That Way Lies Madness: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 8)

by Scott Cook

  “Persuasion.” Bill said flatly.

  Sylvester did not catch the danger signal. Instead, he guzzled more beer and said: “That’s right… gets kind of lonely out here in the Glades, times. Ain’t much diversion for a man sides shootin’ swamp chicken and settin’ up airboat rides for asshole tourists. I ain’t had a quality piece of ass in a long time.”

  “That so?” Bill asked. Again in a flat tone that sent a shiver up my spine.

  “Hell…” Sylvester drawled in mock good-humor. “I ain’t never had a piece good as either of these two… and they’s all suited up and ready to play!”

  “Why don’t you untie us then, cowboy?” Cynthia seemed to purr. “And I guarantee it’ll be something you never forget as long as you live… however long that is with your little balls and Vienna sausage shoved up your fat ass.”

  Sylvester only laughed and it sounded greasy and nasty. I wondered what depraved acts this slimy bumpkin was guilty of.

  “I agree with you, Sylvester,” Bill said in a monotone. “A little extra persuasion sounds reasonable.”

  “All right!” The fat prick said enthusiastically. “When do I get—“

  The report was dull and almost pathetic sounding as it floated across the vast openness around us. It took several moments for the fat man to realize he was dead. First, his beer slipped from his nerveless fingers and chunked to the gravel parking lot. Then he slowly toppled sideways, as if in slow motion. He landed with a gravelly thump and did not move.

  “Time to switch rides, ladies,” Bill said.

  “Like this?” Cynthia asked, indicating our nakedness.

  “No, you’ll need to be dressed I’m sorry to say,” he replied, reaching out and snipping our feet and then our wrists with a small pair of clippers. “Your clothes are back there, get dressed quickly and let’s move.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t let him have us,” Cynthia said as we quickly got dressed.

  I had my blouse, jeans and sneakers and she had a sun dress and sandals.

  Bill scoffed, “Even I’m not that cruel, Cynthia. That tubby piece of shit would’ve raped you, murdered you and fed you to the gators… eventually. Probably would’ve chained you up in his back shed for a while first, though… wouldn’t be the first time. Believe me, he got what he deserved.”

  The late August night, or perhaps early morning, was warm and humid. Easily in the mid-eighties. Yet these words made me shiver.

  Bill had us walk in front of him, a pistol in his right hand. We were at a small gas station at the intersection of a two-lane paved road and a wide dirt road that led off into the darkness. The station was small with only two pumps and not even a roof over them.

  We went around to the back of the small station where a large pickup truck was parked. I’m not even sure what make it was. Although it was fairly new, maybe two or three years old, Sylvester had modified it significantly. The truck had huge knobby tires, a roll bar and lights mounted on another roll bar like thing at the rear of the cab. It was lifted, too, the body a good foot above the huge tires. The roof of the cab had to be nine feet tall at least.

  “Swamp buggy,” Bill said by way of explanation. “Get in.”

  Cynthia had to climb up into the cab using a step and a set of handholds. It was a little harder for me, but once inside, I felt like we were sitting on top of a roof. Bill fired up the truck and it roared to life, a big heavy duty engine had obviously been installed.

  We pulled out of the gas station lot and he headed down the wide dirt road, which actually was the top of a dike. Now that my eyes were adjusted and with the headlights on, I could see that we were definitely in the Everglades. Saw grass seemed to spread out forever, broken only sporadically by pine groves and Cypress or hardwood hammocks. It might have been interesting in the daytime when you could see.

  And if you weren’t being held prisoner by a nutcase.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Bill said conversationally about ten minutes later. “Lisa… take off your shoes and toss them out.”

  “What?” I protested. “How am I supposed to walk out here with no shoes?”

  “Do as I fuckin’ say,” Bill said in that flat and cold tone of his.

  Again, I wasn’t going to underestimate him. I had to take his threats seriously. Even as I slowly unlaced my sneakers, I hoped that Grayson had enough time to track us and was closing in. I also prayed that Scott was with him.

