In It for the Money

by David Burnsworth

Through gritted teeth, the man said, “Piss off.”

  “Fair enough,” Crome said.

  The other man, the one Crome had knocked out, stirred.

  Crome stepped back and let him come to. When he did, Crome said, “I’ve shot your friend twice. You so much as cough in my direction and I’m going to blow your head off. Now, put your hands on top of your head.”

  The man did as he was told, a whole lot more cooperative than the other one with the bullet holes in him.

  Crome said, “I only need one of you to have a conversation. Why don’t you get smart and be the one? Otherwise, well, look at your friend here.”

  The man who’d swung the two-by-four watched his partner writhing in pain, bleeding onto the dirty floor.

  Crome waited.

  After about ten or fifteen seconds, the man said, “What do you want to know?”

  The man on the floor said, “Coward.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Crome said. “He’s just a little bitter right now. What I want to know is who sent you two?”

  “Jimmy Zoluchi.”

  On the surface, it made sense. He and Blu go to Jimmy’s office, have a conversation. Later on, a man shows up at Blu’s house with an address and a bank account number. But either Jimmy was really stupid, which he wouldn’t have gotten to where he was if he were, or this was a setup. Crome decided it was door number two. He said, “I’m going to make an addendum to my request. You know what an addendum is?”

  The man with his hands on top of his head, fingers laced together, said, “Yes. A change.”

  “That’s right. Not only do I want you to answer my questions, but I want the truth. You lie to me again and I’m going to shoot you. Now, look at your friend on the floor one more time so you know I’m not lying, and tell me who sent you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Monday, noon

  When Blu pulled into his drive, he found Crome by the horse trough hanging out with Dink and Doofus. He got out of his rental vehicle and walked over to them.

  Crome said, “Mine was a setup. Two guys tried to jump me.”

  The fact Crome stood in front of him without an apparent scratch on him told Blu all he needed to know about the condition of the attackers. He said, “You get rid of your gun?”

  “Yep. I already have a replacement. One of those nine millimeters you got in there.”

  “You call the police?”

  Crome picked up a half-eaten carrot from the ground and handed it to Doofus. “Yeah. And an ambulance. The two guys ended up going to the hospital. I used one of their phones.”

  Blu asked, “They tell you anything?”

  Crome leaned against the trough. “One of them tried to tell me Jimmy sent them.”

  “You didn’t believe him?”

  “Nah. That’s not Jimmy’s style. I eventually got the truth out of him.”

  It’s always better not to know all the details when getting a story from Crome. Then, if it ended up in court, the term plausible deniability could be used. Blu didn’t ask how his partner got the information. He said, “So who sent them?”

  “The contract came out of Columbia. The guy didn’t have a name, or he was more afraid of giving it up than of what I was going to do to him. He did tell me part of the contract was to smear Jimmy’s name around.”

  “You tell Jimmy yet?”

  “I gave him a call,” Crome said, taking out his vaporizer. “He didn’t like it one bit.”

  “I’ll bet.” Blu scratched behind one of Dink’s ears.

  Crome said, “So what do you want to do next?”

  “The guy in the Escalade who gave us the tips. I didn’t get a plate number.”

  Crome rattled it off from memory.

  Blu said, “I need to call Gladys. You call Harmony and tell her the account number’s most likely a fake or a false lead.”

  Harmony showed up not too long after Blu got off the phone with Gladys. Tess was filming a segment and wasn’t available.

  Crome said, “You wanna beer?”

  She said, “After the day I’ve had, you bet.”

  Blu couldn’t remember any leftover beer in his fridge since Crome had drank it all previously. He must have stopped for more.

  Crome went inside and came out with two Labatt’s Blue bottles.

  Blu made his own version of iced coffee, which he poured from a cold pot.

  Harmony said, “The police were called to a meth house at the address you gave me. They found two guys: one with multiple gunshot wounds, the other with a few broken fingers.”

  Crome said, “The world’s a crazy place.”

  Harmony raised her bottle to him. “And that account we tracked down went nowhere.”

  Blu said, “Since the address was bogus, we can assume the account is as well. What are we going to do about Jimmy?”

  Crome said, “I think we should pay him another visit.”

  Harmony said, “I’m coming.”

  Blu and Crome together said, “Hell no.”

  Monday, one p.m.

  Harmony rode shotgun while Blu drove the rental SUV to the used car lot. On the drive, he found himself half-thinking about the Nissan truck he liked there and half-thinking about how to handle the situation.

  Crome said, “Here’s the way we play it.”

  He laid out the plan as if reading Blu’s mind: while Blu talked to the salesman about the truck, he and Harmony could tag team Jimmy. The guy probably wouldn’t rattle easily again, but it was worth a shot.

  When they arrived and tried to enter the used car lot, Blu knew right away there was trouble.

  Two police cars, blue lights flashing, blocked the entrance.

  Crome said, “Uh-oh.”

  Blu passed the lot, did a U-turn, and parked in the McDonald’s across the street, just like he had done before.

  The three of them got out.

