Killing Shore

by Timothy Fagan

  Garby smiled. This vacation would be exactly what he needed. Screw the protesters and troublemakers. He'd take his family out for the ice cream, window shopping and photos. And tomorrow afternoon he'd be headed to Eastward Ho! Country Club in Chatham for 18 holes, after a quick stop en route to welcome Alexis to the Cape. He hoped she'd have little white shorts too. And he hoped when Lulu heard the name of the golf course he was headed to, it wouldn't coincidentally make her suspicious. He'd have to bring Lulu a complimentary visor from the pro shop.

  Garby had missed the thread of the group's conversation and didn't know why everyone was now staring out to sea.

  "The Madeline Too," announced Smith's daughter. Madeline did a ta-da move, kicking out one long tanned leg for extra emphasis.

  A cargo ship was cresting the horizon. Crowding the horizon, a leviathan.

  But it wasn't a cargo ship. Garby could see now it was a yacht. The biggest motherfucking yacht Garby had ever seen--long, black and sleek. The five Navy helicopters were flying seaward and as they passed the yacht, they seemed like little fucking seagulls.

  Smith's yacht. The best money could buy. Like Garby himself... Smith's message couldn't be any clearer. Feel free to mooch off my home. Feel free to beg for my money. But don't forget who owns who…

  Where was his goddamn martini?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pepper Ryan spent the early morning in a Robinson R44 Raven helicopter, an exercise in necessary futility. He'd hired the helicopter and pilot out of his own pocket to take him in a starburst pattern from the spot where Marcus Dunne's abandoned boat was found. Hoping what—that he would see Marcus Dunne floating in the water, alive? Despite no such success by the Coast Guard's helicopter, seaplane and boats? Pepper knew that his effort was irrational, but he had to do something.

  The sunrise provided a blood-orange mess of light, bouncing off of the low cloud cover, setting the ocean aglow. His pilot kept the helicopter incredibly low to the water, and Pepper kept his binoculars glued to the helicopter window. The water was calm enough that he should be able to see any significant object floating on the ocean's surface, but he knew with tides, currents and time, Marcus Dunne could have floated a large distance by now. And they didn't know whether he was even in the water, dead or alive.

  Pepper felt angry, anxious and powerless. His gut was unwilling to accept what his brain was telling him. Why would the Red Starfish Killer have let Dunne get into the water alive?

  He was glad that the helicopter pilot wasn't the chatty type. Pepper just scanned and scanned until the pilot gave him the high sign—fuel was getting low. Failure.

  What was he going to say to Trish Dunne, and their little daughter?

  Zula Eisenhower was covering the front desk while the sergeant took his lunch break. And the foot traffic was constant—citizens lined up, ten deep. A queue of unbroken misery. Where do I bail out my boyfriend? Where do I report my missing car? Zula was experienced enough to handle their questions easily, but still young enough to be bummed by their misery. So she really didn't have time for Pepper Ryan's nonsense when he appeared at her shoulder.

  Pepper looked like crap. Like he hadn't slept. Like he'd slept in his uniform. But still looking good enough to get that damn tingle going on the back of her neck. Idiot!

  "Zula, do you, ah, have plans later?"

  Later today? What was he thinking about—work or… pleasure? She made a face, asked the lady at the front of the line to please hold on a sec. Turned to look up to him, grinning down at her. "Why?"

  "Well, two things. Angel's throwing a bit of a bash tonight at Malecón. A welcome for the Garby twins. There's even a VIP list, and Angel was kind enough put me on it. With a plus one. So, interested?"

  Of course she was, but she feared it was for a different reason than Pepper, the idiot. So play it casual… "I heard about his big event. Like everyone else within a hundred miles…party with the First Daughters… Do I need any shots first?"

  The waiting lady was tapping some paperwork impatiently, so Zula ignored her.

  "I'll buy you all the shots you can drink. Oh, and one other thing. I'm trying to make sure Agent Keser wasn't killed for something related to his work at Eagle's Nest…could you do a full search on a company called Fulmar Limited? Maybe start with corporate record databases, confirm where they're registered, who're the officers? And bounce those people against NCIC, iCORI, whatever you can access. Also OFAC, if you can. The whole nine yards…" Pepper looked at her—tired, worried, almost pleading.