  I took my time about it, but the end result was the same. I rolled down my window and pitched the shoes out onto the road. I was careful not to let them go too far and end up in the saw grass or any water out there. Cynthia and I had only one hope now.

  That from this position on, somebody would be able to track us.

  Chapter 27

  “They’re headed south on seventy-five?” I asked Grayson.

  “Looks that way,” He replied.

  “Where’d they start from? Do you have a history or this an active track only?” I asked.

  He grinned and tapped a few keys on his laptop, “Son, we’re the best of the best and only use the best. What do you want to know?”

  “Show me the entire track from when she first inserted the GPS,” I said.

  He spun the screen around and showed the map display. There were several controls near the bottom of the application, one of which allowed for the speed of delivery. I increased it by twenty times.

  The accuracy was incredible. The locator pin was directly over my house. I could even switch between map view and satellite view, although Grayson said that wasn’t as effective without a solid WIFI or hard wired data connection.

  After a while, Lisa’s dot moved rapidly across town and ended up in Hunter’s Creek, at what I was almost certain was Paul Franco’s house. When I moved the mouse pointer over the pin, a callout showed the address. After a few seconds, the pin began to move again and I clicked the real time button.

  “She’s headed west on I-4,” I said. “But she was at this address not long ago… I have a bad feeling about this. Is there any way I can make a phone call?”

  “What’s up?” Wayne inquired.

  “I think Pauli Franco and his wife are in trouble… if they aren’t dead already,” I said tersely.

  “Just plug this into your charging port,” Grayson said, handing me a long cable. “It ties directly into our comm system and you’ll be able to make a call from your phone without violating FAA regs.”

  “Don’t forget to put your tray table up,” Wayne said with a grin.

  “I’ll put your tray table up,” I quipped.

  Wayne looked sheepish, “Gee whizz… that was uncalled for…”

  Grayson cocked an eyebrow and Amanda just shook her head, “Are you two always like this?”

  “Nah,” Wayne said airily. “We’re usually worse.”

  I called Sharon. It was nearing midnight and she probably wasn’t working. In all likelihood, she was home, my home… and in bed… with Juan…

  “Have you no boundaries?” She asked peevishly.

  “Did I catch you in the middle of someone?” I teased.

  She sighed, “Not yet… what’s up?”

  I got serious, “Sharon, we’ve got a problem. A lot has happened today.”

  Her demeanor changed so drastically I could almost hear her getting serious as well, “What’s going on? Are you okay? Where’s Lisa?”

  I filled her in as quickly as I could, “I’ll give you the details later. Right now, I think you need to send a couple of units over to Franco’s house. I’ve got a bad feeling about this… so send an ambulance, too.”

  “Jesus Christ, Scott… do you think Lisa will be okay?” Sharon asked, worry evident in her voice. “This Shade… I can’t believe its Bill, I just… anyway, he’s a whack job. Where do you think he’s headed? And what about you and Wayne?”

  “South on both counts,” I said. “I have to hope she’ll be okay… she’s tough…”

  “Yeah… yeah… okay, I’ll get the m
achinery in gear. Juan and I will head over to Franco’s now… or would you rather me follow Garelli?”

  I cast a look at Grayson who frowned and shook his head. I scowled and said, “He’s an hour ahead of you. It’s up to you. We’re gonna try and intercept him. As long as the tracker works, we can catch up. We’ve got a long way to go but we’re covering the distance at nine times his speed. I have a hunch or maybe a whisper of one about where Bill’s going. I’ll keep in touch.”

  We hung up and I cast a questioning look at the Colonel.

  “I’d rather not get too many locals involved,” He explained. “I’ve got assets in Southwest Florida already that I can call on.”

  “Lisa is her friend, too,” I said. “And a couple of trained cops couldn’t hurt.”

  “Where do you think he’s going?” Amanda asked.

  “The Everglades,” I said. “Let’s look at it. Bill has transferred millions to a foreign bank. He’s got hostages and his cover is blown. By now, he’ll assume he’s being pursued by law enforcement at the very least. He’s got to get out of the country in the most expedient way possible.”

