In It for the Money

by David Burnsworth

  Crome got out of the truck and swung a leg over his bike. “You know which one I’m choosing.”

  Of course he did. “Remember, Patricia will shoot you.”

  “But I’m not going to be talking to Patricia.”

  Blu said, “Mess with her girls and she’ll take it personal.”

  Crome smiled and turned the ignition switch on the bike. It exploded to life, and he let the idle settle down a few seconds before roaring off.

  Dink and Doofus stood guard by the house.

  Blu remembered he forgot to stop and get something for them. He got out of his truck and approached them. “I know, I know. Give me a minute.”

  The horses stared at him with their big brown eyes, their feet raising up and down in anticipation.

  He walked past them and went inside and got two cubes of sugar. It was his reserve stash for times like this when he forgot to stop for produce. He gave each of them a cube. While they munched, he ran back to his truck and drove to Charleston before they got the idea one cube wasn’t enough.

  Thursday, six p.m.

  The woman who’d called Blu said she had information on Jeremy Rhodes, but she would only give it in person. He asked how she’d gotten his number and she’d said someone with one of his business cards had given it to her.

  How many had he given out already? He couldn’t remember.

  She said she’d meet him at a bar on Market Street. He agreed because he didn’t think he would get ambushed in the heart of the tourist district. It would take someone with a lot of cojones to do that. A lot of cojones or not a lot of sense anyway.

  He sat at the bar, a contemporary steel and glass thing with padded stools, professional bartenders in white button-down shirts and black slacks, and bottles standing at attention under neon lighting.

  One of the bartenders, a young man about half Blu’s age, set a napkin down in front of him and asked what he wanted to drink.

  Blu ordered an iced tea, which did not seem to phase the pleasant server.

  He poured the tea, set the glass on the napkin, and asked if Blu wanted to see a menu.

  “No, thanks.”

  The barkeep left and a woman sat on the stool beside him on his right. Because of the interaction with the bartender, he hadn’t seen her come in.

  Blu drank from his tea and checked her out: curvy brunette with dark lashes and a pleasant smile. He said, “How are you doing?”

  Before she could answer, the bartender came over, took her order, a vodka tonic, and went to make it.

  She turned to Blu. “Good, how are you?”

  Since he didn’t know who he was supposed to meet and wasn’t sure this one was it, he said, “Not bad.”

  The bartender brought her drink, asked if she wanted to see a menu, and left when she declined.

  She said, “Why are you looking for Jeremy?”

  “I’m a private investigator. A client wants me to look into something, and he is a person of interest.”

  She said, “Sounds more like something a police detective would call a suspect. What did he do?”

  “I’m not with the police. And as far as I know, Jeremy hasn’t done anything illegal. I just want to talk with him.”

  “I heard you’re giving out a reward for information.”

  The conversation with the barista came to mind, but he wasn’t sure if this was connected and didn’t mention it. Or maybe it was another source from Andeline?

  “Depends on what it is,” he said.

  “What if I told you he’s in a hotel room and I have the key?”

  “Then I suppose your reward is a ten by ten cell with a roommate.”

  She gave him a smile. “Come, now.”

  “Kidnapping is serious business.”

  Stirring her drink with the small straw, she said, “What makes you think he was kidnapped?”

  He turned on his stool to face her directly. “Just a hunch.”

  “You’re not a very good detective, are you?”

  “Never said I was. What I am is curious. If you’ve got Jeremy, and he’s not being held against his will, then I’d really like to speak with him.”

  “Again, I ask, what’s my reward?”

  Too low of an offer and she’d probably throw her drink in his face. Too high and she’d try to get more. He erred on the side of too high. “Five grand.”

  “And all you want to do is speak with him?”

  “Yes.”

  She finished off her drink. “Do you have the money?”

  “I can get it. But first I need to speak with Jeremy.”

  “That’s not how this is going to work.” She signaled for another drink.

  “How’s this going to work?”

  “I hold all the cards, so I’m calling the play.”

  “I’ve got all the money,” he said.

  “Yeah, but not on you.”

  She had a point.

  He said, “What’s the play?”

  Sliding her drink closer by pulling the napkin, she said, “We agree on a time and place. You show up with the money, cash in small bills, please. I take the money and tell you where to meet Jeremy.”

  “See,” he said, “you almost had me at hotel room. But then you go and show your hand, so I’m calling your bluff.”

  “Don’t like to be separated from the money, huh?” she asked, giving him a wink.

  “Something about handing over two short bricks of it and being left with nothing but my zipper in my hand.”

  She put a hand on his thigh. “Would you rather it were in my hand?”

  “Only if I were still holding on to the money.”

  Giving his leg a few pats, she said, “Is that all?”

  He put his hand on hers on his leg.

  She looked into his eyes, smiling again.

