Pineapple Jailbird

by Amy Vansant

  “Have it your way.” Cormac tapped his fingers on the table. “So how’s Declan been?”

  “Good. Fine. He’s been in a really good place.”

  “And he didn’t recognize you? Has no idea you’re here to protect him?”

  “No. He was too young to remember me. And it turns out I’m a really good salesman. I like the people around here. I sold a chair he’d had on the floor for three years yesterday. The top knobs were carved to look like squirrels. Really unique. I’ll be honest, I almost bought it myself.”

  Blade noticed Cormac staring toward the other side of the living room.

  His boss cocked his head. “Did I just see a little white head walk by behind that box?”

  Blade tilted his body to look around Cormac. “Probably.” He spotted the cat’s head as it popped up from behind the box and then disappeared again.

  Cormac scowled. “What is that?”

  “It’s Johnnie Walker Cat.”

  “It’s too tall.”

  “He only has his back legs.”

  “He, you mean he walks on his back legs?”

  Blade nodded. “He belongs to my neighbor down the street but I watch him when he needs me to.”

  “And his name is Johnnie Walker Cat?”

  “It is when he’s here.”

  Cormac sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Okay. Well, I called my man off regarding Charlotte. But we have to slow her down. I can’t have her getting Stephanie out of jail before—”

  “Hold.”

  Blade stood and peered through the front window of his home. Outside, a man climbed the stairs to his porch.

  “It’s Declan.”

  Cormac’s head swiveled toward the door. “Where?”

  “Outside.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  Blade hooked a thumb behind him. “Get in the back.”

  Cormac moved briskly toward the back of the house. Johnny Walker Cat strode after him, and as Cormac disappeared into the guest room, Blade heard him yelp with surprise as the cat followed him in.

  Blade gave Cormac a moment to settle in with Johnny Walker Cat and then moved to the front door.

  The knocking came a second time and Blade opened the door.

  “Hi, Declan. How can I help you?”

  “Hey, big guy, do you mind if I come in for a second? I wanted to talk about making my house secure and bringing Charlotte there.”

  Blade frowned. “I’m kind of in the middle of something, working on some improvements to the cameras.”

  “Oh, you are?” Declan’s neck stretched and Blade could tell he was trying to see inside. He shifted to the right to block his vision. “That’s also what I came to talk to you about. I don’t understand how someone could move through all those cameras, cut a window and slip a snake into it without triggering something.”

  “I think the snake man was moving slowly and wearing some sort of thermal shielding. Clothing like that can block the heat sensors.”

  Declan nodded.

  “So what do you think about me moving her to my place?”

  Blade shrugged. “I can reinstall the cameras there later today if you want.”

  “Okay. I, uh, well, let me know if you see anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Declan took a half a step back and Blade closed the door. Blade waited until he heard Declan walk on his creaky stairs and then moved back to the kitchen.

  “You can come out now,” he said.

  Cormac’s voice came from the back room. “Come here. Did you see this?”

  Blade walked into the guest room, which he’d been using as a command center for his cameras. The far wall was lined with video monitors. Some flickered with images of the area around Charlotte’s home, some from around the Pawn Shop, some around his own house. He’d only recently added the pawn shop cameras after a gang of men in gingerbread man costumes had barged in and held a gun on Declan and Miss Charlotte. He still kicked himself for not doing it sooner. He hadn’t seen the cookies coming.

  “Watch this truck,” said Cormac.

  Blade peered at the image of a dark pickup truck as it pulled off the curb and drove away.

  “What about it?”

  “I think it was following Declan. It parked while he was here and then followed him when he left. Call the office and have them run the plate.”

  Blade nodded. “Do we have an understanding about Charlotte?”

  Cormac nodded. “If you’re sure. For now.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Cormac turned to one of the monitors and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Looks like she’s up to no good, though.”

  Blade leaned in to get a better view of the monitor that had caught Cormac’s eye. In it, he watched Charlotte sneaking from the back door of her house, out of view of Andy and Butch, who, in another monitor, still sat out front in their Cadillac.

  Blade put his hands on his hips.

  “Now where is she going?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Declan frowned as he drove away from Blade’s house. It wasn’t like Blade to not invite him in.

  Should I be suspicious of Blade?

  There’d been a time when he was always suspicious of Blade. The gigantic man had always been a bit of a mystery, with his passive demeanor, terrifying t-shirts and ominous name.

  But over the past two months he’d come to count on the man, who seemed as gentle as he was large. Blade’s kind-hearted personality shone like the sun whenever a customer entered the store, and he fawned over Charlotte like a protective big brother. Little of the big man’s warmth ever seemed to point in Declan’s direction, which Declan had to admit, sometimes made him feel like a flower on the shady side of the garden. He chalked it up to professionalism. Maybe Blade didn’t want to be too chummy with the boss.

  It was hard for Declan to imagine what part Blade could play in Jamie’s manipulations of Charlotte, but—

  Declan’s phone rang and he answered as he pulled to a red light. He didn’t recognize the number, but sometimes received calls from random people who’d been referred to him by past pawn shop customers.

  “Hello?”