  “He can’t use commercial airports,” Wayne said. “Theoretically, they’re going to be closed off.”

  “Already being taken care of,” Grayson confirmed.

  “So why not by boat?” Amanda asked.

  “Too slow,” I replied. “Even if he gets on a fast boat in Saint Pete, he’s still got to get two hundred miles out before there’s absolutely no U.S. jurisdiction.”

  Grayson scoffed, “That wouldn’t save him.”

  “Good,” I said. “Even so… if he’s traveling at fifty knots in a fast boat, it’s four hours. Even in a crazy cigarette drug runner that does a hundred knots it’s still hours at se. No, he’s got to fly.”

  “And the best way would be to meet a plane in the swamps and grasslands of the Glades before sunrise. A small float plane or something that can get in and out under radar.”

  “Exactly… a treetop flyer,” I said. “Probably a smuggler or drug runner. Get offshore fast and meet a ship or take the plane all the way to Cuba or Mexico someplace. Head into Nicaragua or Honduras or Belize or whatever and vanish.”

  “So how the hell do we catch him before he flies off with… or without… those two women?” Wayne asked, anger flashing in his eyes.

  “There’s radar… and there’s radar,” Grayson said with a grin. “As I said, we’ve got assets available. That includes Fat Albert’s kid and an AWACS out of Homestead.”

  “Damn,” Wayne said and then frowned, “What’s Fat Albert’s kid?”

  I chuckled, “There used to be a blimp tethered over Kudjo Key to watch for low flying aircraft. Locals called it Fat Albert. It came down in 2013, but I think they started flying a new one a few years ago.”

  Grayson nodded with a smile, “Yes. There are now two aerostats flying out there. We sometimes still refer to them as Fat Albert’s kids.”

  “I’d think that whomever Bill is meeting, they won’t be coming in over the Keys,” I said thoughtfully. “My guess would be low over Florida Bay and then over Cape Sable, the Ten Thousand Islands and then into Big Cypress. Your AWACS might be just what we need. She can stay high and far and keep a close lookout. It’d be nice if there was a Navy EP3 Orion out over the Gulf, too…”

  “You know a lot about the military,” Amanda said appreciatively.

  I only shrugged, “I’m a curious fellow.”

  About twenty minutes later, my phone rang. I was a little surprised at that but Grayson just winked. I answered it on speaker.

  “We found them,” Sharon reported. “The wife was okay. She’d already started to get free. Pauli took two in the chest from a small caliber weapon… your weapon.”

  “What?” I asked in confusion before the answer presented itself. “Lisa.”

  “Garelli used it to shoot Paul and dropped it. Doubt he was really trying to finger you, what with witnesses and all.”

  “How’s Paul?”

  She sighed, “EMTs think he’s got a good chance. Couple of .32 slugs in his upper chest but they missed the heart.”

  “Okay, thanks… let’s keep in touch,” I said.

  “Where are you going to land?”

  I looked to Grayson who frowned and then sighed, “Probably Naples, Lieutenant. About an hour and fifteen. We’re over North Carolina now.”

  “Okay… Juan and I can head down there,” Sharon said. “Or I’ll get ahold of Uncle Rick, if you want…”

  I pondered that for a long moment. That was a loaded question and I wasn’t sure I wanted to even talk about it in front of Grayson.

  Her Uncle Rick was in fact an old friend of Sharon’s father. Rick Eagle Feather was reputed to be one of the last true Calusa Indians, a tribe that had once ruled pre-Columbian south Florida. He was in his early sixties and was something of a mystery man.

  The story about how George Nolan and Rick Eagle Feather had met in their younger days and what they used to do together was fascinating if a bit cringe-worthy. Not necessarily something you shared with a lot of law enforcement types.

  I was getting questioning looks from Grayson and Wilson. Wayne’s face looked almost conspicuously blank.

  “No, Sharon… I don’t think that’s necessary,” I replied. “I think we’ve got all the angles covered.”

  After I hung up I was still getting the look.

  “Something to share?” Grayson asked.

