Murder Island (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 3)

by Steve Richer

  “Sounds formative,” Orland said.

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, this woman comes to me one time. Her son had stuck up a liquor store. Video evidence, fingerprints all over the place, the case was a loser. The woman didn’t trust the public defender and she asked me if she should testify on his behalf. In the grand scheme of things, it made no difference because that kid was clearly going to spend the next ten years behind bars. It was a miracle that he was out on bail, first offender and all.”

  “And?”

  “And one night that little son of a bitch breaks into my apartment and puts a knife to my throat! Can you believe this? A goddamn knife to my throat! He didn’t like the advice I’d given to his mother.”

  Orland turned to him for the first time. “What did you do?”

  “I said ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, thank you very much.’ The kid went away and I didn’t even report it. A week later, he was convicted of first-degree robbery. I never heard from him again and I made the decision to stay away from criminals forever. Hence why this is a bit stressful to be helping out the leader of a major criminal organization.”

  “Right.”

  “What about you, Orland? Deal with criminals much?”

  “I’m a banker, remember?”

  Bill paused for a moment and then they both burst out in laughter.

  “Seriously, what’s your story?”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “So say it.”

  Orland didn’t speak for several seconds and then shrugged. “Standard sob story, really. Grew up in DC, never had two nickels to rub together, but I was good in school.”

  “Washington DC, uh? You have a slight southern accent though, right? Is that normal where you come from?”

  At that, Orland froze and stared at the fat man for a bit. Then he grinned.

  “Must have picked it up watching Tommy Lee Jones movies. Anyway, I got a scholarship to Harvard while my younger brother got a scholarship to the Cappers.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a gang. My brother got into drugs, violence, the usual. I went to work for a variety of banks while my brother got to visit a variety of prisons. My employers kept finding out about him and that’s why I had to change banks all the time.”

  “Sucks.”

  “The big one. I eventually went into business for myself, but this was mostly to keep my brother out of trouble. He needed to have some money laundered after a big score and before I knew it I had a bunch of clients with shady income streams.”

  “Jesus… You handled money for the mob?”

  “Mob-ish, anyway. It was a little dangerous, but very lucrative. Unfortunately, I liked the thrill of betting on horses and greyhounds, ball games, whatever. I was better at banking than I was at gambling. I lost everything I had and then figured I would make it all back by using my clients’ funds. I’m sure you can guess that went over awfully well. Next thing I know I’m being dangled off a thirty-second floor balcony. Sabatini bought my debt and here I am. I have to do this.”

  Bill wolf-whistled. “Damn. If anyone had tried that on me, I’m pretty sure they would have dropped me and I wouldn’t be here today. I have, as they say, a bit of a glands problem. You think this will square your debt?”

  “Definitely,” Orland said without hesitation. “After this, I’m sailing into the sunset and…”

  “What?” Bill asked when he stopped talking midsentence.

  “Look.” Orland pointed at the staff house, which was just coming into view as the Jeep curved around a low hill. “There aren’t any lights.”

  For the first time, Alex paid attention to the guys behind him. “That’s not unusual. Look at the time, it’s past midnight.”

  “Yesterday the lights were on at that time, I saw it.”

  “Yeah, I saw it too,” Bill added.

  “It’s Saturday night,” Orland said. “The staff is cooped up in here twenty-four hours a day. It’s reasonable to expect that they’re up even if it’s late, playing cards, drinking and whatnot.”

  Bill squinted and scratched his head. “Maybe the power is out?” Then he noticed that the lampposts along the road were on. “Maybe not.”

  “You want to check in with them, Alex?”

  “What’s it to you anyway?”

  Orland shrugged. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  “Fine, I’ll call the staff house. If anyone is pissed off at me, I’ll tell them it’s your fault.” Alex pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial. “Weird?”

  “What?”

  “No signal.” He pocketed his phone and reached for the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. “Roger? It’s Alex, come in.”

  There was no answer.

  “Roger, come in. This is Alex.”

  “See?” Orland said. “Something is wrong.”

  The security man accelerated and took the driveway toward the staff house.

  “Can you drop me off first?” Bill asked. “This seems kind of… ominous. I’d be a lot more comfortable if you dropped us off at the guesthouse first, okay?”

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Alex shot back.

  Bill glanced at Orland, looking for an ally, but he didn’t find one. Orland didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his face was all business.

  Chapter 13

  At the sight of the armed man aiming at him, Oliver instinctively raised his hands. This move was quickly imitated by Gina and Clifford.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  They were immobile, their lives in the balance and with only six pounds of trigger pull weight as the deciding factor.

  “The hell’s going on?”

  “Put the gun down,” Oliver ordered, his voice not exactly steady yet hoping that the guy wouldn’t notice. “I turned on the alarm.”

  At that, Johnny frowned. He lowered his weapon a bit, but it was still aimed at the three people in front of him.

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  “There was this guard outside and he collapsed,” Gina quickly explained.

  “Coleman?” Johnny turned to the assistant. “Turn the alarm off.”

