She reached up and smacked him hard across the cheek. His first reaction was shock, but then as that faded, the anger returned.
“Why, you fookin’ whore,” he said and raised the pistol up to point out the window, “ah’m gonna murdah ya ass. How ‘bout that?”
The gun squirmed in his grip. His right hand was missing the very digits that he needed to operate the gun as Man’ti had ripped them off when he grabbed it from his hand before. His ring finger was on the trigger, and he squeezed. The gun did not fire. In fact, like a bar of soap, it popped up out of his hand and clattered to the ground at Daisy Mae’s feet.
“Shit!” Darren screamed. “Gimme that fookin’ gun!”
Daisy Mae leaned down and picked up the pistol. She held it in her right hand and worked her finger into place on the trigger.
“Ah’m gon’ give it to ya, a’raight.”
Darren froze. His eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. He reached down with his left hand and started working the window’s handle furiously. The glass slid up an inch.
Daisy Mae Gallup raised the pistol and pointed it at his head.
“Gimme ‘at check,” she said, her eyes flicking toward the passenger’s seat, “I seen you had it.”
Darren continued to work the window. It raised another inch. Fookin’ manual windows! “Ah’m not givin’ you shit, wench,” he growled.
She glared at him. The baby wailed again, and she looked down at him.
“It’s okay, baby T.C.,” she cooed.
The angry red haze filled Darren’s eyes again. She’d called him baby T.C., not baby Darren. He was furious. He jerked the Jeep into reverse, backing up twenty feet. He saw the girl and the baby standing in front of him and turned the wheel toward them.
“Eat mah bumpa, bitch!” he yelled, and slammed his left foot down on the accelerator.
37
I’m Your Ice Cream Man
Troy Clint Bodean and Ellie Mae Gallup were standing in the doorway to the Balls beach store when they heard a high-pitched voice yell something about a bumper. Ellie Mae had just slapped the crap out of Troy before she realized that he wasn’t a random dude rushing her at the door and trying to steal her stuff. She’d apologized and gathered up her shopping bounty when the shouting began.
From the back of the store, Karah ran toward them. She was wrapped in a towel she’d apparently grabbed from the store. It said, Dry Your Balls, and had a picture of the store’s garish logo on it.
“Called the cops,” she said, rushing toward Troy. “On the way.”
They turned in unison to see a red Jeep squeal toward Daisy Mae Gallup and her baby in a haze of burned tire rubber smoke.
“No!!!” screamed Ellie Mae as she started running toward the scene.
Unfortunately, Ellie Mae’s arms were now holding a flamingo shaped pool float, a folding beach chair that read: it’s five o’clock somewhere, two complete sets of snorkel gear, a collection of black and red shot glasses on a tic-tac-toe style tray, and two pairs of sunglasses.
The scene flickered in front of Troy. It was strange to see. It went from being the beach store parking lot to Afghanistan ... and back again. One second it was Daisy Mae Gallup and the baby, the next it was Harry Nedman. In both scenes, Troy was about to watch someone die.
Too far away ... he was too far away and Harry’s bottom half had been blown off by an I.E.D. just lying in the road. He’d tried desperately to drag him back to the chopper and get his friend to the hospital. No such luck, he was dead before Troy had gotten to him. He’d wanted to shoot somebody, to avenge Harry, but there wasn’t anyone to shoot ... just the charred, black starburst on the ground where the bomb had gone off.
The scene flickered. Daisy Mae was paralyzed like a deer in the angry red Jeep’s headlights. The scenario was the same; Troy was too far away to help. Everything slowed down. He ran toward them, yelling and waving his arms, but she didn’t seem to notice. The Jeep leaped forward. The baby screamed.
From behind him, Ellie Mae yelled at her. “Daisy Mae, git on outta thar! We gotta git ‘at baby home!”
Daisy Mae’s head snapped toward her sister and then back toward the Jeep. She had woken up. The Jeep was too close.
Troy’s foot thunked against something laying in the parking lot. He looked down. A small .38 caliber revolver with dark smudges all over it lay at his feet. Without thinking, he crouched down on one knee, grabbed the pistol, and raised it up to aim at the Jeep. He rolled his head around once to crack the tight joints in his neck.
He was never sure after that if he’d said it out loud, or in his mind, or if his imagination had just added it to the scene later.
“Check out time, Darren,” Troy said as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced the front driver’s side tire and it blew out immediately. The brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited jerked hard to the left and veered safely past Daisy Mae and her baby, narrowly missing them. The out of control Jeep jumped the parking lot curb and raced across the street perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Unbelievably, no other car happened to be in its path at that exact moment.
Troy could see Darren’s shocked face turn to stare back at him. His mouth was open and he was screaming something that he guessed was very angry.
Troy raised the pistol again and pulled the trigger. It clicked. He pulled it again. Click. He’d only had one shot left. Dangit.
He dropped the pistol and ran toward the fleeing Jeep. He wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed like the thing to do. As he ran, he looked out in front of the Jeep. It was headed straight into the next parking lot, a hardware and convenience store simply called, The Hardware Store. Troy stopped short.
