by Matthew Rief
Earlier That Day
A silver Escalade with tinted windows pulled into an empty parking space along Duval Street. Nathan Brier stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was dressed in a black polo shirt, shorts, sunglasses, and sandals. He was followed by three of his buddies as they strode two blocks to Sloppy Joe’s Bar.
They were ushered through the busy iconic restaurant and seated at a barrel pub table along the back wall. Old pictures and large fish were hung everywhere. Various countries’ flags hung down from the ceiling. Large double doors were propped open, allowing the bright afternoon sun, along with the sounds and sights of the downtown scene, to bleed into the restaurant.
They ordered drinks, then relaxed. Brier looked over his three men, then glanced down at his phone.
After being given the green light by Wake, he and three of his best had hopped into the luxury SUV and driven south from Miami. The trip had taken them along one of the most scenic drives in the world, cruising along US-1, hopping from island to island down the Keys until reaching their destination at the end of the line.
They’d used the long drive to discuss potential targets in Key West. It had to be somebody well known, somebody whose death would really rile a lot of the locals up. Especially one local in particular. If they were going to get Dodge to turn himself in, they’d have to strike the very heart of the island community.
They’d gone over a few potential candidates but had yet to settle on one. Brier knew that they needed to make a decision soon.
A cute woman with medium-length blond hair, wearing blue denim shorts, and a black tank top with the bar’s name on it, approached the table. She had a tray with drinks balanced on one hand. The four guys checked her out with little attempt at discretion as she approached. After she handed each of them their drinks, they placed their orders.
When she left, the big black guy beside Brier leaned forward.
“Damn these island girls,” he said.
“Next trip, Darius,” Brier said, “you can bed all the girls you want. Remember we’re here on business.”
Darius took a sip, then shook his head and grunted. “Why can’t we just kill this guy and put a quick end to this whole thing?”
“We don’t kill him,” Brier said. “We take him alive. Wake’s orders. That’s why we brought the tranquilizer guns.”
The big guy sighed.
“Well, at least we’ll get to do some killing on this little field trip. You picked a target?”
“Working on it,” Brier said, scrolling through pages on his cell phone.
Ten minutes later, the waitress brought their food over with a smile. After they ate, Brier took his eyes off his phone and looked out through one of the sets of propped open doors. He watched as people strolled by. Some were retirees who’d traveled south for the winter. Some were hippies carrying guitar cases. Some locals commuting to work in flip-flops. It had been a long time since he’d visited the Conch Republic, and he was quickly reminded how there was no other place quite like it.
As he was about to look away, he focused on a guy dressed up as the Joker. It was an impressive costume, bearing an eerie resemblance to Heath Ledger’s version. Less than a minute later, he spotted a group dressed up as the gang from Scooby-Doo.
When the waitress strode over to give them their check, Brier asked what all the costumes were about.
The young woman smiled and shrugged. “Usually, I’d say that’s just typical life in Key Weird,” she said with a chuckle. “But there’s a party and a costume contest tonight at Mallory Square.”
“What for?” Brier asked.
She thought for a moment. “You know, I’m not really sure.” She laughed and shook her head as Brier slid an American Express into the black check holder without glancing at the total. “But people around here jump at any opportunity to throw a party and dress up.” She grabbed the check, then winked at Brier. “You guys should stop by.”
She headed over to the register, completed the transaction, then returned to the table. She handed the check holder back to Brier with a flirtatious smile. As he opened it and grabbed his card, he noticed that the waitress had left her phone number on the customer’s copy, along with a little heart.
“You should really come,” she said. “Even the mayor’s gonna be there. He’s always entertaining. Plus, I’m dressing up as C.J. from Baywatch.”
Brier gave a fake smile, then said, “I’ll call you later.”
She laughed again, then strolled to another table. Brier stared off for a few seconds, lost in thought.
“Here on business, huh?” Darius jabbed.
Brier didn’t respond. He was thinking about what the woman had said. One part in particular.
Brier grabbed the pen, wrote a zero in the tip space on the receipt, then slid back his chair and stood up.
“Where are we going?” Darius grunted.
Brier’s three companions rose to their feet as well.
“To get a costume,” Brier said. “We’re gonna go check out this party. Maybe make a new friend.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Mayor Crawford finished his speech, then stepped down from the makeshift stage on Mallory Square to resounding applause. He was dressed as the Wizard of Oz, in an oversized top hat, a bright orange vest, a long emerald jacket, and green plaid pants. He also swung a black cane to complete the ensemble.
Once off the stage, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and took in the spectacle. The square was filled with dressed-up tourists and locals alike. Street performers lined the square across from the stage. Rows of carts selling everything from natural sponges to shrimp kabobs littered the square.
The large crowd of dressed-up tourists and locals cheered as the band started up again. Even though it had been half an hour since sunset, the party waged on.
After greeting a few people, Crawford glanced at his phone. He had two messages from his wife. She was asking when he’d be home for dinner. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d completely forgotten that his daughter was in town.
