by Debbie Burke
That close call had torn down the barrier between boss and employee even though they both knew it was felony stupid to get involved.
Yet they did.
But the longer they were together, the more conflicts arose.
She wished their relationship was as simple as piling up sandbags.
When she finished, she helped Smoky stack the last layer across the kitchen door. He struggled to bend down.
“Do you mind talking about how you lost your leg?” she asked.
He straightened, placed hands on hips, and arched his back. “Actually, it’s a pretty damn funny story.”
Funny? “I’m all ears.”
“Working on a commercial fishing boat out of Panama three years ago. Halfway to Hawaii, way the hell out, hundreds of miles from the nearest port. Swells got rocky. Bunch of us were on deck, trying to keep stuff from washing overboard. A winch cable wrapped around my leg and, right then, this big wave knocked us sideways. Cable tightened down, mangled the hell out of my leg.”
“How awful,” Tawny murmured.
“All things considered I was pretty damn lucky. Another guy on the crew was a butcher from Argentina. Knew more about anatomy than most doctors. Took me below and poured a quart of Cuban rum down my gullet. Then he went to work with a boning knife. Saved my life.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” Tawny hadn’t known Smoky long enough to judge how much of his story might be B.S., trying to impress her.
He thumped another sandbag on the stack. “Funniest part though, my butcher buddy was damn near as drunk as I was. He had this notion that surgeons could reattach the leg when we got into port. So, he wrapped it up in plastic and tossed it down in the hold with the frozen fish.”
“Ugh, I don’t think I’ll eat fish anytime soon.”
Smoky chortled. “Not to worry. Never made it to market.” He fiddled with the emerald stud in his earlobe. “Know what I miss most?”
“What?”
“Toes. Sports physiology taught me how the body depends on toes for balance and maneuverability. But just moving around, everyday stuff like bucking sandbags. I miss my damn toes.” He inspected the barrier they had erected. “Looks pretty good. That better do it because we’re out of bags.”
Tawny was again drenched with perspiration and weary from lugging heavy sand. “I’m going inside to enjoy the air conditioner while the power’s still on.”
He waved. “I’ll be there pretty quick.”
She pushed the door inward and stepped over the makeshift wall into the kitchen. With the windows boarded up, the house was a claustrophobic little cocoon. In the bathroom, she wet a washcloth and wiped her flushed face and burning neck. As she peered in the mirror, she was glad her brown eyes were growing more far-sighted, blurring new wrinkles she’d earned since meeting Tillman.
What the hell mess have you dragged me into now?
That was life with a criminal attorney—everyone you met was in deep trouble.
Although she liked Smoky, she sensed the man, like most clients, would dump a bucket of crap in Tillman’s lap then expect magic to fix his problems.
With a sigh, she pinned her braid up with a hair clip then returned to the living room to check for the latest weather update.
On the TV screen, a different newscaster in raingear staggered against the wind down a deserted street. Palm trees bent sideways and whipped the leaden sky. The scene switched to Interstate 75, a solid block of vehicles stopped dead on northbound lanes as people tried to evacuate. The camera caught an embarrassing shot of a guy taking a leak at the side of the road.
Dammit, why did Tillman insist on making a dangerous trip right now to buy a generator? Too many things could go wrong with the entire state in a panic.
And his one-legged pal Smoky was nearly as bad—staying put when sensible people had moved to public shelters.
She heard faint shouts from outside. Although the louvered kitchen windows were boarded over, the seal wasn’t tight against the metal frame. She cracked open the back door.
A black Hummer had parked crookedly on the sidewalk, blocking the driveway to the carport. Two white men, burly and burlier, were advancing on Smoky. His lumpy face was pinched and he appeared to be pleading with them.
A third man with light-brown skin, slight and elegantly dressed, stood beside the open rear door of the Hummer. Tawny immediately pegged him as the boss because the other two looked to him for direction. She couldn’t hear the leader’s quiet words.
