by Scott Cook
He jerked back and rose onto his knees. His eyes were intensely blue now, seeming brighter then the sea blue they’d been only moments before. His face was flushed and she knew it wasn’t entirely from the excitement.
“Endeavor to contain yourself, Madame,” He said half-jokingly.
She smiled a predatory smile at him and looked down slightly, “Hmm… I think it’s you who needs containment, big stuff. Or… maybe not?”
“Let’s stay focused,” he said.
She chuckled, “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”
He drew in a deep breath and turned away, adjusting his pants. He then went over and inspected his handiwork.
“These are our boys,” he said, all trace of humor gone from his tone now.
“So I’m safe then,” Andrea observed, coming over to take a look.
Both men had two bullet holes in them. Both were of a bit less than average height and build, brown haired and brown eyed. A pair of ordinary Central Americans to whom no one would give a second glance. One man had two holes almost dead center in his chest, the other one in the throat and one above his heart.
“You’re very efficient,” Andrea commented with little feeling.
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He stared down at his handy work with a smile on his face and a touch of sadness in his blue eyes. She felt something then, something more than the animal lust he’d sparked in her.
This was a strong and brave man but not a killer. At least not a man who enjoyed killing. He’d do what was necessary but had enough heart to feel pity for his enemies. She felt some kindness for him and also a sense of safety for herself.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” She said hesitantly. “It’s just that when you were on top of me, pressed so close… it’s been a while since… well, you’re very attractive and I just got carried away.”
He treated her to a glimmer of a smile, “I’m not offended. How could I be? It’s not every day a beautiful woman… well, no apologies necessary.”
She grinned back, “Oh, I know you liked it, at least physically. Still, I don’t want to give you the impression I’m some sort of sex starved whore. I don’t fling my legs around every man that crosses my path… or slides down a rope onto my balcony… even if they are very attractive.”
“Good to know,” He said, beginning to rifle the men’s clothing. “I don’t board every elegant lady ship that crosses my hawse, either. Not lately, at any rate.”
She laughed while she watched him work efficiently, “You sound like a sailor.”
He nodded. He sat back on his haunches, having found nothing, “Empty pockets. Not even a pack of smokes. Not surprised, really…”
He was talking to himself, she knew. He inhaled, rose to his feet and turned to her, “Miss Wellesley, my name is Scott Jarvis… and you and I need to have a serious talk.”
Chapter 2
First week of June…
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!”
I leaned forward and looked over at my friend Wayne Jackson and laughed. He looked pale, which wasn’t an easy feat for a man with his dark brown skin. He glared back at me, obviously not amused by how amused I was at his discomfort.
“It’ll be okay, baby!” Sheila Clarence tried to comfort him, her slight Jamaican accent lending a soothing element to her words. Of course, both Wayne and I have known her long enough to be able to pick up on the fact that she was trying not to laugh. “We’ll be on the ground in no time!”
Our other companion, a ten-year-old boy named Marcus Peters, didn’t even try to contain his burst of laughter. Marcus sat between Wayne and me in the front row of SheiKra, one of Busch Gardens’ best coasters. Unfortunately for Wayne, who was somewhat fearful of heights, this ride was one that stopped two-hundred feet above considerably solid earth, tilted ninety degrees forward so that the riders were hanging face down and then took a rather abrupt plunge toward said earth.
“That’s what I’m afraid of!” Wayne half-joked. I could see him white-knuckling the restraints so tight I thought he’d leave permanent grooves in the padding.
“Maybe if you ride enough,” Marcus advised with a shit eating grin on his handsome face, “you’ll get used to it.”
“It ain’t the height, Homey,” Wayne complained in his street voice. He then instantly and effortlessly switched to a more refined tone. He did this a lot. “it’s the velocity at which the ground approaches and the sudden transference of the kinetic energy from my body into the concrete that bothers me.”
“Wow,” I said as the coaster came to a stop at the top of the cliff, “that was an awfully cogent and well-crafted sentence… for you.”
