by Scott Cook
Several high-pitched hisses erupted, and like a deflating balloon, the dinghy began to shrivel and the sponsons to fold in on themselves. I smiled at the expression on the man’s face as, thirty feet from my boat, his flattened out and the weight of the motor and the big batteries that powered it pulled the stern of the dinghy below the water. It didn’t sink, though. There was enough air left inside the tubes and the material itself, along with the slats that made up the floor to keep it awash.
I couldn’t help but laugh as the man was once again floundering in the water.
“Fuck you, Jarvis!” the swimmer repeated, now shouting it loudly along with quite a colorful array of curses, blasphemies and rather specific insults regarding my body parts, character and sexual orientation.
This had the effect of bringing his activities to the attention of other marina residents. Around the main fairway, several lights snapped on and voices could be heard muttering and questioning.
The Harborage Marina’s wet slips cover a four-square block area of water. From the Third Street side and from the eastern wall, which is capped by a wide sidewalk and lights, the docks proceed out into the water toward each other. On the mainland side are docks A through E, and the Salt Creek side, docks F through I. Each one of these long floating piers is capped by a T-head about a hundred feet long. On the south end of the marina, stretching from the breakwater to the mainland, is J-dock. Between the T-heads on both sides is the main fairway that connects the fairways between the docks to the main exit on the north side of the marina facing the University of South Florida. It was in this hundred-foot-wide or so space that the would-be assailant was now thrashing and swearing.
“What the fuck…?” I heard somebody say from a large cruising yacht on the B-dock T-head just across from me.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?” another man asked from the stern of a big motor cat on one end of C-dock’s T-head.
“He’s fine,” I explained. “His inflatable seems to have lost its hull integrity.”
“Fuck you, Jarvis!”
“I admire the breadth of your verbal lexicon,” I told him in reply.
“He don’t seem to like you,” the man directly across from me said.
“No… even less now, since I’m the one who shot up his dinghy and compromised its hull integrity,” I explained casually.
“Why’d you do that for?” the man a little further ahead on the motor cat asked from the darkness.
“Not real neighborly,” cruising yacht said.
“Well… he and his pal were trying to sneak aboard my boat and do bad stuff to me,” I explained. “Had guns and everything.”
A pause and then cruising yacht said: “That’s really un-neighborly.”
“That your schooner?” motor cat asked as if we were all hanging out and having a beer.
“Yeah, she’s mine.”
“She’s a beaut,” cruising yacht said appreciatively.
“Yeah, huh?” I asked. “Only had her two weeks or so… hardly seems real still.”
“Can one of you assholes give me a hand over here?” the swimmer demanded.
“Hey… ain’t you that private eye guy from Orlando?” motor cat asked.
“That’s me, Scott Jarvis.”
“I’m Phil,” motor cat replied.
“And I’m Don,” cruising yacht chimed in.
“Glad to meet you fellas,” I returned. “Sorry it’s this time of morning and under these circumstances.”
“I’m gonna drown out here!” the swimmer grossly over-exaggerated.
“Neighborhood’s goin’ to the dogs,” Don stated.
“Yeah… can’t put a gate on the fairway,” Phil lamented.
“Come on!” the swimming assassin implored. “Help me outta here, for Chrissakes!”
“What do we do about him?” Phil asked.
“Fuck ‘em,” I said cheerfully.
“Guy could drown,” Don commented with less than urgent concern.
“Case of beer says he don’t,” Phil stated with a laugh.
“Bottle of twenty-year-old Jamo says he’s not gonna get the chance,” I suggested.
7
With a little insistence backed by several guns, I lured the swimmer over to the side of Surprise. I then lowered his rope, instructed him to tie it around his waist and helped haul him over the side. Once aboard, I had him lay face down on the deck and secured his hands behind his back and tied his ankles together just like his partner.
“Now, gents,” I said as I sat on the lid of a storage locker built into the forward edge of the cockpit. “Why don’t we begin with introductions? I’m Scott Jarvis.”
The first man, the one who hadn’t gone for a swim, scoffed, “We know who you are, asshole.”