Smoky talked faster but apparently not convincingly. The leader gave a slight nod and the two thugs jumped Smoky. One held his arms behind his back while the other gut-punched him.
Holy crap!
Where the hell did Smoky keep his shotgun?
Tawny ran into his dim bedroom and flicked on the light switch. She rooted through Hawaiian shirts in the closet and searched duffel bags on the floor. No shotgun.
She dropped to her knees on the tile and ran her arm under the bed. There, she found a long, canvas case. She yanked it out and unzipped it. A pump shotgun rested on the padded lining with a box of twelve-gauge shells beside it. She thumbed shells into it then raced from the bedroom to the back door.
Smoky now lay on the sidewalk, curled into a ball, as the bigger of the two thugs kicked his back and side. His prosthesis had detached, lying a couple of feet away.
Tawny hopped over the sandbags, ran to the edge of the carport, and jacked the slide.
At the loud metallic clack, the three men whirled to face her.
“Get out now!” she yelled, swinging the barrel toward them. She aimed at the boss, figuring the underlings would follow his lead.
He stood still, handsome in designer casual clothes and a small, neat fedora. After a few seconds of staring, he smiled at her. Then he climbed into the back seat of the Hummer. The other two got in front. The SUV swerved in a U-turn, climbing up over fallen tree limbs then thudding down on the pavement. In seconds, it was out of sight.
Tawny ran to Smoky and squatted beside him, setting the shotgun on the ground. “Can you get up?”
With her help, he rolled to a seated position. “Motherfucker kicked Annalise off,” he muttered, adjusting the sock around his stump. When he twisted to reach for the prosthesis, a deep groan of pain slipped out. He faced Tawny. “I think one of my ribs must have dented that guy’s boot.”
For a second, she thought his confused words meant a concussion. Then she recognized his dark humor, the same nonchalance toward violent injury she’d heard from her son, Neal, an Army sergeant. She grabbed the prosthetic and set it next to him. “Do you have crutches?”
Smoky pulled the liner into place and fitted the socket onto the stump. “Nah, that’d only make the ribs hurt worse. Crutches are a bitch. Threw ’em away the day I got Annalise here.” He tapped the hard plastic affectionately.
“You named your leg?”
“Why not? She’s stuck with me longer than my wives did.” He tested the suction then rested a heavy hand on Tawny’s shoulder. “OK, let’s give this a try.”
Amid grunts and dripping sweat, she steadied him as they struggled to stand.
Once he was on his feet, she noticed blood trickling from his bruised nose. He dug his tongue into his cheek. “Tooth’s loose.”
Tawny scanned the street, worried the thugs might return, and retrieved the shotgun. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
With his arm slung across her shoulder, they climbed awkwardly over the sandbag wall and entered the house. She locked the door and set the shotgun beside it.
“Help me to bed, darlin’,” Smoky mumbled. His words came in painful, breathy gasps. She supported him down the short hallway into his room. He sank on the mattress.
Tawny pulled her phone from the pocket of her shorts. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“No point. They’re busy evacuating. They won’t come for piss-ant stuff like this.”
“Smoky, those men assaulted you.”
“Da
rlin’, you’ve lived in small-town Montana too long. This is nothin’ for Florida.” Blood flowed faster from his nose, dripping onto his shirt. He hugged a pillow against his injured side. “Just lemme rest. Get me a little anesthetic? Rum and coke.”
Tawny went to the kitchen and poured the drink but didn’t find any ice in the top refrigerator compartment. In the laundry room, the chest freezer was locked. She grabbed a box of tissues and returned to the bedroom. “Smoky, where’s the freezer key? I’ll get ice for your drink.”
“Never mind that. It’s OK warm.” He accepted the tissue she offered and daubed his nose. Then he took the glass from her, swigged several large swallows, and belched. His brow eased a little. “Thanks.”
She perched on the edge of a papasan chair. “Who are those guys, Smoky?”
He drank again, big hand spread flat in a wait-a-sec gesture. He tried to take a deep breath but it caught in a groan.
