Blu looked at Hope who was definitely not going to make eye contact with him.
Crome said, “What my partner means is whoever is after him won’t care whether he walks away at this point. In the whacko’s mind, Blu is still a threat.”
Blu said, “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Billie picked up her cup of coffee, took a sip, and said, “I just hope it happens before it’s too late.”
What she said was unfair, especially with Hope sitting at the table. But maybe it’s the reason why Billie was going at him like this. He’d almost lost his daughter the past October to another whack job. Maybe Billie wanted him to see what he’d be losing, who he’d be hurting, if things went south. But he already knew those things, didn’t he? Maybe, but if he were to dig, he knew he’d find out what really drove him. Decisions were based solely on animal instincts of hunting and survival. Deep down, that’s exactly what Blu was—a hunter. Being shot at only brought it out more. Prey returning fire presented an exponentially larger challenge than sighting in a white tail from a tree stand. Or a target-shooting competition.
Much to Blu’s disappointment, the women left around midnight. He and Crome sat on the back porch and vaped. The entire herd of horses, all twenty of them, ate from a bale of hay Blu had bought and grazed on the scraggly grass trying to grow on Carraway Island.
Crome said, “I get the feeling you’re walking on a tight rope that ain’t tied off real good on both ends.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can’t have it both ways. You want the beautiful, steady girlfriend and the quality time with the daughter. But you can’t, more like won’t, ignore the danger you bring on yourself.”
“You mean like driving down the road, minding my own business, and getting shot at?”
Crome said, “My momma raised an ugly kid, not a dumb one.”
“So?”
“Don’t shine me on, Soldier. You take these jobs not knowing where they’re gonna end up. Okay by me. I like the cash and I love the action. But you expect everything to be on your terms. Life ain’t like that at all. Hell, even the box of chocolates thing is malarkey. Everybody likes chocolate, and ain’t no way you’re gonna lose with one of them boxes. Worst case is you get one that ain’t a favorite. Well, la-de-freakin’-da. They’re all still good. And it ain’t the same as driving down the road mindin’ your own business and gettin’ your head blown off.”
Blu laughed. Only Crome could link a quote from a movie dimwit to the reality of his life and have it make sense. He probably should be pissed off, but Crome was just being Crome. He said, “What’s your favorite chocolate?”
“Why, you gonna buy me a box?”
Blu took a long drag from his vaporizer, exhaled, and said, “We find Jeremy Rhodes and walk out of this alive, and I’ll buy you the biggest box I can find.”
“We find Jeremy Rhodes, I’mma spend some time teaching that peckerwood what’s what.”
If it came to that, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Jeremy Rhodes when Crome went to work on him.
Of course, Cynthia Rhodes, the paying client and the kid’s mother, might have something to say about it. But if something happened after the kid was found and the contract was closed, well…
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday morning
Blu figured out how to pull up the Palmetto Pulse, the local paper, on his phone. The front page had a picture of a burned-out bait shop just off Folly Beach Road. The proprietor, one Lance Camden, was found dead in the structure. An arson investigation was underway, but there was already talk about faulty wiring and several building code violations.
Blu had a hunch the investigation was going to rule the whole mess an accident. He called one of his newest sources, the owner of the paper.
Patricia Voyels was the aunt of Brack Pelton, the guy who ran the Pirate’s Cove on the Isle of Palms. A good-looking, savvy business woman who still had a passion for the story, Patricia also owned the Channel Nine News Organization.
He checked the time, 7:21 a.m., and called the number handwritten on the business card she’d given him last October.
She answered on the third ring. “Patricia Voyels.”
He said, “Hello, Patricia Voyels.”
A pause, and then, “How are you doing, Mr. Carraway?”
If she wasn’t already in her late sixties, Patricia would have given Billie a run for her money. But Billie had his heart.
“Call me Blu,” he said.
She laughed. “This must be good if you’re calling me this early in the morning, Mr. Blu. What can I do for you?”
He knew she purposely made the rhyme. Just to tease him a little. He said, “The front page story about the bait shop.”
“Yes,” she said. “It was a slow night. Did you see the write up on your shooting we did?”
“I missed it.”
“My news correspondents tried to contact you, but there must have been something wrong with your phone,” she said. “I’d have preferred to get a direct quote.”
He said, “That’s why I’m calling you. I was there yesterday talking to the owner you named as Lance Camden before it burned down.”
With all the casualness gone, she said, “What have you got?”
“I can’t say too much, but I’ll say this. One of the shooters I capped was the son of Camden.”
After a moment of silence, she said, “Wow.”
“I don’t need to tell you, Patricia, that I did not set the fire. But someone did. And—”
She finished his sentence. “And you think someone is covering their tracks.”
“You see,” he said, now playing with her, “I knew you had to be smart to run a news organization.”
As if ignoring his jab, she said, “I’m sending Harmony and Tess out on this. Take care of them for me.”