  Clifford nodded and ran back around the corner.

  “I don’t know who he was. He was standing guard and he just dropped to the ground like dirty laundry. We came into the house looking for you, because the phones aren’t working.”

  “What are you talking about, the phones aren’t working?”

  By now, Johnny’s gun was hanging down along his leg. He reached for his phone and flicked through it with his thumb.

  Oliver continued. “Then, as we were going through the house, I saw somebody outside. He didn’t look like any of your people. Mostly just a shadow, but it didn’t seem like it belonged. That’s why I triggered the smoke detector, to scare him off.”

  Gina hadn’t known about that part and her features contorted into concern. The strident alarm finally stopped and Clifford joined them again.

  “It’s done.”

  “What’s going on?” Gina asked. “Is this normal? Are we panicking for no reason?”

  Oliver swallowed, but found that there was no saliva in his mouth. “Are we being attacked?”

  “No, that’s crazy,” Johnny replied with vanishing conviction.

  Clifford winced, running a hand through his hair. “Well…”

  “What?”

  “Being attacked is kinda far-fetched out here in the middle of the Caribbean, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But it’s not totally out of the realm of possibilities, all right? Mr. Sabatini is the single biggest independent distributor of narcotics on the East Coast. He’s extremely powerful and that means that he has an extremely long list of enemies.”

  “I thought he was retiring,” Oliver said with a shrug. “I thought he was getting out of the game.”

  “It’s not public knowledge yet. Besides, some people may have something to gain by striking against Sabatini right now. You take him out,
you make a name for yourself. That’s why we have so much security here in the first place.”

  “Jesus…”

  Oliver looked at Gina who was thinking the same thing. This had to be it. Murder fucking Island.

  Without saying a word, Johnny started walking away and they followed him until they reached the large den. At that moment, Sal joined them, gun drawn.

  “What’s the situation?” he asked his colleague, looking between him and the guests.

  The question was repeated twice more as Paul Bloom and Raymond showed up. Both were half-dressed, having been in the process of getting ready for bed. Paul was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe while Raymond had on a Gucci T-shirt and silk boxer shorts.

  “This shit’s real?” Raymond asked.

  Johnny shrugged. “We don’t know. I need to radio everyone back from the staff house and we’ll sweep the island.”

  “Christ. I left my piece upstairs. Somebody call my dad.”

  “Phones are dead.”

  “What?” Not believing them, Raymond jogged to one of the end tables and tried the landline telephone. “There’s no dial tone.”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Oliver said.

  “But how is that even possible. I don’t understand?”

  “We’ll find out,” Johnny said.

  However, he didn’t move. It was as if he was paralyzed—or simply out of his depth. That was a scary thought for Oliver. Here was a man who was supposed to protect them and he was losing it when it was time to do his job.

  He looked at Gina and she was thinking the same thing. They were putting their safety into these people’s hands, acting on faith alone, and it was in vain. More than that, it was dangerous. It was as if you suddenly found out that you couldn’t trust your car’s seatbelts and airbags just as you were driving into an incoming eighteen-wheeler.

  “What’s next?” Oliver asked. “What do we do?”

  Finally, Paul took a step forward, realizing that somebody had to be in charge. “Johnny, Sal, go upstairs. Go make sure that Mr. and Mrs. Sabatini are safe.”

  “Yeah,” Raymond added like the whole thing was his idea. “Keep them safe and don’t take no shit from nobody. Go!”

  “And us?” It was Clifford. He was looking at Paul expectantly. “What do we do? Where do we go?”

  “I think…”

  Paul didn’t get to finish his sentence. Right then, a loud explosion resounded through the house.

  They all instinctively turned because it wasn’t that far away. Everyone could see the foyer through the floor-to-ceiling aquarium. The front doors had just been blasted open. Dark smoke billowed, making the entrance hazy like a thick morning fog.

  Oliver was terrified, but also relieved. At least now he knew what they were up against. He hadn’t imagined the whole thing. They were really being attacked!

  Before the doors were even fully open, George the butler was making his way down the staircase, tightening his robe. He had no doubt been alerted by the smoke detector and saw it as his duty to check things out. After all, he was the leading servant in this household. The mansion was under his responsibility.

  “What’s happening?” he was asking at the same time as the detonation occurred.

  A second later, dark figures charged into the house, rifles propped against their shoulders. The one in front swiveled toward George and with no hesitation whatsoever fired a three-round burst. The bullets riddled his chest and he slumped back against the steps, his limp body sliding down.

  Paul reacted first. “We have to go to the basement!”

  He started running, Raymond, Gina, Oliver, and Clifford on his heels. Fortunately, the way downstairs was in the opposite direction and they didn’t have to go toward the gunmen.

  Oliver was operating only on adrenaline. His legs were going faster than ever, faster than he’d ever thought possible. It was a good thing, too. If it wasn’t for the fight-or-flight chemical reaction in his brain, he would have been rooted in place. Witnessing someone being murdered right before his eyes chilled him to the bone.

  He had so many questions. Who were these people? Why were they here?

