“Did you sleep at all last night or just busy yourself driving around without me?”
Fab pointed to the black Ford. Tarpon Cove had acquired several new unmarked sheriff cars. “Looks like Kevin drew the short straw and he’s on stake out.”
I rubbed my temples. “This is what I don’t get about Quirky. He knows he’s attracted the attention of law enforcement, yet he doesn’t pack his guns, meat, and whatever else, and set up shop someplace else.”
Fab pulled into one of the wash bays. Vanilla came sauntering around the corner in cutoffs that showed off the longest pair of legs and a white T-shirt accentuating her pancake chest.
“You don’t listen very well.” Vanilla glared at me. “Quirky will hurt you. He’ll make you wish you listened the first time he told you not to come back.”
Fab pulled her Walther from her waistband, opened the door, and pointed the gun at Vanilla. “Listen to me, skinny bitch. Get Quirk-ass out here now.”
“You’re not going to shoot him, are you?” Vanilla sneezed, wiping her nose with her hand and then dragging it into her matted hair. She looked like she’d had several dye jobs, the latest one being pinkish-blonde.
“We’re going to have a one-sided conversation and then we’ll be on our way.” Fab motioned her up against the wall. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
“Quir-keeey!” she hollered. “Get out here.”
Quirky lumbered from the back of the building, wiping his hands on his already stained white shorts. “What the hell do you want?”
Fab shook her gun at him. “Stand next to your sister and shut up.”
Quirky looked at me. “I told you to never come back here,” he snarled.
“Listen up, Einstein,” Fab said.
“Who’s that?” Vanilla whispered, her face drained of color.
“You’re not much of a thinker, neither of you.” Fab pointed her gun at one and then the other. “The sheriff is sitting across the street, staking the place out. It’s only a matter of time until they put you in jail. Pack your crap and be gone by sundown. This is a friendly warning; tonight you’re gone one way or the other.”
“You coming back tonight for a piece of Quirky?” he snickered.
“Can I shoot him?” Fab asked me.
“No one needs to get hurt here unless Quirky insists. You and your sister have over-stayed your welcome, now get out. No more friendly requests.” I stared back at Quirky’s angry face, never flinching.
“Quirky, I don’t want to go to jail again.” Vanilla started crying. “I’m leaving.”
Quirky grabbed a fist full of Vanilla’s hair, jerking her off her feet. She clearly feared Quirky more than Fab and I.
“Where the hell you going? You don’t have a job!” he screamed in her face.
“You’re always hurting me.” Vanilla stepped back, hitting the wall. “I can dance,” she said with a tiny bit of defiance.
“Guys aren’t shelling out money to see women with no tits work the pole.” He slapped her face with his open hand.
Fab kicked Quirky in the upper thigh. He let go of Vanilla, who almost tripped running away. She took off down the street.
“No more warnings.” I motioned Fab back to the Hummer. “Play time’s over.”
Quirky furiously rubbed at his thigh, shifting one foot to the other. “Bitches,” he spit, limping back into the office, slamming the door, and throwing the bolt.
“That was fun,” Fab said. “Quirky’s not going anywhere. He’s too stupid or he’d have been gone the first time he saw the sheriff sitting down the street. Better call Slice. If we do it, we’ll have to shoot him and then have the dilemma of what to do with his body.”
Fab backed out of the wash bay, pulled into the street next to Kevin, honked and waved.
“Kevin only sort-of tolerates me and you doing stuff like that won’t help.” I hit her arm. “Which way did Vanilla go?”
“Toward the trailer park. Stay out of it,” Fab warned. “Let brother and sister kiss and make up on their own.”
“If she’s willing to get naked and shimmy on a pole, why not do it for Brick? He’d make sure she never got abused.”
“Have you seen Brick’s dancers?” Fab put her hands under her boobs like a platter.
I pulled out a business card from the console and scribbled Brick’s number on the back, then added some cash I always had stashed. You never knew when you’d be starving for a hamburger and out of money.