“I hate you, Scott!”
“I know you do, buddy… I know you do.”
There was a clicking and whirring and the entire seating platform gave a slight shudder and tilted ninety degrees forward. We all grip the bars a little tighter as we were suspended twenty stories over the theme park… Twenty stories, face down over the theme park…
There was an uncertain moment of time where the suspense could’ve been hacked with a pruning sheer and then…
There was a clank and we fell.
“Fuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkkk!!!!” Wayne shrieked.
Everyone screamed bloody murder, even me. It was exhilarating to say the least.
We plummeted for several seconds before swooping into a long curve and flying through loops, rolls and negative g hills that rocketed us up to several other drop-offs that started the process all over again. The loudest, most urgent and admittedly the most amusing screams of all came from Wayne.
In what seemed far too short a time… and probably an eternity to some… the coaster was braked and we were let off. Marcus and I almost doubled over laughing as Sheila took Wayne’s arm and helped him totter toward the exit stairs.
It was especially funny because Wayne was my height and size and Sheila couldn’t be more than five foot two and had the curvaceous but slender body of somebody who worked out frequently.
Sheila was Wayne’s long-term girlfriend. The beautiful Caribbean woman had once been Miss Jamaica and had come to the States to attend UCF. She and Wayne had met there in their senior year and had been together for almost five years now. Sheila was as smart as she was lovely and was a junior partner in an Orlando law firm that specialized in representing small businesses and investors.
“You think he’ll be okay?” Marcus asked me as we followed the couple down the spiral stairs.
I giggled, “Oh man… he’ll live, but I doubt we’re gonna be able to get him on Tigress.”
“Just breathe, Wayne!” Marcus called after the couple.
I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes, “Dude… I have never heard a man yell a single swear all the way down that fall before!”
“Must be some kind of new f-bomb record,’ Marcus barely managed to choke out, he was so overcome by mirth.
“You guys better zip it back there!” Wayne grumped.
Marcus snickered at that. Marcus Peters was the son of a prominent Orlando Magic center who had signed with the team only a few seasons before. Wayne and I had a special relationship with Marcus because we’d rescued him from this very theme park back in October of the previous year and then from a sinking boat a week later.
Jimmy and Sandy Peters, Marcus’ parents, had separated a few years ago. Sandy was addicted to drugs and alcohol and the two of them had a tumultuous co-parenting relationship until Sandy had gone into rehab. Once out, she’d concocted a plan to kidnap her son and force Jimmy into giving her joint custody and as a result, a substantial support payment.
Wayne and I had thwarted that plan when we tracked Sandy, Marcus and Sandy’s biker boyfriend to Busch Gardens. We’d gotten Marcus away and back to his grandparents where he still lived. Not long after, Sandy partnered with a famous singing and TV star to contrive another kidnapping. Sandy expected to collect enough money to fight Jimmy and his doctor father and law
yer mother. Their plans had gone seriously awry however, and the adventure had ended with me and my sailboat chasing the kidnappers and their victims… which included Marcus… out into a pretty nasty storm off Longboat Key at night.
Yet, this is as a story that’s been told. See Shadows of Limelight for further details.
Suffice it to say, though, Wayne and I had sort of become adopted uncles to the boy. He was a great kid and we tried to spend as much time with him as we could. So today, on his birthday, Wayne, Sheila and I had taken him to the theme park for a day of fun. His dad was out of town and wouldn’t be back until the weekend, where there would be a blow out party at the Peters’ Lake Nona home.
“You’re alive!” This was shouted along with a spurt of laughter as Wayne and Sheila exited the ride and onto the street… or whatever you call it…
“No thanks to the dynamic duo back there,” Wayne jokingly grumbled. “Why didn’t you come?”
Another friend of mine, a detective recently promoted to Lieutenant with OPD, Sharon Nolen grinned broadly, “You kiddin’ me? I don’t risk my life doing crazy fucked up shit like that.”