He quickly replied to his wife, letting her know that he was just finishing up downtown and was on his way home. After saying goodbye to a few friends, he snuck out of the square, heading inland. He debated hailing one of Key West’s famous pink taxis but decided against it. He was just a few blocks from where he’d parked his car.
He greeted a few people during his walk, then bent down to pet a happy French bulldog before crossing a busy street. Nearing his destination, he took a shortcut down an alleyway between a dive shop and a closed café.
It was dark, but he knew his hometown well and didn’t need a flashlight. Suddenly, he heard a noise that caused him to jolt back, then freeze. He gave a sigh of relief as a cat rustled out from behind a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, then scurried out of the alleyway.
He couldn’t tell in the dark if it was one of Key West’s renowned six-toed cats. The unique felines were a favorite of Ernest Hemingway, one of the city’s most famous former residents.
The mayor chuckled, then continued on his evening stroll. He swung his cane and whistled, continuing to play the role of the Great and Powerful.
His phone buzzed in his pocket just as he reached the end of the alley. He pulled out his phone just as he stepped out into the glow of a streetlight. His wife had replied to his message, letting him know that if he didn’t get home soon, they’d finish off all the chicken adobo. His mouth watered. Adobo was his favorite food, and nobody cooked the Filipino dish better than his wife.
As he stopped along the sidewalk and began typing a reply, he heard slow footsteps approaching from his right. He glanced up and watched as a tall, dark figure appeared beside him. The figure stepped into the light, and the mayor realized that it was a person dressed up as the Grim Reaper.
It was a good costume. A scary skull mask, a long black robe with an oversized hood, and a realistic-looking sickle. Any other town on almost any other night, and Crawford would’v
e been terrified. But the mayor just grinned and nodded his approval.
“That’s quite the costume,” he said gingerly. “You win a prize for that one?”
The grim reaper didn’t reply. He just stood in place, frozen. Staring straight back at Crawford. Whoever the guy in the costume was, he was tall and had wide shoulders. Imposing, to say the least.
Crawford tipped the brim of his top hat and stepped sideways.
“Well, enjoy the evening,” he said, stepping past the masked stranger. The little interaction was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable, and he needed to get home.
“Easy, now,” a low masculine voice behind the grim reaper mask said.
The words didn’t bother Crawford nearly as much as what the guy revealed in his left hand. It was the barrel of a handgun and it just peeked out from the reaper’s black cloak.
“Move back,” the grim reaper said. “Slowly.”
“I… I don’t have much money.”
“Move back.”
Crawford did as he was told. His body was stiff, his movements jerky and awkward. Before they moved out from under the streetlights, a group walked by on the sidewalk. They were laughing wildly, and they called out to the mayor.
“Wave and smile,” the Reaper ordered.
Crawford was shaking, but he did as he was told.
A few steps farther back and they were enveloped in darkness. When they reached a wall, the Reaper rolled a dumpster out to ensure no passersby saw what was going on.
The mayor’s eyes widened. His heart pounded, and his body shook even more. He looked from side to side as two more figures appeared from the darkness.
“You can thank your friend Logan Dodge for this, old man,” the masked man said.
Crawford’s breathing was erratic. He couldn’t process what was happening.
“Who are you?” Crawford said, his voice cracking from sheer terror. “What do you want?”
Grabbing a roll of duct tape, the masked man forced it on tight over the mayor’s mouth. He holstered his weapon, then brought a sharpened knife up to Crawford’s cheek.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the stranger said. “I’m death. And your time has come.”
TWENTY-SIX
The lot was half-full when I pulled into Salty Pete’s. I strode through the front door of the restaurant and immediately made eye contact with Mia.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” she said. “Pete’s upstairs and I’m sure he’d like the company.”
Any other time, I would have. But we had other, more urgent matters to attend to. And if Wake was going to send someone else to try and take me down, I wanted to either be at our house or our boat—ready and well armed.
“Ange will kill me if she doesn’t get her conch fritters,” I said.
She chuckled and handed me a bag with two boxes of food inside. I reached for my wallet, but she waved me off. After I’d lent a hand and some cash to renovate the place years earlier, neither she nor Pete ever let me pay. Before she could protest, I slipped a twenty into the tip jar and ducked out the door. She laughed as it shut behind me.
I crunched across the seashell lot toward my Tacoma. The night was quiet by Key West standards, aside from a few distant police sirens. Tuesday in mid-February. But I spotted more than one group of people passing by in costumes. I’d heard that there was a special event going on at Mallory Square. The usual sunset celebration, but with added buzz due to a new traveling street performer and a costume contest.
People who visited Key West didn’t just come for the views and ocean-related activities. They came to partake in the unique city’s legendary rip-roaring nightlife. In the capital of the Conch Republic, tourists and locals alike jumped at any excuse to have a party.
I reached for my keys and unlocked the driver’s-side door. Just as I reached for the handle, my phone vibrated in my front pocket. I grabbed it while opening the door and setting the bag of food on the passenger seat. Glancing at the screen, I saw that it was Jane Verona, Key West’s sheriff.
