Tampa Star (Blackfox Chronicles Book 1)

by T. S. O'Neil

  Shit, how was he supposed to impress a potential witness with the gravitas he represented when he showed up at their door driving a Ford Fiesta? From what Mavis told him, Carla was even better looking than she was. Eddie stared at his mug in the rearview mirror and decided he would shave closely tomorrow morning and put on his best suit.

  Chapter 28 - Carrollton

  Eddie remembered Carrollton from his time at Fort McClellan—the former home of the Army’s Military Police School and the Criminal Investigator’s Course, which marked Eddie’s entrance into the field. Carrollton was about the last chance to get a drink on Sunday if you were headed back to the base after a weekend pass taken in Hot-lanta.

  For some reason there were a lot of strip clubs in Carrollton and back in the day, Eddie usually ended up hitting one or two on the way back to the fort. Eddie liked his Bourbon—Maker’s Mark on payday and special occasions and Jack Daniels at all other times. Must have been loose zoning laws in this part of Georgia, but whatever the case, it normally made the trip back to the base a little less miserable, as all of Alabama was dry on Sunday.

  So, Carrollton brought back a sense of nostalgia and Eddie though he might even stop by one of his old watering holes to see if there were any sweet young things disrobing to throbbing music. He was an old dog, but even an old dog occasionally gets a bone.

  He found Carla’s house easy enough, on first glance it looked like a smaller version of Tara, a white plantation style house, complete with Greek pillars, set back from the main road on about an acre of land.

  He never asked Mavis how much she had paid for the mobile home park, but he assumed it wasn’t enough money to purchase this house—outright at least.

  Eddie stopped at the gate, lowered the window of his white Ford Fiesta, touched the intercom button and waited for a response. The gate opened without comment from the intercom and Eddie proceeded up the long winding driveway and parked in front of a brick four car garage.

  A maid led him into a large living room paneled in dark wood, probably cherry. The furnishings consisted of a large sofa and two classic button-tufted arm chairs—all of a deep rich caramel brown leather. At one end of the room stood a stone fireplace and what appeared to be a white bear skin rug lying in front of the hearth and an elk head hanging over the mantle. Off to the side stood an ornately carved mahogany wet bar topped with a row of elegantly designed cut crystal bottles filled with variously colored liquids. Definitely a man’s room, thought Eddie as he took a seat at one end of the sofa.

  Carla entered a short time later—she truly was as striking a beauty as Mavis had described, even after all this time. She was dressed in a tight black skirt and sheer white blouse that left little to Eddie’s imagination. Tall and voluptuous, even in her mid-fifties, the top didn’t just showcase her breasts as much as offer them up for inspection. The years had been kind to Carla, either that or she had a hell of a plastic surgeon.

  “Ah, yes the room! She said as if reading his mind. My husband was a real man’s man and felt that this room should reflect that.”

  “Well, it certainly does,” replied Eddie. “Detective Eddie Doyle, Pinellas County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Please have a seat, Detective. May I offer you a drink?” She asked while smiling through a set of perfectly aligned bright white teeth.

  “Sure,” he heard himself saying. There were lots of reasons to say no, departmental policy being foremost in his mind, but her statuesque beauty immediately caused him to be nervous and he needed something to steady his nerves—bourbon would serve that purpose. “Maker’s Mark, neat, if you have it—any whiskey if you don’t.”

  “Oh, we have it. Helena, two Marker’s Mark, one without ice, she ordered. I used to own a club in Atlanta—just sold it a few weeks ago in fact and brought most of the inventory home with me. Hence, I now have an extremely well stocked bar,” said Carla as she sat down very close to him on the couch.

  The maid appeared a short time later carrying a silver platter with two drinks in crystal tumblers and a bowl of smoked almonds and set them on the coffee table.

  They picked up their drinks and Carla clicked his glass, “to new friends.”