Tawny knew he should get his ribs X-rayed but how? Tillman had taken the only car. With the hurricane bearing down, 911 wouldn’t send an ambulance for anything less than a gushing artery or a heart attack…and maybe not even then.
When she and Tillman had arrived at midday, Smoky’s neighborhood had appeared nearly deserted, the last few residents fleeing in their vehicles stuffed with precious possessions. Why did the aging coach insist on staying? He’d mentioned the house was a rental that he didn’t own, so he wasn’t guarding personal turf.
Under his tan, the skin had turned grayish. She peered into his light blue eyes, checking pupil size. Equal and apparently normal. “Smoky?”
“What, darlin’?”
“Who were those guys?” she repeated.
“Not my biggest fans.”
“I figured that out. What do they want?”
One shoulder twitched. “What does everyone want? Money.”
“Gambling debt?”
He hugged the pillow tighter. “Tillman told you, huh?”
“Not much.”
“Not much to tell. I bet. I lost. They wanna get paid. But I don’t know how they found me.”
“You’ve been hiding out?”
“Yeah. Been here over two years, under the radar. Pay rent in cash. That makes my landlady happy. She likes me because I don’t trash her fancy decorating.” He gestured at the drapes, bedspread, and upholstery on the papasan chair, all matching yellow linen printed with brightly colored parrots. “She keeps the utilities and cable on her account so my name doesn’t turn up anywhere. The T-bird is registered to an LLC. I keep my cell in a Faraday bag.”
“What’s that?”
“Blocks radio frequency signals so location trackers can’t find it.”
Tawny remembered the vague, mysterious texts from Smoky to Tillman earlier in the day. “Is that why you refused to give us your address when we were coming from the airport?”
“Uber logs every trip. I don’t want to show up in anyone’s database.”
Now she understood the bizarre rendezvous Smoky insisted on. They had met at a gas station at the intersection of Highways 19 and 54 because he claimed the Uber driver wouldn’t be able to find his house. He’d lied. The place was an easy mile away, tucked on a quiet back street of lookalike cinderblock boxes built in the 1950s.
Getting both guests to his house had taken two trips. Smoky’s T-bird was a squeeze for average-sized adults and had no back seat. Smoky had first driven Tawny home then returned to the gas station to pick up Tillman, leaving her time to ponder why the coach was so secretive.
The arrival of the three thugs, moments ago, had answered that question.
She leaned forward on the chair. “How much do you owe those guys, Smoky?”
“Let’s just say, it’s more than the change in the sofa cushions.”
“That’s why you called Tillman last week?”
“Nah.” A mischievous grin split his face. “I called him because I had to meet the lady who made him give up his vow to never get married again.”
Uh-oh, how did this conversation suddenly veer from Smoky’s problems to hers? “That’s not going to happen for a long time.” No matter how much she loved Tillman, she’d resolved not to marry him until he stopped manipulating her with deceptions. Like a Florida vacation that turned into a rescue mission for a problem gambler.
Smoky winked. “Whenever wedding bells ring, I want an invitation.” He gestured at her left hand, where she still wore her plain gold band. “Gotta say, with Tillman’s dough, I’d expect him to spring for a nicer engagement ring.”
She shifted on the chair, wanting to avoid long explanations. “This is from my husband. He died a few years ago.” And she would never take off Dwight’s ring.
Smoky’s gaze lowered in shame. “Well, darlin’, let me remove my fat foot from my big mouth and apologize. I didn’t know.”
“No reason you should.” She had to get him back on track. “Let’s talk about right now. How do you think Tillman can help you?”
He finished his drink and lay on his side. “Darlin’, nobody can help me.” He pulled the bedspread over his head, a clear enough signal for Tawny to back off.
Chapter 2 – Six Million and Two
In the living room, Tawny watched the telecast as giant waves crashed into a coastal town called Naples. At a high-rise hotel overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, a massive picture window shattered under the onslaught. Wind blew broken glass like sparkling shrapnel.