  Blu wished he had his binoculars, but he’d left them in his other truck, which meant they were most likely gone.

  They walked across the street and approached the scene.

  A closer look revealed two officers stationed out front had guns drawn and pointed at the office. A third spoke on a cell phone.

  Blu said, “This doesn’t look good.” He noticed the truck he was interested in had a marked-down price on the windshield.

  Harmony took out her phone, stepped away, and made a call.

  Crome said, “We should probably get the princess back across the street where it’s safe.”

  In the middle of her call, she cupped a hand to the phone and, to Crome, said, “I heard that.”

  He winked at her.

  She continued with her call, finished a few seconds later, and rejoined them.

  “Okay,” she said, “an emergency call to the police came in from the office here. There’s a hostage situation.”

  Blu removed one of his business cards from his wallet, stepped between the two cruisers, and approached the two officers.

  One of them noticed him and pointed his pistol at him. “Stop!”

  Blu stopped, his hands raised in front of him. He said, “I’m a PI. I had a conversation with Jimmy Zoluchi, the guy who owns this place, yesterday. Is he in there?”

  “I said, get back!” The officer, a kid about half Blu’s age, had pressure on the trigger.

  Blu said, “Someone tried to set me up and used Jimmy’s name. I’m betting this is related. I’ll be at the McDonald’s across the street when your C.O. is ready to talk.”

  Blu, Harmony, and Crome walked across the street to the McDonald’s just as two more cruisers showed up. Blu bought three Coke Zeroes, Harmony’s choice, and they sipped the drinks as they observed the scene unfold while standing outside the large plate glass window in the front of the restaurant. A woman watched her children as they
ran around the playground the restaurant provided. Crome told her what was going on and suggested she either go inside or, better yet, gather the kids and find someplace safer. She put them in her car, an old Explorer, and drove away in a hurry.

  It was a whole new perspective witnessing the action instead of being in the middle of it.

  Harmony caught the entire scene on video with her iPhone, part of the time as a selfie with the action in the background. No other news crews were around. She had the exclusive locked up.

  The officers outside did a good job keeping people away while at the same time providing cover from what was going on inside. Two men in suits showed up in a silver Tahoe, got out, and made their way to the officer with the cell phone.

  After a moment, the phone was handed over to one of the suits. Blu thought they must be hostage negotiators.

  Ten more minutes passed.

  Then their focus on the front door of the office grew. The three officers all had weapons drawn and trained on the door. The suit not talking on the phone drew his weapon.

  The door opened.

  A woman ran out first, followed by Jimmy.

  Another thirty seconds passed, and then a man exited, hands on his head, something in one of his hands.

  All seemed calm, and then he dropped into a shooter’s crouch.

  The police officers blew him away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A van from one of the other networks arrived after the carnage was over. It was too late for them, but not for Harmony. She talked Crome into playing cameraman with her iPhone and filmed an entire segment. Then she sent in her video feeds for Patricia’s crew to edit. Her segment posted while the van from a competitive network was still in the process of setting up to begin their coverage.

  It was all about timing.

  Blu sat on an outside picnic table at the McDonald’s next to the empty playground and watched Jimmy and the woman being driven away in one of the cruisers. An officer had walked across the road and told them a detective wanted to speak with them.

  Crome, now finished being the cameraman, leaned against the table and vaped.

  Harmony did follow-up interviews with some of the workers in the McDonald’s who had all watched the incident unfold.

  Blu’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Gladys.

  She said, “That plate you had me run was for a stolen vehicle. Someone torched it in Orangeburg. The police are looking for any information on it.”

  “Thanks for checking, Gladys.”

  “You know, some of this stuff you can check out yourself.”

  He smiled to himself. “But then I wouldn’t get to speak with you.”

  She hung up.

  Crome said, “The Escalade is a dead end, isn’t it?”

  Blu nodded. “Torch job. Police found it in Orangeburg.”

  “Someone is covering their tracks.”

  A man walked across the street. He approached them, showing his badge and ID. “I’m Detective Chalmers. One of the officers said you all showed up in the middle of the event and informed him you had information that might be helpful.”

  Chalmers was shorter than Blu, under six feet, with a crew cut that did not hide the sparse patch on top of his head. He wore a polo shirt and dress slacks instead of the usual suit, probably because the middle of summer in Charleston was, after all, Deep South hot.

  Blu said, “I’m guessing you already looked me up?”

  “Affirmative,” Chalmers said. “Detective Powers sends his regards. He said you are a real pain but to listen to what you had to say.”

  Blu said, “We’re looking for a missing man. Our investigation led us to have a discussion with Jimmy Zoluchi, the owner of the dealership. The missing man had purchased a vehicle from Mr. Zoluchi. We tried to enlist Jimmy’s help. Unfortunately, a man posing as someone who worked for Mr. Zoluchi gave us misleading information. We don’t believe he actually worked for Mr. Zoluchi but was using his name to throw us off the trail.”

  Chalmers said, “You think these two are related?”

  “Without getting into any client-confidentiality issues, we’re thinking they are.”