Harmony Childs and Tess Ray were by far the most attractive news correspondents in the city. When they interviewed a man, the poor sap usually ended up giving them a whole lot more information than he probably intended.
Blu wanted no part of them. He said, “I’m only talking to you and only off the record. You print my name and I won’t return your calls.”
“You don’t return them now.”
It was a true statement. After his daughter’s kidnapping had been resolved, Patricia had tried to make contact with him using her staff. He wasn’t sure why and thought it better not to respond.
“Ms. Voyels,” he said, “that is because you would send one of your underlings for quotes. Try being polite and contacting me yourself for a change. You might find I’m a nice guy if I feel I’m treated a little better than a two-bit lead on some backpage blurb.”
“Touché, Mr. Carraway. From now on I’ll just drop whatever I’m doing to make sure I give special people like yourself the preferential treatment befitting your stature in our little town. Never mind I am trying to run a business being eaten by social media.”
He said, “You know how I feel about that garbage.”
“I do. And just so you know, I’m still sending Harmony and Tess.”
“You are one tough lady.”
She ended the call without a reply.
From behind Blu, Crome said, “She gonna help?”
Blu turned to his friend. “Yes. She’s sending her two correspondents to do some investigating.”
“Are they going to get in the way?”
Blu smirked. “You mean more than they already are?”
Crome asked, “What are you talking about?”
He hadn’t seen the newspaper report, Blu realized. He tapped his phone and showed Crome the article. “I’m talking about this.”
Crome read the words confirming they were on the right track.
Jeremy Rhodes’ job just had another setback.
As Blu drove into town in his rental SUV, his new phone vibrated. He put it on speaker.
A woman’s voice said, “Mr. Carraway? This is Tess Ray with Channel Nine News.”
And so it began.
Blu said, “What can I do for you, Ms. Ray?”
“Patricia Voyels asked me to contact you about an interview for a segment. I’d like to get your take on the murder and arson at the Folly Beach bait shop and the link to your two dead shooters.”
“I’ll bet you would.” It almost came out as a flirt. He had to watch himself with Tess and Harmony. Blu didn’t want to be another in a long list of their victims.
She said, now with a hint of poutyness, “Then why don’t you? It would really help me out here.”
Guilt and the subconscious play of getting the man to think she’d “owe” him if only he did what she was asking. Blu had all the desires of a regular man, and they included being in the good graces of attractive women on television. What he tried to exercise was self-control and restraint. Sometimes it actually worked.
And then he said, “What do I get in return?”
Game over. No lives left.
Fifteen minutes later, as he cussed himself for promising an interview to Tess, his phone rang again. It was Patricia Voyels.
She said, “One phone call? That was all it took? You can do better.”
Blu said, “I’m trying to help you out.”
She laughed at him. No filter, no cough to cover it up. Just plain laughed at him.
“Mr. Carraway,” she said, after almost snorting into the phone, “I appreciate your candor. Now we just have to see how much of the farm you are going to give up.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday afternoon
If ever there was a time when Blu wished he were somewhere else, it was this moment. Tess stood in front of him at the burned remains of the bait shop, microphone in hand, and fired off questions.
She was shorter than him by more than half a foot and wore dark-rimmed glasses and a business skirt and blouse while in front of a camera
Behind her, thirty feet away, Crome sat on his Harley and vaped.
Tess asked, “So is it your belief the burning of this business and the fatal shooting you were involved in two nights ago are connected?” She held the mic to his mouth.
Radical Islamic fighters with AK-47s in the Middle East had nothing on this young woman.
He said, “The connection is one of the shooters was the son of the owner of this business.”
“And you don’t believe this is just a case of bad circumstances?”
“There’s always the possibility,” Blu said, “but the information I received is that the contract on my life originated in this store with the proprietor and his son by an unknown entity.”
“Why are you here today discussing this?” she asked.
“Because I am working on a job and somehow these deaths are related.”
What Blu wanted out of this was to put pressure on the one pulling the strings. Now anything that happened to him would put into question possible connections to Bobby and his old man. There was more here for Blu to find, he just hadn’t found it yet.
Crome watched with an amused look on his face. He’d never wanted anything to do with cameras and interviews. His best work was done behind closed doors without witnesses. Blu knew that was why their business arrangement worked. He handled the media and Crome handled the gray areas.
When the interview was over, he invited Tess to join him and Crome for a drink, halfway expecting her to say no.
She surprised him by not only agreeing but also getting her partner in crime to come along.
This was most likely some kind of relationship violation he would have trouble explaining to Billie. He tried to justify his actions by telling himself it was so the four of them could join forces to get to the bottom of the missing Jeremy Rhodes. And not because Harmony and Tess were the most sought-after bachelorettes on the Charleston peninsula and twenty years younger than him.