  “Come to the address I’m texting you and you’ll have your man.”

  Declan scowled. He caught a fair amount of robo-dial spam calls on his phone, but this was the oddest one he’d heard. Something kept him from hanging up. The air on the line didn’t feel like a recorded message.

  “Who is this?”

  “You want to get Charlotte out of her jam? I’ll give you everything you need.”

  Declan’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline at the sound of Charlotte’s name.

  This is no robo-call.

  “Who are you?”

  The barely audible hiss of the live line had disappeared and Declan found himself holding a dead phone to his ear.

  A car behind him honked and Declan’s attention shot to the light hanging in front of him.

  Green. Whoops.

  He hit the gas and raised a hand of apology. He’d barely made it through the intersection when his phone dinged, alerting him a text message had arrived. He pulled over in a food store parking lot to read it.

  1000 Airstrip Road. Go to the center of the field.

  Declan tapped on his phone, thinking.

  Who could this be?

  Someone working for Jamie, probably. She never did anything straightforward. She’d told Charlotte she would help her find who really killed the A.D.A. Maybe this was part of it. She was getting him information.

  But why contact him instead of Charlotte?

  Declan leaned his head back and sighed. He didn’t have his gun. It might have been nice to have a weapon handy for whatever clandestine meeting this was.

  Because he had to go.

  He already felt frustrated and helpless, with Charlotte embroiled in a mess spawned by his ex-girlfriend. Without him, Stephanie and Charlotte would have never met. If he could take care of the si
tuation and get Charlotte out from Jamie’s blackmail...

  Looks like the shop will be opening a little late today.

  Declan pulled up a map on his phone to find the location the man had given him. He spotted it, a little farther inland from Charity. Airstrip Road. It seemed to be a small, probably defunct airport. He couldn’t find a phone number for it online, but the satellite map clearly showed a runway, running perpendicular to the road that led to it.

  Declan put his car in gear, pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the airport. He had no reason to trust the man on the other end of the line, but if he kept his wits about him, he might gather new information capable of ending Charlotte’s entanglement with Jamie.

  Should I call Charlotte?

  No. Telling Charlotte about the clandestine meeting with an anonymous caller would have her on her way to the airstrip before he could hang up.

  On the other hand…

  What if she received a similar message?

  He decided to call and fish for information without revealing any of his own. He didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from her, but he couldn’t risk putting her in further danger.

  A white lie. A protective lie.

  He dialed and she answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, you still safe?” he asked.

  Did that sound weird? No, probably not. She was nearly eaten by a snake. It isn’t odd I’d be more worried about her than usual.

  “Yes, I’m good.” She answered effortlessly and without guile.

  Good.

  “Did you talk to Blade?” she asked.

  “Yes. He thinks snake-man was wearing some sort of gear to block the motion detectors’ thermal cameras.”

  “Sounds high-tech for the way Miles was described to me.”

  “Well...” Declan thought about her comment for a moment. “Doesn’t have to be a high-tech person using those things. Maybe just a soldier or a hunter. I could see both of those demographics using gear like that.”

  “So I’m not looking for a nerd.”

  “No. Blade didn’t see anyone wearing a Yoda mask.”

  “Ha. Maybe Miles was a merc.”

  Declan laughed. “Merc. Listen to you. I don’t think hired mercenaries generally try to kill people with snakes.”

  Charlotte giggled. “Probably not.”

  Declan detected something different about his connection with Charlotte. The air on the phone sounded more airy than usual.

  “Are you still at home?”

  “Huh? Oh, uh-huh.”

  “It sounds a little like you’re in a car.”

  “No. I’m outside. Out back. With Mariska.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, be careful.”

  “I am. You heading to the shop?”

  “Hm? Oh, yep. Call me if you need me.”

  “Will do.”

  Declan hung up feeling guilty. He’d wanted to tell her where he was headed so badly he could feel the words pounding on the back of his lips during their entire conversation.

  You’re doing the right thing. Keep her safe.

  Declan drove for twenty minutes before he spotted the old sign marking Airstrip Drive. One of the bolts holding it in place had come loose and it hung at a cockeyed angle. The road was clear but unpaved. He turned onto it and drove another six minutes over crunching gravel before the forest around him cleared and two rusted plane hangars revealed themselves in the distance.

  He parked in a large, unlined lot in front of a small, flat-roofed office with broken windows. In front of the two hangars beside the office, an airstrip led toward the edge of a scrub-pine forest, flanked by a large field of brown grass.

  Declan stood outside his car, hands on his hips, scanning the area from behind his Aviator sunglasses. There were no other cars and no people to be found.

  Go to the center of the field.

  Those had been the instructions. They didn’t make a ton of sense when he heard them the first time, and now, as he strolled out toward the airstrip, they made even less.

  Why would I go to the center of the field?

  Maybe they’d left a package there for him. Someone who didn’t want to be identified might have planted everything he needed to know in the field.

  Declan started toward what he guessed would be the center of the property, taking a moment to glance into the buildings as he passed them. The office had been stripped bare, but a quick twist on the door knob revealed it locked. Graffiti marked the walls where kids had probably crawled through the broken windows to party.

