He was stout, like an ex-football player, and deeply tanned, his salt and pepper hair brushed back on his slightly receded forehead, and with his blue eyes… blue eyes that glinted in the sunlight, it made for great TV.
He stepped forward and took a very slight bow, and then jumped back into the line of people in white coats and scrubs.
She began to speak again, but Fox Witzer broke in with a dossier of Brant Reginald. He documented his time at the Heavenly Father’s Holy Sanctuary Church of Fairhope, a wildly popular television church, with a huge following in Alabama and online. He laid out the details of Brant’s fall from grace and his resignation from the church, adding that the man had disappeared, not only from the congregation, but apparently, from the state of Alabama altogether. The screen showed a video clip of the man with his hand on a young wheelchair-bound girl’s forehead with his eyes closed, seemingly in prayer. This was followed by her leaping out of the chair, healed of her ailment. The screen flicked back to Fox Witzer, who was clearly dubious of the video, and he began to detail the many lawsuits that began to pop up after the case of Aliah Ranchero…
Fox Witzer stopped mid-sentence. He hadn’t seen this coming. There was some sort of bizarre connection here, but he didn’t know what it was. He drew his finger across his neck in a quick slice to signal his producers to cut his mic. They must not have received the message, because he remained live.
“Let’s listen in again as Jackie continues her amazing story,” he said quickly, and walked briskly off camera.
The video feed of Jackie Ranchero-Doral appeared full screen again. She was taking questions from the reporters.
“Who were you boating with that day?” a reporter called.
And that’s when it hit him. The big one. The pain stabbed Gil Dickerson so hard in the chest that he was thrown from his chair. He clutched his heart as the interns and staff around him all raced to his side.
He watched through the fog of his vision going black as they all ran around trying to figure out what was happening. Gil knew. He was dying. His heart had just exploded. Perhaps it was better this way. Jackie Ranchero-Doral was about to nail him, and he would likely go to jail until he died. He didn’t want that. And this way Sandy could hate him after he was gone and he wouldn’t have to be there to deal with that. He could barely hear the television as the hole around his vision began closing tighter and tighter and tighter until he couldn’t see anything. The pain in his chest was unbearable and he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs. This was it… the end.
And then he heard Jackie answer the question.
“I’m not sure,” she said, “maybe just me? I’m sorry, I still don’t have any recollection of that day.”
She didn’t know. She had no idea that Gil had tried to kill her that day. He heard a doctor confirm that it was unlikely she would ever regain her memory of that day. It was gone. Sunk, all the way to the bottom of Lake Okeechobee.
Gil Dickerson smiled. At least Sandy wouldn’t hate him after he was gone.
He closed his eyes and slipped away.
27
Broken Promises
Remington Hoyt Reginald could not believe what he was seeing unfold on the televisions in the Dave’s Isle Sports Bar and Grill. His whole world was falling apart right on live TV for all to see. In a shocking turn of events, the heretofore dead intern, Jackie Ranchero-Doral, who had been having an adulterous relationship with Governor (then Senator) Gil Dickerson, whose apparent beating and murder at the hands of the Governor he was using as blackmail against the man to attain a powerful political appointment in his cabinet, was standing at the podium in front of the Raulerson Hospital in Okeechobee. Whew.
And on top of that, a split-screen view of the Governor’s offices in Florida showed a menagerie of ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, and black, government SUV’s. Something was wrong with the Governor, but the news organizations weren’t reporting what exactly it was.
Remington had a friend in the office who’d said Dickerson was dead as a doornail after having a massive heart attack while watching the Ranchero press conference.
“Of course, he did,” Remington mumbled over his glass of iced tea.
“‘Scuse me?” asked the girl behind the bar.
“Oh, nothing,” Remington said and smiled. “Wonderful tea. Could I get a refill?”
She arched an eyebrow and filled his cup from a nearby pitcher. He took a sip and smiled broadly. When she walked away, he turned his attention back to the TVs and wondered what the hell to make of all this madness playing out on FNN.
