In It for the Money

by David Burnsworth

  He chose his words carefully. “I don’t mean to insinuate you’re not telling me something on purpose, Cynthia. Sometimes even the smallest of details can make a difference.”

  She frowned. “Of course. It’s just hard for me to open up about my son. He’s…”

  Blu waited for her to continue, and when he felt sure she wasn’t going to, he said, “Yes? Please go on.”

  “He’s been troubled.”

  One look at the kid’s picture said as much. “Troubled about what?”

  “We’re not close, I’m afraid to say. We haven’t been in a long time.” She looked at her lap.

  “Sounds like a normal young adult-parent relationship to me,” he said. Except he had no idea what he was saying. His relationship with his daughter was confusing but good.

  “Thank you for saying so.” She raised her head. “You know, I really started to lose him about the time the picture I gave you was taken. He began to change his appearance and stay in his room. His paintings took a darker tone.”

  “Darker how?”

  “He went from impressionism to gothic in one summer.”

  “You mean like vampires?”

  She said, “I don’t recall specifically. The point is I believe he was projecting his personality through his paintings. At least that’s all I have to go on, because he also stopped talking to me.”

  “Did he stay at home until he left for college?”

  “Yes, but we barely spoke.”

  After leaving Cynthia Rhodes to her mansion and staff and disconnection to her son, Blu wheeled his Land Cruiser out of town—thinking and vaping and driving at the same time. The one question coming to mind after the conversation he’d just had was why Jeremy Rhodes began avoiding his mother.

  Cynthia was at least giving him a crash course in Business 101. Yesterday’s lesson had been about always being connected, and the course handout was the iPhone.

  Today’s lesson had been to make sure people knew how to connect, and the handout had been a box of business cards with his new number on them. He’d been slow on the uptake, and although the card wasn’t a design he would have chosen, at least he had something to hand out. He tried not to feel stupid about not getting some made as soon as he’d gotten the number. For the past three years, all of his jobs had been through word of mouth. And most didn’t require him to hand out anything, just show his license a few times.

  He stopped at a gas station, filled up his tank, and bought a gallon of water, of which he drank a third down before restarting the engine. The day was already heating up.

  Chapter Six

  The usual place was a local sandwich shop on King Street. Except it hadn’t been so usual lately, with Blu’s lack of a credible caseload.

  Powers, about Blu’s age of forty-four but with the spare tire Blu had so far avoided thanks to exercise and selective eating, was already in a booth when Blu arrived.

  After the waitress brought them sweet tea and they ordered club sandwiches, Blu asked, “You know much about a kid named Jeremy Rhodes?”

  Powers sipped his tea. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Blu slipped the kid’s photo Gladys had given him out of the envelope.

  The detective looked at the picture. “Nope. Don’t know him. What’s the job?”

  “His mother thinks something’s wrong because he hasn’t made any withdrawals from his trust fund in a couple of weeks. It was her only way of keeping tabs on him.”

  Powers sat back in his seat as the waitress set the plates of sandwiches in front of them. After she left, he said, “What have you found out so far?”

  “Not much. The mother had me over for brunch this morning, which for her was vodka-spiked tea.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “You know the little buzzer that goes off in your head whenever something doesn’t seem right?” Blu asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Mine’s been giving me a headache since I took this job yesterday.”

  Powers said, “I’ll run him through our system, but I can’t make any promises. If his name pops up as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation, I won’t be able to tell you.”

  “I know,” Blu said. “At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  Powers looked at him. “What else?”

  “A source says the kid’s car’s in impound.”

  “And you want me to get you a look-see.”

  Blu smiled. “I am paying for lunch.”

  “You know,” Powers said, “free lunches didn’t used to cost so much.”

  Jeremy’s Volkswagen Jetta was a sorry sight. The spoiled brat obviously didn’t take care of it. Blu’s Land Cruiser was crusty on the outside and worn on the inside, but he sacrificed a lot of money in maintenance to keep it running. The guys running the impound lot said the Jetta’s engine had a loud knock and the transmission was on its last leg. How did they know? The kid had left the keys in it. Something told Blu it had been abandoned.

  Powers let Blu do a quick search, deciding to make a phone call while he went through the car. The kid had turned the car into a trash dumpster. Fast food wrappers and bags and convenient store drink cups littered the interior. Blu sifted through the entire interior including underneath the seats and in the glovebox and found nothing of merit. Same with the trunk.

  All of it confirmed Jeremy had abandoned the car, which meant he needed another vehicle.

  When Blu finished, he sat on the car’s hood and inhaled vapor.

  Powers ended his call and walked over. “What do you think?”

  “Assuming the guys working the lot are right, I’d say the kid ran it until it dropped and then left it.”

  Nodding, Powers said, “This isn’t the first time your Jeremy Rhodes has done this. He has a habit of buying junkers and finishing them off exactly like this.”

  Back to square one, Blu thought.