She clicked to a different channel that showed gridlock on the interstates and major highways. All traffic lanes had been redirected, going north only. Troopers guarded onramps and exits. Even if Tillman reached Hudson, he wouldn’t be allowed to return.
She tapped his number. He needed to get back. Fast.
A recording announced all circuits were busy. Everybody and their dog must be calling family and friends. Twenty million people scrambled to get out of the way of angry Mother Nature. The news played continuous footage of uprooted trees, cars bogged in mud, and fallen power lines that sparked and danced on floodwaters.
An emergency manager came on the TV with an announcement: “Evacuate to a shelter now. First responders will not be able to rescue people who stay behind.”
Without Smoky’s car, they couldn’t get to a shelter.
Tawny tapped a text, hoping it might go through even though calls didn’t. 3 thugs beat up Smoky, gambling debts. Come back now!!!
With the windows covered, she couldn’t see outside to know if the men returned. She explored the rest of the bungalow, looking for the safest defensible position, both from gangsters and the hurricane.
The house had two small bedrooms, Smoky’s and the guest room where she and Tillman were going to sleep…if he made it back. In between was the bathroom with a tub shower, a small window above it that she and Tillman had covered with plywood. Off the kitchen, only the laundry room had a solid block wall without windows. Probably the safest place to hunker down when the storm hit.
She studied the freezer. It was an old rounded chest style, about five feet long and three feet deep, speckled with rust. It looked similar to the Hotpoint model her grandparents had bought right after electricity finally made it out to their Montana farm in the early 1950s. She tried the chrome handle. It didn’t budge.
Tillman always said Tawny’s job was to dig out secrets his clients were too afraid to tell him. And Smoky looked less like an old friend and more like a client who desperately needed a lawyer.
The kitchen door to the carport only had a flimsy knob lock. She listened to the rising wind buffeting outside and opened it for a quick peek. The sky had turned black and angry with a thin band of eerie yellow light glowing low on the horizon. Almost sunset.
She fought to push the door closed. Next, she looked around for something heavy to barricade it. The furniture was all lightweight wicker, airy and charming for a Florida vacation getaway but lousy for protection against goons bent on collecting money. She tried to move the refrigerator but it refused to budge.
In a kitchen junk drawer, she found a hank of rope. A waist-high cinderblock wall separated the kitchen from the living room. She anchored one end of the rope through a decorative cutout in the concrete divider and tied the other end around the doorknob.
At least the front door had a deadbolt. Even so, it rattled against its frame as wind gusts roared and fell.
Sudden clattering sounded on the metal roof. Rain hammered loudly enough to overpower the TV’s volume.
“Here she comes.” Smoky appeared from his bedroom, swaying slightly. He limped to the kitchen, poured more rum and coke in his empty glass, then gestured toward her with it. “Want to join me?”
Tawny shook her head and tried Tillman again. Your call cannot be completed. Dammit.
“If you want to take a shower,” Smoky said, “might as well do it now. Electricity could go down anytime.”
Humidity and hard work had made her sticky but she wondered about being alone and naked around a man she barely knew. Yet, despite his gambling problems, Smoky seemed like a gentleman. And Tillman thought the world of him. She decided to take the chance. “OK, thanks, I will.”
“When you’re done, fill up the bathtub. We’ll use it to wash and do dishes. After the floods, there’ll be a boil order on tap water because of busted pipes and overflowing sewers. Hot and cold running e-coli.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Remind me again why people live in Florida.”
“You don’t have to shovel rain.”
***
After a refreshing shower, Tawny scrubbed the tub then left the water running to fill it. Wearing clean shorts and a tank top, she came out of the bathroom to the delicious aroma of steak frying. Smoky stood at the stove. “Medium rare OK?”
“Perfect.”
“I was planning to barbecue for you guys but…” He flicked a spatula at the ceiling as rain thundered on the roof. “I’ll hold off cooking Tillman’s steak until he gets here. Any word from him?”
Tawny checked her phone for at least the fifth time since he’d left. “Nothing. Shouldn’t he be back by now? It’s only twenty miles.”