“Now childish name-calling isn’t going to resolve our differences,” I chided. “And of the three of us, I’m the only one who didn’t sneak aboard my boat with weapons and some deadly intent. In my book, that kind of makes you guys the assholes…ya know?”
“We wasn’t here to whack you out,” the wet guy insisted.
“Uh-huh,” I intoned. Then I grinned and said: “I believe ya’… but my tommy gun don’t!”
“What?” the dry man muttered.
“Doesn’t anybody watch movies anymore?” I wondered aloud. “I mean good movies, not a lot of the dreck Hollywood tends to vomit out over the past twenty years… okay, now I want to know your names and why you’re here. Oh, and the name of the person who hired you. And… begin.”
The two men struggled against their bonds. The dry man managed to turn over and sit up, pushing his back against the low bulwark and the railing above. His partner managed it as well, although less gracefully.
“You think we’re gonna tell you a damned thing?” the dry man asked scornfully. “Fuck you, Jarvis.”
I raised my right hand and showed him the black blade of my KA-BAR, “Oh, I think you will, Chief. And Ole Stabby here thinks you will, too.”
He snorted, “You ain’t gonna do shit, Jarvis. You ain’t nothin’ but a—“
The KA-BAR is a very effective and very deadly weapon. Preferred by the Marine Corps as the combat knife of choice, the KA-BAR is generally painted black, has an eight-inch blade that comes razor-sharp from the factory. It’s simple, sturdy and does a very effective job.
It was simple then for me to part the man’s black jeans and drive the point an inch or two deep when I stabbed him in the right thigh. The man jerked backward, letting out a harsh growling yell of shock and pain. The audible crack of his head smacking the railing stanchion behind him was an additional bonus.
“What the fuck!” the wet man gasped. “You fuckin’ stabbed Eddie!”
I smiled at them, “You fellas need to take me seriously. This is Florida, remember? Castle Doctrine? You snuck onto my vessel with weapons, uninvited. Two against one. Not only does the law support me… my unique… situation… authorizes me to do pretty much whatever I want. Now, we’ve established that your bleeding friend is named Eddie. What’s yours, Ace?”
Eddie had his teeth clenched but managed to shoot a withering glare at his partner. The wet man gulped and said, “Wendell.”
“Eddie and Wendell what?” I snapped.
“Don’t tell him shit, Wendell…” Eddie groaned.
“Don’t listen to him,” I told Wendell, moving closer and pressing the point of my blade to his belly. “You’re playing in the big leagues now, boys. Life and death. Now you spill your guts, Wendell… or I’ll spill them for ya’, capisce?”
“Fuck you, Jar—" Eddie began.
I drove a side-kick at him, connecting the heel of my left foot with his jaw. It wasn’t full-power. I didn’t want to break the jaw, just wanted to make a point.
“That’s an attention-getter,” I explained. “Now you shut the fuck up unless you’ve got something constructive to say. Wendell?”
“Eddie Paxton and Wendell Reed,” Wendell said, sounding unnerved now.
“An
d who do you work for?” I asked patiently.
“I…” Wendell protested weakly.
I pressed. I felt the tip of the blade puncture his shirt and press through his skin. Wendell cried out, although I thought more from fear than pain. The tip couldn’t be more than a centimeter deep yet. A whiff of ammonia tickled at my nose. Wendell’s bladder had let go.
“We work for Lou Cardoza,” Eddie mumbled, his voice sounding thick from the pain and his now swelling jaw.
I harrumphed, “That piece of shit? What’re you two, dealers or enforcers or what?”
Lou Cardoza was well-known in the Tampa Bay region. He was the prime mover in the drug trade in the region, as well as controlling most of the prostitution. Based in Ybor City, his operation covered most of the Bay area from Bradenton to Saint Pete to Clearwater and back to Tampa.
“Enforcement,” Wendell said shakily.
I nodded. Both men were around six feet tall and broad in the beam. Wendell was a little pudgier than Eddie. Although both were about two hundred pounds, Eddie’s build was more defined. Typical leg breaker types.