He’d just been attacked by a hitman sent by someone named James Hardy to protect Gil Dickerson, but now Gil was (presumably) dead. On top of that, Jackie Ranchero-Doral—who was alive— did not remember the attack by the deceased Governor that had started all of this mess. So, now there was no crime, except for the assault of Mrs. Ranchero by Mr. Dickerson, but Mr. Dickerson was dead. Sure, there had been a cover-up by James Hardy… but he was covering up a murder that didn’t actually happen. His plans of blackmailing his way into office were officially kaput, over, gone.
“Dammit,” he hissed, and banged his fist on the bar.
“Hey, buddy,” the waitress called down to him, “settle down!”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, pointing to the TV, “it’s just that I really liked Governor Dickerson.”
“Yeah?” Her demeanor changed instantly. “I liked him too. I voted for him… twice.”
Remington raised his tea glass. “Here’s to Governor Dickerson, may he rest in peace.”
As he took a sip he looked back up at the screen. He immediately spewed tea all over the bar, and all over the girl.
“Holy hell!” she yelled. “What in the hell was that for?”
He never heard her shouting. He was staring at the screen. On the left side of the TV, the Jackie Ranchero-Doral press conference was being played back, and the portion of the video that stopped Remington in his tracks was the moment Jackie invited Brant Reginald to step forward.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Remington whispered. “Dad?”
As sure as the sun shines and the grass is green, there he was… the esteemed shepherd of the Heavenly Father’s Holy Sanctuary Church of Fairhope, Alabama. Remington watched as they described his father’s downfall from the church and how he’d disappeared for a few days, only to resurface down in Okeechobee. And apparently, according to Mrs. Ranchero’s account, he had healed her.
“Bullshit,” Remington shouted.
“You’re damn right it’s bullshit,” the waitress said, wiping her face. “You’re outta here, buddy.”
“Oh, oh…” Remington said, realizing what he’d done. “I’m so sorry. Here take this. Keep the change.”
He gulped the rest of the tea while catching the last few minutes of the broadcast, and deciding maybe a trip out to Lake Okeechobee was in order, he stood up and walked out to his car, peeking a look in the back window. He’d left it running with the AC on, and Pepe was snuggled up in the blanket. Sliding in as quietly as he could, he put the car in gear and pulled out. He opened his phone to start the G.P.S. toward Raulerson Hospital, and saw he’d missed a message. It was from Taz.
-We gotta talk
No shit, Sherlock, Remington thought, Jackass probably still wants money.
That last thought jolted Remington back to the realization he still had the Colpiller case to work with. And now, without the Dickerson case, Taz didn’t have anything to hold over his head. In fact, Taz was now just a piece of shit murderer trying to get money from a man who had nothing else to lose.
Remington realized if he could figure out what Taz had done with the Colpiller girls (Caroline’s body and hopefully kidnapped Mindy), return them to their father, solve the case, and turn Taz in, he could collect the healthy paycheck from Jack Colpiller and get revenge on him, all in one fell swoop.
-Talk now. Where is Mindy?
-Meet me. Alone. I’ll take you to her.
>
Yeah right, Remington thought, and then kill me too? Taz was trying to lure him to whatever killing hole he’d used for the girls and get rid of any evidence he had about the crime.
But Taz was probably too stupid to figure out that Remington had guessed his plan. The private investigator wasn’t defenseless, if he wasn’t ambushed… like he was by the Snake. He’d have Taz take him to where he was keeping Mindy and Caroline’s body, apprehend him, and take him in. He could still be a hero.
-Ok, where?
-Stiltsville. Yellow and green house.
Remington sucked air through his teeth. Of course. Stiltsville was a collection of old houses about a mile off of Cape Florida and accessible only by water. A perfect place to hide a body and commit a murder. No one would ever hear the victim scream. And these days, no one lived out there. The houses had all been annexed as a part of the Biscayne Bay National Park. It made perfect sense.
Remington turned his car around and headed out to Key Biscayne.
