Dan made a pit stop at the bathroom before going to the bedroom to get his shorts, wadded up on the floor next to the bed, from the day before. He slipped on the shorts and then turned to look at himself in the mirror over the dresser. He sucked in his gut, and pushed it back out. The running he had been doing lately had taken off a few pounds, but his physique looked nothing like his big brother's. Stupid abs, Dan thought.
Richard's coffee mug sat on the lawn next to his chair. He held the unfolded newspaper in front of him. When he heard the back door open, his head turned toward Dan. He stared at Dan until he reached him. The look on Richard's face told him something was wrong.
“What's the matter?” Dan asked.
Richard turned the paper so Dan could see the headline: West Palm Beach Man Hangs Himself In Jail Cell.
“Shit,” Dan said.
Richard began reading. “Steven Foster, twenty-two, of West Palm Beach, Florida was found hanging in his jail cell at the Palm Beach County Detention Center Friday morning, one week after his arrest for the murder of Adelaide Harrison. Adelaide Harrison was the wife of prominent West Palm Beach attorney Harrison Harrison. Steven Foster was arrested in Haines City, Florida, after a three-day manhunt involving the sheriff's offices of Polk and Palm Beach counties, Haines City Police Department, as well as Florida State Police. Mr. Foster was discovered hiding out in a Haines City motel, along with the girlfriend he had kidnapped, Margaret Harrison the daughter of Harrison and his late wife. West Palm Beach police say that Mr. Foster—”
“That's enough,” Dan said. He took a sip of his coffee and sat down in the other chair.
“What are we going to do?” Richard asked.
“I don't know,” Dan said.
Richard took a big gulp of his coffee. “I gotta poop.”
Chapter Eighteen
After breakfast Dan and Richard jumped back in the Porsche and headed over to Red's Bar and Grill. Dan was talking on his cell phone when they pulled into the parking lot.
“Okay, Dad, I got it,” Dan said.
“We'll be getting to your place around seven o'clock Monday evening,” said Gene.
“Yeah, that's the third time you told me, Dad.” Dan backed into his spot and shut off the engine.
“Did he write it down?” Peg hollered in the background.
“What?” Gene shouted.
“Did he write it down?” Peg screamed.
“Your mother wants to know if you wrote it down.”
“No, I didn't write it down.”
“Get a pen and write it down. Monday evening around seven.”
“What's happening at seven on Monday?” Dan joked.
“That's when we're—”
“I know, Dad. I was joking.”
“So then you did write it down?”
“I'm not gonna write it down, Dad.”
“What if you forget?”
“So what if I do? I'll remember when you knock on the door.”
“The little smart-ass won't write it down, Peg.”
“I gotta go, Dad,” Dan said. “I'll see you on Wednesday.”
“Mond—”
Dan hung up the phone.
“I can't wait to meet them,” said Richard.
“Oh, it'll be a treat.”
“What are they like?”
“Well, one of them is bat shit crazy. And the other is a little worse.” Dan opened his door and got out.
“Who's who?” asked Richard.
“I haven't decided yet. You'll have to make that call on your own.”
“I can't wait.”
The two men crossed the parking lot and went inside; Red was behind the bar. “Did you see the headline?” he asked when they entered.
“We sure did,” Dan replied. “It scared the shit out of Rich.”
“Shut up,” Richard whispered.
“You shut up,” Dan shot back. “It's fun having a brother. I can't wait till our first fight—wait, you don't know karate, do you?” Dan took a seat at his favorite stool Richard sat next to him.
“That's also kind of racist,” said Richard.
“No it's not,” Dan argued. “Every Asian person I saw on TV when I was growing up knew karate, so asking if you know karate can't be racist.”
“Dan, those shows were full of offensive racial stereotypes.”
Dan chuckled. “Wow,” he said. “You're gonna sit there and tell me that Kung Fu was racist?”
Richard shook his head. “Rum and Coke,” he said to Red.
“Kung Fu was part American, just like you, ya know,” said Red. “He knew karate.”
“That's right,” said Dan. “He was part Asian, part American.”
“First of all,” Richard responded. “He knew kung fu, not karate. And his name wasn't Kung Fu. It was Kwai Chang Caine. The show was called Kung Fu. He wasn't Vietnamese, like me. He was Chinese—just like Bruce Lee and karate—and David Carradine, the actor who portrayed him, wasn't Asian at all. He was one million percent Caucasian. Bruce Lee actually developed the concept for the series—a Western with a Chinese hero, but network execs passed on him starring in it, saying he was too Oriental looking. You can't get more racist than that, guys. Kung Fu was the one show with Asian characters that I liked because it presented them in a positive light, and some of the folks Caine met in his travels were rightly portrayed as bigots.”
“Wow, Rich, you're pretty smart,” Red observed. “Are you sure you're Dan's brother?”
Dan laughed. “Yeah, Rich, you've sure got a lot going on upstairs. Not to mention, all this time I thought I was the big TV buff in the family. You sure seem to know a lot about American TV, Rich.”
“I grew up in Texas,” Richard reminded him. “I watched all the same shows growing up that you did.”
