Hard Tide: A Sea Adventure (Florida Coast Adventures)

by Johnny Asa

  8

  “Billy, even your dad told you to bring a couple friends with you,” Mary Ann said as I went to the front door and pulled out my key to unlock it. “You didn’t even do that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said, putting key to lock and letting myself inside. The place looked just as I’d left it, which was good. My muscles relaxed as I stepped inside and took a deep breath. I hadn’t realized until this morning I’d sort of expected to find something nefarious going on inside.

  “No. You just ran off all hot-headed to fix it.” Mary Ann sighed, following me inside. “Just like you.” Was that fondness in her voice? “Still, Billy, you need to go to the police and let them handle this.”

  “I will, but not before I look around. For all I know, my dad’s just gone off, and he’ll come back and find I’ve gotten the police—”

  “Do you hear yourself right now?” Mary Ann asked, marching around me and putting her hand on my wrist to stop me as I was about to pull out the drawer I remembered Dad using to store the keys when I was a kid. “You sound like me when I defend Chuck.” She made eye contact with me, and it was like trying to stare down a hurricane. She took a step closer, putting one hand on my chest. “You may not be putting two and two together, but it’s only because you’re being a damned fool on purpose.”

  “Maybe,” I said, pulling my hand away and jerking the drawer open at the same time. I was pissed because, at the heart of it, I knew she was right. Only, just because she was right, didn’t mean it wasn’t my responsibility. After all, my dad had called me, not the police. There was a reason for that. “But it’s my choice to make. He’s my dad and my responsibility.”

  Thankfully, the keys were there, and I hastily grabbed the keyring holding the spare for the Nissan. Then as I stared at the nearly empty drawer, I grabbed the other key and held it out toward Mary Ann.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the key carefully.

  “That’s the key to the house. I want you to stay put and safe while I go down to visit Lawson’s bait shop. I have a feeling it’ll be just the place to catch what I’m after.”

  “Billy, listen to me. The only thing you’ll catch is a beating if you go there.” She squeezed my arm. “You might have some muscle, but try using the stuff between your ears. Do not go down there alone.”

  “Take the key,” I said, pressing it into her hand and closing her fingers around it. Part of me expected her not to take it, but I couldn’t have that. I didn’t have time to watch over her and look for my dad. “I’ll be back soon, and maybe we can get something to eat?”

  “Are you hearing me?” she asked as I spun on my heel and headed toward the door. Truth was, I was hearing her, all too well.

  But the thing was I might have to do some stuff I didn’t like, and I couldn’t do that with the cops around, nor with others who knew me. Worse, I didn’t want someone else getting hurt on account of me.

  “Yes,” I said as I reached the door. “I hear you, and I’ll be careful. If it looks bad, I’ll leave. Okay?”

  “You’re lying to me, Billy Ryder.” Her cheeks colored as her lips quirked into a thin smile. “I can tell on account of the way your nose scrunches up when you tell me. No, I know what you’re thinking. You’re trying to be responsible even though it’s stupid.” She let out a breath. “Fine. I’ll stay here and twiddle my thumbs waiting for you, but I swear to God you’d better come back this time. If you leave me waiting all night…” Her words trailed off into nothingness as a lump formed in my throat.

  “I’ll come back,” I said, and then I turned away because if I kept looking at her, I might just kiss her—not something I had time for now. I needed to find my dad. Distractions, even the good kind, were just that. Distractions.

  “You’d better,” she said as the security door swung shut behind me, and I found myself standing on the porch. The sound of the locks engaging filled my ears, and as I glanced behind me, the front door shut, hiding her from view.

  It was for the best. If she was safe, I wouldn’t worry about her.

  That thought drove me as I got back behind the wheel of the Tahoe and made my way toward Lawson’s while thanking my lucky stars for my phone because I’d have been hopelessly lost otherwise.

  Lawson’s wound up being in the middle of a strip mall filled with restaurants, nail places, and dry cleaners. None of those places seemed to be busy, let alone open, even though it was getting to be later in the day.

  It smelled ten kinds of weird as I parked the Tahoe in a spot at the far end of the parking lot and got out. The Florida sun was blinding, but I ignored it as I moved toward Lawson’s. A quick glance around the lot revealed only a couple other cars, none of which were particularly interesting or memorable.

  Still, the sign in the bait shop’s window said open, so I knew I hadn’t wasted my time by driving here too early.

