked.

  "I'd like to keep it in the Caribbean.”

  He made a few suggestions, but nothing salacious.

  I spoke with them for a few more minutes. I wasn't getting anywhere. I told them it was nice to meet them, and I moved along to the next group. I worked my way through the crowd, throwing out a shiny lure, hoping to reel in some big fish, but nobody bit.

  Maybe I was going about it the wrong way? Maybe my attempt at subtlety was still to direct?

  I bumped into JD who suffered the same fate.

  "I've got nothing," he said. "Short of asking somebody where I can buy a sex slave, I don't know how we're gonna find out anything here."

  A drunk I stumbled into JD, spilling his drink all over Jack’s nice tuxedo.

  "Oh, shit! I'm sorry," the man slurred. Then his bleary eyes recognized JD. Or at least, he thought he recognized JD. "Holy shit! Long time no see."

  He clasped hands with JD and gave him a bro hug.

  JD squinted at the man, trying to place his face.

  "It's me, Dizzy. Sanctimonious Bastards? We opened for you guys in ’89 on the Louder than Phuck tour?"

  JD feigned recognition. "Holy shit. You look so different without the long hair."

  The two embraced again.

  "Hey, the ‘80s are over. I had to get respectable."

  "What are you doing here?" JD asked.

  He leaned in and muttered in JD's ear. "I'm banging this rich bitch." He said, almost stumbling over. "You know, those royalty checks started getting awfully small. It's been a long time since I had a hit. Anyway, this chick is loaded." Then he puffed up and cockily said, “And, you know, she just loves getting it from a rock star." He tugged at his belt, then elbowed JD. "Hey, I’ve had worse gigs."

  He burst into laughter, and we gave him a sympathy chuckle.

  "It's so great to see you,” Dizzy said. “I can't believe I ran into you here. What a trip."

  "Yeah, it's crazy. Small world,” JD said.

  Dizzy leaned in and whispered, “You gotta meet my buddy, Randall."

  JD arched a curious eyebrow. "Yeah, sure."

  "My boy has got the hook up. You have got to see this place."

  JD and I exchanged a curious glance.

  "What place?"

  Dizzy looked over both shoulders, then whispered. "He's got this fucking island, man. Totally p
rivate. Filled with fucking hotties. And let me tell you, what happens there, stays there." He took a sip of his drink. "I mean, I don't have to pay because I'm a celebrity,” he boasted. “But, some of these cats are paying 50,000 a pop just for a weekend."

  "Really?" JD said.

  "He likes celebrities because it adds to the mystique of the place. I'm telling you, the girls down there are top notch. Perfect 10s. And you can do anything you want to with them. And the bitches love it. You want two girls, three girls, four girls, whatever? Yours for the taking."

  "How about you introduce us to this Randall?” JD said.

  Dizzy smiled. "Follow me."

  46

  Randall had slicked back blond hair, blue eyes, a round face, and a winning smile. Dizzy introduced us, and Randall instantly lavished praise on JD. "Big fan of the music."

  "Thanks."

  "I was telling them, they have to visit the island," Dizzy slurred.

  "You guys will have a ball. And we like having people like you down there. It adds marquee value.”

  “Dizzy tells me good things." JD said.

  "I can arrange a visit if you'd like?" Randall said. "Totally on the house. First one's free.”

  Randall smiled.

  "Free is my middle name," JD said.

  "Great. When would you like to go?"

  JD looked at me. "Well, I'm going into the studio to record a solo album week after next. Lord knows how long that could take. You have any availability coming up next week?"

  Randall grinned. “I feel more than confident I can squeeze you two in.”

  “Excellent," JD replied.

  Randall leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "Just so we're all on the same page. We have an exclusive clientele. Our guests are very high status, such as yourselves. We're always looking for new clients. But please make sure to keep it among like-minded individuals."

  "Absolutely," JD said.

  "We have a few rules. Don't damage the merchandise. Don't cause trouble. Have fun."

  "I believe we can abide," JD replied.

  Randall handed his card to JD. "I’m actually headed down Tuesday. You can fly with me. The island has a private courtesy jet—a Jetway 720. Really nice. Just bring your luggage, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

  I felt dirty shaking hands with Randall, but I put on a good face.

  Having accomplished our mission, we left the party and gave the valet our parking ticket. A few minutes later, it the red Porsche came barreling down the circular drive and pulled before us.

  JD stuck a wad of cash in the valet’s hand, and we climbed into the car and left the prestigious country club behind. A news van was out front, and movie lights illuminated Reagan as she did a stand and deliver into the camera.

  I chuckled as I passed by. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist snooping around. I called Tony and caught him up to speed. I told him I'd let him know as things developed.

  JD dropped me off at the marina, then spun away into the night. I strolled down the dock and peeled out of the formal attire once I got on board. I changed back into my standard T-shirt and shorts, put on some sneakers, and took Buddy for an evening walk.

  The news van dropped off Reagan as I was on my way back to the Wild Tide. I waited for her and escorted her back to the boat.

  "What were you really doing there?" she asked.

  I shrugged, innocently. "Why does everything have to be something with you?"

  "Because everything is something." She paused, then tried a different tactic. "You know I hear things."

  "Oh really? What kind of things?" Now I was the one asking questions.

  "Something too outrageous to be true. Unless, of course, maybe it is?"

  "Are we going to play games all night?"

  "What were you doing there?"

  "I was there as a private citizen."

  "The girl that went missing... do you have any leads?"

