by D P Lyle
“Really?” Nicole asked.
“Brings girls in from Mexico. Some Mexican, some from Eastern Europe, others from Southeast Asia. I suspect he’s tied in with one of the Eastern Bloc scumbags that do that shit. Again, nothing anyone could ever prove.”
“I guess morals aren’t his strong suit,” Nicole said.
“But he’s slick as a greased eel,” Pancake said. “Hard to get a hold of.”
“So, was he involved in Barbara Plummer’s murder?” I asked.
Ray shrugged. “Don’t know. But it would fit his character.”
“What now?” Nicole asked.
“Keep digging,” Pancake said.
“Somehow I think the key might be with the late Raul Gomez,” Ray said. “Finding his fingerprint at the scene means he was involved in Barbara’s murder.”
“But is he connected to Borkov?” I asked.
“Haven’t found anything to suggest that yet,” Pancake said. “But my gut,” he patted his belly, “tells me he is.”
“But he’s dead,” Nicole said. “Not going to be able to ask him.”
“Which is the reason he’s dead,” I said. “To make sure he doesn’t tell what he knows.”
“True.” Ray nodded. “But his buddies the Wilbanks brothers might be able to give us something. If we can find them.”
“Seems tenuous at best,” I said.
“Morgan’s looking into any cartel connects for Raul,” Ray said. He nodded toward Pancake. “Pancake, too. And tomorrow we’ll try to run down the Wilbanks duo.”
“What now?” I asked.
“Nothing until tomorrow.”
“So Jake and I are off-duty tonight?” Nicole asked.
Ray laughed. “Looks that way.”
“Good.” She mussed my hair. “I see a hot tub in your future.”
I stood. “We’re out of here.”
“What about my tacos?”
“We’ll grab them on the way out.”
I heard Pancake say, “Animals,” as we headed toward the kitchen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DARNELL WAS FEELING better about things, even thinking that maybe Darrell was right. This could all work out and they just might have a future with Borkov. Which would put them in the game. No doubt Borkov was a player. An unflinching and aggressive player. Whacking some rich chick out on The Point was not something just anyone did. Took huge cojones. And Borkov definitely had a pair. Not to mention that he paid well. Ten grand for popping some sleeping woman. Easiest money he’d ever made.
But Darnell also knew he had crossed a line. A wide and dangerous line. One that could never be recrossed. Something he never thought he’d do. Ever. Kill someone. Well, technically it was Darrell that pulled the trigger, but he had been there. From the beginning, right through the planning, and finally the execution.
Execution? What an ugly word. But that’s exactly what it had been. He could still see that beautiful lady lying there. Hair spread over the pillow, relaxed in sleep. Safe and warm. Until Darrell pointed his gun at her head and pulled the trigger. The suddenness of it had shocked him. One second she was alive and the next she wasn’t.
He remembered the first time Raul had brought it up. Told them he could make them some good money and secure a future of more money for them. That sounded good. The phone store was a steady job, but he had no real future there. He had gone about as high up that ladder as he ever would. So doing some work for Raul’s mysterious boss seemed like a good move. One with a real future. But when Raul said it involved whacking someone, Darnell knew this whole thing was wrong. Way wrong. Yet for some reason he didn’t voice his reservations but rather simply followed along. Let Darrell make all the decisions. Not something he often did.
But what was done was done. He couldn’t go back, and he had to admit it had all worked out well. He and Darrell were on the road to success and riches. He could feel it in his bones.
The afternoon out on the water, with Joe Zuma and Frank Boyd, chasing fish, catching a half dozen nice ones, had only reinforced his confidence in their new arrangement. Both Zuma and Boyd had treated them with a certain degree of respect. Almost a welcome to the club. Boyd even suggesting that they would work well together. Zuma said that Borkov treated his guys well, paid them well, and could use a couple of guys like Darrell and Darnell. They drank beer and shared stories like old friends.