  So what was a girl to do?

  "Whatever you need," she said. Just please please don't take me for granted, bub.

  Pepper left his Airstream around 9:30 PM on Friday, maybe dressed a little sharper than usual. It helped that almost all of his clothes were newly purchased, due to the house destruction. He arrived at the Eisenhower home a few minutes later to pick up Zula.

  Tonight was all about getting in tighter with Maddie Smith and her so-special guests, the First Daughters, because Pepper needed to get free roam of Eagle's Nest, ASAP. There was nothing on the water that he could do to help find Marcus Dunne or to get to the bottom of all the other chaos that had been going on in New Albion. So he would focus his energy on trouble on dry land.

  Maddie wanted him to investigate her daddy's assistant, but she hadn't gotten Pepper on the Secret Service's gate list, yet. Someone was delaying the approval and Pepper suspected his dear partner, Alfson. The special agent didn't know about Maddie's request to make sure daddy's billions were safe from his assistant's claws. But Alfson knew Pepper wanted to look into the work that Keser was doing before he disappeared in case it pointed Pepper toward the killers. Pepper wasn't going to share all his plans and motivations with Alfson—he needed to do his own snooping, not blindly trust the feds did a thorough job. Nor trust they were sharing with Pepper everything he needed to know…

  Mrs. Eisenhower answered the doorbell. Tiny, Malaysian and with a joyful smile on her lovely face. She enveloped Pepper in a hug despite not being a bit over five foot four. She'd always mothered him and Jake and he still loved every bit of it.

  "Zula will be right down," she said with a wink. "Are you skinnier, Pepper? How about some nice rendang while you wait?"

  Pepper did love her cooking. And he hadn't had rendang for years… But he thanked her no, said he'd already eaten. Which had been an Italian sub, standing over the tiny sink in his Airstream.

  Pepper found Chief Eisenhower in the den with his houseguest, Pepper's dad. The two men had been friends since their army days, surviving Eisenhower's time as lieutenant to Chief of Police Ryan, then Eisenhower's taking over when Chief Ryan suddenly resigned six years ago after he KO'd Reverend McDevitt. The kind of friendship which transcended such mistakes as well as rank and reporting lines. They both had their feet up and had been talking about the presidential vacation while sipping scotch whiskey with the TV news on mute. Pepper suspected Lagavulin 16, with one measly ice cube each. He declined a glass.

  The General was staring at Pepper and finally he said, "Zula tells me this is work tonight?"

  "Yes sir, kind of undercover," answered Pepper, immediately regretting that word choice.

  Without really moving, Chief Eisenhower seemed to expand and somehow grow more menacing. "Well, be extra careful. If Zula gets hurt…there'll be another murder in this town."

  Pepper's dad chuckled. But Pepper swallowed, then nodded. Message received, boss.

  President Garby's face appeared on the TV screen and the General broke off his glare to turn on the volume. It was a news story recapping how the First Family had tied up New Albion's picturesque little main street. How dozens of regular families had their vacations ruined for his photo op and stroll. No consideration for the voters. Shouldn't he be back in DC, working to fill the two Supreme Court vacancies? That kind of snarky pounding. With a snort, the General clicked off the TV.

  "Did you hear yet about our progress on the house demo?" Pepper's dad asked
him. He shared that a sheriff in Warwick, Rhode Island had obtained and served a warrant on A & M Demolition earlier in the day. A Warwick judge had agreed there was concurrent jurisdiction between Massachusetts and Rhode Island since the alleged illegal activity—the home destruction and removal—continued all the way to the Warwick landfill.

  "The sheriff and I go back a bit," said his dad. He explained he knew the sheriff from a case ten years earlier involving a Warwick politician with a suspiciously large vacation house in New Albion. He'd assisted the sheriff despite pressure from some pretty wired Massachusetts politicians with ties to the suspect.

  "Saved us weeks on the warrant," grunted the General. "The demo company is probably just a pawn—we need to figure out who moved the pieces."