Marcus choked down a guffaw.
“Uhm…” I said, side nodding in the boy’s direction, “there’s like a kid around and stuff. You think you could turn off the swearworks for one afternoon?”
Sharon scoffed, “he loves my way with words, don’t you, cutie?”
Marcus grinned.
“So am I the chopped liver now?” The last member of our group asked.
“What’d’ya mean now?” I jibed. “A real man would’ve come with us, Juan.”
Juan Fuente was a medium height and wiry Cuban man in his mid-twenties. He was a couple of inches taller than Sharon, who was a gorgeous, petite and shapely blonde. Juan never strayed too far from her when they were together. The two had met in February while Juan was still working for a long retired Navy Master Chief. After the old man had died, having been shot in spite of Juan’s valiant attempt to shield him, the young man had decided he’d like to put his army training to use. Sharon had helped him get into the police Academy and he’d recently been hired on as a junior patrolman with the Orlando Police Department.
“Oh, he’s a real man,” Sharon said with a wink.
“Yeah, almost as manly as you, huh?” Wayne needled.
“Give him time,” Sharon said without missing a beat. “Anybody hungry?”
“I am,” I replied.
Sharon grinned at me, “You’re always hungry.”
“Well… I’m a growin’ boy.”
“That barbeque smells good,” Marcus opined.
“The birthday boy has spoken,” Sheila said and put an arm over Marcus’ shoulders. “Besides, I think Wayne wouldn’t mind sitting still for a bit.”
“Yeah, and low to the ground,” Wayne said with a smile.
As we rounded the corner we were enveloped by an invisible fog of smoked meat fumes. It was evident to all that our chosen eatery was steadily and insidiously pumping out a stream of scents in order to neutralize our cognitive processes and induce a primal urge to feed. As we neared the cool entrance, my trusty mobile vibrated and began to ring with a familiar tone.
“Really?” Sharon poked at me, “we’re supposed to be taking a day off.”
I shrugged, “I can’t help it if somebody calls in. Besides… it’s Clay. You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you inside in a minute after I see what he wants. Order me a half chicken or whatever.”
Sharon treated me to an empathetic smile, “Feeling a bit like a third wheel?”
I shrugged, “A fifth wheel… but that just means Marcus and me are the sexy single dudes in the group.”
Marcus grinned, fist bumped me and they went inside. It would’ve been impossible to talk in the cavernous eating house. I pulled my phone out and hit the accept.
“What’s up, Poppy Churro?” Clay enthused.
“Just hanging out at Busch today,” I said. “Marcus’ birthday. What’re you up to?”
“Getting ready to head south.”
“Oh, yeah… the Costa Rica deal. When do you leave and how long are you all going?”
“Two days and we fly out. We’ll be there for like ten weeks.”
I whistled. Clay and Missy knew a couple who were sort of missionaries. That is, they lived in the mountains in Costa Rica. Their home was sort of a vacation spot for other missionaries. When they weren’t hosting these folks, Clay’s friends would travel around and help their guests in their operations. However, they liked to come back to the States once or twice a year for a few months to decompress and visit family. As a result, Clay, Missy and their two daughters and son were invited to come live in the house for the rest of June, July and part of August as house-sitters.
“I’m jealous,” I joked.
Clay laughed, “Well, come on down and visit. There’s plenty of room.”
“I just might. What about the business?”
“Got it covered. We were saving to do a travel trailer trip up and down the east coast this summer… but we thought this might be better and more educational for the kids.”
They home schooled their kids.
“I agree. What an experience for them.”
“I’ve visited here before. You really need to come down, Machu Picchu! There are lots of ex-pats down there and some really interesting characters. Could probably use them in your next book.”
I chuckled, “Sounds awesome. I’m thinking maybe a couple of weeks. Give you guys a chance to get settled. See what’s on my shedule.”
“Shedule?” Clay mocked with a guffaw.
“Indubitably.”