  The detective tapped his pen on the pad he held. “Anything else?”

  There was a whole lot Blu could say, like about the possible connection to the bait shop, or where Jeremy Rhodes was last seen. Instead, he chose the safer, less revealing direction. “If we come across anything connected, I’ll make sure we contact you.”

  Chalmers said, “My gut’s telling me you’re holding out on a lot more than just your missing man’s name, but I’m going to respect Powers and not haul all three of you downtown for obstruction at this time.”

  Good for him. Harmony would tear him a new one if he tried. So would Patricia. And then he’d have to deal with Cynthia’s laywer, Carol Ryan.

  He continued. “Here’s my card. I have a feeling before the dust settles we’re all going to sit down and have a nice, long talk about this. A man died here today, in case you hadn’t noticed. He chose a police execution instead of jail time. That doesn’t sit right with me. And it shouldn’t sit right with you either.”

  Blu didn’t take the bait. Neither did Crome.

  They shook hands and Chalmers went back to the scene.

  The detective was right, but there was nothing Blu could do. He had to protect his client, and himself and Crome. They weren’t exactly on the up-and-up. Crome’s run-in with the two guys earlier in the day was all kinds of wrong from a police detective’s perspective.

  Blu gave Harmony time to finish her work before they left.

  Patricia sounded elated when Harmony put her on speaker, and they discussed the hostage exclusive. They all headed to the Palmetto Pulse office next.

  Monday, four p.m.

  The group sat at a large table in the conference room.

  The women, Patricia and Harmony, chattered on about how they’d scooped every other network in town.

  Blu sat across from them, listened for a few minutes, then said, “That’s all well and good, but how exactly does this get me any closer to Jeremy Rhodes?”

  The women stopped talking and looked at him as if he were an idiot. Perhaps he was.

  Crome said, “What my esteemed colleague is trying to say is we’re happy our lead got you the exclusive. But we still need to complete the job for our client.”

  The focus went from Blu being an idiot to Crome having antennas sticking out of his head, with Blu thinking this wasn’t his partner but some alien life form. Crome did not normally speak with such business clarity.

  Patricia said, “So we owe you now, is that what you’re saying?”

  “We’re even,” Blu said. “Crome and I need to talk with Jimmy and find out what happened.”

  Harmony said, “I’ve been thinking your job is the real story here. You go to see Jimmy. Someone claiming to be working for Jimmy gives you false leads, and Crome ends up getting ambushed and has to defend himself.” She smiled at Crome, and Blu thought he saw a hint of admiration in her glance. She continued. “None of us thinks it was actually Jimmy’s guys. Then Jimmy is involved in a hostage crisis. I think someone is trying to mislead you and remove Jimmy from the picture.”

  Crome said, “For a princess, you certainly have some brains.”

  Harmony smiled. “Thank you. And for a middle-aged biker, you don’t smell all that bad, yourself.”

  It was Crome’s turn to smile.

  “If you two are finished with your greeting card lines,” Blu said, “we’ve got to get back on track here.”

  Harmony said, “I think I can find out what happened at the car lot.”

  “Do that,” Blu said.

  Tess poked her head in the doorway. “Jimmy’s vanished.”

  Patricia, Harmony, Crome, and Blu all turned to look at her.
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  Patricia said, “How do you know?”

  “The police put an all-points bulletin for him.”

  Blu said, “But he was just with them.”

  “Apparently they interviewed him, and then he vanished.”

  Crome stood. “I’ll talk to some people who may know something. I think I can find Jimmy.”

  Harmony said, “You’ve got sources?”

  He winked, “It’s the only way I lasted this long, sweetheart.”

  Blu said, “Certainly not from clean living.”

  Crome gave a hoarse chuckle. “Got that right. Let’s go. I’ve got to get my bike.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Monday, six p.m.

  Crome rode hard and fast through the two-lane roads lined with marsh, taking the sweeping bends at over a hundred miles an hour, his modified Harley-Davidson in perfect tune.

  His sole possession cost a helluva lot of money, but he didn’t own anything else of value except some tucked-away cash no one else knew about. Besides, the ladies loved the bike.

  He roared into South Myrtle Beach two hours later, energized from the ride. Known more for tourism than anything else, it was a safe place for someone from the underworld to lie low. No one was from there originally and most of the residents were seasonal.

  Crome rolled into the gravel lot of the one place tourists didn’t go. Bert’s Bar, a few miles inland, had the distinction of being both a dive and a local favorite. If any tourists did find it, they didn’t stay long. Nestled in the middle of a cluster of live oaks, the bar had begun its life as a shipping container someone had cut open with a torch. While the bartenders worked from inside the container, everyone else sat outside perched on stools on a wooden deck shaded by the trees. Worn-out awnings did their best to protect everyone from the elements, but if a real thunderstorm came through everyone got wet.

  The lot held mostly older pickup trucks and SUVs, and more than a few motorcycles—Harleys or customs, all of them.

  Crome dismounted, made his way to the bar, and sat at a stool down from the other patrons.