Directly in the path of the runaway Jeep was a bank of gas pumps. There was only one vehicle sitting at the pumps, a beautiful, fully restored, nineteen-fifties, Merry Mobile ice cream truck. Oh God ... it’s Willie.
He’d said something about his truck being wrecked and that he had a new one coming up from the Keys to replace it temporarily. And now it sat directly in the path of certain destruction.
It was only thirty feet away and Troy had no time and no way to stop the inevitable. Harry Nedman flashed into his mind again. Someone was about to die. Troy ran. He couldn’t stop it, but he would be there to drag someone away from the carnage.
There must’ve been a spark from the metal grinding against metal when the Jeep smashed t-bone style into the beautiful ice cream truck, because it went up like a small nuclear bomb going off. The fireball stopped Troy in his tracks, and the heat singed his beard. He skidded to a stop as the blaze raged higher. People began running out of The Hardware Store with their hands shielding their faces. No one seemed to be hurt, thank God. Troy watched the fire completely engulf the two vehicles and took a deep breath. He’d let Harry down all those years ago and now he’d let Willie down.
A crowd of people was beginning to gather a safe distance away from the fire. Karah, Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae all rushed over from the store. Ellie Mae had the baby in her arms. Karah nuzzled up to Troy and wrapped her arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Yeah,” she said, and smiled a little, but he could see the shock of all that had happened lingering in her eyes.
She’d be okay, but it would take a while.
He looked over at the Gallup girls and their baby. He was a cute little thing and had finally fallen asleep.
“How ‘bout y’all?” he asked them.
“Doin’ fine,” Ellie Mae nodded. “Thank’ee, Troy. Ya saved ma sister’s life ... and the baiby ... ” Her voice choked.
“We cain’t never repay you,” Daisy Mae added.
He returned the nod and touched the brim of his Outback tea stained straw cowboy hat. “No need.”
The attendant from the store was nearby and Troy overheard him say that he’d pushed the emergency stop button and that the remaining ga
s in the pump would burn off soon.
Troy saw a man come trotting around the building, zipping up his pants and carrying a key attached to a tire iron. A black man, wearing a supremely white, freshly starched jumpsuit and a sailor’s cap that looked like the one the skipper had worn on Gilligan’s Island. The cap had a picture of an ice cream cone and an orange creamsicle on the front. The man had a patch over one eye that had been painted to look like the eye of a clown. Troy laughed the laugh of supreme relief when he heard Willie’s voice.
“Ya got ta be gall-dang kiddin’ me!” he said, still fussing with his zipper, “three times? Dat ain’t right!”
He dropped the key with its steal-proof tire iron and jogged toward the crowd.
“Ken you believe dat, Mista Troy?” he asked.
“Beats all I ever saw, Willie,” Troy said, and slapped the man on the back.
“I’m gettin’ da hail outta Pawleys, I tell ya dat right now,” the one-eyed man said, then shook his head.
“I hear ya.” Troy took in a deep breath. “Might be time for me to move on too.”
And that’s when the swarm of police cars finally arrived.
“Not once in this whole, dang mess have they showed up on time.” Troy raised his hands, palms to the sky. “Dangit, y’all need to work on your response time!”
38
I’ll Take It
Chesney Richard Biggins watched as the black ‘89 Lincoln Towncar eased into the parking lot in front of the Balls beach store. He inhaled deeply as Winchester Boonesborough rolled his window down. In typical fashion, he refused to get out of his car. He motioned Chesney toward the car with an impatient wave. Nodding toward his friend from the F.B.I., John Dodd Welford, Chesney hooked his thumbs in his belt and walked toward the car.
“Really screwed the pooch on this one, didn’t we, Deputy Biggins?” Winchester said, his meaty jowls bouncing up and down. “You can damn well bet there’ll be hell to pay for this!”
Chesney sucked his breath through his teeth. With deliberate slowness, he pulled his badge off his shirt. He laid it on the hood of the Towncar.
“What’s this?” Winchester was dumbfounded.
Chesney ignored him. He slid his police issue pistol from its holster and laid it next to the badge. “I quit,” he said to the puffing District Attorney.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said the fat man, making like he was going to get out of his car.
“Mr. Boonesborough,” a voice interrupted him, “we’ll take this from here.”
John walked up to the car and placed a hand on the door as if to block it from being opened.
“And just who the hell do you think—”
John flashed a badge and I.D. card from his back pocket. “John Dodd Welford, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Winchester huffed. “But this is in my jurisdiction!”
“Not since it became a conspiracy to commit fraud and homicide,” John said, winking at him. “It’s ours now. Why don’t you just go on home now?”
Winchester glared at him. John picked up the badge and the gun from the hood and handed them to him.
“Looks like you’ve got some H.R. problems to attend to anyway,” he said.
Without taking them from him, Winchester Boonesborough pursed his lips and pushed the button to roll up his electric window. It moved up comically slow and the three of them just stared at each other in the slow buzz of it rising. The car eased out of the lot, then bumped onto the highway and disappeared down the road.
John shrugged, handing the items back to Chesney. “Guess he isn’t accepting your resignation.”
“I’ll have to file it officially back at the station, anyway.”
