I leaned over and looked out the kitchen window. I’d been doing that a lot lately, checking to make sure another dead body hadn’t shown up. Blowing a sigh of relief, I turned to see Fab pull her phone away from her ear. Apparently, Brick heard me.
“Find someone else. I’m not going alone,” Fab told him.
Whatever his response, she started yelling back in French, which she reserved for when she was really mad.
“I quit. You can have your stinking Mercedes,” were her last words before she hung up. A second later, her phone left her hand and slammed into the wall.
I sighed as I looked at the pieces. The last time I did that, the screen cracked and nothing worked quite right until finally, fed up, I traded it in. Now I felt bad. Fab and Brick had a long-standing relationship, going back before I met either one of them, and I wasn’t going to be the cause of its demise.
I fished my phone out of my pocket. When Brick answered, he didn’t say anything, just heavy breathing.
“This is my fault,” I said. “Good excuse though––I’ve had a bad day. Let’s forget the last five minutes, like it never happened. We’ll pick up whatever her name is in the morning.”
“Thanks, Madison. You need anything, call me.”
I could hear the relief in his voice before he hung up.
Fab looked happy. “I don’t have to give my car back?”
“Now would be the time to ask for a newer, shinier model. Brick wouldn’t give you a hassle. You’re his favorite. He wouldn’t miss me, but I think he missed you already.”
I slid off the stool. “Let’s go. I need a nap if I’m going to stay awake for this road trip.”
* * *
We arrived at Lowell Correctional Institution and parked in front of the gate that prisoners walked through to their freedom. I called and confirmed that she was eligible for release at midnight, but more than likely we wouldn’t see her until around six in the morning.
Creole and I had a system. When on a job, I texted the location. He confirmed back that Lowell, one of the state’s largest prisons, handled all levels of custody and that it might be a long wait.
An hour later, a woman who vaguely matched the picture ambled out. She turned and gave the double finger to the back of the guard. Prison life had aged her, and she looked worn out.
“What did Brick say about her? You need to go get her so we can get the hell out of here.” Fab looked skeptical.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. “Wrongful conviction.”
“One hundred dollars says she drew the luckiest card of her life and got away with it.” Fab continued to stare out the windshield.
“Bet with you?” I shook my head. “No way. You always win. We can’t let her stand there. You owe me for being the welcome committee.” I slid out of the car and called out.
Her once-blonde hair was now a dull grey. She slunk over and checked me out from head to toe.
“You my ride?” she asked, peering in the window as she hawked spit across the driveway.
I opened the back door.
“I’m Madison, and the driver is Fab.” I pointed to the chest of snacks and drinks. “Help yourself.”
“Can I use your phone? Let my son know that I’m out?” She slid her bony arm over the seat, damn near grazing my cheek. I jerked closer to the window.
I handed the woman my phone. I’d already forgotten her name. Grandma didn’t seem appropriate, and my notes were in my bag on the back seat. Fab and I exchanged looks as if to say, “Why are we picking her up if she has family?” Both of us stayed silent so we could hear every word.
Nothing decipherable came out of her mouth, more like incoherent mumbling you’d hear out of a drunk. I looked over the seat back; she had lowered her voice and covered the phone.
Just out of prison––what does she have to hide?
When she handed me back the phone, I glanced back at her again.
“Happy to be out?” I asked.
Okay, a dumb question, but my attempt at friendly small talk and seemed better than, “How did you enjoy prison?”
Fab snickered and I shrugged.
“How long have you been in?” I asked.
She laughed, sounding like a rusty door screeching open.
“Twenty long-ass years. Good thing I escaped the death penalty, or I wouldn’t have lived to see this day.”
Lying-ass Brick! Twenty years. I should’ve had Mac run her prison record.
“What did you do?”
“Not a damn thing. Not my fault I was married to the dead guy. Doesn’t mean I murdered him. The jury convicted me, because Artie’s arm was found in a box in the attic. Someone set me up. If I were going to keep a souvenir, it would have been his dick.”
