Swindled in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  “Everyone likes Didier.” Fab snorted. “Men, women, and it’s genuine too, from what I can tell. He’s one of those men that just fits in, no matter who he talks to. Unlike you-know-who,” she said, pointing to herself. “He doesn’t seem to mind that people find me off-putting and that I don’t give a damn.”

  “You need to have a friendly chat with Balcazar. A gun to the face works effectively for getting someone to talk,” Phil suggested. “Course, you can never be sure if it’s a pack of lies to save their skin. Where are you now?”

  “Driving by a garish, yellow Mediterranean monstrosity. U-shaped, two three-car garages on each side of the driveway, a call box at the gate. The front has more windows than I care to clean.” I wrinkled my nose.

  “County records show the property as just shy of twelve thousand square feet. How much staff would it take to run that place? Remember, Balcazar’s probably not going to be home alone.”

  “If you stand at one end of the house and scream, can you hear it on the other end?” I asked.

  “There’s something wrong with you,” Fab said, pulling into the lot of a community park. We didn’t dare pull over to the curb; that would garner unwanted attention.

  “If anything goes wrong, call or text and I’ll call the police,” Phil offered.

  “That’s a good idea,” Fab nodded.

  We got out of the SUV for a quick look around. The fish pond in the middle of the park was the focal point, surrounded by lush green grass. Not being a connoisseur, I could only say that the pond appeared occupied by oversized goldfish of different varieties. A white bridge linked the two parts of the walking path that wandered into an overgrowth of trees. It didn’t appear that the park ever got used, and why would it, when every home had its own manicured lawn?

  Standing out in the open here didn’t seem like a good idea, and I turned to tell Fab that.

  A hand shot around me from behind, clamping over my mouth. I screamed, the sound muffled, and went into fight mode, struggling and kicking, determined not to be dragged from the park to who-knew-where.

  “Oww, that hurt,” a male voice growled in my ear. “Calm down before I strangle you.”

  I turned my head and lifted my eyes to see Creole’s angry face. “You scared me,” I whimpered, wanting to kick Fab’s butt for not warning me. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, enjoying the show.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This—” he swept his arm out, “does not look like your neighborhood.”

  “Such bad language.” I scrunched up my nose, taking small breaths to control my pounding heart.

  He jerked me to his chest and gave me a hard hug before pushing me back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for my lost cat.” I tried to make it sound like a great idea, but his face turned almost purple, and I knew I’d failed.

  He shook my shoulders. “It’s bad enough you used that lame excuse once, but you trot it out over and over.”

  “I never said we’d go home.”

  Fab laughed, which elevated his coloring a notch. “Hey Neanderthal, we’re here and not going anywhere. You got a plan? If not, I’ll make one up while scaling the wall to that ugly-ass house. Oh excuse me, mansion.”

  “We’ve already wasted enough time having to wait on you two, knowing that you never do what you’re told and then we have to do damage control,” Creole seethed.

  “We?” I looked at Fab as a familiar figure stepped out of the bushes.

  “Nice to see you again.” The man winked, putting his arm around Fab’s shoulders.

  Fab turned and elbowed him with a half-sneer; she didn’t get the allure that was Help.

  My heart had gradually slowed back to its normal pace. “We’re here. We can be useful. You’ll never keep Fab out of whatever you have planned, so you might as well figure out a way to include her.”

  “Found Didier’s car,” Help said.

  Fab jumped. “Where is it? What about Didier?”

  “Quiet.” Creole pointed his finger first at me, then Fab. “The only reason you’re still standing here and not back in the SUV is that I know damn well that, once out of sight, you’d double back around.”

  I made a key-locking gesture in front of my lips.

  “If only…” He cleared his throat. “This job hasn’t been sanctioned by the boss, so we have to make sure there’s no unnecessary carnage.”

  Help spoke up, “Didier’s car is in the garage, along with three others. He’s inside the house, tied to a dining room chair, a maid, judging by the uniform, pacing around the room. Balcazar is with an unidentified gun-toting woman, and she appears to be calling at least some of the shots.”