“What the hell are you doing?” Fab asked.
“A phone number and a little cash gives her options that she apparently doesn’t have at this moment.” I pointed up ahead. “There she is sitting on the abandoned bus bench.” There was no bus service in Tarpon Cove. If you didn’t have a car or a bicycle, you walked or begged your neighbor for a ride.
Fab pulled to the side and I lowered my window, sticking my arm out. “Vanilla, if you’re interested in dancing, call the number on the back of this card and tell Brick you got the number from me.”
Her eyes were red and swollen, round as saucers, and filled with fear, which matched her cheek. “I don’t want to go back there. Please don’t hurt Quirky; he won’t leave on his own. We’re making more money here than any other place we’ve been.”
“Good luck to you,” I said.
“Thanks for the cash.” Vanilla counted the money as we drove away.
Fab handed me my phone. “You better call Brick with a heads up.”
I lucked out when it went to voicemail. “Brick, it’s Madison. Sending a girl named Vanilla your way, wants to be a dancer or something, needs to stay out of The Cove.” I looked at Fab. “I should’ve had Mother call, she makes him nervous.”
“What are you planning now?” Fab asked.
“Let’s go to the Yacht Club, then the car lot to exchange friendly hellos.”
CHAPTER 25
“This might not have been one of my better ideas,” I said. “They’re not doing business with the locals, wonder why they picked this neighborhood?”
“Let’s stay outside. We don’t step foot inside the office and we do our dealing in the parking lot, in plain sight of the street. My guess is if we screamed, no one around here would call the cops. You have your Glock on you?”
“I never leave home without my other best friend.” I flipped my skirt up. “I’m giving us some added insurance.” I hit speed dial.
“Who are you calling? Put the call on speaker.”
Creole answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“If I don’t call you back in ten minutes, we need help. Or if I do call back and tell you to feed the dog, I’m in big trouble.”
Dead silence. “Where the hell are you?” Creole yelled.
I gave him the address. “We’re at the car lot where Gabriel got his Beemer.”
“Leave there now, that’s a drug- and crime-infested neighborhood.”
“Remember: ten minutes.” I hung up. “One of these days, I fear there will be a price to pay for always hanging up on him, like strangulation.”
“Look they’re waiting for us.” Fab pointed to two men who slithered out of the office.
“Nice ride, ladies,” said the one in neck-to-ankle tattoos. They were both dressed in linen shorts and tropical shirts, leather loafers and blingy watches. The gaudy diamond rings could easily put an eye out. “I recognize you.” He pointed to Fab. “We have you on tape trying to break-in last night.”
The other one whipped out his gun. “Come on in the office.”
Fab’s Walther came out the same instant his did. “We’ll stay right here.”
“We’re not here for a gunfight,” I said. “We’d like to trade some mutually beneficial information and be on our way. In the interest of disclosure, I have to make a call in,” I looked at my watch, “eight minutes, or cops will arrive.”
“What kind of information?” The other one, the color of watered-down milk, must be from one of those abnormally cold Northern states; he’d n
ever seen a day of sun, ever.
“Wouldn’t you like to have your Beemer back, license number SOUMIA?” I held up my cell phone in one hand. “Here’s a picture.”
The two men exchanged a look. “And you want what?”
“A look at the rental application.” Sweat trickled down my back, more from fear than the humidity.
“I’m not showing you crap. You tell me where my fucking car is and Oren here won’t shoot you.”
“You look smarter than that,” I said as I looked at my watch.
A black sedan with dark tinted windows blew into the driveway. In the moment of distraction, Fab shot the guy holding the gun in the shoulder, dropping him to the pavement. Two men stepped out of the car, looking fresh off a stakeout, bone-tired with beard stubble, guns drawn, and law enforcement badges hanging from the front of their jeans.
“Let’s play nice here,” one of the officers called out. “Carlos, your associate need an ambulance?”