“Where did they find the rest of the body?” I asked. Maybe her answer could help us in the quest to locate the rest of Jones’ body.
“They didn’t. The prosecutor decided that I put Artie through the wood chipper, only because it had some skin fragments. They weren’t large enough to test and only my fingerprints were on the handle. On appeal, my conviction got overturned because they failed to maintain custody of the chipper. My lawyer proved that the DNA report had been altered.”
“It’s safe to say he was probably dead before stuffing him through the chipper, since he had to be chopped up. He’d be too big to go through whole,” Fab said.
I thought for a moment. No chipper at the house or The Cottages, so pretty sure I wouldn’t find Jones there.
“Artie was a bastard,” she smiled. “Drop me off in Kenansville, my son’s meeting us. It’s a highway town just south of Orlando, slide right off the turnpike. It’s next to the wildlife area.” She cracked her knuckles, putting her hands behind her head.
Great-the middle of nowhere. If I weren’t so unnerved, I might clap at getting rid of her sooner than expected. Her smile was creepier than Fab’s.
I peered over my shoulder in time to see her put my purse back on the floor as she picked up Fab’s leather tote. I motioned to Fab, pointing to the back seat. She looked in the rearview and jerked the wheel, pulling onto the shoulder.
I jumped out, shoving my Glock in the waist band of my jean skirt, and threw open the back door.
“Get in the front or get out. Your choice. It’s rude to ransack our purses.”
She gave me a hatred-filled look, which swiftly changed to a blank stare.
Before getting back in the passenger seat, she stood and scanned the highway. I hoped she’d take off––I wouldn’t go after her.
I texted Brick the location where his client wanted to be dropped off and sent a message to Creole about the change of plans. I moved behind Fab in the back seat and didn’t take my eyes off the woman. It was a long, silent ride; I hoped I wouldn’t nod off. The good part about sitting behind Fab was that I couldn’t see while she drove the turnpike like a racecar driver.
Kenansville appeared on my phone as a faint dot on the map. It boasted being an old ghost town. A small ad popped up for a café, guaranteeing down-home cooking.
“Next exit, there’s a gas station. Drop me off.” Ellie pointed up ahead.
Fab hadn’t come to a complete stop when the older woman jumped out.
“Thanks for the ride,” she yelled as she bounced across the street.
The truck stop, convenience store, and restaurant were located off the main two-lane highway with nothing but miles of trees in each direction.
“You better check your purse and see if anything is missing.” I climbed over the seat. I breathed a happy sigh. We were rid of her and feeling no guilt about dumping her in the boonies, since she’d asked. “I already made sure she didn’t lift our wallets or money. Let’s get gas and get out of here.”
“Should we really leave her here?” Fab asked looking up and down the highway.
An old beat-up pickup rolled noisily into the driveway, back fired, and came to a stop. Two scruffy-looking men wearing dirty t-shirts and shredded jeans, both seeming
nervous, hung their heads out the window before jumping out of the truck. Ellie came out of the store and launched herself into one of their arms and then the other. She pointed to us and the trio came across the driveway.
“I wanted to say thank you and have you meet my sons.” Ellie pointed the two in our direction and stood between the twins.
Neither of them appeared to be very high on the IQ scale, if they even scored at all. They both mumbled, “Hullo,” in a sullen tone.
One stepped forward as if to shake hands with Fab, but instead brandished a gun, pointing it dead center to my chest.
“Get in,” he said, motioning me into the back seat of the SUV. “You,” he waved the gun at Fab, “get in the driver’s seat. Don’t do anything stupid, and I won’t shoot you two and leave you both for the animals to eat.” He grinned, a piece of tobacco stuck in his front tooth, obviously marking him as a chewer.
The other man took off in the truck, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake.
With Fab forced behind the wheel and me in the back, Ellie slipped into the passenger seat with a smile. The gunman slid in next to me.