  “Balcazar armed?” Creole asked.

  “Balcazar’s armed but doesn’t appear to have the stomach for what’s going down. He’s up and down, nervous and jumpy; cracking under the stress, perhaps. The maid tried to get a call out, but the woman caught her, tossed her phone on the floor, and riddled it with bullets.” Help flashed a frigid smile.

  Creole’s phone buzzed. He withdrew it from his pocket and read the screen. “The boss says we’re on our own. We better have the goods; Balcazar’s got well-placed friends.” He turned to me. “Can I trust you to stay here until we get back?”

  Help laughed in a gravelly tone. It sounded as though he didn’t do it often. “Have Fab ring the bell, ask some asinine question, and create a diversion while we go over the wall. Oh, and girlie,” he directed the remark towards me. “Don’t step outside this park.”

  “Fab can’t! Balcazar sent some low-life to kidnap them. Too bad for Les Nado that Fab caught up to him first. Balcazar’s waiting for the delivery of these two, and Nado’s trussed up, waiting for us to give him a ride into Miami,” Creole related. “I told Spoon to get as much detail out of him as he could without leaving marks.”

  “Fab doesn’t do asinine. I’ll do it,” I said.

  “Absolutely not. You might get shot on sight when they realize you’re free.” Creole tightened his hold.

  “I need to breathe.” I squirmed. “You forget I’m an excellent shot, almost as good as you, and I never leave home without my Glock. Not anymore, anyway.” I lifted my top to show my holster.

  “You’re not going to be bait,” Creole growled.

  “Boss.” Help motioned to Creole.

  “You two stay right here. Move and I’ll tie you both to the same tree,” Creole threatened.

  “Okay,” I muttered, hanging my head.

  Fab moved to my side and patted my back.

  “You made her cry?” Help sounded shocked.

  “No I didn’t.” Creole snorted. “She’s laughing at me. Laugh now, sweetheart,” he said into my ear, “there’s always later.”

  “You make having a girlfriend look fun, Boss.”

  Creole and Help conferred off to one side, both watching us to make sure we didn’t disappear.

  I grabbed Fab’s hand and squeezed, making sure I had a good grip. “Don’t you think you should hear their plan before running off? This situation is bad enough; I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

  She jerked out of my hold. “I’m out of patience,” she said, then announced, “I gotta pee; I’m using that bush over there.” She pointed to a row of hedges.

  Before I could recover from the thought of Fab squatting in the bushes of a ritzy neighborhood, she was halfway there.

  “Get back here,” Creole yelled to her retreating back.

  “She’ll be right back; she’s using the bush for a bathroom,” I said.

  Help chuckled. “I love a woman who’s resourceful.”

  “Damn her.” Creole pointed after Fab, who was running across the street, already disappearing from view down the side of the house.

  “I’m on it.” Help took off in a sprint.

  “Are you going to do exactly what I tell you?” Creole squashed me to his chest. “No ad libbing?” He looked down into my face. “I don’t trust you enough to leave
you behind. No telling where you’ll show up.”

  His lack of trust burned my heart. If I thought about it too much, I might cry. I focused on his instructions, repeating them a couple of times when he asked me to.

  Chapter 45

  Once the text “Now” popped up from Creole, I knew Help had located Fab and they were in place and ready to go. I edged the Hummer up to the gates, noting the video surveillance sign. I was to be the decoy at the gate, but once they opened, I wasn’t to set one foot on the property.

  The silence that followed after ringing the bell was nerve-racking. It was impossible to know if the button even worked. “This isn’t the time for manners,” I said to myself. I pushed it several more times. If it did work, the incessant ringing would be hard to ignore. Someone would answer, if out of nothing more than curiosity.

  Finally, a woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “How can I help you?”

  Instead of answering, I rang the bell again; hopefully, she’d think she couldn’t be heard. An older woman peered out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the massive front door. I guessed her to be the maid. The gates rolled open, and she opened the door, shaking her head, making a shooing motion with the back of her hand.