I answered with a hello.
“Logan, where are you?” she said.
She had a stern, focused tone. The voice of a woman who was used to being in control of things. But she sounded more rushed than usual. Like something serious was bothering her.
“I’m over at Pete’s, Jane. What’s up?”
“I need you to come down to Key West Scuba. There’s been an incident.”
“What kind of incident?”
She paused a moment.
“It’s Mayor Crawford. He’s dead. He was murdered, Logan. Look, I need you to come down to the scene right now.”
Mayor Crawford murdered?
I shook my head, then bit my lip as I looked up into the evening sky.
Murders happened. An unfortunate part of life that went all the way back to Cane and Abel. The homicide rate in Key West was slightly above the national average. But murders were still very uncommon and were mostly drug gang-related.
First we shoot up Wake’s secret hideout. Then we take down a group of killers sent after us. Now this?
I knew that it wasn’t likely a coincidence. I just didn’t understand how Jane suspected my involvement somehow.
Why would she call me of all people?
“Why?” I asked. “He was a good man, and that’s a shame. But what does it have to do with me?”
She said a few words to someone else, then answered, “Because the killer left a note. A note for you.”
I hopped into my truck and hit the gas, paying little attention to posted speed limits as I zipped through traffic and avoided packs of pedestrians. Key West Scuba was just a few blocks away, and I reached the scene in under three minutes.
There were two police cruisers parked along the curb with their lights on. An ambulance and EMTs stood by. A cop directing the one open lane of traffic walked over and told me to move when I pulled up behind the nearest cruiser.
I knew the guy, and when he recognized me, I told him that Jane had called for me. He nodded and went back to work. I killed the engine and stepped out.
I moved through a group of gathered people craning their necks for a look at what was causing all the commotion. Ducking under a line of yellow tape, I saw a cluster of officers and detectives down near the end of the alleyway. They’d set up a few construction lamps to illuminate the scene.
Jane met me and escorted me through the throng of law enforcement personnel. She was a tough, hard-headed Latina. She was usually quick and resolute, but she looked paler than usual, and uneasy about the whole thing.
I caught my first glimpse of Crawford. Or what was left of him anyway.
His corpse was facing up; his extremities extended out. He was mutilated. Carved up like he’d been attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. The sight gave me a sick feeling deep in my stomach.
I’d seen dead bodies many times before. Seen many things that I’d just as soon forget. The sight of Crawford’s body lying on the dark pavement in that alleyway jumped right up near the top of the list.
Jane led me over to an investigator. It was a guy I’d spoken with before. In a small town like Key West, and given all of my dangerous escapades over the past few years, there weren’t many local law enforcement officers I didn’t know. It helped the process. If we were in Miami or Orlando or some other big city, they’d cuff me, spew off Miranda rights, and drive me down to the station for questioning just for having my name involved.
The detective looked sick as well. He nodded to Jane, then handed her a plastic bag. Inside the bag was an unfolded note. She held it out to me under the light so I could read it. It was simple. Just two lines. The words were spelled using cut-out letters from a magazine.
Turn yourself over, Logan Dodge.
Or this is just the beginning.
I read the message twice, then swallowed hard. This wasn’t an ordinary murder; this was a message. Crawford wasn’t the target. He was just a friendly guy caught in the crossfire. Coll
ateral damage for Wake to get the ball rolling and to get me to turn myself over.
Jane lowered the message, then stepped in closer to me.
“Look, we’re friends, Logan,” she said. “And you’ve helped us time and time again. But this can’t happen.” She held up the plastic bag with the message. “I swore an oath to serve and protect. We need to get to the bottom of whoever’s behind this. And judging by the first line, you already know who did it.”
“I don’t know exactly who performed the act. But I know who’s behind it, yes.”
She waited for me to go on, focusing her unblinking eyes on me. She was starting to come back. The sight of Crawford’s body and its effect on her mind were wearing off.
I ushered her a few steps away from the others, making sure we were out of their earshot.
“Richard Wake,” I said.
She shook her head. “You mean the Richard Wake? Like the billionaire businessman Richard Wake?”
“That’s the one.”
“The hell does he want you for?”
“It’s a long story, Jane. Suffice to say that he’s a big-time criminal, and I’ve thrown a few wrenches into his schemes over the years. But I can tell you that the CIA is working on this. Along with other agencies and a long list of smart people.”
She paused a moment. Her eyes shifted from me back to where Crawford’s body lay on the concrete.
“What are you and whoever else is working on this going to do about that?” She motioned toward the dead mayor.
“We’re gonna track Wake down and kill him. We’re waiting on intel to hopefully figure out his whereabouts. Should be able to stop him soon.”
“And in the meantime?” She raised her eyebrows at me. “That this is just the beginning part didn’t sound very reassuring.”
“We’re doing everything we can, Jane. The last thing I want is to endanger anyone in this city. I never thought they would pull something like this. I was ready for them to come after me, watching my back at all times. But this is low even for them. This is more psychotic murderer than corrupt criminal.”