After a moment, he said, “You, me, and three more oughta do it. Meet me at the gun store in half an hour. Bring your van. We’re going to Key West.”
Without waiting for a reply, Austin Brown hung up the phone, rose quickly from his desk, and went to the counter out front. His only employee, his wife of twenty years, was sitting on a stool, reading another crime novel. There weren’t any customers in the store, located just off US-1 in Naranja, on the southern outskirts of Miami.
Mary-Beth Brown looked over her glasses as her husband entered. “You got that look in your eye, Austin. Where you off to now?”
“None a your business, woman.”
Mary-Beth took off her reading glasses, leaving them dangling on a chain on her ample bosom, and slid off the stool. At just a fraction over five feet tall and more than a fraction over two hundred pounds, Mary-Beth looked up at her husband, her face flushing nearly as bright as her copper-colored hair.
“Ain’t my business? Now, you just hold on, Mister High and Mighty. I’m the one what pays the bills around here. I have a need to know where the money’s comin’ from.”
“Just a job for that guy up in Pittsburgh I tole you about.”
“The drug dealer? What kinda job?”
“He’s down to Key West and needs reinforcements, that’s all. Me and a few of the guys are goin’ down there. He’s payin’ five grand under the table.”
Mary-Beth had met Austin when they were in high school. He was a local high school rodeo star who worked summers and after school as a cow hunter for a big ranch near their hometown of Clewiston, on the shore of Lake Okeechobee. Mary-Beth had been nominated for Homecoming Queen, but when news got out about her unplanned pregnancy, it ruined her chance to win. Her parents became livid that she’d become pregnant by a black boy and threatened to disown her if she didn’t have an abortion. Instead, the two had run off to Fort Myers and married before dropping out of school.
“Five thousand dollars?” she asked. “How much of that do we get to keep?”
“Half. Claude gets a grand and whoever he brings will get five hundred each. He’s bringin’ three other guys.”
“Well, none of ’em better be that no good Billy Ray,” she said as he walked past her behind the counter and looked through the glass top at the different handguns on display.
“Where’s my Python?”
“It’s in the back,” she replied. “You was changing the grips, remember?”
Austin opened the case and took out two matching Colt 1911s and put them on the counter. “Oh, yeah. Would you run and fetch it for me? I just sold these two Colts. Got a grand each for ’em.”
Mary-Beth headed to the back room muttering, “You’d likely forget your dang fool head if I wasn’t around to keep it glued in place under your hat.”
Turning, Austin opened the rifle case and took out two AK-74s and his own Armalite AR-10 and laid them on the counter. “Hey,” he yelled through the open door. “Grab me that green bag under the desk while you’re back there.”
When Mary-Beth returned, Austin took the bag from her, placed it on the counter and put the three rifles in it, along with a pair of Remington pump-action shotguns, two boxes of buckshot and three boxes of Winchester .308 ammo.
“That’s a lot of firepower, Austin. Who the hell you goin’ up against?”
“Erik said it’s just some rival that ripped his boss off up north and ran off to Key West.” Austin looked at his wife’s worried expression. “Now Mary-Beth, you know the hardware’s just for show. We go down there, scare the bejesus outta them boys, get Erik’s boss’s stuff back, collect our pay, and be home before sunrise.”
“You better make sure you do. No playin’ around while you’re down there. I know what goes on in Key West. Here’s your Python.”
Austin took the big .357 Magnum revolver from her, opened the cylinder and spun it. Austin liked guns and was known in South Florida to be one of the best gunsmiths. Ten years ago, he’d been thrown from his horse while hunting cows for his employer and suffered two fractured discs in his back. A cracker who couldn’t sit a horse and crack a whip to move cows, wasn’t much good on a ranch, but his boss liked him. Even paid for his rehab and put him to work fixing the guns for the other cow hunters when he got out of the hospital. The old gunsmith on the ranch was getting on in years and needed an apprentice. Austin was smart and had a natural gift for intricate mechanical things.