  And he removed her hand. “We’re still negotiating here. No free samples.”

  She dipped her fingers in the fresh drink the bartender brought and flicked drops in his face, giggling.

  He smiled, picked up a napkin from a stack on the bar in front of them, and wiped his face. “I believe I’m at five grand and an introduction, and you’re holding onto a pipe dream of running away with my money.”

  She squeezed the lime in the drink, stirred it, and sipped. After a moment, she said, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You hand over the money and I’ll give you the key to the room.”

  “The only way this is going to play out is me handing you the money while I’m looking at Jeremy from a distance of no more than four feet.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Then I’m afraid I fold,” he said, getting off his stool. From his wallet, he selected a ten and a twenty and set them on the bar for their drinks. “It’s been real swell, Ms. Whatever-Your-Name-Is.”

  “Wait,” she said.

  But it was too late. He was halfway to the door when he heard her say, “My name’s Kara.”

  He stopped and turned to her. “Was that so difficult?”

  “Of course,” she said, “I could be lying.”

  He gave her a grin, turned, and walked out. She probably was lying.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Blu waited in his SUV outside in the parking lot for Kara to leave. He had moved to a better location with a clear view of the front door. The whole thing could be a setup with him in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle, but he decided the chance was worth it. Kara tried to play tough, but she wasn’t a professional—she’d seen too many movies.

  While he waited, he called his partner.

  Crome answered and loud hip-hop music blared through the phone speaker. “Yeah?”

  Blu found himself trying to yell over the song he would never recognize because he never wanted to hear it again. “I think I may have a line on
Jeremy. How’s it going on your end?”

  The distinctive sound of female laughter came across, even over the music. “Not too bad.”

  The man had one job to do…

  Before Blu could say something, Crome said, “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  After some static as if the phone were being handed to another person, Harmony said, “Hey there.”

  She sounded tipsy. Damn Crome.

  Blu said, “Howdy, yourself.”

  She said, “I’ve got a friend in the banking industry. He owes me a few favors.”

  Because he really didn’t want to know why the banker sap owed her, he refrained from asking.

  Harmony continued. “He did some digging for me and came up with Jeremy’s trust fund payments. They are large enough for me to want to date him.”

  “Must have been some big chit you cashed in.”

  “Think nothing of it,” she said.

  Blu hoped the poor banker sap had really paid back his debt. Sometimes there were things that never got paid off, that seemed to earn interest forever. And sometimes there were people who took advantage of those things and those unfortunate souls. He said, “Can you send it to me?”

  The song changed from noise to a Prince classic. Harmony squealed and the volume of sound increased. She said, “Check your inbox. Here’s Crome.”

  Another phone shuffle, then Crome said, “Yo, Blu. How’d you make out?”

  Blu yelled, “I’m still working on it.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said,” he yelled, “I’m still working on it.”

  “Can’t hear you. Harmony says send us a text.”

  The call ended.

  If he sent a text, he’d have to take his eyes off the door. Double damn Crome.

  In the midst of his frustration, “Kara” came out the front door.

  Blu watched Kara walk to a late model red convertible Camaro. She got in and drove away, not seeming to notice him fall in behind a few cars back.

  Luckily, she didn’t drive all that fast and didn’t try to cut any close lights. The way she drove was a tail’s dream. She led him all the way to a hotel in Mount Pleasant and parked in the lot.

  Blu lingered at the entrance until he was convinced her intention was to get out of her car before he pulled into a spot himself. He cut the engine and hopped out, catching up to Kara as she entered the building.

  He said, “I’ve got another deal for you.”

  She stopped, turned and gave him a wide-eyed gaze. “You followed me?”

  “Pretty good, huh?”

  With folded arms across her chest, she said, “Not if I scream.”

  “True,” he said. “But we both know I’m not here to harm you.”

  “What’s the new deal?”

  “If Jeremy is here and I speak with him, I promise you will get five thousand dollars tomorrow afternoon. Just like we talked about.”

  She tapped a foot. “I still can’t believe you followed me.”

  “What’ll it be?”

  She made a quick call on her cell, stepping far enough away from Blu so he couldn’t hear. After about fifteen seconds, she ended the call and handed him a key card. “Room 216.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thursday, seven thirty p.m.

  Redman sat in the passenger seat of a Chevy Tahoe, the air blowing cold against the heat of the day, and watched the dark-skinned PI he thought might be Latino talking with Lacy. He turned to his driver, an African-American soldier named Trent. Trent was six-two, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, and very skilled in hand-to-hand combat and torture, whatever the job required. After the debacle with the rednecks shooting up the old truck and still missing the target, he wanted professionals. He also wanted to be directly involved in case he had to eliminate any links.

  With more than a hint of satisfaction, Redman said, “Lacy really knows what she’s doing.”

  Trent said, “I told you. She scammed me the first time I met her.”