  I waved it off, “Long story. An old friend of Sharon’s father. He’s a Native American who lives in the Everglades. Runs an eco-tour airboat business not far from Everglades City. No concern of ours.”

  Grayson made his arrangements and we spent the next hour watching Lisa’s dot move slowly down the I-75 corridor. It wasn’t long before another glowing dot appeared near the top of the map and moved south at a far faster pace. That was our plane.

  At a little before two in the morning, the dot left the main highway and headed down toward the Tamiami trail and then stopped about twenty miles from Everglades City. After about fifteen minutes or so, the dot began to move south toward Everglades City, but it appeared to be going off road.

  “Where the hell are they?” Wayne asked. “It’s not showing up as a road.”

  “Not sure…” Grayson said, tapping several keys on the laptop. “Some county road or other… ah, it’s called County Road 751… looks like it goes near Everglades City and then veers off into the middle of Big Cypress… can’t be much more than a trail there… uh-oh.”

  We all saw it at the same time. Lisa’s dot, which had been moving at about thirty-five miles per hour, suddenly stopped. We watched for a long moment but the dot didn’t move again. I felt a stab of fear knife me in the belly.

  “What’s going on, Colonel?” I asked, as if two or three unpleasant scenarios weren’t already running through my mind.

  “They’ve stopped for some reason,” he replied, a crease of worry appearing between his brows, “or maybe she lost her shoes…”

  “Or maybe…” I couldn’t even finish the thought.

  “No way, Scott,” Wayne said, reaching out and squeezing my shoulder. “No way.”

  I took a deep breath, “How long until we land?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Grayson said.

  “What assets will we have on the ground?” I asked.

  “Four wheel drive Land Rover,” Grayson said. “I’ve got a driver. Vehicle seats five. I assumed that both of you and Mrs. Garelli are going. There’s just enough room for Doc to go with you.”

  I looked at Amanda, “You okay with that, Corpsman?”

  She smiled and nodded, “you might need me… but let’s hope not.”

  “Gear?” I asked.

  “Three M4’s with four full mags each and extra rounds,” Grayson said. “My driver is a former marine sniper. She’s got her own long gun.”

  I sighed, “I wish we had more time…”

  Grayson nodded and Wayne met my eyes
. The Colonel sighed, “I know. I’d prefer to get people in place. The problem is that we don’t know where he’s going and what’s out there. He’s ahead of us, although not far now.”

  “Yeah, and now we don’t have a way to track the sonamabitch,” I stated bitterly.

  “We’re not out of options yet,” Grayson said. “We’ve got two things going for us. For one, Sergeant Stevvins has night vision and thermal optics gear in the Rover. We have a pretty good idea of where our target is going. Also, if we’re right and he’s meeting an aircraft, we’ll be able to track their course and that may help us to narrow down the LZ.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath, “How’s Sam? Will she come around before we take our trip?”

  “I don’t’ think so, but not long after,” Amanda said.

  “Now all we have to do is wait,” I said. “Not my best thing.”

  We touched down at Naples Municipal Airport less than fifteen minutes later. Waiting for us was a fuel truck and the Rover. Waiting beside the truck was a short and sturdily built woman in her mid-thirties dressed all in black. She fast walked up to the stairs and snapped a salute.

  “Colonel, sir! Sergeant Jackie Stevvins reporting as ordered, sir!”

  Grayson grinned and shook her hand, “Cut that shit out, Sarg. This is Detective Wayne Jackson of the Orlando PD and this is private investigator Scott Jarvis.”

  Stevvins was a pretty woman with close cropped brown hair. Her sturdiness was clearly borne from fitness and not fat density. She was simply strongly built and clearly athletic. She smiled at me.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir,” She said as we fist bumped.

  “And you decided to come anyway. That’s dedication, Sergeant.”

  She chuckled, “Just Jackie. Or Jack, if you like.”

  “Jackie,” I began, turning to watch Amanda leading a partially aware Samantha Garelli down the stairs and toward the off-road vehicle. “We’re going into a dangerous situation. Our target is deadly. It’s dark and we don’t know what’s in store. This isn’t your problem, so I recommend that you stay behind.”