  “I suppose you’re wondering about all this?” She asked, indicating the luxuriously furnished home. “I married the earliest purveyor of strip clubs in Georgia. He was the original owner of the Pink Pony, maybe you heard of it?” Eddie nodded, having spent many a weekend pass stuffing dollars into G-strings, while stationed at Fort McClellan. He even got lucky a time or two there.

  “I arrived in Atlanta with no money and no friends, Ira Slotzman gave me a job and became a lover, a mentor and a friend,” she smiled sadly. He was forty-eight when we met and I started dancing for him at twenty four. I made a lot of money in tips in those days, but a dollar bought you a lot more,” she winked slightly. “He was a sweet man and he died about a year ago, leaving me a pretty substantial amount of money and a very lucrative strip club that I have since divested.”

  Eddie sipped his drink and figured he better begin driving the conversation otherwise he would be here all night, which admittedly appealed to him as Carla oozed sex appeal.

  “Mrs. Rodgers”

  “Slotzman,” she corrected, “but you can call me Carla.”

  “The reason I am here is to ask you a few questions about being on the Star of Tampa the night it sank.”

  She stopped smiling, “Yeah, Mavis called me and I don’t know anything about the sinking of that ship, I was in Atlanta stripping at the time.” If she was going to take this tack, it was going to be a fruitless journey. Eddie figured it might be advisable to adjust fire, as they say in the artillery. He stopped talking about the case and began talking to her.

  He surmised that her relative loquaciousness meant she was lonely and perhaps he could gain more trust by just being friendly. He changed the subject and began to tell her about himself, his time in the Army and the many times he had visited Atlanta, without detailing how many of the visits included a trip to the Pink Pony. They had another drink and by the time it was finished, Eddie had marshaled his liquid courage.

  “You know, I was just going to finish up here, grab a quick bite and then head back to the airport, but I would love to have some company. Know where we can get a good steak?” He asked.

  “Sure, Detective, There is a place just downtown called Blue, I’ve never been, but they tell me it’s nice.” She smiled at him, again.

  “Well, then Carla, how about you let me take you out for a bottle of wine and nice petit filet?”

  They took Carla’s black Cadillac Escalade down town. Eddie was truly smitten having the pleasure of the company of this statuesque blond haired beauty accompanying him. He continued to bury the cop questions for the evening and just did what he could to be charming—it wasn’t hard—Eddie knew every witty or romantic line from every movie he ever watched.

  He ordered a Georges Duboeuf MOULIN-À-VENT flower label as he liked- he had actually visited the winery while in France on his honeymoon a long time ago. They ordered Shrimp Cocktail as the waiter recommended and were pleasantly surprised with a half dozen large tiger shrimp—fresh from the gulf, served with a side of homemade cocktail sauce that smacked of newly ground horseradish.

  This was followed by a petit filet of beef for Carla and a Porterhouse for Eddie. They shared a slice of cheese cake accompanied by a nice tawny port and Carla invited him back for a brandy in front of a fire.

  If I didn’t know any better, I would think I was getting laid, he thought—this was confirmed when Carla stood in front of the fireplace, stripped out of her skirt and let it drop to the floor. The blouse was actually a body suit that snapped at the crotch and Eddie watched in fascination as she unsnapped it and pulled it over her head—revealing a body that would look appropriate on a taunt twenty five year old.

  “It’s more comfortable like this,” she said as she bent over to turn on the gas jet of the fireplace while revealing a beautifull
y shaped ass.

  Eddie took her in his arms and her hands immediately went to his belt which she unbuckled with a frantic, but expert motion. His trousers fell to his knees and he felt her grab his cock with a firm and practiced motion and mounted it by guiding his cock into her hot wetness. After a few moments, he gently guided her to the rug and continued thrusting deep inside her tight pussy. Damn, it had been a long time, he thought.

  They made love twice more before morning. He awoke in front of the simmering fire and she was gone. He heard noise coming from the back of the house and found her in a huge kitchen where she was busily engaged in cooking what appeared to be an omelet.

  “Coffee?” She asked.