“So what’s Cardoza got against me?” I asked. “I’ve never met him, nor am I doing anything that touches his interests.”
“The fuck do you know what his interests are?” Eddie sneered.
“Fair enough,” I said with an elaborate shrug. I withdrew the point of my knife from Wendell’s belly. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“We don’t fuckin’ know,” Eddie grumped.
“Tsk, tsk,” I chastised. “Let’s not hold back now, gents. Old Slicey here got herself a parful thirst. Know what fer?”
“Blood…?” Wendell asked shakily.
“That’s right…” I replied in a low and spooky voice. “Blood… muahahahaha…”
“We don’t know the details,” Eddie said, almost sounding exasperated. As if this were painfully obvious. “Mr. Cardoza says go do a job and we go do it. It don’t matter why.”
I chuffed, “Seems like you’d want to. I would. I’d want to know what was gonna allow me to fall into the clutches of the Evil Doctor Jarvis and get me stabbed, beaten, arrested… or killed.”
“So what’re you gonna do with us?” Wendell asked.
“Not a damned thing,” I said, stepping away and looking to the starboard side where I could hear voices approaching. “I’m gonna let the blue bellies take it from here. But I want you two to deliver a message for me the next time you talk to Cardoza. Tell him I want a meeting.”
“Permission to come aboard?” I heard Alex Muñoz’s voice from below on the dock.
“Come on up, Alex,” I said, moving across the deck to the starboard entry port. I saw Alex and another plainclothes start up the steps, followed by a pair of uniforms.
Alex was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. The other man was dressed more formally in gray slacks, a gray tweed sport coat and black dress shirt beneath. The second man was about my height with a barrel chest and a hard, squarish face. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from thin lips.
“Scott, this is Sergeant Archie Maglashan,” Alex introduced. “He’s officially on shift, but I got the call when they heard it was you who phoned it in. What’s the story?”
“Walk this way, gents,” I said, waving a hand toward the port side of the boat. “Got a couple of customers for you.”
“Got any light on this barge?” Maglashan said in a deep and harsh voice. “Darker’n my fuckin’ ass crack out here.”
I moved into the cockpit and hit several switches. These activated spreader lights, as well as several decorative lamps set around the deck on the railing caps, “That enough? I’ve got some floods I can turn on as well.”
Maglashan scoffed as he stared down at my guests, “Plenty now. What the fuck did you do to these two, Jarvis?”
“I held back,” I said, stepping out onto the deck. I already knew I wasn’t going to like Maglashan. He was one of those hard-nosed, forty-something cops who’d been at it too long and had gotten into it at least partly because he liked the heavy work. He was a bully.
“He fuckin’ stabbed us!” Wendell said. “Stuck a knife in my gut and stabbed Eddie’s leg. He’s probably bleedin’ to death.”
“Why’d he do that?” Alex asked casually.
The two uniforms stood back silently, waiting for orders. I saw them exchange glances and possibly smiles. I gave them a surreptitious thumbs up.
“We didn’t do nothin’,” Eddie said.
“Oh, you didn’t do nothin’, huh?” Maglashan asked. “Just happened to wander up onto this boat dressed like you are? Cut the shit. Were they armed, Jarvis?”
“They were,” I said, pointing at the top of the locker I’d been sitting on where two semi-automatic pistols lay. “Couple of Glocks. Came aboard silently, tripped my alarm system and I caught them at it. Pulled Wendell here out of the drink.”
“What was he doin’ in the drink?” Maglashan asked. He spoke to me in the same disrespectful tone he used on the two goons.
“He fell in and then I shot his inflatable boat out from under him,” I explained.
“Did you knife them?” Maglashan asked as if I’d just taken a crap on his dog.
“Yup.”
“You think this is funny?” Maglashan asked. “You think you can just tie up a couple of guys an then do whatever the fuck you want?”
“I can on my goddamned deck,” I stated less pleasantly. “You tellin’ me your heart bleeds for them, Sergeant?”
“I’m tellin’ you I don’t like wise-ass gumshoes turning vigilante,” Maglashan retorted, turning and stepping closer into my personal space. “Guys think they can break bad any time and any way they want. Maybe that shit flies in Orlando, pal, but not in my town.”