Cow hunters were to South Florida what the cowboy was to the Wild West. Florida was one of the leading beef cattle states, raising more beef than Wyoming, North Dakota or New Mexico, but its ranchers had to use different methods to round up the herds than in those big, wide-open states. During roundup, cattle had to be hunted individually and in small groups through the dense palmetto and underbrush common in south central Florida. Sometimes you could hear a cow but not see it, so the original cow hunters used long bullwhips to crack the air above where the cow was hiding to drive it out. Early cow hunters called each other crackers for that reason, and the term is still used today.
Austin reveled in being one of the few black crackers in the state and he was good at his job. Right up until a pygmy rattler had spooked his mount and left him lying across a palmetto root, forever ruining any chance he had of riding the circuit of the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association.
Within minutes, Austin heard the sound of tires crunching on the gravel lot out front and looked up. It was Chet in his Dodge van. The passenger and cargo doors opened as Chet climbed out of the driver’s seat. Ace got out of the front seat and Claude and Billy Ray jumped out of the cargo door.
Great, Austin thought, glancing quickly toward the back, where Mary-Beth had disappeared. Billy Ray was a little on the wild side and Mary-Beth didn’t like Austin associating with people like that.
“Chet’s here, Mary-Beth,” he shouted. “We’re gonna get goin’. See ya in the morning.”
“You be careful,” his wife called from the storeroom.
Austin quickly stuffed the two Colts in the bag and flung it over his shoulder. The men outside had their own handguns. The Colts were for Erik and his boss.
Austin reached the door before the men came in, striding quickly toward the van, hoping to get out of the lot without Mary-Beth knowing that Billy Ray was going.
“Let’s get on down the road,” Austin said, twirling his finger in the air.
“I gotta take a piss,” Billy Ray said.
“We’ll stop at Mickey D’s on the way,” Austin replied, shoving the gun bag into Billy Ray’s hands. “We’re in a hurry.”
Billy Ray grumbled something, but carried the bag to the van and put it inside. A moment later, the five men were on the road to Key West.
Erik looked up as GT came back inside. “Brown said he’d get a few guys together and be here before dark, boss. I still don’t like having to use those guys.”
“He’s your buddy. You recommended him for that last job. What’s wrong?”
“Austin’s okay, but some of the white trash he associates with makes my skin crawl. They’re a bunch of loose cannons. He’s bringing us a couple of clean Colts, though.”
GT offered an evil grin. “That’s good. I don’t like not having a gun nearby. And sometimes a loose cannon is just what you need.”
It hadn’t escaped Erik’s attention that his boss was getting more and more irritable and hadn’t even asked about the price of the guns or the backup. GT didn’t think straight when he was in one of these moods. This whole trip down here was costing more than the stolen coke was worth. In Erik’s mind, he thought it would have been better to write it off as a business expense. But GT didn’t think that way. He was always concerned with appearances and not giving anyone the impression he was weak.
Erik looked up at his boss. “It’s just that some of the guys Austin hangs around are real unpredictable, especially that Goodrich character.”
GT sat down across from Erik. They’d known each other for many years, and GT
trusted Erik more than anyone else, considered him a brother. They’d grown up on the same tough streets of Pittsburgh’s slums and gone to school together up until high school, when redistricting had put them in different schools even though they’d lived only two blocks from each other. Erik would have gotten a scholarship to college like GT had and probably would have made the NFL too, if he hadn’t suffered a fractured hip in his senior year of high school. An injury that GT himself had caused.
“I’ve only met Brown that one time and only briefly,” GT said. “But I trust your judgment. How is it you know him, anyway?”
“Rehab,” Erik said, not wanting to bring up the incident on the gridiron that had changed his life forever. “Mom threatened to sue the school district, so they spared no expense and sent me to a rehab hospital in Tampa, since the cold weather at home would be hard on rehab. Austin was there recovering from a broken back. I guess being the only two black guys on the floor, they put us in a room together and we kind of hit it off and stayed in touch after.”