“Tequila, Seven, and lime,” Dan ordered. He turned back to Richard. “But you realize none of that answered my question.”
“What question?” Richard asked.
“Do you know karate?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Do ya?”
“Yes!”
“Ha!” Dan shouted. “You are so racist.”
Red pushed Dan's rocks glass across the bar to him. Dan took a big gulp.
“What are we gonna do?” Red asked.
“About what?” Dan asked.
“About Maggie Harrison.”
“We're not doing anything,” Dan said. “I like being alive.”
“I bet Maggie's mom and Steve Foster liked being alive as well,” said Richard.
“Not you too,” said Dan.
“We can't just sit by while that young girl gets murdered,” Richard said.
“Did you ever call Joey Pantucco back?” Red asked.
“Nope,” said Dan. “I haven't had time.”
“Been too busy doin' nothin', huh?” said Red.
“Tell him the rest,” said Richard.
“Rest of what?” Red asked.
“Maggie Harrison's father called this morning,” said Richard.
“Called you?” Red asked Dan.
“Of course he called me,” Dan said. “Who else would he call?”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to know if I had seen Maggie.”
“Why, did he misplace her?”
“Evidently.”
“Does he think we had something to do with it?”
“Probably.”
“His henchman are probably already on their way.”
“My stomach hurts,” said Richard.
“No one is on their way anywhere,” said Dan.
“Did you try to call Maggie?” Red asked.
“No,” Dan answered.
“Don't you think you should? And then give Joey P a call.”
Just then the door burst open and smacked into the wall behind it. Light flooded the room. Dan and Richard spun around. They all three shaded their eyes against the bright sunlight. A tall lanky shadow figure stepped through the door.
&n
bsp; “Yo, dudes!” Skip shouted. “Did you see today's headline?”
Chapter Nineteen
Dan and Richard helped Skip to a wooden chair at one of the four-tops near the jukebox. Red poured a glass of water for the young man, and hurried it to the table.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dan asked. “Why aren't you in the hospital?”
“They ain't built a hospital yet that can hold me,” Skip shot back.
“I don't really think hospitals are built to hold anyone,” Dan said.
“What about mental hospitals?” Red asked.
“I wish one would hold you,” Dan responded.
“Oh, yeah? Well I wish … shut up.”
“Good comeback.”
Skip looked Richard up and down, sizing up the man. “This my replacement?” he asked.
Richard gave Dan a confused look.
“I'll explain later,” Dan said. He returned his attention to Skip. “Were you discharged?”
“I discharged myself, amigo,” Skip said.
“How are you feeling?” Red asked, handing Skip the glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
“I'm fine,” said Skip. “They were gonna let me out in the morning anyway.”
“How do you know that?” Dan asked.
“Because the doctor said, 'I'll be in tomorrow morning to see you, and then we'll get you out of here.'”
“Maybe we should give the hospital a call just to make sure,” said Richard.
“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” Skip replied. “Why don't you just mind your own business?”
“I'm just trying to help.”
“No one asked ya.”
“Calm down, Skip,” said Dan. “No one is replacing you.” Dan turned to Richard. “Rich, this is our friend Skip—”
“Best friend,” Skip interrupted.
“I'm his best friend,” Red argued.
“We're all friends!” Dan shouted. “No one is replacing anyone. Skip, this is my … brother, Richard Bong. Rich, this is Skip Stoner.”
“Bong,” Skip sneered. “What kind of name is that?”
“It's Vietnamese,” Richard answered.
“A Vietnamese Dick Bong,” said Skip.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Richard. “I've heard them all before.”
“Dick Bong,” Red snickered. “I didn't even think of that.”
“Okay then,” said Dan. “Now, we're all friends. So you can all stop acting like—”
“Did you see the headline in the newspaper this morning?” Skip shouted.
“Yes, we saw it!” said Dan. “Stop yellin', for chrissakes.”
Skip used his inside voice. “What are we gonna do?”
“I'm gonna have another drink,” Dan said. He handed his empty glass to Red.
“How many did Maxine say you could have today?” Red asked.
“Just make the damn drink.”
“She's rationing you, dude?” Skip asked. “That's really pathetic.”
“She was a little angry last night when we picked her up,” said Richard. “He was pretty drunk.”
“Shut up, Rich,” Dan ordered.
“Maxine said he could only have two yesterday,” said Red.
“He went way over that,” Richard responded.
“Okay, that's enough,” said Dan. “You gonna make that drink, or am I gonna head over to the Green Parrot?”
Red turned without answering and headed for the bar.
“That's what I thought,” said Dan.
“I'll ask again,” said Skip. “What are we gonna do about this?”
“Tell him the rest,” said Richard.
“Will you stop doing that?” Dan bitched.
“Maggie's father called this morning to see if we had heard from her,” Richard explained.
“Yo, dude, are you saying he doesn't know where she is?”
“Sounds that way,” said Dan.
“I think he already killed her,” Red called out from the bar, “and he only called to give himself an alibi.”
Dan looked back over his shoulder at Red, partly because he was wondering when his drink was coming, but also because he thought Red might have made a good point.
“I think you better call her,” Richard prodded.