Chewer cocked his gun, tapping Fab on the shoulder, a reminder that he was ready to fire. “Drive out, nice and normal. No funny stuff.”
“What do you want?” I asked. “Let’s make a deal and part ways all friendly.”
He ignored me.
“Turn right.” He indicated a dirt road that weaved between a row of trees.
“Pull over.” He threw open the door and reached across the seat to drag me by my hair, pitching me to the ground. “Get up and start running,” he pointed deeper into the woods. “Report this to anyone, and you’ll never see your friend again. Cops come after us and I’ll shoot her. I have nothing to lose. I’m not going back to prison. Besides, a shootout will make me famous. I’ll get my mug on the six o’clock news.”
Fab stuck her head out the window and winked at me.
Just great, fun and games for her. I’m stuck in the wilderness.
He switched seats with his mother and climbed in next to Fab, with Ellie in the back. Fab pulled a U-turn and headed back to the main road in a cloud of dust. I covered my face until the dirt cleared, then turned and ran after them, although they’d already disappeared. I smiled as my fingers felt the cell phone in my back pocket, a smile that faded when I looked at the screen and couldn’t get a signal. Too many trees.
Why couldn’t Fab just shoot those two idiots dead?
I wouldn’t be walking down the highway by myself, not a car or truck in sight. I headed back in the direction of the truck stop. It couldn’t be more than a few miles. We hadn’t gone far before Dimwit had us turn off the road. I had no doubt that Fab would be victorious, but how long would it take? I couldn’t stand on the side of the road.
Once I got a hold of Creole, he could activate the GPS tracker. Hopefully Fab hadn’t dismantled this one. She did a good job making every unit looked like it malfunctioned.
I didn’t so much worry about Fab being with Dimwit and his mother. It worried me more that the son would do something stupid. When Fab got tired of the game, she’d figure a way to get them out of the SUV, and she’d be back to get me.
Halfway between me and the truck stop sign up ahead, I reached an emergency road side box. I sent a silent thank you for the signal on my cell. Creole’s phone went to voicemail. I sent a 9-1-1 text to Creole and the same to Brick.
I tapped my foot impatiently. I hated waiting, but there was no way of knowing how far I would get up the road before I’d lose service again. I smiled at the sweet sound of my cell ringing.
“You okay?” Creole demanded.
I cut the retelling short, started with the meet and greet of the twins.
“I’m happy you’re okay,” he sighed. “Don’t worry about Fab; she’ll be back in one piece. They deserve whatever she dishes out.”
“I’m thinking I followed all of your rules today. There should be a reward or something.” I blushed, even though there was no one around.
He laughed, a deep rumble. “Go back to the truck stop. I’ll send someone for you. I’ve got a friend who lives out there, beard down to his belt buckle. Ask him what his favorite beverage is, and if he doesn’t say ‘moonshine’, don’t go anywhere with him. I’ll call you back.”
The phone rang again and this time it was Brick. It surprised me, as he usually went AWOL in these situations. I told him what happened, and he let loose an impressive string of profanity. This time, he didn’t disguise them by saying them in Spanish.
“I’m calling the cops and reporting the carjacking,” I told him. He didn’t need to know I’d done the next best thing––I called Creole. I waited for Brick’s reaction.
“No!” he barked. “I’ll get my brother on this and get her back in one piece.”
The elusive brother, who I’d met a time or two, was a commendation-winning detective for the Miami Police Department. To hear Brick tell it, his resume was impeccable.
“Be quick about it. I’ll do what I have to do to support Fab's claim of self-defense when she shows back up with two dead bodies. Those two imbeciles aren’t going to get out alive. Did you know your client probably wood chipped her husband?”
“They never proved that,” Brick said.
“If Fab comes back with so much as a scratch on her, I’m going to shoot you.” I hung up on him. I did briefly wonder what one did with wood chipped remains, but put it out of my mind.
I called Creole back, and he answered on the first ring.