Crome, of course, didn’t seem to mind at all. But the only faithful relationship he had was with his bike. Everything else in his world was replaceable.
Wednesday, early evening
Sitting at a table at the rooftop bar in downtown Charleston, Blu ordered water while the other three nursed pints of draft.
Tess said, “Thanks for the interview. I think it’s going to pay off big.”
For you maybe, Blu thought. He said, “I hope so. We need a break.”
Harmony said, “What is the job?” She wore similar attire to her friend, but in lighter colors. Taller than Tess and without glasses, she gave off more of a sorority sister vibe with a strawberry blonde personality to match her cropped bangs.
Crome said, “Tell ’em. Maybe they know something.”
Blu glanced around the bar area and caught every man in the place with at least one eye on the women at his table—along with some irritated girlfriends and wives. He said, “This is off the record.”
Both Harmony and Tess chimed in. “Everything’s off the record!”
Crome rocked back in his chair. “Ha!”
The bar allowed smoking, which included vaping, so no one said anything when Crome pulled out his ecig and inhaled vapor.
Blu leaned forward.
The women leaned in to him.
He said, “Jeremy Rhodes.”
The women looked at each other and mouthed the name.
Harmony said, “Where do I know that name from?”
Blu wasn’t going to make it any easier for them.
They both picked up their smartphones, which had been sitting on the table in front of them, and did simultaneous searches.
Both women waited, then read the displays, then nodded.
Harmony said, “I know of him. We’ll find something out for you.”
“Yeah,” Tess said, taking her glasses off, “I owe you for the interview. It’s the least we could do.”
Maybe some things did pay off, after all.
“Of course,” Harmony said, “if you get any tips from the interview, you’d better share them.”
And sometimes things came with strings attached.
Crome sat back in his chair, a smug look on his face, his vaporizer in one hand and pint glass in the other.
A bar with attractive women was Crome’s favorite place to be. Well, the bastard owed Blu for this current setup. Thanks to him, Crome was two for two. Neither of these two women would take it any further than sitting at the table with them.
Except after Crome told them about Blu’s island and horses, the women demanded to see the place. The group then relocated from the bar to there. Harmony rode on the back of Crome’s Harley while Tess hitched a ride with Blu. His spider sense told him this was about as bad an idea as he could have, what with just trying to get things right with Billie. Still, the attractive, high-profile news correspondents were fun to be around. Or maybe he was just a pitiful middle-aged man caught up in the presence of younger women.
Whatever it was, it took them back to his place. Blu and Tess had stopped and picked up two pizzas and a case of Modelo for the humans and a bag of apples for the horses.
As he pulled out his wallet to pay, Tess stopped him, saying, “This is a business meeting. Patricia’s going to pay for it.”
Yes, she was, he thought. “If she’s going to pay for it, then we should invite her.”
Tess gave him a look. “I seriously doubt she’d come.”
Blu would have said the same about Harmony and Tess. He handed her his phone. “Give her a call. Twenty bucks says she does.”
“You’re on,” she said.
And then after the call, she reached into her pocket and slipped out a fold of new bills, pulled a twenty off the top, and handed it to him.
“How’d you call that one?”
“Easy.” He pocketed the money and didn’t feel at all guilty for it. “Crome and I are the hottest story in town right now.”
In what could be considered an act of either intelligence or stupidity, Blu also called Billie and asked her to come over. More like he begged. After a long moment of silence, she said, “You really know how to get yourself into some serious business, don’t you, Blu.”
“Something like that.”
He’d been stupid most of his life, even more so when it came to Billie. The last thing he wanted right now was her finding out he and Crome had two twenty-something-year-olds riding naked around his property on his horses. Or some such daydream.
He and Tess arrived to find Crome and Harmony sitting on the front porch. Dink and Doofus were already on the scene. At the sight of Blu and the bag of apples he had in his hand, they dispensed with any pleasantries and rushed him. He held his hands up for them to slow down, and for some reason, they obeyed.
While they nuzzled him with their snouts as if to encourage him to hand over the apples before someone got hurt, Blu motioned for the women to approach. He handed them each an apple and introduced them to the horses. The horses forgot all about Blu as the women offered the animals the treats.
Billie showed up not too long after, followed by Patricia in a sleek new Mercedes SL550 roadster.
Wednesday evening, nine p.m.
Crome took in the scene. The two younger women fed apples to Dink and Doofus. Two other horses joined in to get their share. Blu’s girlfriend Billie—why he called her at a time like this was anyone’s guess—and the good-looking older woman in the big buck Benz sat on the porch with them. He had been in many situations before, covered a lot of ground in his life, and gotten himself out of a whole lot of messes. But being on an island with four hot women such as these could only happen while on the job with Blu Carraway. The man knew how to throw a party. And always had a line on the women.
If he remembered anything come morning, he’d thank his partner for keeping life interesting.
In It for the Money Page 8