“Arch,” Alex said evenly. “You need to back off. This guy isn’t your ordinary private eye.”
“I don’t give a shit who he is, Alex,” Maglashan said tightly. “He don’t go around knifing guys and shooting up a marina.”
“They came to assassinate me, Maglashan,” I said coldly. “And if I were you, I’d listen to Alex. Back the hell out of my face. Now.”
He leaned in even closer, the nearly burnt-out cherry of his butt only inches from my face, “Or what, tough guy? You wanna add assaulting a police officer to your troubles? Wouldn’t hurt my feelin’s, believe me.”
“You don’t get that stinky butt outta my face,” I said, my anger beginning to swell, “and your feelings aren’t the only things that’re gonna get hurt.”
Maglashan sneered and let the now dead butt fall to the deck, “Take a poke, smart guy. I fuckin’ dare ya’.”
“Arch!” Alex barked, his voice sounding as hard as a cannon shot. “That’s enough. Back down.”
Maglashan smirked at me and leaned back, “Good thing your buddy is around.”
I glared at him, “Good thing for you. Now police that butt, you fuckin’ asshole. This is my fuckin’ house.”
“Blow me,” Maglashan jeered and pulled another pill from the pack in his coat pocket.
“Alex,” I warned. “Get this guy off my boat, or I’ll throw him off.”
“You know you’re talkin’ to a police sergeant, punk?” Maglashan baited me. “I could have you dragged in and—“
“Arch,” Alex said, taking ahold the big man’s arm in a vice-like grip, “go down on the dock and cool off. And pick up that cigarette butt.”
Maglashan gave Alex a look of betrayal but didn’t argue. There was that in Alex’s tone and in his eye that clearly indicated that he wouldn’t take any lip. The sergeant bent down, picked up the butt and flicked it over the rail. Then he locked eyes with me for a long moment before spinning on his heel and moving across the deck and down the stairs.
“Jesus Christ…” Alex muttered. “That went well.”
“He started it,” I said.
Alex shook his head, “Okay, Scott… what’s the story and what do you want us to do.”
“They’re a couple
of Lou Cardoza’s hard numbers,” I explained. “I’d say drag them down to the hoosegow and let them rot until somebody comes to bail them out.”
“You want to press charges?” Alex asked.
I shrugged, “Nah… just cool them for a while.”
“We want to press charges,” Eddie blurted. “Fuckin’ guy’s an animal. I’m bleeding pretty bad over here.”
“Shut up,” Alex snapped. “Press charges… for Christ’s sake… couple of toughies here. Did the big bad man give you two boys an ouchy? You’re damned lucky he didn’t kill you outright. Why don’t you want to charge them, Scott?”
“I want them to report back to their boss,” I said. “Deliver a message for me.”
Alex snorted, “They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t turn them into a message… but okay, it’s your call. Boys, let’s get these shitbags outta here.”
“The wet guy pissed his pants,” I said.
“Oh, terrific,” one of the uniforms grumbled.
After the excitement, Alex and I sat in the cockpit alone. He lounged against the cushioned backrest of the fairing near the wheel and sighed, “Well, least I got to see the new boat.”
I grinned, “Sorry it had to be at three in the morning.”
He sighed, “What else is new. What’s going on here, anyway?”
I chuckled, “Alex, I wish I knew.”
“Think this job was connected to the Bradford thing?”
“I’d be a shocked mother if it were not.”
“How?”
I chuckled again, “That I don’t know. But this is the second time in two days that a couple of goons braced me.”
“Sounds like things are heating up.”
“Yeah… I’ve put Lisa with Veronica tonight, but I think I’m going to need a team for this one. She needs watching, and I need to focus on investigating.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Yeah, give me a half-dozen cops,” I said with a lopsided grin. “Include Maglashan. He seems nice.”
Alex chuffed, “He gets the job done.”
“What’s his problem?”
Alex blew out his breath, “Twenty-five years on the job. Came down here from L.A. about two years back. Worked Bunco, street crimes and homicide.”