“And his crew?”
“Crew,” Erik snorted derisively. “A bunch of rednecks with more guns than brains and no self-discipline.”
“So why’d you contract them for that other job?”
Erik stared out the window a moment. “Figured they’d be like Austin, hardnosed, smart, and would do what they were told. Austin plays like he’s one of them, but he’s sharper than all his buddies combined. They only hang around him because he finds easy work for them.” Erik stood up and walked to the far side of the room. “Just looking at those two guys out there on that boat, I know this won’t be easy.”
“It’s just two guys!” GT said, getting excited. “And I don’t care if Brown’s crew kills all of them. I just want back what’s mine.”
Erik turned around. “GT, it’s just us two here. Back home, you got a good many foot soldiers you could round up in a hurry. Good ones. We’re in this Buchannan guy’s backyard here. I’d bet he has more than just him and that bodyguard. And that guy’s a pro, all the way. Probably some kind of mercenary.”
“Well, they can’t be too smart. Showing up in a flashy boat and not even pretending to hide. Wonder why Buchannan took Grabowski in and is trying to shove us out? Grabowski had to look just the same to him, someone outside his network selling coke. Maybe they knew each other before that little turd fondler ripped me off.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right on both counts,” Erik said, deciding not to bring up GT’s own proclivity for driving around in flashy cars and staying in high-priced hotels.
GT knew Erik was a thinker and admitted, if only to himself, that Erik was smarter than him. Always had been. GT would never have made it through middle school if it wasn’t for Erik helping him.
“What about that place where Grabowski met with Buchannan, and where they went afterwards?” GT asked. “What did you make of that?”
Erik thought it over for a moment. “I don’t see a connection between a fortuneteller and a photographer, besides their both being locals.” Nodding toward the balcony, Erik continued. “He said he saw Grabowski coming out of that bar with the girl. You saw them later coming out of the restaurant and they’re still together today. Girlfriend, probably. My guess is she’s a local too.”
“That reminds me, we still don’t know who she is. We need to get to that bar and see if we can find out. The connection is they’re all locals and so is Buchannan. We should visit the fortuneteller and photographer, find out what they can tell us about him. These people all know each other, it seems like.”
“Both of those places will be closed before Austin gets here,” Erik said. “We only have the two of us and the one car. Someone needs to stay here and watch the boat. How you wanna do that?”
GT considered it. “Both places aren’t too far. I’ll stay here with the car, in case Grabowski rabbits. One other thing. That cab driver didn’t seem to like Buchannan much. You go to the bar and keep your eyes open for the cab driver. See if you can find him and pump him for more information. We’ll send the ferret to the fortuneteller and the photographer. See what they know.”
“I don’t know,” Erik said. “You think you can trust him?”
“He coulda bolted this morning. Instead he found where Grabowski’s holed up and came back here.”
Byers appeared in the doorway. “You’re wrong about the cab driver.”
GT turned in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“When the taxi dropped them off at the boat, the tall guy and the driver acted like old friends, shaking hands and what not.”
This news surprised GT. “Probably just being cordial,” he said dismissively.
“I was close enough to hear, once they got out of the cab. The tall guy asked the cab driver if he had a gun and then sent him to the fortuneteller to watch over her.”
Looking at GT, Erik could see that he was mulling this new information over. Finally, Erik spoke up. “They were onto us before they came out of the fortuneteller’s place. The cab driver fed you a line of bullshit.”
GT frowned. “All that means is that you won’t get any information from him simply by asking. And it puts the two of them together, the cabbie and the fortuneteller. That’s convenient. You go there, Erik. Find out whatever you can, using whatever means you have to.”