“What will you do now?” John asked. “I can put in a good word with the bureau if you want.”
Chesney shook his head. “No thanks. It’s time for a change, just not sure what it is yet.”
As if on cue, a maroon Bentley pulled into the lot. Laura jumped out of the back seat as soon as it came to rest and ran toward them. Seeing her, Karah let go of Troy and ran toward her too. They broke into sobs, hugging each other tightly. An older couple stepped out of the car. The man was pale and his eyes were wide. The woman had warm, auburn hair that reminded Troy of Karah’s. Ahhh, mom and dad.
The woman broke into tears as she ran toward Karah. Karah released her hug on Laura and wrapped her arms around her mother.
“My baby!” she cried.
They held each other for a long while.
Not far away and standing near Troy, Laura was watching the fire crew controlling the dwindling blaze coming from the gas pumps.
“What happened?” she asked Troy.
He relayed the crazy story in short form, leaving out a few details. Chesney walked up to them and stretched out a hand to Troy.
“Glad to see you’re okay, Troy,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks, partner,” Troy said.
Chesney pointed to his hat. “You get rid of that check?”
Troy inclined his head toward the smoldering mess in front of The Hardware Store. “In a blaze of glory.”
“Glad to see the hat survived though.”
“Sure enough.” Troy pulled the hat off his head and held it out toward Laura. “I guess it belongs to you now.”
Laura smiled. “No, Troy. You’ve made it yours. And I think Rick would be proud of the man who’s taken over the hat.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. “What would I do with it, anyway?”
“Well, dang,” he said looking down at it, “that’s about the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. If you’re really sure, I’ll take it.”
“Totally sure,” she said, and smiled wide.
He put the hat back on its rightful place on his head. Karah’s father moved up to the group and extended his hand.
“I hear that I owe you for saving my baby girl’s life?” he said, shaking Troy’s hand. “I’m Roger Campobello, and I am very grateful to you, sir.”
Troy felt a little shame edge onto his face ... seeing as how he had been considering dating this man’s daughter. He realized that he was almost the same age as Mr. Campobello. He looked over to where Karah was standing, embraced in her mother’s arms. She looked like a little girl. Troy knew the relationship that had started to blossom between them was at an end.
“Listen,” Mr. Campobello addressed the group, “Karah is starving. We’re going to get her cleaned up and get something to eat. Why don’t you all come along?”
Troy looked at Laura and Chesney. “Ummmm ... ”
Laura nudged him. “Sure thing, Uncle Roger. I know the perfect place.”
Jumping into Troy’s awkward silence, Chesney slapped him on the back of his shoulder and smiled. “Why don’t you ride with me?”
“Perfect,” Troy said, sighing with relief.
“You ride with us, Laura.” Mr. Campobello put his arm around her shoulder. “Where shall we go?”
“Lee’s Inlet Kitchen, of course,” she said, beaming.
“I know the way,” Chesney said.
39
Sweet Sorrow
Laura Kate Starlington and Chesney Richard Biggins sat in a booth alone at Lee’s Inlet Kitchen. The group had split up, since the booths only held four people, so Laura had deferred to letting Karah sit with her parents and, awkwardly, Troy.
The whole story had come full circle. This was where they had met and where Laura had found out her stepfather, Rick Hairre, had been murdered in some kind of conspiracy or blackmail plot. Chesney had said that his friend at the F.B.I. was in on the investigation and that the whole mess with some corporate paper mill was going in front of the grand jury or something like that. He assured her that they were most likely out of business, and that someone would probably go to jail for the whole thing. Rick’s killers were all dead, so at least that gave her some sense of closure on it all.
“So ... ” Chesney swirled a salty fry around in the ketchup on his plate, “what’s next for you?”
Laura thought about this for a minute. She opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. Finally, she said, “I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I’ll go back to work on Monday.”
“Work?” Chesney asked, stuffing the fry in his mouth. “Why would you do that?”
She crinkled her nose. “Um, because that’s what people do. They work.”
He took a sip of his Coca-Cola. “Not me, actually. I’m pretty sure I just resigned.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow,” she said, “bold move. So, I guess I should be the one asking what’s next for you.”
“Yeah, I guess I hadn’t really thought about it either.”
A long moment of silence passed between them, the only sounds the clinking of glasses and plates and the muted conversation going on between the Campobellos and Troy.
“You know what I really should do,” Laura suddenly said, “I should use the money to start a foundation. I think it’s pretty clear that the environment gets a pretty crappy shake around here.”
“Mmhmm,” Chesney said between bites, “would be a nice legacy for Rick. It looks like that’s what he was going to do with the check ... the big check, anyway.”
She thought about it for a second. “Hey, won’t the F.B.I. be able to trace the second deposit back to me?”
“I doubt it,” —Chesney glanced sideways for a second— “I deleted that file from the zip drive and scrubbed it with a cleaner file from the internet.”
“Oh,” Laura said, not really understanding what that meant.
“And I’m guessing that someone at the Consolidated Paper Mill is working hard in the shredding room and burying any digital evidence of all those transactions too.”
Laura sniffed and wiped her mouth. “So, why don’t you help me out?” she asked.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 28