  “Is Balcazar home?” I got out, and yelled, standing on the front driver’s side of the car.

  He appeared in the doorway, disheveled like he’d been on a drug bender, his clothes wrinkled and looking slept-in. He danced down the wrap-around steps in my direction, a gun appearing from behind his back, and motioned me forward with the hand that held it.

  I threw myself to the ground, rolled, and came back up with my Glock in hand.

  Balcazar suddenly lost interest in me, his attention drawn to the side of the property where I’d last seen Creole. He leveled his gun with two hands, finger on the trigger, steady for a second, but then the muzzle of the gun began to wave erratically, as if he was trying to follow a moving target.

  I shot first. Balcazar whirled and returned fire, his shot going wild, shattering a flowerpot. The gun clattered to the ground along with him. He held his right shoulder, rolling back and forth and screaming, “I’m dying!”

  Everything happened at once. Two more shots rang out from inside the house, and an assortment of dark sedans pulled around the corner, lights flashing.

  I gauged my chances of being able to sneak into the house, wrestling momentarily between wanting to help, wanting to keep my promise to Creole, and the clincher, not wanting to take a bullet from law enforcement. I slowly walked to the back of the SUV, Glock in one hand, bent down, and laid it on the ground. I stood back up, palms out shoulder-high, thinking that now wasn’t the time to make any sudden moves and happy that I hadn’t done anything stupid.

  The first uniformed cop was out of his car, gun drawn, yelling, "Hands on your head! Step away from the gun!"

  My hands shot up while I wished I could text Creole to get his butt out here to vouch for me and assure them I wasn’t some hardened criminal.

  "On the ground," he barked, coming up the driveway.

  "Can't we do this while I'm standing?" I whined, holding my breath at the sight of his finger on the trigger and the fierce look on his face. "I have a carry permit in the Hummer.”

  He spun me around, pushing against my back. My head hit the SUV with a thud.

  "Ohhh," I gasped as my arms were jerked back and the metal cuffs clamped around my wrists and closed tight. "That was my head, damn you."

  He pushed me into a sitting position on the grass. "Don't move,” he warned, and took a position to the left of me, turning away.

  Two ambulances rounded the corner followed by a fire truck and another, unmarked red truck. I had a good seat. From my vantage point, I could watch everything happening in the driveway. One of those ambulances would be for Balcazar, but the other one?

  I tipped precariously to one side and barely caught myself, visions of grass bugs crawling on my face freaking me out. I was certain I wouldn’t be able to right myself without the use of my hands.

  Next to arrive was a line of police vehicles. The officers hustled out of their cars and scattered in different directions, several disappearing up the driveway and inside the house. One uniformed officer caught my eye and an icy chill ran up my spine. What was Officer Watters doing here?”

  It wasn’t lost on me that he’d showed up several times these last couple of weeks. I made eye contact with him, and he had the gall to wave.

  The last sedan to arrive had deeply tinted windows and edged past the other parked cars, managing to finagle a prime spot. The newest arrival took their sweet time in making an appearance. A ridiculously wide smile broke out on my face when, at last, the door opened and out stepped Creole's boss—Chief Harder. He’d been working out lately, more than his customary game of golf. Gone was his usual rumpled look, and he’d traded in his mom jeans for a pair of Levis.

  "Chief!" I yelled, bobbing my head, frustrated I couldn't wave my arms. "Over here!"

  The cop guarding me stared down at me.

  Chief Harder cut across the grass. "You going to need bail money again?" His mouth twitched.

  "You're not funny. And this officer was mean to me.” I fidgeted in his direction. "My head hurts."

  Harder hadn't actually had to pony up cash in the past, but he did once rescue me from the weeds and drove me back to civilization after a misunderstanding with a sheriff’s deputy out in the boonies.

  "He took my Glock. When you’re done with your investigation, I'd like it back. It was a gift from my brother."

  Harder inclined his head toward the cop guarding me. "Uncuff her. She’s a pain but not a criminal.” He narrowed his eyes, and added, “Not yet."