  Powers said, “Also, your boy is clean as far as our system goes. Not even a speeding ticket. For the record, so are you, and I still can’t figure that one out.”

  Blu knew exactly why his own record was clean. More than a few of his past clients were big-baller one-percenters who had no hesitation paying whatever it cost to keep their names and, by association, Blu’s name out of any and all databases. Adam Kincaid had been the latest. While his daughter’s disappearance got leaked, her rescue and the carnage Blu and Crome had caused were never reported anywhere. It was all hearsay with no confirmation, and no legitimate news organization would touch the story for fear of a lawsuit from Kincaid.

  Blu said, “Thanks for checking. I owe you another lunch.”

  “You bet. I’ve also got Jeremy’s name flagged. If anything pops up, I’ll let you know, if I can.”

  After leaving Powers, Blu hit the gym for another round of weight training and found a familiar face there. Heath, his favorite meathead, greeted him in the usual fashion—a mock headbutt.

  Standing six-five, a few inches taller than Blu, Heath lived at the gym when he wasn’t driving a truck and delivering cases of soft drinks to grocery stores. At one time, he held the amateur bench press title in the state. The guy was a shaved-headed, inked-up monster. He said, “Hammer-time, what’s up?”

  The Hammer-time nickname came after Heath found out what Blu did for a living. Apparently, the giant watched rerun episodes of Mike Hammer as a youngster.

  Blu said, “How’s it going, Heath?”

  “Fantageous! Wanna spot me?”

  Everyone in the gym knew Heath was training for another competition. He’d upped his reps and weight every day this week. Currently it was somewhere north of five hundred pounds. Spotting him solo was never a good idea.

  Blu said, “You know I’ll need some help with that.”

  The giant smiled, his skin dark and glowing from sessions
with the tanning bed, another preparation for competition. “Roger’ll be right back. He went to find his nads.”

  Heath and Roger were BFFs, their bromance sealed in their fierce training regiments. Roger was shorter than Heath, black, and twice as strong.

  The fact they accepted Blu while shunning just about every other gym member meant a lot to him. These guys were in it for real, and Blu respected that. He also thought they liked him because he’d beaten up one of their competitors while on a job a few years back. The guy had thought body mass was the same as fighting skill up until Blu knocked him out with a one-two combination.

  Heath pulsed his pecs, alternating from one side to the other, probably jacked up on steroids and adrenaline, and maybe a little methedrine.

  The other thing about Heath was he bounced at several of the local clubs in town which made him another sometime source Blu used.

  Blu said, “I’ve got a question.”

  “Shoot,” the giant said.

  “Where would I find someone your age who was hiding?”

  Heath said, “Hell if I know. I like bein’ in the middle of things. You know me.” He flexed his biceps. “And I never wanna be too far from the ladies.”

  What Heath said gave Blu something to think about. Jeremy Rhodes didn’t just fall off the grid. He liked art. Blu hadn’t bothered to ask Cynthia if her son was gay or straight. Maybe the kid wasn’t hiding. Maybe he was just hanging around in places Blu, or Heath, wouldn’t normally go. Beach bars, music, and seafood restaurants were what Blu liked. He should have known, by the looks of Jeremy, the kid had different taste.

  After his workout, Blu called Billie at the store. She asked him to meet at her house after eight. It gave him a few hours to take care of the horses and get a good shower in. Heath and Roger had coached him through this ungodly routine and now his muscles were sore and somewhat wobbly. Blu loved the strength-building, but hated the muscle hangover and the two days of recovery afterward. The young bucks had been relentless, God love them.

  Nestled in her homely North Charleston crib, as she called it, Billie answered his knock, belting out one of her namesake’s classics, “One for My Baby (and One More For the Road),” while the song played in the background. Blu thought his Billie would have given Ms. Holiday a run for her money in the voice department.

  Billie’s impeccable cover of the song was enough to distract Blu. Except she hadn’t stopped there. She had answered the door in lace panties and a bra.

  “Um,” Blu stumbled, looked down at her mostly naked body, then back up, “um…”

  She put her arms around him and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. “Blu, my love,” she crooned. “How are you, baby?”

  He’d faced sudden death many times. Warfare. Explosions and gunfire and hand-to-hand combat. Mexican cartels. Abusive husbands. The list could go on and on. But the closeness of Billie in the flesh completely derailed him. “Um…”

  “Come in, come in.” She shut the door and led Blu into her living room. “You know I always thought Billie and Blu had a nice ring to it.”

  Sweat beads formed on his forehead, which over the years had gotten more prevalent as the corners of his hairline stretched.

  Inside the room, two candles burned. Vanilla-scented, if Blu had to guess. He said, “Um—”

  Billie put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  He obeyed.

  Holding one of his hands, she stepped back and danced. It was then Blu heard the song change—Sade now. Facing him, Billie pivoted away, giving him another long look at her body. Then she turned into him, wrapping herself in his arms.

  Blu found himself moving along with the pulse of her hips.

  She said, “Mmm.”

