Dark Cay

by Douglas Pratt

  “Yeah. He kidnapped Lily Porter. Or at least, he arranged it. Travis Porter, too. I’m sure you know that already.”

  Letson straightened in his chair. “I thought you didn’t know where the girl was?”

  “Let’s toss the bullshit, Letson. I know that Joe Loggins is a powerful man. The kind of man that can dig his fingers into all sorts of places.”

  Folding his arms, the F.B.I. agent waited for me to continue.

  “Until today, I was just trying to protect an innocent girl…”

  He interrupted me, saying, “If you had brought her in, she might have been protected.”

  I leaned over the desk and stared him in the eye. “Can you be sure that he hasn’t gotten into your department?”

  His nostrils flared, and his pupils tightened. “I resent that insinuation.”

  Lifting my hands, I conceded, “Maybe. Right now, we need to find Lily Porter.”

  “Can you prove that Loggins is behind the kidnapping?”

  I shook my head.

  “Mr. Gordon, you don’t give me a lot to go on.”

  “Find Loggins,” I demanded. “He has her someplace.”

  Letting out a fake chuckle, he asked, “You want me to search every property this man has? A man that, as you pointed out, has an infinite influence. And you want me to do that with zero evidence pointing toward him.”

  “Lily’s life is in danger.”

  He nodded, somewhat arrogantly, and pointed out, “You should have considered that when you had your chance.”

  I bit my lip, fighting back a rather harsh sentiment. “I don’t have to worry about his reach or the need for a warrant. Tell me where to find him so I can save the girl.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that. Even if I wanted to, that would be illegal. You have a knack for killing folks. It’s in your blood, I guess. I can’t let you go after a seemingly innocent man, no matter what you think he did. You can’t prove it.”

  “Does that matter?” I spat the words out. “I think you know what I’m saying is true. He’s going to use Lily as leverage against her father.”

  “Leverage for what?”

  “I think Porter stole something from him. Maybe he wants it back.”

  “Joe Loggins is worth billions. What could be that important?”

  I shrugged. The question was valid. Punishing Porter for stealing is one thing, but to go after Lily too?

  “He’s sadistic? Wants to make Travis Porter suffer?”

  “Seems like a big stretch,” Letson commented. “Gordon, you need to go home. Get on your boat and leave this alone.”

  I glared at him.

  He continued, “I’m serious. I can’t catch you in this anymore. I’ll look for the girl, but you aren’t to be anywhere near this. You follow me, soldier?”

  Letson was hard to read. His demeanor was like that of so many career officers that I had encountered. He didn’t seem crooked or even lazy, but he wasn’t showing any signs of empathy. He had a cold, marble surface that wasn’t going to let the details of anyone, let alone a girl he never met, interfere with his case. Maybe for him, everything was black and white. Porter dug his own hole, and the consequences were his and Lily’s to suffer. That kind of thought process keeps things simple for people in Letson’s field. No need to let silly things like emotions affect you.

  The problem with that is that over time it will jade you. Anything or anyone outside of the job is wrong and doesn’t matter. The perspective is no longer unbiased. It becomes an “us versus them” scenario for everything.

  It just doesn’t work that way for me.

  “Letson,” I finally spoke through a clenched jaw. “The girl needs to become the priority. Not nailing Loggins. She has to be found.”

  “You need to leave now, Gordon,” he ordered as he rose to his feet. “Otherwise, my kindness toward you will end. I’ll toss you in jail for everything I can think of, and when I’m done, you will be fighting every charge for years to come.”

  Standing, I tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Everybody needs a hobby.”

  “Loggins is off-limits,” he reiterated.

  “Does that mean he’s actually the subject of your investigation?”

  He scowled at me, and I walked around him.

  “I guess I can go home since you have it all under control.”

  27

  Knowing that the F.B.I. didn’t currently have a warrant out for me, I decided to drive back to the Tilly. A shower, accompanied by a change of clothes, might help the despair that was washing over me. I was losing, or maybe I already lost. It wasn’t some sense of pride that was wounded. It was grief.

  The sinking feeling was all too familiar. When we lost A.J. in a raid outside of Kunar, I felt it. An overwhelming sense of failure to someone else. This time felt somewhat worse. Lily wasn’t a trained soldier like A.J. She was a kid looking for someone to protect her. Me. I failed her.

  It didn’t matter what Letson threatened. If I didn’t get Lily back, the sorrow and rage I held in my chest were going to come out. Loggins would surface one day, and I would make sure it was his last time.

  Walking through the lobby of the Tilly Inn was surreal. The lobby was busy with an evening rush of check-ins. As I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of a fist charging at me. My right hand knocked the clumsy attempt away.

  Michael Seine glowered at me. “You bastard!” he howled. “I’ll kill you!”

  My hand came up with my palm extending out to hold him back. “Michael, you need to calm down.”

  “She’s in the hospital because of you.”

  Missy.

  “Michael, I’m sorry. How is she?”

  He lunged at me again. Michael wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t exactly in fighting shape. I let the next blow glance off my shoulder. He swung again, and I side-stepped it enough that it missed.