  The officer had watched our exchange with his eyebrows permanently arched up, but didn't say anything. He just silently removed the cuffs.

  "Chief, sir, I...uh..." I stammered, squeezing my eyes shut, "shot Balcazar."

  “I've heard he's going to live." He looked disappointed.

  "Fab? Didier? They okay?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Yes, your pain-in-the-ass friend is going to be around to torment me in the future."

  I felt weak as the adrenaline rush left my body. "You know she likes you a little better now."

  Harder laughed. "Don't you dare cry on me, or I'll make sure that boyfriend of yours never gets a day off," he said gruffly and patted my shoulder.

  We shared the same lack of enthusiasm for touchy-feely stuff.

  “Don’t go anywhere.” He shook his finger. “Make yourself comfortable. This is going to take a while, and an officer will need to get your statement before you can leave. Your friend will be out as soon as they're done with her."

  Officer Watters came up from behind the chief and stood next to him, listening to the exchange. The fierce way he studied me made me uncomfortable.

  "Can I sit in the back of my car?” I pointed to where it had been moved into the street. “I’ll keep the back open and stay in plain sight.”

  Harder nodded, then turned away. “She’s all yours.”

  A bolt of fear shot through me, thinking he meant that Watters would question me. I breathed a big sigh of relief when I realized he was talking to yet another detective who’d just showed up.

  "We’ve met before." I grimaced in recognition. "You rousted one of my drunk tenants, making him pee himself, and he hid inside his cottage for a week.” He’d had a partner with him then, and I’d named the duo good cop/bad cop. Maybe his interrogation technique would remind me which one he was.

  He smirked. "We'll sit in your vehicle, in case you feel the need to follow your tenant’s unfortunate example."

  He followed me to the car and waited while I opened the back. Before he could begin the questioning, however, his phone rang. He took a few steps away and answered it. I quickly walked to the front of the car and retrieved my phone from the console, returning to the back and texting Mother that everyone was unhurt.

  I knew s
he was mad, because she didn't bother to text back. Spoon called instead, wanting to know if I was okay. I told him it would be a while and I’d text when we were on the way home.

  The officer sauntered over and sat next to me. "Start at the beginning; don't leave anything out. I'll decide what’s important."

  Chapter 46

  A paramedic wheeled Balcazar, strapped to a gurney, to the back of the ambulance. The woman who’d peered out the window followed, yelling, “I’ve worked for you all these years, and you treat me like this!” She hocked spit down the front of him. “Pendejo!” she screamed. An older officer grabbed her by the arm, turning her away. She exchanged words with him before calming down.

  The ambulance left, with no flashing lights or blaring sirens. I took that to mean that Harder had been right and Balcazar wasn't in danger of dying.

  Another gurney followed, flanked by two paramedics. Their attention was on the dark-haired woman strapped down on it and not moving, unlike Balcazar, who’d shouted a few obscenities. They loaded her in the back of the remaining ambulance and sped off, this time with sirens.

  My bottom ached from sitting on the back ledge of the Hummer, and I was bored with sitting. The only exciting action had just pulled off down the street. I entertained thoughts of how to sneak past the two bookends on guard at the gate and get answers to the hundred or so questions on the growing list in my mind. But after being somewhat well-behaved, I’d be in so much trouble if Creole had to pick me up at the jail.

  There he is again, I thought. Watters had joined the guards at the entrance, his arms crossed in an intimidating stance as he stared me down.

  A shadow appeared in my peripheral vision, and I squealed.

  "The investigation is winding down," Help informed me and held up his hand when I tried to talk. “Don’t ask. You’ll have to get your answers from Creole.”

  “Just one.” I held up my index finger. “Who was the woman?”

  “Tina Balcazar. Heir to a billion-dollar fortune and headed to jail if she survives. At least she’ll have spending money.”

  Damn! I wished I’d gotten a better look. I’d seen society photos, but that didn’t compare to up close and personal.