“Hang in there; I’m sending someone to pick you up,” he said.
“Cancel that call. I’m not leaving the gas station until Fab shows up. Brick’s calling in the big guns, his brother Casio.” The sign was so close it spurred me to walk faster.
“Spoke with the boss; he put a call out to the local police. He asked that they be careful when pulling over the Hummer. The woman behind the wheel was more than capable of returning the duo in body bags with no harm to the public,” he joked.
I finally arrived at the truck stop and took a seat on a bus bench.
“Your bearded friend just rode up on his bicycle.” It was hard to tell his age with all the facial growth. He had a waist-length beard, a cigar hanging out of his mouth, and his silver hair pulled into a ponytail.
Now that’s a trick––smoking while riding a bicycle.
“Put him on,” Creole said.
He slammed on his brakes, resting the front tire of the bike against the bench in front of me.
“Hey, Red,” his lips quirked into a smirk.
I put my foot against his tire.
“Don’t bother getting off until you tell me your favorite beverage.” I lifted my skirt, showing my Glock.
He threw his head back and laughed.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Not if you stay where you are and answer the question.”
“If I were younger, I’d drag your ass home and keep you naked for a week,” he winked.
“Stop stalling,” I fingered the handle of my gun.
“Moonshine.” He jumped off his bike and set the kick stand. “Happy now?”
“Here.” I held out my phone. “You’ve got a call.”
Judging by the one-sided conversation, I was certain Creole was extracting a promise to stay by my side. The man frowned briefly at the phone. Plans to go fishing were made, and they hung up.
“Name’s Pinter. Family name, before you ask. Me and your boyfriend cooked up a plan. If your friend hasn’t shown up by dark, I’m taking you home.”
“On that?” I eyed his bicycle. No extra seat, not even a basket.
He sat down next to me and we stared down the highway, the occasional car going by.
“I’ve got a sweet 1960 Rambler at home, waiting for a road trip.” He patted my knee. “Don’t worry about your friend. Creole says she's as tough as they come.”
How is it that Pinter and Creole were good enough friend
s that the man would stage a bike rescue?
“You’re telling me your car still runs? I’m impressed.”
“Found it at a wrecking yard, one back in line from getting squashed. I got it for a song and restored it myself.”
“I have an appreciation for old cars. My father restored old Mustangs as a hobby,” I said.
Oh look, another car just went by. That made two in the last twenty minutes.
“How about I treat you to a meal?” Pinter offered. “They usually have a couple of hot dogs leftover that have been sitting in the warmer unit all day.”
“Share a bag of potato chips?” I hadn’t had a hot dog in a long time. I needed a sugary soda to keep from hand wringing over Fab.
We brought our gourmet meal back to the bench. I insisted on extra napkins, which had the clerk glaring at me. I covered the slats on the bench, throwing down the packets of condiments. I thought the clerk would be happy that someone bought the last two wrinkly dogs.
I poked the bun with my nail. Finding both ends hard, I tore them off, not wanting a chipped tooth.
Thank goodness Pinter was a man of few words; he kicked back and enjoyed his meal, forgoing small talk. We stared at the road in an easy silence.
“Thank you for the delicious meal,” I told him. It wasn’t, but at least it filled me up.
“That’s a pretty lie,” he laughed. “You’re welcome.”
An SUV came roaring up the highway, clearly over the speed limit, but a welcome sight as it got closer. I tried to gauge whether or not it would make the driveway. It blew by, missing the turn all together, followed by a screeching of the brakes and a squealing U-turn. Fab was back!
I held my breath and hoped she wouldn’t smash the bicycle. I let out a whoosh when she missed the bike, leaving it intact.
Fab threw open the door and jumped out. “That was so much fun.”
“Are they alive?” I asked, making her turn around, checking for blood. Creole always made me stand still for an inspection for blood and other assorted wounds after a narrow escape.
“You’re getting too much like your boyfriend,” she laughed. “Who are you?”
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Page 10