“Maybe you're right,” Dan said. He took out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. When he got to Maggie's name, he hit the call icon.
We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in serv—
Dan hung up. “Still not in service,” he said.
“How did she call you the other day?” Skip asked.
“I don't know,” Dan replied. “She called me from an unknown number.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Skip mused, then abruptly switched gears. “How was your trip up to West Palm?”
“Don't ask,” said Richard.
“Too late, bro. Already did.”
“Maggie's father sicced his goons on us,” Dan said.
“He has goons?” asked Skip.
“Several,” Richard said.
“I hate goons,” said Skip.
“Me too.”
Skip asked, “What did the goons have to say?”
“They threatened us,” Richard replied, “and told Dan if he ever called her or spoke to Maggie again, they would kill all of us.”
“Like they did Steve Foster,” Red interjected. He placed Dan's drink on the table in front of him.
“Two down, one to go,” said Richard.
“What's that mean?” Skip asked.
“That's what Maggie over heard her father say,” Red answered. “She even recorded it on her phone.”
“And she thinks she's the third,” Skip surmised.
“Yut,” said Dan. “And it's starting to look like she might have been right.”
“What are we gonna do about it?” asked Skip.
“First, we're gonna get you back to the hospital,” Dan replied.
“Aw, come on, dude,” Skip complained. “Why ya gotta harsh my gig like that?”
“Harshing gigs is my middle name,” Dan responded.
“You gonna call Joey P?” Red asked.
“I'll call him after I get Skip back to the hospital.”
“Bogus!” said Skip. “Truly bogus.”
Chapter Twenty
Skip was pretty angry when Dan and Richard left him at the emergency room and told the doctor on call that he had escaped. They said a quick goodbye and told Skip they would see him tomorrow—that is, if the doctor sprung him.
On their way back to Red's, Dan took out his cell phone and dialed Joey Pantucco's number.
“It's about time you called me back, ya crazy bastard,” Joey answered. “The word on the street is that you went and got yourself in trouble again.” Even though Joey Pantucco had moved to Miami with his family when he was just a kid, he still had the wise guy, mobster accent, and sounded like he was straight off the set of The Sopranos.
“I've been busy, Joey,” said Dan.
Dan and Joey had been friends for a couple of years, ever since Joey mistook Dan for a friend of his missing brother, Jimmy. The truth was, Jimmy Pantucco wasn't missing. Dan had actually killed Jimmy a few months before he met Joey. Only Dan and Red knew the truth, so Dan's secret was safe—if big-mouthed Red didn't spill the beans. As long as Joey never found out, Dan would have a good friend in the Miami underworld.
“Busy doin' what?” asked Joey. “Bein' a friggin' beach bum?”
“When you're good at something, stick with it, I always say.”
Joey laughed; he always laughed at Dan. “So tell me, Coast, how the hell did you get mixed up with Harrison Harrison, attorney to the rich and scumbags?”
“It was an accident, Joey.”
“It always is with you, Coast.”
“Red and I met his daughter, Maggie, and her boyfriend, Steve Foster, at a hotel in Haines City. Evidently, she was running from her father. She had a few bruises and a fat lip
. Her and the boyfriend said Harrison had done it to her.”
“Sounds like Harrison.”
“Early the next morning, the cops raided the place and arrested the boyfriend. One of the cops at the scene told me that Foster had killed Harrison's wife. Three days later, I get a call from Maggie asking me to meet her at a restaurant in West Palm Beach. She tells me it was her father who killed her mother. She says her boyfriend was set up.”
“The boyfriend they found hanging in his cell yesterday?”
“You heard?”
“Of course I heard,” said Joey. “I've been following this whole to do since I found out you was involved.”
“I'm not involved, Joey,” Dan argued. “I don't want anything to do with this. Harrison's goons grabbed us outside the restaurant in West Palm after we met with Maggie. They had a message from Harrison: never contact Maggie again, or we would all be dead. I believe him.”
“You should believe him.”
“Is there anything you can do to get him off my back, Joey?”
“Sure, Coast. I'll just give him a call and tell him you're one top-notch guy, and to leave you alone.”
“Can you do that?”
“Fuck no, I can't do that,” Joey shot back. “You're on your own on this one. I got a lot of friends, Coast, but not many who want to get on Harrison's bad side.”
“Why is everyone so scared of this guy?”
“It's not him people are scared of. It's the people he represents. He's got a client list from New York to Bolivia. And they all love him for the acquittals he's gotten them. His clients' got mayors, judges, and cops in their pockets. Probably even meter maids. Harrison is pretty much untouchable because of his relationships with these people.”
“So what do I do?”
“Whatever he tells you to do.”
“That's what I've done so far, but it doesn't seem to help. I got a call from him this morning. Maggie has disappeared, and I'm afraid he thinks I might have something to do with it.”
“Do you?”
“Christ no, Joey. I'm a coward, you know that.”
“Yeah, you are kind of a pussy, Coast.”
“Exactly … ouch. I told Maggie to go to the cops.”
“That was probably a big mistake. She could be missing because she's already dead. Harrison may have called just to throw you off his scent.”
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