“The hell with him, she’s got my Beemer and I want it back.” Carlos pointed to me. “Oren, pick your sorry ass up. If you’re bleeding, clean it up.”
“Or I’ll take the Hummer,” Carlos pointed to my ride.
“I never had your car and that wasn’t the deal. Information trade, remember?” I reminded Carlos. “Nice meeting you.” I backed my way to the Hummer.
My phone rang. “Get the hell out of here,” the cop said. “Just drive away, no one is going to stop the two of you.”
We slammed the doors of the SUV; Fab revved the engine, blew around the cop car, and out into the street.
My phone rang again. “Where’s the Beemer?” Creole demanded. “I’ve had enough of you two.”
Fab spoke up. “This is your other sister. Here’s the trade, tell me where Gabriel was living.”
“The end of South Pointe, in the tallest of the twin tower condos.”
Fab pointed to the GPS. “Beemer’s parked at the Miami Yacht Club, over by the launch ramp, right where we left it the night of...you know.”
“Tell me that when we dust the inside for prints, Madison’s won’t come back as a match?” Creole asked.
“They’re not anywhere on that car, inside or out,” I said.
“Forget about going to South Pointe. It’s part of a crime scene and hasn’t been released. Now go home.”
Fab made a U-turn to take us to the expressway.
“Do you think they have a guard posted?” I asked Fab.
“One way to find out.” Fab cut around a slow driver, the driver laying on the horn. “The last stop was a terrible idea.” She smirked. “Do you suppose this next stop will see more gun action?”
* * *
We cruised into the Guest Parking lot. The Tower and its distinctive architecture sat on the Government Cut waterway across from Fisher Island. There was an adjacent park and each unit had an amazing view of the ocean. The sign boasted twenty-five floors, yet not a single person milling around.
Fab pounded on the glass door.
“You can’t manage a polite knock? I only turned my back for a second.”
“This way we’ll find out if there’s a security guard on duty. One could be around the corner.”
“I’m still nauseous over the last stop. Pick the lock,” I said.
Fab stepped in front of me, taking her pick from the back pocket of her jeans. “One of these days you’re going to wish you’d been practicing.”
I stuck my tongue out behind her back, but she was right. She popped the front entrance door in seconds and I would’ve flailed around until Fab pushed me aside and did it herself. Much easier this way.
The lobby looked freshly renovated, everything in marble. No name directory. In the mailroom off to the side, three walls held oversized mailboxes for each tenant. They were big enough to fit a medium-sized box, the room had a barred door, the kind you see inside a bank vault. It required a keycard. The only identifier a number. My guess they didn’t match unit numbers.
“Now what?” I asked when we reached the twin elevators. It also required a keycard to ride.
“This kind of setup was probably a source of amusement for Gabriel. He was snobby about his skills and he became more confident after being released from prison. Bragged he honed his skills from other artisans he’d been housed with.” Fab, always prepared, pulled two keycards out of her pocket. “One of these better work or I want a refund.”
“I highly doubt that people who engage in criminal activity give refunds.”
“You sure get cranky when the guns come out.” The first card opened the elevator.
The doors closed, and I held my breath while Fab inserted her trusty card again and pushed the penthouse button. I let out a small sigh when the car rose, relieved we weren’t trapped inside an elevator.
“Don’t you think a building that costs an easy million to live in would have security cameras and/or a guard? And there’s neither.”
“Not if criminals live here.”
The elevator ride made my stomach jump. When the car stopped, the doors didn’t open. I thought I’d be sick. “What now?”
“Don’t freak out, we’re not stuck yet. This next part is easy.” She inserted her pick into the lock next to the Penthouse button and the door opened.
I hadn’t noticed when we got on the elevator that each floor required a key to exit.
The doors opened into a small hallway. There were two doors, one at each end, and the front door opened into a one hundred eighty-degree beachfront view of the waters that connect the Biscayne Bay to the Atlantic Ocean.
“Gabriel has good taste,” I said. From the walls to the furniture, everything was stark white and reeked of expensive—a designer showcase.