  Holding her in his arms, he kissed her ear. She tilted her head and let him work on her neck.

  Then she faced him and wrapped her arms around him again, and he forgot about everything else.

  Sitting up in bed, getting his bearings after the second marathon with Billie, Blu asked, “Where do you think this Jeremy Rhodes could be?”

  Billie lay on her stomach facing away from him, her hips happily mooning him.

  At least, he was happy about them.

  She said, “Depends on what he’s into.”

  “Nobody’s mentioned him?”

  She raised up on her elbows and faced him. “This job is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve already spent most of the retainer squaring up my bills.”

  “Are you going to call his mother and tell her about his car?”

  Blu thought about it. “No. It’s not enough information to do anything with.”

  She gave him a smile. “You think she’ll freak out?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m working a few angles on my end. Maybe I’ll have something for you.”

  “I don’t want you getting into any trouble,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  But he couldn’t help but worry. About her and his daughter.

  Billie kissed him. “You’re my man. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.”

  He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her attention. And at this particular moment, he didn’t care.

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning, Blu steered his boat out of the waterway behind his property and opened the throttle up. His nineteen-foot Sea Ray, a purchase back when he was flush after the Kincaid job, cut a smooth line in the channel. Within ten minutes, he was in open water and motoring. This was a much better way to travel, but it had its limitations. Like where he could dock.

  Andeline had finally called, leaving a message on Blu’s phone with the name of her hairdresser. He’d returned the call and said, “It’s not really a service I need, ya know?”

  He buzzed his own head.

  “Just call her,” she said. “She hung out with some people who knew Jeremy Rhodes.”

  The hairdresser’s name was Carissa. When Blu called, she said, “Andeline said I should meet you for a drink.”

  “Don’t have to,” Blu said. “We can talk right here if it works for you.”

  “Thing is,” Carissa said, “I just wrecked my car.”

  “If the info’s good, I’ll give you five hundred.”

  “I’m off work today and want to get out of the city.”

  Blu said, “How about if I buy you lunch at the Pirate’s Cove on Isle of Palms?”

  “Deal.”

  “What do you look like?” he asked.

  She said, “Don’t worry, I’ll find you,” and ended the call.

  Blu docked his boat at the Isle of Palms Marina and caught a ride to the Pirate’s Cove from its owner, Brack Pelton. Pelton had worked with Blu earlier in the year on a job, and they had remained friends even though the younger man, an ex-Afghanistan War Marine, could be a real pain sometimes. But he’d rescued Hope from a mad Englishman kidnapper, and Blu would never forget it.

  Pelton could resemble Blu too much for his liking, but the younger man had proven himself to be one hell of a wingman. Blu thought the extra backup wouldn’t hurt. And while a somewhat respectable business owner, Pelton loved the action as much as Blu did. Maybe more. He kept two pistols and a sawed-off shotgun behind the bar and did not hesitate to use them. And he’d jumped at the chance to host the meeting.

  The Pirate’s Cove was an Isle of Palms institution, constructed in the seventies by Pelton’s uncle and rebuilt after Hurricane Hugo. It resembled an old Spanish frigate complete with green clapboard siding and two monster decks overlooking the Atlantic. The female wait staff were known around the entire county for their beauty.

  Blu sat at a table on the bar’s upper deck enjoying the sunshine and nursing a club soda and lime. A young woman pulled out a chair and sat next to him. Pelton came over and
took her order, a gin Rickey.

  To Blu, she said, “Andeline told me to look for a tall, dark, handsome man who’s too old for me. I’m guessing that’s you.”

  He said, “I guess it is.”

  Carissa had brown hair with highlights, big brown eyes, high cheek bones, and tan skin. Blu had to remind himself she was only a few years older than his daughter, and if she was a friend of Andeline’s she could very well have been in the life, hairdresser now or not. He held out a hand. “Blu Carraway.”

  She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Andeline said you two used to work together.”

  “Something like that.”

  Her drink came and she sampled it, smacking her lips. “She also said you were out of the ordinary, but I should look past it.”

  Blu smiled. Getting called “out of the ordinary” by an ex-Madame-turned-restauranteur had to be a new one.

  Pelton came back and they ordered lunch, a burger for her and grilled chicken for him.

  After the kid had left to get the food started, Blu said, “You know Jeremy Rhodes?”

  Carissa swirled the liquid in her tumbler with the little red straw. “Yes. He’s friends with some of my friends.”

  He asked, “Who was Jeremy with the last time you saw him?”

  She watched him as if examining his face for a tell, anything suggesting he was something other than what he claimed to be.

  He smiled at her, trying to assuage the situation.

  She said, “I don’t know her name, but she had a lot of money.”

  He sensed she was holding something back, possibly the name. “How do you know she had money?”

  “Because she had nice things.”

  He said, “Okay. Anything you can remember?”

  “Yeah, she had a driver and a couple of guys with her.”

  “In addition to Jeremy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like friends?”