He paused for a long moment, “Scott…”
“Uh-oh…”
“Maybe you could come sooner? Like over the weekend? There’s somebody I’d like you to meet… er, well… he’d like to be introduced. An old buddy.”
I groaned, “Jesus, it’s not Conklin again is it?”
“Well… no. But don’t be surprised if he pops up.”
My mood suddenly took a bit of a nose dive. Not that the mention of Charles Conklin was necessarily a terrible thing, but my dealings with the man, which had started even before I left the police department were volatile at best. If he showed up anywhere, trouble wasn’t far away.
Then again, that could be said about me, too. At least sometimes. But then, trouble was my business… so there.
“What’s going on, Clay? Are you talking about a case down there?”
“I’m not exactly sure. My buddy owns a pretty cool company based… based in the mid-west. He’s got subsidiaries all over the world and that includes Costa Rica. They design and build eco-friendly systems to reduce the carbon footprint and make use of renewable resources. He’s actually building a facility not far from where our friends live.”
“Sounds interesting… but what’s it got to do with a down at heel private eye from Orlando?”
Clay laughed, “Yeah, just plain simple Jarvis, right? Guy who stops the mob from smuggling tech to Cuba. Guy who exposes a rogue FBI agent intent on wresting control of a gambling cruise business away from its rightful owner. Guy who fuckin’ finds a sunken Nazi submarine full of death germs!”
That little reminder soured my mood even more. Clay was trying to be facetious, but that last adventure, only four months earlier, had left a sore spot on my soul.
Clay seemed to tune in and said: “Sorry, man… I didn’t mean to pour salt on any wounds.”
I sighed, “No, it’s okay. Not the end of the world. And you forgot about breaking up a plot to take over another mob family, rescuing Jillian Moore and Marcus from a sinking boat and let’s not forget—“
“You’re who I want to be when I grow up! Now come on, it’ll be fine. I’ve talked to Miles about you and he’s impressed. Says he’s read some of your books and you might just be the kind of guy who can help him out.”
“Help him do what?”
“No idea. Something to do with his bus
iness and maybe his ex-wife or something… he didn’t really say. Just that when I got here, he’d fill me in and might have a little work for a couple of guys with something banging around in their plumb pouches.”
I snorted with laughter, “Your friend said that?”
Clay erupted in his familiar boisterous way, “I might have embellished.”
“Big word for a nail pounding Gomer.”
“Hey, I’m not just another pretty face.”
“I’ll say.”
“Dick.”
I laughed and said I’d check flights and see what I could do. Clay told me that Miles would reimburse me for the tickets and then some if I’d be there on Sunday when he came to visit Clay at the missionary’s house.
“So what was that all about?” Sharon asked from the table where my group sat.
“I think I’m going to Costa Rica on Saturday,” I said, taking my place in front of the plate of chicken and ribs they’d gotten me.
“What the Christ for?” Wayne asked, using one of my common phraseologies.
“Stealing my stuff, man?” I asked. “And again… the kid.”
“Yeah, Wayne,” Marcus said with a grin, “don’t swear around me, dammit.”
That got a huge laugh from the table. I shook my head, “Guess we’re the bad uncles…”
“And didn’t you steal ‘what the Christ’ and similar phrases from another guy?” Sharon asked. “A guy who lives in the Keys…”
“I did no such thing,” I stated peevishly. “I was saying what the Christ long before I ever heard of you know who. Besides… if anything, I got it from Salem’s Lot.”
“Uh-huh,” Sharon imitated… somebody. “So what’s the dealy-o?”
“Clay’s going down and wants me to meet a friend,” I said. “Not sure why, but could be a paid deal. So what the H? I get a free trip to Central America. I’ve got nothing else going on, anyway. Maybe I’ll smuggle some weed back.”
“Oh, now who’s a bad influence on Marcus?” Sheila asked with a grin.
“Yeah, and don’t worry that there are like three cops here,” Sharon said.