  He nodded and she pointed to a mug that sat next to a Kuerig coffee maker. He made coffee and sat at the table. They ate in silence. After finishing she looked at him and said, “I lied to you last night. I was on board the Star of Tampa the night it went down.”

  “So, why are you telling me now?”

  “Well, detective, Eddie, I guess you fucked the truth right out of me!” she said and they both laughed. “That was the plan all along, I bet,” she added as an afterthought.

  She detailed the story of the robbery, her escape and rescue by the Zip who had killed her fiancé, Simon Block.

  “His name was Giuseppe. I never learned his last name. He raped me when the sun went down—when I was too tired and sunburned to resist him.” That explained the panties, thought Eddie, but he said nothing.

  “We were picked up early the following morning by some Marijuanistas using a Mexican fishing boat to smuggle marijuana to some locals who picked up the load in the mangroves off of Tarpon Springs. They were heading back to Tampico after the delivery and they rescued us. Giuseppe could speak Spanish, he told them I was his wife and threatened he would kill anyone of them who touched me. There were six in the crew, including the Captain—a tough looking guy named Lopez with one eye. Giuseppe talked him into hiring him for the next run. I was brought along as a cook and sex slave.”

  Eddie suspected he knew what was coming next. The Mafiosi figured he would go into business for himself—steal the marijuana, sell it and either kill or abandon the crew.

  She looked at him as if reading his mind and nodded.

  “We were going to slip into Tarpon Springs under the cover of darkness, so the Captain slowed us down in order to arrive well after sunset. Giuseppe tried to hijack the boat when we were still at least about a mile from shore. He came at Lopez with a butcher knife he had gotten from the galley. All I heard were the sound of gunshots— so apparently they were expecting him to try something.

  After what I had already been through, I sure wasn’t going to let a bunch of Mexican Marijuanistas gang rape me. I decided that I would take my chances in the sea, as luck would have it the tide was going in and it sped me to shore. I bummed some spare change from some hippie on the beach, called Mavis and she came to get me. The rest you know.”

  “Maybe not,” replied Eddie. “How does Char Blackfox fit into all of this?”

  Carla heard the name she hadn’t heard in over thirty years and it caused a cold chill to run up her spine. “Damn that bastard! He was the one who led the robbery of the Star. Part of the reason I went into hiding was that I was the only survivor who knew that he, his buddy, Tommy and a couple other scumbags pulled off the robbery—apparently with help from some mobbed up people in Tampa.”

  “Would you testify to that in a court of law?” Eddie asked.

  “After all this time, can you even prosecute him?” Eddie was waiting for this question. He explained the concept of a felony murder and how it applied to the killing of Simon Block during the commission of a robbery.

  “What happened to the gold and money?” Carla asked.

  “Nobody knows. The theory is that one of the robbers hid it somewhere near where their boat went aground during the storm.”

  “That would make sense. Otherwise, it might be a misdemeanor murder.” Eddie looked at her quizzically and she replied. “Simon was a wheeler dealer, but he wasn’t as rich as he would have you believe. Refurbishing the Star took nearly every cent he had. Up until just a few days before the first sailing of the Star, he was scrambling to try and fill that jackpot with real gold.”

  Given the sudden revelation, Eddie decided he would bring her to complete an affidavit and they would seek an arrest warrant for everyone he knew to be involved in the felony murder of Simon Block. Eddie knew it was going to be a stretch getting a judge to sign off on the charges, but at the very least, he figured he could get a grand jury to convene, once they apprehended the assorted scumbags.

  Eddie had gotten what he had come for and a whole lot more. He watched her clear the table dressed only in her body sock and an apron. It was Saturday and he had missed his flight, but that was not a problem, there would be another one tomorrow afternoon for them both. For right now, Eddie was going to live a little—he thought as he slipped up behind her, reached down and unsnapped the crotch of her body suit.

  Chapter 29 - The Tell

  Michael awoke while it was still dark following Jimmy’s rescue from the auto body shop. He slipped out the door and drove around Clearwater until he found what he was looking for right on Route 19—a large RV lot with a long term storage area. He turned down a side street, checked the yard through the fence as he didn’t want to end up as a chew toy for the business end of a Rottweiler.

