by Tripp Ellis
We hung out at Tide Pool for a while, and JD ran into some groupies. He kept them entertained with rounds of drinks and stories of his budding rock ’n’ roll lifestyle.
JD had been living the lifestyle long before he was in a band.
Jack had recently upgraded his car alarm. It would send text messages in the event of an incident. One buzzed his phone, and his face tensed. "We gotta roll,” he said to me. He smiled at the ladies. "Excuse us. It seems we have an emergency."
I followed him as he rushed out of the building and jogged down the sidewalk. We darted down a dark alleyway in between the buildings, taking a shortcut to the side street where we had parked.
I heard the grating sound of the alarm pulsing from a few blocks away.
When we arrived at the vehicle, it looked like it had been in a demolition derby. Someone had taken a baseball bat to the headlights, the quarter-panels, the hood, and the windshield. The alarm blared, and the lights flashed.
JD clicked his key fob, silencing the racket.
He looked like a soda bottle that had been shaken up and was ready to fizz over. The veins in his neck bulged, and his cheeks reddened. His hands clenched into fists. "Son-of-a-bitch!”
JD had his run-ins with vandals defacing his car with spray paint.
This was different.
This was a whole new level.
Neither one of us thought it was connected to any of the past incidents. That fact was confirmed when four goons emerged from the shadows wielding baseball bats and lead pipes. With ski masks covering their faces, they closed in around us.
“If you know what's good for you, you’ll stay away from a certain woman. And you need to stop sticking your noses in other people's business."
I recognized the voice and the man’s physique.
JD and I both drew our pistols and took aim at the thugs. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who sent them.
"In case you geniuses haven’t noticed, you brought baseball bats and pipes to a gunfight," I said. "How do you think that's gonna work out for you?"
The dipshits exchanged awkward glances, then retreated into the shadows.
JD was so pissed off he looked like he was gonna shoot one of the bastards in the back.
The baseball bats and pipes clattered away as the goons ran in different directions, dropping the weapons.
I didn't bother trying to pull prints from the pipes—all the thugs wore gloves.
JD surveyed the damage in dismay. He was so angry, his eyes welled. “What the hell? You’re the one banging that dude’s sister. Why take it out on my car?”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“She better be worth it,” he muttered.
We hopped into the car, and JD slid behind the wheel. He cranked up the engine, and it growled like a caged lion. The exterior may have been battered and bruised, but the internals were just fine. Fortunately, the tires hadn’t been slashed. Perhaps a mere oversight.
JD pulled away from the curb and attempted to look around the windshield that was almost frosted with cracked glass. We cruised back to his house, and he pulled into the circular driveway, parking by the front door.
He hopped out of the car, still fuming, and surveyed the damage.
“Maybe it will buff out,” I teased.
JD glared at me. This was well beyond polishing compound. “We’re going to get those bastards!”
28
"I gotta hand it to him," I said. “Nico’s got balls to send his guys after us."
JD quickly corrected my statement. "If Nico had balls, he’d have done it himself."
I couldn’t argue with that.
I listened to JD bitch about the damage to his car for a few minutes, then I called for a rideshare.
"You better watch your back," he said. "That guy’s got it out for you."
"I can handle Nico.” I wasn’t particularly worried about the little tyrant. It was his four goons that were troublesome.
"It's kind of weird. The guy is fixated on his sister," JD said with a disturbed look on his face.
The rideshare pulled to the curb.
I told JD to call me when he was ready.
I trotted down the driveway and hopped in the back seat. The driver cruised me back to the marina, and I climbed out and ambled the dock toward the Avventura. The night air was still, and the moon glowed above. I kept a wary eye out for more of Nico’s goons.
When I reached the boat, Buddy was ready to stretch his legs. He bounced and twirled excitedly. I took him for a short walk. On my way back, a rideshare pulled into the parking lot, and Caprice hopped out. The leggy brunette sauntered toward me with an eager grin on her face.
“Where’s the Ferrari?” I asked as the driver pulled away.
“In the garage. It’s hard to sneak around in that thing. Besides, I may have had a few drinks.” A naughty smile curled her juicy lips. “And it wouldn’t be hard to figure out I was here with that thing parked in the lot. I don’t think Nico would like that.”
“No, he wouldn’t. How was your evening?"
"It's drastically improving now. What about yours?"
"It's been interesting," I filled her in on the attack.
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes rounded. "Are you sure it was Nico's boys?"
"I can't prove it. But it was them.”
Her face crinkled with anger. "What an asshole."
“I get the impression Nico doesn’t like me very much,” I said dryly.
She smiled. "Well, I like you. But don't take that the wrong way.”
“I won’t.” I grinned and escorted her down the dock.
It was late, but there were plenty of parties still raging on boats.
We crossed the passerelle and stepped to the aft deck of the Avventura. I pulled open the sliding door, ushered her inside, and removed Buddy’s leash.
Caprice took a few steps into the salon, her high heels clacking against the deck. She slipped the straps from her shoulders, letting them fall down her smooth arms, revealing her exquisite back. She looked coyly over her shoulder before spinning around, showing me her sumptuous endowments. They swayed hypnotically.