Fab looked around, assessing the pricey objects. “There’s no way Gabriel could afford to buy or rent here. My guess is that there is a very wealthy partner involved. I’m checking the master bedroom first.” She headed for the glass staircase and stopped at the top. “You wait here and let me know if anyone shows up.”
“How am I supposed to do that? Yell? This place is so big; you’d never hear me while you’re poking around in the closet. You’re acting like a jealous girlfriend.”
“Just because I don’t want him doesn’t mean he gets to be happy with someone else. You look around down here. No one’s coming in anyway; if the cops were going to stop by they’d do it after their morning donut.”
I wanted to be what I thought would be the first person to sit in one of the white buttery leather chairs, placed to enjoy the view. This condo belonged on the cover of Miami Digest, a look-but-don’t-touch-or-sit-on-anything feel. The door to the office just off the living room stood open. A glass top desk and oversized leather desk chair dominated the room. Not a single picture or personal item was on display. Two black and white drawings of the backside of a naked woman hung on the walls. Her face not exposed.
I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my pocket and opened the drawers, most were empty. The top one held a couple of expensive pens and a leather notepad that didn’t contain a single entry. No trash can. Maybe if rich people decreed there’d be no trash then it would magically disappear.
I wandered into the kitchen and pulled open the drawers where there were only the barest of cooking utensils. The overhead cupboard held china for four and various sizes of crystal; nothing was in the refrigerator except a bottle of champagne and coconut water. I opened the trash compactor, but it held only a clean bag. I was beginning to believe that the condo had been purchased as an addition to an already overflowing real estate portfolio. I’d bet no one had ever lived here.
A search of the living room yielded nothing, not even a single speck of dust, the half bath unused. I slid onto the piano bench of the baby grand, head in my hands, elbows on the keyboard cover, staring out at the water. Wondering what I could spy over on Fisher Island with a telescope.
The lock on the front door clicked and brought me back to reality. My heart pounding hard against my c
hest, I flew off the bench and crouched behind the curtain panels bunched together at the end of the rod. I fumbled in my pocket to extract my phone, hurriedly pushing Fab’s number on speed dial, waiting a second, and disconnecting.
The door slammed shut. “I know you two are in here, your damned Hummer is parked out front,” Creole yelled. “Get out here!”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Look, latex gloves, no fingerprints.”
Creole’s face was red with anger, his blue eyes hard. A vein I never noticed before stuck out on his neck. “Where’s Fab? And how did you get past locks and card readers?”
“I’m up here.” Fab stood at the railing overlooking the first floor. “We got lucky and followed people in.”
“And if I strip search you?” Creole glared.
“This ought to be fun,” Fab flashed her special mean dog smile.
“You two can’t just drive by like a couple of high school girls checking up on some guy who doesn’t know you exist.”
“You’re making my ears hurt,” I covered them.
Creole fixed me with a stare. “Get down here,” he jabbed his finger at Fab. “Did you find anything?”
Fab threw one leg over the banister and slid down. “What did you bag as evidence when you were here?”
That looked fun, but with my luck I’d fall and actually break something.
“You answer my questions; not the other way around,” Creole said. “I can arrest you,” he flipped a pair of cuffs out of his pocket.
“How will you explain that to Madeline?” Fab said, hands on her hips. To her credit, she didn’t smirk or do anything stupid.
Well played.
She had him now. The two of us knew he adored Mother. “Stop, you two. What did you find?” I asked Fab.
“Gabriel’s personal items, clothes, and shoes. Did you pick up his laptop? What about a briefcase and what did it look like?” Fab fired her questions.
Creole closed the space between him and Fab. “We got his laptop. It was wiped clean, not even a social media profile. The black leather briefcase had a designer monogram on the clasp, nothing in it except a map of Miami Beach and ten thousand—in hundreds. I suppose that was spending money?” Creole towered over Fab, staring down. The look on his face daring her to do anything so that he could use the cuffs he twirled on his finger.
Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 14