It helped that Darrell was away from his meth stash and wasn’t all wired and crazy. He actually managed not to say a bunch of stupid shit. A major feat for Darrell.
Dinner had been equally pleasant and relaxed. Grilled fish, fried rice, a huge salad, fresh baked bread, dessert of flaming cherries over vanilla ice cream, and several bottles of Champagne. Like a real celebration. Borkov was a gracious host and more than once told Darrell how much he appreciated their work. He even praised their efficiency in carrying out his orders.
Life was good.
But later, Darrell got into his meth and got all crazy again. Saying things like he and Darnell would be the best lieutenants, Darrell’s word, Borkov ever had. Borkov seemed to take it all in stride, puffing on a thick cigar, sipping Champagne from a thin flute that the staff kept topped off.
Grace was the life of the party. She wore a silky shift and sandals but nothing else as far as Darnell could see. Nipples spiking through the thin material, no panty lines. Maybe someday he could have a girl like that. Darrell followed her around like a puppy and she seemed to enjoy his attention. Several times Darrell followed Grace below, always to emerge a few minutes later, Grace rubbing her nose with the heel of one hand. No doubt Darrell was sharing his stash with her.
Borkov seemed oblivious to their flirting, but Darnell was sure little really got past him. He didn’t seem to care, though. Maybe he and Grace have some kind of arrangement. If it was him, the only arrangement he’d have would be Grace in a bed. A big bed. In a top hotel. He could afford that now.
Now it was late, probably near midnight. The ship cut smoothly through the calm water, heading to port. Borkov said they’d arrive by dawn. Darrell and Grace huddled on the bench seat near the stern, the silvery wake behind them. Their conversation was muted but their laughter was clear. Darnell sat in a thickly padded deck chair, facing Borkov, who was stretched out in a lounge chair, the remnants of a fourth cigar clamped between his teeth.
“You’ve got it made,” Darnell said.
Borkov shrugged.
“I mean, I never knew anyone with a boat like this.”
“Comes with the territory.” He flicked a long ash into the ashtray beside him. “Didn’t come easy, though.”
“Does anything worth having come easy?”
Borkov smiled. “You’re a smart young man.”
“My mom always said I was a smart-ass.”
Another smile. “Mine, too. Before she died. My father took off after that. Never saw him again. But that’s his loss.” He sipped some Champagne. “I actually owe him for all this.” He waved his cigar. “If he hadn’t left, passing me off to a distant cousin, I’d never have run away, never left the Ukraine, never come here to the land of opportunity.”
“How’d you do it?” Darnell asked. “I mean, coming here?”
“Got a job on a shipping freighter. Out of Poland. Made a few trips back and forth and then one night decided Miami would be a good place to jump ship. Which I did. Literally.” He smiled, his gaze to the sky as if remembering. “The drop was a lot further than it looked. The water colder than I imagined. Not to mention the swim around the ship and to shore. Almost didn’t make it.”
“Very brave.”
“Not really. It seemed like the only option I had.” He waved away a cloud of smoke. “I worked for a local dealer, a fellow Ukrainian, who was hooked up with one of the cartels. Mostly cocaine but also weed, meth, heroin, GHB, you name it. Big market for all that in South Beach. I did good, but the guy I worked for was small minded, so I moved him out and took over his operation.”
“M
oved out?”
Another smile. “Let’s just say I eliminated the competition. Anyway, by the time I was your age, I’d moved across to Naples and there things really took off.”
“So all this came from drugs?”
“At first, but then I realized I needed to be more legit. Too dangerous to stay on the DEA’s radar. I used my cash to get into real estate. The only venture in Florida that’s more profitable than drugs.” More Champagne. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Darnell was amazed how candid Borkov was. Relating all his illegal activities as if he was talking about a regular job. A normal life. Darnell took it to mean that Borkov trusted him. Truly felt he was part of the family.
From the corner of his eye he saw Grace stand. She stretched and walked toward them, Darrell in tow.