My eyes were transfixed.
Caprice had a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. In a sultry voice that could light a fire in a thunderstorm, she said, “Since we’re on a tight schedule, we should probably get straight to it."
She didn't have to twist my arm too hard.
I moved close, and our lips collided. Our bodies crashed together. With my hand in the small of her back, I held her body against mine. I grabbed handfuls of supple goodness, fondling perky peaks and round mounds. Before long, her dress was on the deck, and we were making the most of the hour and a half until the covert operation.
But I never heard back from JD.
I figured he had fallen asleep. That was okay. Caprice kept me plenty occupied.
We tumbled around the sheets, and when we’d worn ourselves out, I collapsed beside her in a state of pure bliss. It was sometime in the early hours of the morning. My heart thumped, and our bodies were drenched with sweat. Caprice lay beside me, her naked form wrapped around mine. She stroked my chest with her delicate fingers, my brain swirling with dopamine.
I passed out, fully satiated.
I woke the next morning to an empty bed with blinding daylight blasting through the windows. I had slept until 10 AM, but it still wasn’t enough. The late-night adventure was definitely worth the lack of sleep.
Just when I thought I was alone, Caprice pranced into the stateroom and bounced onto the bed with a bright smile. "Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She wore my T-shirt like a dress with nothing underneath.
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and gave her a curious glance. "You're still here?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No problem. Just unexpected."
"Well, we did get a late start last night." She paused. "What happened to your mission?"
“I don't know," I said.
She straddled my hips, and it didn’t take much to spark a fire. This was better than any cup of coffee. We went for broke, trying to wear out the mattress again. We did a pretty good job.
It wasn’t long after we finished our cardio routine when JD called.
“What happened to you last night?” I asked.
29
"I figured you had better things to do, so I took care of it myself," JD said.
My brow knitted together. "It's kind of foolish to run ops by yourself."
"You don't even know what I was doing."
"I don't. But I'm sure it's something you shouldn't have been."
He laughed. "Anyway, the trap is sprung, and I'm sure it won't be long before we have something."
"What did you do?"
"You'll see." He had a mischievous tone in his voice. "I'm taking the Porsche to the body shop, then I'll grab a rental and come by the marina. It will probably take me an hour."
"Alright. See you then."
I hung up the phone, then pulled myself out of bed. I took a shower, got dressed, and fixed breakfast for the two of us. We ate ham and cheese omelettes at the small table just off the galley. It was a cozy little breakfast area.
"Do you still think Nico had something to do with Chuck's murder?" Caprice asked.
"I don't know," I said, crunching on a slice of bacon. "I'm leaning toward these gang members, but Nico threatened me for a reason."
"You make him nervous." She said. "I can tell. He hasn’t said anything, but he can't control you. Can't pay you off. That makes you a liability."
"I'm sure he doesn’t like the fact that you spent the night either."
"He doesn't know I'm here."
I gave a doubtful shrug. "He certainly had his boys follow us around. How do you know you weren’t followed here?"
"Trust me, I wasn't followed. If I was, you’d know about it. I don't know if you’ve figured it out yet, but Nico’s crew aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. He likes them just dumb enough to follow orders and strong enough to get the job done."
"Who’s his number one?”
“Slater heads the crew. He and Griffin are two peas in a pod. They’re tight. They served together.”
“Military?”
“Yeah. The other two are new. Jagger and Ajax.” She sighed. "I said I wasn’t gonna get involved in this, but if… and this is a big if… Nico had Chuck killed, it would have been Slater or Griffin. Those are the two he trusts most.” She sighed. “Poor Griffin. He’s got such a big crush on me, but he’s totally not my type. It’s kinda sweet, though. He’s got this really soft side.”
“When he’s not breaking people’s legs,” I snarked.
“Despite his flaws, he can be really thoughtful. But Jagger and Ajax make me nervous. They’re trying to prove themselves.”
“That makes them dangerous.”
“That's all I'm gonna say. You’re a smart guy. You can take it from there."
"I will. Thank you."
She groaned. "Ugh. I'm getting way too comfortable with you. I don't like it."
"Comfortable doesn't sound so bad."
"This is trouble, you and me."
"I seem to like trouble," I said.
"Well, don't get too attached," she said with a grin. “Remember, I don’t do attachments.”
"Do I look attached? I mean, you're the one who’s still here."
“I’m leaving soon. And I'm not coming back,” she said definitively, trying not to smile.
"Oh really," I said, calling her bluff.
"Nope. This is the last time you’ll see me.” She smiled and extended her hand across the table. "Been a pleasure doing business with you.”
We shook, and I laughed.
"I'm serious. I have willpower. Besides, it wasn’t that spectacular," she said, trying to sound sincere.
"That's why you begged for it again this morning."
She scoffed. "I didn't beg for it." She paused. "I instigated. There’s a difference.”
I laughed again. "So, should I expect you to show up around 2:30 AM and instigate something?”
“Is that an invitation?"
"I suppose it could be construed as such."
She sighed. "Well, if you insist. But only because I feel sorry for you."
"You feel sorry for me?"