  "A few."

  "Leads that you picked up from the fundraiser?"

  My face crinkled. "What would make you think that? Those are all upstanding members of the community."

  She scoffed. "Please, you two were there."

  I feigned offense.

  "You know, there are rumors about the senator."

  "What kind of rumors?"

  "I think you know what kind of rumors. Is that what you were doing there? Do you think he has some type of connection to the missing girl?"

  Reagan was good at her job.

  "Now what would make you think that?"

  She shrugged. "Just trying to connect the dots."

  I wasn't about to tell her anything about the investigation. It could blow the whole operation and ruin any chance of recovering Violet. These guys would shut down the operation and move the girls if they got a whiff of trouble. The last thing I needed was some investigative reporter sniffing around this case, doing an expose before I was able to make my move.

  I told Reagan she had an overactive imagination.

  She wasn't amused.

  I helped her on board, and we pushed into the salon. I motioned for her to descend the steps before me. She went one way down the companionway, and I went the other. As I reached the hatch, she called over her shoulder at me, "The other night, did I…?"

  She stopped herself.

  "What?"

  "Nevermind."

  47

  Randall greeted us with a smile on the tarmac of the private terminal at the Coconut Key International Airport. He stood in front of a beautiful Jetstream 720. Sleek and aggressive. The $65 million aircraft was the number one competitor to the Gulfstream G-650.

  I put on a fake smile and greeted the scumbag with a handshake.

  "It's a beautiful day to travel to paradise," Randall said.

  "Indeed, it is," I replied.

  "A few things before we board," Randall said. "No cell phones. We like to keep our island private and anonymous. What happens there, stays there. You can hand your devices over to me, they will be returned to you when you arrive back in the States. Also, we do not allow weapons on the island."

  I anticipated as much and didn't pack my pistol. Flying a private jet, we were outside the purview of the TSA. But we did have to present a passport to clear the TSA's no-fly list. Jack explained the obvious discrepancy by saying that he was professionally known by his stage name, and Jack Donovan was his real name.

  "I had no idea," Randall said.

  A quick Internet search would have proven otherwise, but we were counting on Randall accepting JD's word as fact.

  We boarded the plane and stowed our gear and slid into the luxurious leather seats. Beautiful flight attendants in fitted skirts catered to our every need. Randall informed us that they weren't on the menu, and that we should save our appetites for the island.

  It was just a hop skip and a jump down to the lustful paradise. The aircraft banked around, circling the island, offering an aerial view. Teal blue water surrounded the white sand beaches. It looked like heaven on earth.

  It must have been a hell for the girls.

  The airstrip looked just barely long enough to accommodate a plane of this size. From above, it was easy to see the layout of the resort villa. There were no pesky neighbors to worry about.

  "I purchased the island for $1,200,000 a few years ago. A steal, in my opinion. Prior to that, it belonged to a notorious drug dealer. He installed the air strip. I spent the next several years building a five-star luxury resort that will satisfy those with the most discerning tastes. I wanted it to be an escape from the doldrums of everyday life. I'm proud to say, I think we’ve accomplished that. My guests rave about the experience, and I'm sure you will too."

  He spoke about the island as if it were any other commercial establishment.

  The pilot crackled over the loudspeaker and notified us of our descent, and within a few moments, the wheels screeched against the tarmac, the plane landed with barely a jolt. My body pressed against the safety harness as inertia
carried me forward. The pilot stopped the plane just before we raced off the runway into the palm trees.

  We taxied around to the makeshift terminal and deplaned. From there, we hopped onto an electric cart and were shuttled over to the resort area.

  It was like checking into any other luxury resort, except that there were beautiful women lounging everywhere—in various states of undress. Blondes, redheads, brunettes. All fresh-faced, with slim, toned bodies. At first glance, they looked to be having the time of their lives. Laughing and giggling. They smiled when we made eye contact.

  A beautiful receptionist behind the desk checked us in and gave us keys to our bungalow.

  A beautiful woman with brown hair, and olive skin approached, wearing a skimpy bikini that barely covered her natural gifts.

  "This is Olga,” Randall said. “She will show you to your bungalow and give you a tour of the resort. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

  Olga spoke with a thick Eastern European accent. "Welcome to paradise, gentlemen. Come with me."

  She grabbed our hands and pulled us through the lobby. She pointed out the bar, and the restaurant. "The resort is all inclusive. All the food, beverages, and entertainment are included in your package. The bar closes at 4 AM, and the kitchen closes at midnight. Room service is available 24 hours a day, but after midnight the menu is limited."

  We continued to the pool area. Exotic beauties soaked up the sun, their tanned, oiled bodies glistening in the bright light. The clear blue pool looked inviting. It had a sloped entrance on one side, and a swim-up bar on the other. Girls pawed on rich old men. Drinks flowed.

  Bikini tops were optional.

  "The pool is open 24 hours a day, as well as the jacuzzis. There is a workout room, sauna, and a spa where our expert masseuses can work out every tight muscle."

  If this would have been any other resort, JD and I would have been in heaven.

  Palm trees towered over the pool, and the path to the bungalows was ensconced with an array of foliage, giving the area a secluded, jungle vibe.

  The bungalow had two bedrooms and a center living area with a flatscreen display and luxurious leather furniture. There was a kitchen equipped with a microwave, stove top, refrigerator, and a mini bar stocked full of top shelf liquor. There was a hammock on the patio out back, and a trail led down to the white sand beaches.