  And most of all, would he be the next person to die?

  Chapter 14

  Bill tightened his grip on the roll bar above as the Jeep got closer to the staff house. It wasn’t that the road was bumpier now. Rather, they were going faster. The two other men with him were clearly on edge. He was too, but for other reasons.

  “Seriously, guys. I strongly object to this, okay? This doesn’t look safe.”

  No one replied and it irritated him. Couldn’t they see how stupid it was to be here?

  “How much difference would it make for you to drop me off at the guesthouse, anyway? Think about it, it’s in your best interest for you to do that?”

  “Best interest?” Orland repeated.

  “Well, yeah! Alex here works for Mr. Sabatini. I happen to be a guest of Mr. Sabatini. If something goes wrong, if something happens to me, it’s like Alex went out of his way to piss off his boss. So it makes a whole hell of a lot of sense to not bring us over there if there’s any chance that anything dangerous is going on.”

  The Jeep finally slowed down as they approached the house. It was almost as large as the guesthouse, but without any of its luxurious aspects. By Bill’s count, about fifteen staff members lived here. The place resembled a Hampton Inn.

  “For what it’s worth, I want to lodge a formal protest, okay? I don’t want to be here. I think it’s unsafe. My life is being put in jeopardy right now. I’ll be taking this up with Mr. Sabatini at my earliest convenience.”

  Orland’s head snapped toward him. “Knock it off.”

  There was ice in his voice and Bill stopped talking immediately. The Jeep came to a halt by the parking lot on the side of the building. There still weren’t any lights anywhere. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary either. Bill thought that perhaps this was a false alarm after all.

  Warily, Alex turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. The pistol was conspicuous at his belt, but he made no move to draw it.

  “All right, I’m gonna check it out. The two of you stay in the car.”

  “But…” Bill began.

  “Sir, you stay in the car. Both of you.”

  They watched Alex making his way to the door. Now his hand was on the butt of his gun. It was very professional, actually. That should have been comforting, no? Bill wasn’t convinced.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” he said as their escort entered the staff house.

  “Bill, Jesus…”

  “No, I’m serious. This is either a waste of time, in which case I’m missing out on my beauty sleep, or there’s genuinely something sinister happening and it’s too dangerous for a banker and a lawyer.”

  “It’s out of our control,” Orland said, absentmindedly popping a breath mint into his mouth.

  “No, it’s not. We could just walk away. You think there are panthers on this island?”

  “Panthers? I don’t think so.”

  Bill exhaled with relief. “Oh, good.”

  “Probably lots of snakes, though.”

  “Shit.” Bill was shaking his head, all hope lost. “One moment of weakness and look where this gets me. I’m just a regular schlub, just going about my business, I let myself be seduced by my boss’s daughter, and the next thing I know I’m on a desert island surrounded by snakes and people who think strange things are happening.”

  “Have you said everything that’s on your mind now, Bill?”

  “For now, yeah.”

  “Good,” Orland said. “Now shut the fuck up.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Alex drew his sidearm once he was inside the house. He wasn’t ready to use it, though. His eyes still needed to adjust to the darkness which was a lot more pronounced than outside. His first instinct was to reach for the light switch before he decided that he didn’t want to give away his position.

  He ti
ghtened his hold on the weapon and aimed it forward with two hands. The Army had trained him well, that was for sure. It was instinct by now. Muscle memory. He slowly walked ahead and controlled his breathing.

  It had been at least a year since he’d had to draw his weapon. He hadn’t even used it. All things considered, working for Mr. Sabatini was a plum job.

  Did he miss the action from the military? Sometimes. He couldn’t lie, being a bodyguard was far from exciting. On the other hand, he got to travel to exotic places like this, which made up for it. He owed Sabatini his life.

  It was crazy how a good thing could become a bad thing, and the other way around. Joining the Army had been the smart thing to do. He’d been aimless, going on homeless, and becoming an infantry grunt had given him a purpose in life. He had made lifelong friendships and it had helped to channel his aggression.

  The price to pay for that had been war. He had spent years in combat zones, fighting in armed conflicts that seemed less and less justified. He had killed people. He had lost friends. He had nearly lost his sanity.

  And that was why he had gone back to being aimless and nearly homeless after being discharged, only it hadn’t been for the same reasons as before. He’d wanted to forget some of the things he’d seen and done.

  Getting work had been tough because, although many businesses prided themselves in hiring veterans, few of them wanted to actually deal with veterans. They didn’t know what to do about the mood swings and outbursts and the absenteeism.

  A friend of a friend had eventually introduced him to Mr. Sabatini’s crew. He’d had to prove himself by roughing up some deadbeats who owed money and others who’d stolen merchandise, but he’d never been asked to throw anyone off a skyscraper. Once his qualifications had been verified, Alex had been elevated to Mr. Sabatini’s private security team.

  Now he was clean, calm, and confident. He had a future with this organization and nothing he did was illegal. He felt like he mattered once again.

  And that was why he needed to find out what was happening on the island right now.