“It’s late,” she said. “I’m going to bed and leave you guys to talk business or whatever.” She kissed Borkov on the cheek and retreated below, her walk unsteady.
Darrell sat in the empty chair next to Darnell.
“You guys enjoying yourselves?” Borkov asked.
“Yes, sir,” Darnell said. “We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
“And many more good times to come, I’m sure,” Darrell said. “Now that we’re on the team.”
Borkov crushed the cigar stub in the ash tray. He flipped open the polished humidor and extracted another cigar. He cut the tip and fired it up, waving away the smoke cloud. “So tell me again how it went down.”
“The hit?” Darrell asked. “Nothing to it. No sweat.”
“Smooth, huh?”
“Very.”
Borkov nodded. “I like smooth.”
“That’s us,” Darrell said. “Smooth as a baby’s butt.”
“And Raul? He do good, too?”
Darrell leaned forward, one knee hopping up and down, getting into it now. “Like I said before, we didn’t really need him. He was going to bypass the alarm.” He glanced at Darnell. “Me and Darnell don’t know much about those things. But since the alarm was off and the back door unlocked, there wasn’t much for Raul to do so he took off. He said we could handle the rest. So we did. All we had to do was creep in and do her.”
Boyd had been below and he now returned to the rear deck, settling against the bar where Zuma stood. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“What exactly did Raul tell you?” Borkov asked.
Darrell’s bouncing knee came to a halt. “What do you mean?”
Darnell felt a note of tension in Borkov’s voice. What was the problem? Hadn’t they done as they were told? What was Borkov getting at?
“I mean, what were his exact instructions?”
“That we should wait until just after midnight. After everyone out there on The Point was asleep. He told us to park well away from the guard gate and that we should come along the beach. Approach the house that way. But when we got there we decided it’d be best to walk along the dunes. The beach seemed too exposed. We figured the dunes would give us more cover.”
“Very good.” Borkov puffed on his cigar, the end flaring bright red. “And did anyone see you?”
Darrell laughed. “Not a chance. We’re very stealthy when we need to be.” He tapped the back of his hand against Darnell’s knee.
Borkov nodded but said nothing.
“Anyway, we got to the house and there was Raul. Hiding among some sea oats. Scared the shit out of us when he stood up.” Darrell laughed. “Didn’t he, little brother?”
“Sure did,” Darnell said.
Darnell was only half listening to Darrell’s ramblings. He was focused on Borkov. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Borkov’s face seemed tight, his eyes a bit more narrow than before. As if he had undergone some mood shift. But Darnell couldn’t figure out why. Hadn’t everything gone according to plan? Maybe he was reading too much into it.
Borkov puffed out a cloud of smoke. “So Raul left and you guys went inside the house. What then?”
Darrell looked at him as if he had asked a stupid question. “Like I said, we shot her and left. Went back up the beach the same way we came. Smooth.”
Borkov gave a slow nod, followed by a brief glance toward Zuma and Boyd. “Did Raul tell you who the targets were?”
“Not by name,” Darrell said. “He said we didn’t need to know that. Just that we should kill everyone in the house.”
“And did you?”
“Sure. Why?”
Borkov waved his cigar toward them. “Just wondering what the plan was.”
“We searched every room. The lady was alone.”
“And that fit with what Raul said?”
Darnell felt confused. What was Borkov getting at? He sensed something was off but couldn’t grasp what it might be. So he said, “What are you asking? I don’t understand.”
Borkov flicked a long ash into the ashtray. “How many people did he say would be there?”
“Oh,” Darrell said. “I get it.” His knee started bouncing again. “He said it was a couple. At least I think that’s what he said.” He looked at Darnell. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“But she was alone?” Borkov asked.
“Yeah, she was.”
“What’d you think about that?”
“Nothing.” Darrell shrugged. “We figured he was mistaken.”
“Or maybe the husband was away,” Darnell added.
“And it didn’t cross your mind that something wasn’t right. That maybe you should’ve backed away and waited for another night?”