"Yeah, you just seem so lonely. And I'd hate to think of you here all by yourself with no one to look after your needs."
We stared at each other for a long moment and tried to keep straight faces.
"I really need to go,” she said.
"Do you want me to give you a ride back to your condo?"
"You really want to piss off my brother, don't you?"
I smiled. "Something tells me you like pissing him off too."
"I have a knack for getting under his skin,” she said.
I grabbed the plates and rinsed them off in the sink.
Caprice slid out of the settee and peeled off my T-shirt, leaving her seductive form on full display. “Where do you put your dirty clothes?”
“Just throw it anywhere,” I said, mesmerized. “I’ll grab it later.”
She smirked and tossed it onto the settee, then bounced out of the galley, jiggling in sublime ways. She climbed the steps to my stateroom, shimmied into her skirt, and slipped on her heels.
I followed her up, grabbed my weapon, and holstered it. I snatched my helmet and gloves, and she grabbed the spare.
“Time for the walk of shame,” she said before stepping into the daylight.
I escorted Caprice down the dock. We pulled on our helmets and straddled the sport-bike. Her long, brunette locks dangled down her back. I cranked up the engine, and she wrapped her arms around my chest and hung on tight.
I let out the clutch and eased out of the parking lot. We cruised to the Trident. The engine howled, and the wind swirled around. The streets weren’t too crowded yet, but I kept the crotch rocket at a reasonable speed. Caprice drew plenty of stares on the back of my bike—her raven hair flowing, her pert cheeks half exposed as her skirt rode high on her hips, offering a glimpse of her black lace panties.
I pulled under the awning by the entrance to her condo, and Caprice hopped off and straightened her skirt. She pulled off her helmet and shook her hair like a shampoo commercial.
"I'll see you around, Deputy,” she said with a smile, handing the helmet back to me.
I watched her saunter away, her hips swaying from side to side. She pushed into the lobby and disappeared.
I attached the spare helmet to the seat with a bungee, revved the engine, and rolled out of the lot, heading back to the marina.
JD arrived 15 minutes later.
30
“What happened to you last night?” I asked.
JD shrugged.
"What did you do?”
A mischievous grin tugged his lips. “You’ll see.”
JD looked at his watch. "It's not quite time yet. We probably have a few hours to kill."
I got a call from Denise. "You’re not gonna believe this. Jeremy Beckett is out."
"What!?"
"Yep. He paid the million-dollar bail."
"That cat must have embezzled quite a bit to have that much money lying around. This is insane. He’s a flight risk. He already tried to run once."
"I know," she sighed.
"Thanks for the heads-up," I said.
I hung up the phone and told JD. His face crinkled with disgust. "Well, the guy’s going down for arson and embezzlement. No two ways about it."
“Not if he flees,” I said.
“Then we’ll just have to track his ass down.” JD grinned.
JD and I were no strangers to hunting wayward thugs, though things didn’t always go smoothly.
"Did you get an estimate on the car?" I asked.
"Insurance company is sending out an adjuster. The body shop said they’ll call me later with an estimate. It’s so bad they need more time to evaluate. There’
s a lot of bodywork, and that ain’t cheap. I wouldn’t be surprised if the insurance company totals it." He frowned. "I liked that car, too."
JD hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, so we hopped in his loaner car that the dealership had given him—a red Boxster GTS with black leather interior and deviated red stitching. Not a bad ride.
We cruised to Ziggy’s and found a spot a block away. It was an eclectic little eatery ensconced by palm trees with indoor and outdoor seating. A small stage on the patio was home to singer/songwriters and reggae bands in the afternoons and evenings. You could get vegetarian and gluten-free meals along with regular fare.
Jack ordered a thick stack of pancakes smothered with butter and maple syrup. Crispy hash browns, crunchy bacon, and two eggs, sunny side up.
Watching him eat made me hungry, and I ordered a second light breakfast.
Afterward, we drove to Jamaica Village and parked a few houses down from Mario's mother's house. We hopped out of the car and ambled down the block. On the walkway that led to the porch, there were several gray footprints. In the wee hours of the morning, Jack had painted an area of the porch with oil-based enamel that would take a day to dry. When the perp's left the house, they tracked the gray paint down the walkway. We snapped several photos of the footprints. To my eye, they matched the Aaron Jackson sneaker prints that were found at the crime scene.
JD had an ear-to-ear grin, proud of his handiwork. “Rather ingenious, if I do say so myself."
"Not bad," I said.
I just hoped that we could match the size of the shoes exactly to the prints at the crime scene. Perhaps that would be enough to convince the judge to let us search the home, looking for the murder weapon and clothing with blood spatter.
We took the images to the lab and filled out sworn affidavits.
The footprints were nearly an exact match. They were the same size and tread pattern. It seemed like a no-brainer to me—Luis killed Chuck Kennedy.
31
The judge refused to issue a warrant.
I was beginning to wonder if he was on the gang’s payroll. Apparently, there was a pebble in the tread pattern, which made it look different from the one found at the crime scene. The judge said due to the popularity of the shoe and the discrepancies in the tread-wear, there was no compelling reason to issue a warrant.