  “Is everything set up inside?”

  “Yes. We’re ready.”

  Blu pulled his Glock, held it low in his right hand and used the key Kara had given him to open the door to room 216. The layout was typical: closet on the left, bathroom on the right, and the sleeping area beyond the immediate hall. A light was on in the main part of the room.

  “Hello?” he said, training the gun forward. “Jeremy?”

  A female voice responded. “Come on in, honey.”

  With more than a slight hesitation, Blu made his way into the light and found two young women sprawled across the bed naked as the day they were born, which looked to Blu like it hadn’t been more than eighteen years prior.

  The closest, a leggy brunette, reached up and put a hand on his chest. “You sure are gorgeous, aren’t you?”

  Blu stumbled backward a step, almost forgetting his drawn weapon.

  The women giggled.

  “You look surprised, honey,” said the other woman, a redhead.

  “Uh…”

  They slid off the bed and approached him.

  A Bible verse he’d heard a long time ago when his mother had taken him to church jarred him back to reality—“Flee from sin.” Well, that and the thought of Billie.

  He dropped the key from his hand, pushed away from the young sirens, and exited the room. His senses didn’t return until he was down the stairs and outside walking toward his SUV in the parking lot. He fumbled for the key fob in his pocket when he got to the driver’s side door.

  A voice behind him said, “You should have stayed with the girls.”

  Blu turned, and a large black man hit him with a hard gut punch, dropping him to his knees. He slipped the Glock out, raised it, and before his attacker could take another swing, shot the man at point blank range.

  The man spun around.

  Blu stood uneasily, one hand on his injured ribs, and kept the pistol aimed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Redman watched Trent stagger away and thought this PI was really good. And Trent had screwed up by showing off with the punch instead of knocking him out like they’d talked about.

  He put the truck in drive and rolled toward them. His instinct told him to be careful. The girls he’d staged in the room knew what to do. They were probably already packed up and gone.

  Trent was a contract killer with no ties to him or his boss. Now he was nothing but a loose end.

  Redman caught up with Trent, who had just stumbled around the corner of the building and was leaning over, holding his gut. Blood seeped through his fingers. Redman lowered the window, pulled a pistol out and, when Trent looked up at him, shot him in the face twice.

  Sorry about that, Trent. You let the PI beat you.

  Blu caught his breath, cussing himself for being stupid. As he did, he saw the Tahoe idle toward his attacker. He followed at a distance and watched the driver shoot his wounded assailant.

  Blu raised his pistol, but the Tahoe accelerated away, leaving him with the dead man.

  Kara was a setup. And he fell right into it. She had him convinced Jeremy Rhodes was here, all the while playing Blu like he was an amateur.

  On instinct, he checked the pulse of the black guy. It was a waste of time. The guy had been shot in the face. He was dead.

  Then he called Powers, explained what happened, and requested a meat wagon for the dead guy.

  The detective said he was on his way.

  Blu felt a sharp pain in his chest. If he didn’t have cracked ribs, they sure were bruised. He walked back to room 216 and gave a solid rap on the door.

  There was no answer.

  While he waited, Blu tried to call Crome back, but it went to voicemail.

  As a last resort, he called Gladys at work and gave her the Camaro’s license num
ber, cussing himself for not getting the Tahoe’s plate.

  She looked it up while he was on the phone. “It’s been reported stolen.”

  He asked, “How long ago?”

  The sound of more keyboard typing came over the line, then she said, “This morning.”

  “Can you give me the name and address of the reporting owner?”

  “How are you going to explain to them how you got this information?”

  Blu thought about it, then said, “I can say I’m working for the insurance underwriter.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Got a better idea?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I could just not give it to you.”

  “Come on, Gladys.”

  “Come on, nothing,” she said. Then, she whispered, “You know what will happen if I lose this job.”

  She was right, of course. He was just really pissed off he’d been hoodwinked.

  Finally, he said, “You’re right. Thanks for keeping me straight.”

  “Get one of your cop buddies to run it for you.” She ended the call.

  There had to be something really wrong if Gladys was making more sense than he was.

  Thursday, eight p.m.

  Blu sat on the curb next to the body and watched as the police cruiser arrived. Two uniformed officers got out of their car.

  Standing suddenly would be a bad idea, so Blu waited for them to instruct him on what they wanted. His pistol was at his feet.

  The officers, both with fingers wrapped around the butts of their guns, approached him.

  Blu edged up his hands. “My pistol is on the ground. I’ve already called for an ambulance.”

  One of the uniforms, the driver, said, “Hands on your head, please.”

  The other officer used the radio clipped to his shirt and checked on the estimated time of arrival for the ambulance Blu had requested when he’d talked with Powers.

  The reply all three of them could hear was, “Ambulance en route. E.T.A. of five minutes.”