  His eyes were blazing red. “You need to get out of our lives,” he snarled. “Just get out.”

  Defeated, he ambled off with slumped shoulders. He wasn’t to blame. I almost got Missy killed today. It could have been Paige.

  Equally defeated, I walked into the Manta Club. Hunter was behind the bar, chatting with an attractive woman in her 40s. She was traveling on business, and flirting with the bartender didn’t count as cheating.

  Stepping behind the bar, I grabbed the cordless phone.

  “Hello,” Missy answered her cell phone.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m okay. Did you find Lily?” Her voice was groggy.

  “No, I didn’t,” I answered. “What about you?”

  “They had to do some surgery on my arm. I should have full use after some physical therapy.”

  My head drooped. “I’m so sorry, Missy. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  Her words had already gone through my mind a few hundred times. “That could have been Paige.”

  “I know,” I responded humbly. “Do you need anything?”

  “Are you planning to stay?” she asked.

  The question was flat. “When I find Lily, I thought I would go back out.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Missy?”

  “Chase, you’ll have a slip when you return. I think you need to leave, though. For a while. Let me think about some things.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  “Chase, you were just being you. I can’t expect you to act differently. Truthfully, I love that about you. It’s just that I can’t handle it. I have Paige. And Michael. I can’t run off like you do. There are consequences for me.”

  “There are consequences for me too, Missy.”

  “I don’t think it’s the same.”

  I held the phone to my ear without a word.

  “I’m going to be okay,” Missy added. “I don’t blame you. It was just an eye-opener for me.”

  “I have to finish this first,” I insisted.

  “I know, but it might be out of your hand
s now.”

  “Missy, I love you.” The words came out of nowhere.

  “No, you don’t,” she insisted. “But thank you for saying it. I have to go.”

  She was gone, and I sat on the barstool staring at the phone in my hand.

  That surreality I felt earlier swirled around me. Worry filled me. That she might have been right. About several things.

  “Nice shirt,” Hunter broke my train of thought before he asked, “You want a beer?”

  “Yeah,” I started. “No, give me a shot of Jameson.”

  “Shots, Chase?”

  “Just one.”

  “You are full of surprises,” he commented. “By the way, there is a message for you.”

  He handed me a yellow sticky note that read, “Call Mr. Moreno.”

  A number was scrawled under the message. I dialed it.

  “Hola, Padrino’s,” a young woman answered.

  “I need to speak with Moreno,” I informed her.

  “Señor Moreno, no está aquí.”

  “Is Esteban Velázquez there?

  “Sí.”

  The muffled sound of movement came through the phone, followed by some inaudible voices that might have been in Spanish.

  “Gordon?” a deep voice came through the phone.

  “Moreno left me a message.”

  Scar responded, “He is not here now, but he asks if you would meet him in an hour.”

  “At Padrino’s”

  “Sí.”

  “Did he find something for me?”

  “You’ll need to talk to Mr. Moreno.”

  I sighed. “I’ll be there.”

  Hunter slid me a shot glass brimming with whiskey. Tapping the bar with the bottom of the glass, I tossed the Irish whiskey down my throat.

  “You hear about Missy?” Hunter asked, pouring some proverbial salt into my wound.

  I nodded slowly. He lifted an eyebrow before asking, “Have you talked to her?”

  “She’s going to be okay. They had to repair her arm, but she said she should be healed up in a few months.”

  “That’s good,” he sighed. “Hate to lose her.”

  I nodded again and motioned for another shot. He refilled my glass, and I repeated the process of swallowing it. Two would have to be my limit if I was going to drive to Miami. Throwing a twenty on the bar, I rose and left.

  The shower would have to wait, but I’d be damned if I didn’t at least get rid of this shirt. The marina was quiet, but despite that, I was wary as I approached Carina. Loggins might have Lily, but he may blame me for some of his recent troubles. Nothing seemed out of the norm, until I saw the figure step out of the cabin and into Carina’s cockpit.

  Whipping the .45 out, I dropped into a crouch.

  “Hey, asshole!” Jay shouted from my boat. “I already saw you.”

  Relaxing, I straightened. “What are you doing here?”

  Jay studied me as I climbed aboard. “You look like shit. What happened?”

  “Too much,” I answered.

  “I heard about Missy. West Palm PD has a description of the vehicle that hit her. They’re going to find out who was driving it.”

  Waving off his concern, I climbed into the cabin. “I know who was behind it.”

  “Was this about the girl?”

  “Look, Jay,” I explained as I stripped the gas-station t-shirt off, “I know you’d help, but this is one of those things you don’t want to know about.”

  “Letson?” he guessed.

  “I’ve been thoroughly warned.”

  Jay sat down on the settee. “Yeah, that was fruitless on his part. Whatever you plan to do, brother, I got your back.”

  Slipping my arm into a pastel green fishing shirt, I said, “Ever hear of Joe Loggins?”

  Jay shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “Should I?”

  “He’s above our pay grade,” I told him. “A political fixer of sorts.”

  “This Loggins has the girl?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know where.”

  Joe started to pull out his phone. “I can find out.”