  They’d probably been the ones who broke the windows in the first place.

  The cement-floor hangars stood empty, peppered with holes where people had shot through the corrugated steel. The aerated walls reminded him of the rug warehouse where Charlotte had had her showdown with Stephanie. In the corner, he spotted a smattering of beer cans, backing his theory the abandoned airfield had been used as a party spot.

  As he strolled farther from the buildings toward the center of the field, an uneasy feeling crept around the base of his neck.

  He felt exposed.

  Declan stopped and scanned the area.

  I feel like a sitting duck.

  The memory of bullet holes in the corrugated metal building walls brought to mind how easy it would be to perforate him from the surrounding tree line.

  Someone had already tried to kill Charlotte. Probably because she was trying to clear Stephanie. Could it be someone knew he was helping her toward that goal? Having tried to swallow Charlotte whole, had they moved their attentions to him?

  He dropped his gaze and studied the brush, searching for movement.

  I’d rather be picked off by a sniper than eaten by a snake.

  Declan strolled to the outer edge of the strip, his head bouncing and swiveling like a bobble-head doll as his gaze swept the surroundings near and far.

  Snakes. Snipers. Snakes. Snipers.

  Clumps of dying weeds sprouted from cracks in the asphalt and he kicked at a crumbling edge, sending pebbles bouncing into the scrub grass.

  The low hum of an engine in the distance reached his ears.

  A plane?

  Maybe a helicopter? Was someone going to land and talk to him?

  Somehow, the idea made him feel better. If the arranger of the meeting was arriving by air, meeting in the middle of an airfield made sense. It meant his location wasn’t contrived so someone could snipe him dead from the tree line. They just wanted to hop out of the plane, meet with him, and then return to the air where they felt safe from whomever didn’t want them to talk to him.

  Sure. That makes perfect sense.

  The sound of the engine grew closer and more sputtery. He could tell now the engine was small. Maybe too small.

  That doesn’t sound right.

  It definitely wasn’t a helicopter. He thought the sound better matched the engine of a small prop plane, but as it grew closer, he felt less and less sure. He’d seen and flown in some pretty small planes during his time in South America, but this noise sounded almost tinny. Almost like a child’s toy.

  Maybe a drone? Maybe they were standing what they felt was a safe distance away and sending him a package of information by drone.

  Also possible.

  Something colorful appeared above the tree line to his right. He turned to squint in that direction.

  What the—

  A kite? An air balloon?

  Who schedules a clandestine meeting in a field and shows up in an air balloon? Phileas Fogg?

  Declan chuckled to himself. Since when did he know the characters from Around the World in 80 Days? Charlotte’s penchant for old movies was beginning to affect the way he thought.

  The colorful dome rose higher above the pines. The arc of rainbow fabric looked like a parachute, but it seemed to be going up.

  The engine grew louder.

  That’s when he saw him.

  There’s a man floating in the sky.

  Hanging from be
neath the striped parachute a pilot, for lack of a better term, appeared to be sitting in a chair, strapped to a plane propeller, heading in Declan’s direction.

  Hm.

  Declan wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this new information. If showing up to a meeting in the middle of a field in a plane or a helicopter had seemed odd, showing up to a meeting in a flying chair seemed absolutely insane.

  He shielded his eyes from the sun and watched the man weave his way toward him, bouncing off invisible walls of air. Something rested in his hands. It was long and thin and felt familiar. It looked like a—

  Declan turned and began to sprint toward the hangers.

  It looks like a gun.

  He’d only taken a few steps when he heard the first shot.

  The man hanging from the flying rainbow, sitting in a propeller chair, was shooting at him.

  Declan’s arms and legs pumped as fast as he could move them, his swimmer’s lungs expanding with each gulp of air. He corrected his angle toward his car as the second shot zinged by his ear and hit the ground beside him with a dull, dusty thud. He swerved to make himself a more difficult target.

  The motorized paraglider passed overhead and circled around for another pass.

  Declan realized it would be too easy for the airborne sniper to hit him in his car, or to take potshots at any building he entered. He’d already seen the hangers couldn’t take a bullet.

  I have to reach the forest’s edge.

  He shifted direction again. Another bullet hit the ground nearby and Declan raised his arms to shield his head.

  Fifty more feet.

  A bullet stuck the tree in front of him as the paraglider made a sharp turn to loop again.

  Declan ran past something shiny on the ground as he plunged into the trees.

  Shielded by pines, he stopped and leaned his palms on his knees, puffing as he caught his breath. His gaze rose to inspect the objects he’d passed on the way into the trees.

  A bucket of balls and an old golf driver.

  Someone had been shagging balls into the field around the airstrip.

  He heard another shot and somewhere to his left he heard the bullet strike a tree. The paraglider turned to make another pass.

  Safe for the moment, Declan strode from the tree line and dumped the bucket of balls out into the field. Grabbing the driver he twirled it in his palm. The club didn’t feel too bad. It had clearly been outside for a while, but its synthetic shaft had weathered well. He positioned a ball away from the others with his foot and swung.