He made a quick call to Jack Colpiller. Jack picked up on the first ring.
“Where the hell are you?” Jack didn’t even say hello. “And why the hell was Taz at your apartment?”
Oops, Remington thought. He was sharp enough to respond quickly.
“Bastard broke into my place,” Remington said. “Found out I was onto him and tried to steal the evidence I had.”
“Got it,” Jack said.
“But I’ve been following him,” Remington lied, “and I know where he is and where he’s holding Mindy.”
“Go,” he said quickly. “What’ve you got?”
“On the water,” Remington said. “I need a boat.”
“I’ll call ahead to the yacht club,” Jack said. “Where?”
“Stiltsville,” Remington answered, “and I’m headed there now to meet Taz. I’ll have him in custody before morning.”
“Yes!” Jack Colpiller almost yelled. “Thank you, Mr. Reginald.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Colpiller,” Remington replied. “I’ll expect my deposit by tomorrow afternoon?”
“Of course,” Jack said. “Thank God.”
Remington hung up. He hadn’t promised Mindy would be alive. He hoped she still was, but that wasn’t part of the deal. The deal was he would find Caroline… and now Mindy. He clicked back to the text message with Taz.
-On my way
-Alone
-Yes, alone
-If not, Mindy gets it
-I’m alone
It wasn’t exactly a lie; he would be alone… except for Pepe. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew Jack would rally the cavalry. He hoped it would be just in the nick of time to pick up the captor and captee from Stiltsville. Remington clicked open his .22 pistol. One bullet. Well, Taz didn’t have to know that. Hopefully it would be enough to subdue him and take him in… hopefully.
-Good. Don’t try any funny business
Remington didn’t bother responding. He just drove as fast as he could without attracting any police attention.
The Key Biscayne Yacht Club was normally much nicer than it appeared today. There was a massive construction project underway and there were only a few boats in the water, one of which was Jack Colpiller’s massive Ylang Ylang Falcon. It was a daunting sight, but Remington didn’t have time to be daunted. He jumped on board after procuring the keys from the dock commander, and the big boat roared as he fired it up and backed it out of its slip.
This was the life. Remington wondered just how much money Jack Colpiller had… millions… maybe billions. He checked the G.P.S. coordinates and rammed the throttle forward. The boat was so powerful it felt like it might take off and fly out of the water. Stiltsville was all the way on the opposite side of the island, but he could close that distance in under an hour in this beast.
Pepe slept soundly, still tucked into Remington’s messenger bag. He hadn’t let go of the Gram doll since they’d left the apartment. Remington smiled; maybe this was what it felt like to have children. Pepe had just adopted the doll and the blanket and Remington was happy that someone else enjoyed them too. And he was happy that Pepe seemed to like him as well. He reached down and stroked the skunk, who purred lightly and arched his back.
The trip to Stiltsville was shorter than Remington thought, and he quickly spotted the yellow and green house as he slowed to wake speed among the shallows. He wondered idly if the boat would ground out, but it didn’t… the tide was still high.
Taz’s boat, a small dingy, was parked on the inside of the dock beneath the house. He’d probably parked it there so it would be harder to see from the water. Remington drifted the Falcon toward the dock and expertly reversed just enough to have it lightly touch the buoyed side of the boat.
Taz was standing out on the dock and waving him in. He didn’t see any kind of gun or weapon on him… this guy is dumber than I thought. He draped the messenger bag over his shoulder and ran out on the bow to toss a line to Taz, who grabbed it and looped it around a cleat. He did the same from the stern. Remington lowered a step-ladder and eased down onto the dock.
“G’day, mate,” Taz said without humor.
“Where are they?” Remington asked.
“Inside,” Taz said and pointed up to the house.
He turned and walked to a ladder that led up to the raised deck surrounding the house. Remington followed. When he reached the top of the ladder, Taz turned around suddenly.
“Gimme the bag,” he said, and motioned toward the messenger bag.