  His dad winked at Pepper. "So I'll drive over to Warwick in the morning, collect copies. Good thing I've got the Barnstable deputy badge. Because our Lieutenant Hurd doesn't seem to have much time to lead this investigation…" Pepper knew his dad had been a workhorse as New Albion's chief of police, but he'd never known that his reputation—and web of friends and influence—extended so far beyond his corner of the Cape.

  The General started to respond but then stopped, his eyes glued over Pepper's shoulder. So Pepper turned.

  Holy crap.

  It was Zula standing in the doorway, but not like he'd seen her before. She was wearing a mid-length black skirt and glittery black cropped bustier which left her narrow waist and belly button exposed, with a winking little diamond piercing. The bustier clung to her upper body, showing every curve, and just a hint of dark cleavage. Her brown eyes looked bigger than ever. Her long, straight black hair was loose on her shoulders, except one thin braid at the side of her head. She was wearing slender high heels which brought her up to the height of Pepper's lips. And he could smell her perfume faintly from across the room, like sweet vanilla smoke. Zula Eisenhower, all grown up.

  Zula gave a mock pose. "I figured it's going to be hot tonight?" she asked.

  The General put down his scotch on the table with a little bang, causing it to slosh over the side.

  Zula's mother appeared at her side in the doorway and smiled. "Just let me get my camera," she said.

  "Mom!" Zula pulled Pepper out the front door and closed it, with her own little bang.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Pepper and Zula neared Malecón, they found the streets in gridlock. Way more cars than usual and all maneuvering for parking spaces. He hooked a left down an alley, parked behind Tootsie Griffin's dark insurance agency.

  When they walked around the corner and saw Malecón, Pepper stopped in his tracks. Malecón's electric blue sign was mostly covered up by black fabric, leaving just three letters glowing in the night above the crowd: ecó. With expert staging by one of Maddie's South Beach friends, Malecón's patio had been reborn for one night only as a Miami-style ultra-lounge in honor of the First Daughters' arrival. A Cape Cod first.

  The mob by the front door was everyone on the Eastern Seaboard trying to get in.

  There was a blue velvet rope blocking the door and a broad line overseen by a very large, bored bald dude with scars crisscrossing his face. But according to Mr. Scarface, Pepper was on the VIP list, he and Zula could go right in. Accompanied by grumbling from the waiting horde until the bouncer quieted them with a raised eyebrow.

  They entered, Pepper blinking to sort out the confusing layers of light. The patio was unrecognizable. Little lamps with colored bulbs were strategically arranged around the patio, with ominous shades. The light was inconsistent--warm, then missing. Shadows danced in and out of Pepper's eyes until he didn't know whether he was tricking himself. The fence and portable walls were slashed by vertical, fluorescent tubes in ambers, reds and burnt oranges, not unlike an angry sunset standing on its side. The long bar was framed in purple fluorescent tubes, covered by a smoked plastic case.

  Pepper found himself grinning. This was not his typical scene, but it was pretty cool. And the crowd was electric—mostly young, but a mix of ages. And in that twisted lighting, mostly attractive.

  The stage was lit a bit differently. It was lined with drip-scarred candles, which flickered wildly in the swirling crowd, always in danger of snuffing out, but always springing back with taller flames than before. Behind the flames was a DJ with equipment stacks, playing house music. His head's left side, including his eyebrow, was shaven. All hair on the right side was blue. Again, including the eyebrow.

  "DJ Bad Smurf?" laughed Zula, her eyes, teeth and hair shining in the lights.

  Pepper squeezed her hand and led her toward the patio's middle, where Maddie Smith was center of the universe in a silver, flapperish dress, long legs shimmering in green nylons. Maddie was loosely surrounded by a good-sized group, including internet star Justin Case, who was puffing his vape pen and entertaining his own posse of admirers. Their clique seemed to be watched by, and somehow above, the rest of the crowd.

  Pepper was already more than a little sick of Justin Case. Word of his presence in New Albion had spread from YouTube to other social media. Justin was sighted buying a slice at Broken Dreams, and looking not quite meh about it—his highest endorsement. Broken Dreams had been overrun since that moment. Tweets blasted a rumor he'd been attacked by a shark but escaped mostly unscathed. Teens and twenty-somethings were spontaneously traveling to the Cape hoping to meet Justin Case. To beg a selfie. Or the ultimate, a lazy snippet of video with their cyber-idol.