Turning to Byers, GT took his dwindling money roll out of his pocket and peeled off two twenties. “And you go to the bar you saw Grabowski and the girl coming out of. Use this to grease some palms and find out who she is and how she might be connected to Stretch Buchannan.”
Rising, GT strode past Byers and sat down in the balcony chair. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Go now!”
My sat-phone chirped and I looked at the caller ID. Recognizing the number as Dawn’s, I answered it.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she nearly shouted.
“Just indulge me, okay. Y’all wanted my help and there’s always a chance they connect you and Coral. I don’t like loose ends.”
“I’m closing up in an hour anyway, Jesse. And Lawrence has rounds to make.”
“I gave him enough to cover any loss of income,” I said.
“No, it’s not that, and thanks for that by the way, it was sweet. But I have a schedule worked out with a number of places so the waitresses and bartenders leave work at different times. Lawrence picks the girls up and drives them around the island, before dropping them off at their homes, just in case of stalkers. We’ve had more than a few overly amorous tourists follow girls home, but not since we set up the schedule.”
“Knowing Lawrence, I completely believe that,” I said. “Would you at least have him do the same with you? Then he can make his rounds.”
“Why is it that all of you strong, silent types are always so damned overprotective?” she said with a sigh. “Never mind. You already got Lawrence rattled to where I couldn’t beat him out of here with a broom. Besides, my daddy’s Mossberg is in the closet.”
“Good. Call me if anything comes up and tell him to call me when he drops you off at home.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Bligh,” she responded and hung up.
I looked over at Coral, sitting on the couch with Michal. “Your aunt’s a character.”
Coral looked up and smiled. “She is that. Her and Lawrence sort of watch over a bunch of us girls. They see us as vulnerable.”
My sat-phone chirped again. It was Deuce. “I’m gonna step outside to take this.”
I answered the phone and told Deuce to stand by, while I made my way to the salon hatch. Once outside, I said, “If you say one word of apology, I’ll hang up, then come up there and kick your ass.”
“The director explained?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “The CIA, man? How the hell did you guys let them rope you in?”
“I’m not supposed to say, but I’m going to anyway. It was the secretary’s idea and the president agreed. The secretary personally sends a courier down there, who hand-delivers information about
a possible target to Travis. He then arranges whatever assets Charity needs, flies to wherever she is and hand-delivers the target information.”
“How many times?” I asked, probably with a bit too much ice in my voice.
“Three so far.”
Three? I thought. Charity’s good, but that’s pushing the bounds of chance.
“I don’t like it, Deuce. The woman’s not completely stable. Have you told Julie?”
“Just now. She knows everything I just told you.”
I grinned. “Put some raw meat on that black eye. She’ll calm down in a while and forgive you.”
Deuce laughed. It was good hearing him laugh again. “She was pissed about the cover-up for sure, but after I explained everything she understood. These last few months have been hard enough on her, with the move and everything. Once I explained, I guess she sort of figured out why I’ve been such an ass lately.”
“You’re always an ass, man.”
“Yeah, well we both learned it from the same man,” he responded with a chuckle. Then he became serious again. “Look, Chyrel has all the physical stuff ready for your man down there. I won’t even ask how or why. I’m sure the director has his reasons. I’m sending it down by chopper with Scott and Germ. By the time they get to you, she’ll have everything on the electronic side completed and can email the dossier. They should be there within the hour and if you need them or the chopper, they’ll stay on station.”
“Thanks, Deuce. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Are y’all coming down any time soon?”
There was silence for a moment. Finally he said, “No time real soon, brother. Maybe in a week or two, I can get away.”
We said goodbye and I stood there in the cockpit for a moment. A slight breeze had picked up, but did nothing to quell what had become a historic heat wave. Through the gently rustling palm fronds, I could just make out someone sitting on the balcony I’d already determined to belong to the room GT Bradley was in. Though he had a good view of the whole dock area and most of the boat, the palm obscured any direct view of the cockpit.
Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) Page 16