Remington raised his hands. “Taz, I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“Gimme the fookin’ bag,” he said through gritted teeth. “You think I’m fookin’ stupid? You could have a gun in there.”
Remington could feel the gun tucked into his sock just below the extra tight elastic special ordered from Singapore, so he shrugged and handed the bag to Taz. Taz didn’t open it, and simply pointed to the door of the house. Remington turned the knob and went inside.
The house didn’t have the typical furniture one would expect; in fact it didn’t have any furniture at all. That made sense, as the houses had all been vacant for several years. As he looked around, alarm bells sounded in his mind. There wasn’t any furniture, and there weren’t any doors leading to other rooms. The house was a shell. And there wasn’t anyone else in the room either. Shit, Remington thought, a trap. But he kept his cool and decided to act like nothing was up.
“So, how we gonna handle—”
He turned as he spoke, just in time to see Taz’s tennis racket slam into his face. He felt the bones in his left cheek crack. He slumped to the floor and tried desperately not to lose consciousness. If he did, he was a dead man. The racket cracked the back of his skull and he slammed face first onto the floor.
“Noooo…” he moaned.
“What the fook?” Taz shouted suddenly.
Remington was able to lift his head just enough to see Taz holding the messenger bag outstretched at arm’s length. The flap was open and Pepe was emerging. The skunk looked like he’d just been woken up… and wasn’t too happy about it. He lifted his tail and sprayed hard. Remington smiled through the pain, smelling the extreme stench fill the small house.
“Geezus Croist!” Taz yelled and flung the bag away.
Pepe jumped at him and scratched his arm and tried to sink his teeth into Taz’s hand. But the tennis pro was too quick. He flung the skunk hard against the back wall. Pepe fell to the floor, motionless.
“Oh, no… not Pepe,” muttered Remington.
Taz was furious. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” he yelled. “Who carries around a damn skunk!!”
He grabbed the handle of his tennis racket and raised it over his head. This blow would certainly kill him, Remington thought.
With every bit of strength he could muster, he reached down into his sock, pulled out the .22, and raised it at Taz and fired.
The bullet caught Taz in the face. It tore off half his cheek, and Remington saw char
red flesh and teeth in the opening. He stumbled back and dropped the tennis racket. He tried to speak, but then grabbed the side of his face and screamed something completely unintelligible then ran toward the door.
As Remington heard the smaller boat crank up, he finally lost consciousness.
Taz was probably on his way to kill Mindy. But if she wasn’t here… where the hell was she?
28
This Girl Is On Fire
Mindy Colpiller was on the brink of passing out due to extreme dehydration. During the daytime, the heat that radiated in through the large, circular bank of windows was excruciating. The sun was setting now, but she was afraid that if she passed out tonight she might never wake up. Scooting on her butt around the edge of the wall, she was able to stay in the shade for most of the day, but the super-humid, greenhouse-heated air inside was stifling to say the least. She felt like she was breathing hot, sticky vapor.
She had long since given up trying to escape her prison, and had decided Taz was probably not coming back. The fear of dying up here… alone… in dehydration shock and starvation had long since given way to the thought that maybe just laying down and going to sleep might not be so bad. It would definitely be better than the horrible fate Caroline had suffered.
An image of Taz’s disgusting face filled her mind. She hated that bastard for what he had done to her sister… and now what he was doing to her. Though her rage for him was strong, if he came back now, her strength to do anything about it was gone.
She’d long since used the last of her sister’s lipstick to keep her lips moist. Now they were cracked, dry and bleeding. Her eyes were dry too, and when she rubbed them it felt like they were full of sand. She knew she was in deep trouble when she started shivering for no reason… in the one-hundred-degree plus temperatures at the top of the lighthouse.
She’d tried in vain to hurl the oil box at the windows in an effort to break one, but naturally, being constructed to withstand hurricanes and tropical storms, the glass was unbreakable. And it was difficult to throw the box with any force because it was slimy with Caroline’s blood and the oil residue from the lighthouse’s ancient fuel.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 67