  Waving my hands at him, I stopped him. “No, there’s no way you wouldn’t be taken down. Anything you search through official channels would get back to Letson, who I assure you will do whatever he can to destroy your career.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Jay insisted.

  “Jay.”

  He froze and looked into my eyes. Maybe the seriousness was being properly conveyed.

  He put his phone down and conceded, “Fine, I’ll let you play it your way.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “I can’t let anyone else I love get hurt.”

  The corner of Jay’s mouth twitched. “Aww,” he jested, “you love me.”

  Shaking my head, I broke into a smile. The first one I had all day.

  “Don’t get killed,” he warned me. “I’d have to get my own boat.”

  “You can have Carina if they kill me.”

  He grinned widely. “Now, there’s some incentive to not help. Seriously, what are you planning?”

  “I’m going to find Loggins one way or the other.”

  Jay nodded. His face grew somber, and I knew we were both thinking, “before it’s too late.”

  “I have to get to Miami,” I told him as I climbed back on deck.

  “I’ll be hanging out with my new boat,” he quipped.

  As I bounded onto the dock, I felt a little lighter. Jay, one of the deadliest snipers I’ve ever known, could stare into the abyss and find a joke in it. For the moment, I felt like I could find Lily in time, even with no clue where to look.

  Finding my way back to Padrino’s was easy. The unmarked surveillance van parked half a block away was the giveaway.

  Moreno was seated in the back corner at his usual seat. He motioned for the waitress and me simultaneously.

  “Julio,” I greeted the drug lord as I sat opposite him.

  The waitress brought a large martini glass filled with a colored beverage.

  “I ordered you one of my favorite cocktails, an El Presidente.”

  He didn’t explain what was in it. Maybe he assumed that as a bartender, I would know. It was rum based with some orange, probably Curaçao.

  Moreno began talking. “Thank you for coming, Chase. I think I have some information that you can use.”

  Perking up, I listened.

  “I’ll consider this a favor,” he told me.

  The revulsion I felt earlier at owing someone like Julio Moreno didn’t rear its head. Either I was getting used to the idea, or I didn’t care anymore. Instead of arguing, I simply acknowledged Moreno with a nod.

  “I have asked around some of the associates that I share with Joseph Loggins. While I cannot give you an exact location, it seems that Loggins owns an estate in a town called Floral City. Somewhere up north.”

  The fact that Moreno considered someplace in Central Florida to be “up north” amused me and reminded me of my grandmother, who eschewed anyone living north of the Arkansas and Missouri border as being little more than heathens and unworthy of her time.

  I was about to thank him when the waitress returned with a Media Noche sandwich.

  Moreno waved at the sandwich. “I also had her order you some dinner.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I began to feel a little discontent at the effort Moreno was using to woo me.

  “Do you mind if I take it to go?” I asked. “I need to find my way to Floral City tonight.”

  “You do rush headlong into battle, don’t you?” Moreno noted.

  “A teen-aged girl’s life is on the line,” I reminded him. “I don’t want to lose her.”

  His head bobbed in agreement. He flagged the waitress down and asked for the sandwich to be wrapped up for me.

  “You do know that the Feds are sitting out front again?”

  He laughed, “They are almost regulars. We have two sets that rotate around.”

  “You should start sending them ta
ke-out, as well.”

  Moreno chuckled. “I might indeed. Do remember, Chase, that you now owe me?”

  “Somehow,” I commented, “I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it.”

  The drug lord smiled deviously at me. When the waitress returned, I graciously took my sandwich and drank the El Presidente as I stood.

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “Would you care to take Esteban with you?”

  The offer surprised me, and it tempted me. Scar was a dangerous man. However, that was an offer that would allow Moreno to hook his claws deeper into me.

  “No, thank you. This I can handle.”

  The time to leave was now, before the devil made me rethink my choice.

  28

  The red neon glow that read “Vacancy” guided me into the parking lot last night just after midnight. The short, middle-aged woman at the front desk scowled from behind groggy eyes. The robe wrapped tightly around her indicated my arrival had disrupted her sleep. My late arrival had broken some unwritten rule; however, despite the burden, the innkeeper attempted to remain hospitable. The annoyance, though, was impossible to mask.

  The sun woke me as it rose. Room 16, like all the rooms in the Old Spanish Motel, faced east. Purposefully, I left the curtains open enough to allow the sun to rouse me. There was no reason to think that Loggins knew I was coming, but I slept on top of the comforter with the .45 resting on the bedside table.

  The room was sparse, with only a double bed, a table and chair, and a small bathroom. The only modern convenience was the flat-screen television mounted to the wall. The carpet was commercial grade somewhere on the color spectrum between blue and green. It matched the recently painted turquoise walls. I’m sure turquoise wasn’t the color. Maybe sea-green or something absurd like that.

  After a six-hour drive and a long few days, it took me only seconds to fall asleep, and the rest felt rejuvenating. Hiding the gun under my shirt, I opened the door to room 16 and stepped into the world. In the daylight, the motel was a time capsule of old Florida. Spanish moss dangled from the towering cypress trees shading the street. The air was still cool despite being so still. And moist. The air tingled with humidity. The trees sounded alive as the birds sang and chattered amongst the limbs.