  At the moment, he was holding Maddie's hand but was facing two other women. Identical brunettes, in matching white leather minidresses and flip-flops. Early twenties. Pepper recognized them from pictures—President Garby's twin daughters, Brianne and Skyler. Secret Service codenames: Freestyle and Funsize. But he didn't know which was which. One a touch shorter, so would she be Funsize? Pepper saw two men hovering nearby who were clearly out of place and uncomfortable in jeans and blue blazers, matching five-point star pins on their lapels. Close but not too close, what they'd call loose surveillance. God bless the Secret Service…

  Justin was telling the twins some story and they were hanging on his every lazy gesture, every carefree word. As Pepper and Zula joined the group, Pepper overheard Justin say, "And that's why I have a passion for beauty."

  "Oh my God, Pepper, you look even better dressed up!" screamed Maddie, giving him a hug and a kiss on each cheek. Her light perfume was spicy. Invisible fire. Then Maddie noticed Zula, gave what Pepper figured was her best smile. Zula smiled back, a tad extra fake? Pepper introduced them and Maddie repeated the French cheek pecks, taking her in and pronounced, "So exotic!"

  Quickly, Maddie had each of them by the hand and interrupted Justin's spiel to introduce them to the Garby daughters.

  "Ohhh, I love your bustier!" said Brianne. It turned out the twins loved ecó. Loved the music. Loved everything.

  "Pepper?" asked Skyler, the slightly shorter twin. "Why do they call you Pepper?"

  "Because he's hot!" said Maddie. The twins both shrieked.

  Pepper could see Zula watching their antics, her arms crossed and her mouth tight, then maybe realizing it, correcting with a too-big smile.

  Maddie told Pepper and Zula she'd flown in the DJ from Miami. DJ ChilEboy, with a capital E. The hottest DJ of Latin house and EDM.

  "Sounds so Cape Cod!" exclaimed Zula. Pepper gave her arm a squeeze.

  "He gets a hundred grand a night," said Maddie. "But Daddy doesn't mind—we just had to have him. And he's killing it!"

  "How'd you talk Angel into all this?" Pepper asked Maddie, gesturing around the patio.

  "Angel? He still does what he's told," she laughed. She probably didn't know Pepper had planted the idea with Angel for a First Daughter welcome party.

  Maddie had Pepper by the arm as she introduced him and Zula to a few more of her group's inner ring—good friends up from Miami. Dear friends from New York. Others in from Spain and Russia.

  "But you guys aren't a thing, right?" Maddie asked Pepper an
d Zula.

  "Us?" said Pepper lightly. "No, we work together."

  "And it's just as fun as you'd guess. Super fun," said Zula, again with an over-the-top smile.

  "He always was!" Maddie laughed, grabbing Pepper's arm, squeezing. Which brought Justin right to her side. Which made Maddie laugh more, and louder.

  "I know what you're really doing here," said Justin, now standing too close to Pepper. Borrowing courage from his posse?

  "Do tell," said Pepper. Zula was watching them while pretending to listen to something a Garby twin was saying. She now had one hand pressed lightly on the small of Pepper's back.

  "You pretend you're investigating stuff. Mr. Top Secret. But you're really chasing after Maddie. How about you take your jackboot hormones somewhere else?"

  Jackboot hormones? Sounded like a good band name.

  "Not that I'm worried," continued Justin, waving his vape pen near Pepper's nose for extra emphasis. "Maddie's crazy about me."

  "She'd have to be," said Pepper.

  Maddie giggled. "Enough J," she said, tugging at Justin's arm. He was turning a very uncool shade of red. "You don't want Pepper to kick your ass in front of your adoring fans!"

  A few of Justin's hangers-on were lurking too close, in what they probably thought was a menacing herd, eavesdropping for an opening to get involved. These gents were not as polished as the others in the Maddie/First Daughters/Justin group. Pepper thought he recognized one, a guy in a tight black v-neck t-shirt and long curly hair? A local from Pepper's misspent youth? He couldn't recall. Did Justin roll with hired muscle? Or were they just disciples itching to prove their value and share the light of cyber celebrity?