  Using a page from the Recon playbook, Michael opened the pick-up bed cover and retrieved a furniture pad mover’s normally used to guard fine furniture from damage, closed the lid and unceremoniously tossed the pad over the barbed wire that topped the lot’s security fence. He mounted the bumper, carefully stepped atop the fiberglass bed cover and vaulted over the fence—garnering not as much as a scrape and even managed to land on his feet. He looked around to ensure he wasn’t observed and then ran at a crouch to the RV he had spotted from the street. Michael quickly withdrew a screwdriver from his back pocket and removed the license plate.

  He arrived back at his RV Park just as the night was transitioning into dawn. He installed the new plate and tossed the old one in the bed of his pick-up for later disposal. While doing so, he noticed lights on in the kitchen of the RV, he smelled the unmistakable aroma of bacon frying and his stomach rumbled as if on command. Michael entered the cabin and found Char busily engaged in flipping pancakes and frying bacon.

  “Hungry?” He asked without looking up.

  “Yeah, is there any coffee?” Char pointed to his left where a Black & Decker SpaceMaker Coffeepot was mounted under the overhead cupboard.

  “Shit, these guys think of everything,” said Michael while reaching for the pot.

  Char decided to let Jimmy sleep in as he figured he needed the rest—he imagined being kidnapped and water boarded would tend to wear on someone. They had stayed up late drinking whiskey and smoking some cigars Char had found in the RV. Based on the quality of the box he found—Arturo Fuente Opus Xs—whoever owned the RV had expensive tastes. Char had some hard questions to ask and he was sure Jimmy would be ready to tell. The sooner they could move forward on this, the sooner they could split the gold and be done with it—Char figured he would rent a little casita on the beach in Punta Del Este, Uruguay, find himself a nice Senorita and see if he ever got bored banging a twenty-year old.

  Michael poured himself a cup of black coffee—he had grown used to drinking it with cream and sugar as it provided extra energy that he found necessary when it might be the only thing to get him to lunch—such were the rigors of urban combat, but he was trying to wean himself off that habit.

  “Hey, does this thing have a TV?” Char smiled and pointed to a rectangular panel mounted on the ceiling between the driver and passenger cabin chairs. On the front of the panel was a square button about two inches across. Char pointed his spatula at the button and told Michael to push it. Michael did as instructed, the front of the panel popped open and a thirty-seven inch flat
screen television slowly descended into place. The remote slid out from a compartment in the housing. Michael switched it on and took a seat at the dinette, switching channels until he found the local news—Channel Seven out of Tampa. He would have passed right by the channel but stopped when he recognized the outside of the warehouse where they had rescued Jimmy. The banner line at the bottom of the screen read; Bodies recovered from the site of a gruesome double homicide. A picture of the Jimmy’s former attorney flashed on the screen followed by a picture of Jimmy in orange prison jumpsuit.

  “We better wake him up,” said Michael.

  They all sat in the kitchen/dining area of the motor coach and watched the drama play out on the news. The reporter interviewed a detective named Ryerson, who gave the standard cop verbiage that they are conducting an investigation that may result in seeking arrest warrants for several people, including the fugitive and others they believe were involved in the death of the victims.

  “Victims my ass,” said Jimmy. Mike checked the other channels to see if there was any additional information to be learned about the investigation—there wasn’t.

  The Sheriff’s Department detective, Ryerson was being especially closed mouthed, even for a cop.

  They watched the news until the report was finished and was followed by a weather alert for the Tampa Bay area due to a large low pressure system forming in the gulf.

  They ate in silence. The news that there might soon be arrest warrants issued for them caused Char and Michael to lose their appetite, but Jimmy finished what they didn’t.

  He ate six pancakes and half pound of bacon, washing it down with several cups of coffee explaining—“We might as well eat while we can. There is a lot of work to do and no one knows when we’ll get another chance.”