Darrell stared at him.
Darnell felt pressure rise in his chest. Borkov’s face looked like stone as he puffed on his cigar, its glowing red tip aimed directly at Darnell. His mind was blank. He had no response to Borkov’s question.
Darrell did. “We were sent to do everyone there. We did. What’s the problem?”
Darnell was now aware that Boyd and Zuma had moved behind them. He began to turn to look at them when the jolt hit him. As he lurched forward he was aware of Darrell also falling forward, Zuma pressing something to the back of his neck. The world swirled and he lost consciousness.
He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but when the world began to return it was fuzzy and muffled. As if some translucent curtain was partially blocking all sensations, muddying everything. He became aware of movement, of hands holding him and rolling him from side to side, of voices he couldn’t quite make out. Then he was prone on the deck, the wood cold against his cheek. He tried to move but couldn’t. As if his arms and legs wouldn’t follow orders. Then he saw Zuma and Boyd wrapping duct tape around Darrell’s chest, trapping his arms to his side. Darnell realized he had been similarly trussed. Wide bands of tape around his ankles, knees, and chest, his arms trapped at his sides. Zuma and Boyd rolled the brothers to their backs. Darnell looked up. Borkov stood over him.
“You stupid fucks screwed everything up. It’s the husband I wanted dead. The wife was collateral.”
“But—” Darrell said.
“Shut up. I’m tired of your bullshit.”
“But we did—” Darrell began again.
Borkov’s jaw tightened and his neck veins became thick ropes. “Didn’t I tell you to shut your fucking mouth?”
Darrell nodded.
“Now I’m going to ask you a few questions and your answers better be what I want to hear. Clear?”
Again Darrell nodded.
“Good. Now, did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“What about when Joe and Frank picked you up on the beach? See anyone there?”
“No.”
“Not a girl in a car?”
“Yeah,” Darrell said. “Like I told them, she was just some random chick. Asking for directions.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“It’s true. I swear. We don’t know who she was.”
“Here’s my problem. Some chick wonderin
g around lost that time of morning? Doesn’t quite gel to me.”
“But we’d never seen her before.” Darrell’s voice was high pitched and strained.
Borkov knelt next to him. Darnell heard a click and a switchblade knife appeared. He aimed the point at Darrell’s face. “Let’s try it again. Who was the chick?”
“We don’t know.”
Borkov slid the blade into one nostril and with a flick sliced through Darrell’s nose. He screamed.
“Tell me now or I’ll cut your fucking nose off and then dig out your eyes.”
“Please.”
The knife’s tip settled against Darrell’s cheek just beneath his left eye.
“She’s Darrell’s girlfriend,” Darnell said.
“Shut up,” Darrell said.
“She’s nothing,” Darnell said. “A nobody. She didn’t know where we were going or who we were meeting.”
Borkov swung on his haunches toward Darnell. “But she knows you were picked up, on a beach, middle of the night. Kind of thing she’d remember if anyone asked.”
“Like who?” Darnell asked.
“Like anyone. I need a name.”
Darnell hesitated, deciding what to say. No way he would give up his life for some dumb chick. “Her name is Heather. Heather Macomb.”
“See, that was easy. Who is she?”
“Some high schooler Darrell’s been screwing. That’s all. She’s not important.”
“She is to me. Where does she live?”
“Gulf Shores.”
“And she snuck out to be with you two?”
“That’s right,” Darrell said. “She just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Very prescient of her.”
“What?” Darrell said.
“Where in Gulf Shores does she live?”
“With her parents.”
“And who might they be?”
“Why?” Darrell asked.
Borkov smiled. Cold without feeling. “I might want to have a chat with her.”
“Leave her out of this,” Darrell said. “Please.”
“You should’ve thought of that before she showed up on the beach. Now I’m losing my patience here. Who the fuck are her parents?”
“Her dad owns a grocery store,” Darnell said. “Mel’s. In Gulf Shores.”