  I made my way to the door and pushed it open. It jangled, signaling my entry into the shop, and I was immediately surprised at how big and small it was. It looked like a long hallway with doors that said staff only on one side. In between those doors were mostly bare shelves.

  The other side was filled by a long glass case that displayed knives, lures, and assorted other gear. A few fishing rods hung on the wall behind it. Off in the corner was another rack with more gear, but that was pretty much it. I swung my gaze back toward the counter and spied another set of doors behind it. Why would they have so much space and not display their wares? Moreover, what could they possibly use such a large back room for?

  “Looking to catch something?” a guy wearing a black tank-top, a backward ball cap, and blue jeans that revealed the top of his boxers said as he came through the door. He looked me up and down. “We’ve got a two for one special on worms.” He pointed to a large fridge toward the door. It was wedged between a cooler with the word “ice” stenciled across it in big blue letters and a vending machine full of off-brand soda.

  “Yeah,” I said, moving up to the counter and looking into the glass. Everything in it looked like it might be okay quality, but all of it was priced way higher than it should have been. I wasn’t sure if that was to gouge people or not, but I was willing to bet no one but the truly desperate bought any of this stuff, especially since there had to be bait shops closer to the docks.

  “What are you after?” he asked, looking me over once more and settling a brittle smile on his face that made me think he didn’t actually want to help me.

  “Scorpions, mostly,” I said, looking up at him. “Got anything to help me catch those?”

  He stared at me for a long time before chuckling to himself. “Well, I’ll be the first to admit you got some big old balls, so let me help you keep them.” He leaned forward across the counter until we were only a few inches apart. “Just walk out the door before you find yourself in the middle of something you won’t like.”

  I reached out and grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him face first into the counter. His nose shattered in a spray of blood.

  Much to my surprise, the counter didn’t break.

  He cried out in pain, hands going to his face as I hauled him up a few inches. Blood gushed from his shredded lips, splattering across the counter as he tried to say something, but I stopped him by driving him back into a counter.

  When I lifted his head again, there was a bloody smear where his face had been. He looked up at me with fear in his eyes.

  “Look,” I said, smacking the ball cap off his head. As it fluttered to the ground, I grabbed his hair and hauled him across the counter. “I just want to find my dad, Bob Ryder, and you’re going to help me with that—”

  A shotgun cocked, drawing my eyes toward it to find a tattooed punk with a nose ring the size of a baseball aiming a Mossberg at me.

  9

  “I want you to think about something,” I said as I released my grip on thug number one and turned to look at thug number two as he pointed his shotgun at me.

  “Wha
t’s that?” he asked, taking a step forward like he was going to shove me with the business end of the weapon.

  “Think about how much it’s going to hurt when I shove that gun up your ass.” I took a step toward him, closing the distance between us.

  “Are you high? I’m the one with the gun,” he replied, narrowing his eyes as he pressed the weapon to my chest. “You best beg me not to kill you.”

  My hands whipped out, grabbing the barrel and wrenching it from his grip in a single movement. Before he could say a word, I had it turned on him and pointed at his stupid, confused face.

  “What was that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Something about which one of us had the gun and begging? I can’t quite remember…”

  “You’re a dead man,” he croaked, taking a step backward, and as he did, I shoved him with the barrel of the gun, hitting him hard in the solar plexus with the Mossberg.

  “Really? Is that the best way to talk to the guy with the gun?” I replied as he crashed to the ground, grasping his chest in pain. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to ask where my dad is, and you’re going to tell me.”

  “I don’t know a goddamned thing about your dad,” he snarled, and before he could say more, I shattered his nose with a quick strike from the butt of his weapon. He fell backward, sprawling the ground clutching his ruined face as blood poured from beneath his fingers.

  “Wrong answer, dirt bag,” I said, turning toward the guy I’d left on the counter. He was starting to rise, but stopped when I pointed the shotgun casually in his direction. “How about you, friend? Care to answer?”

  “You’re crazy if you think we’d tell you even if we knew.” The thug spat out a gob of blood that dribbled down the counter but didn’t make any movement toward me.

  “You make an excellent point,” I said, nodding and shooting him a congenial smile. “There’s probably someone higher up than you two punks here, and I’d like to meet him.” I whirled, smashing the toe of my work boot into the jaw of the thug behind me as he started to get up. His head snapped back, and his eyes went glassy as he collapsed back to the grimy floor unconscious. “Take me to the man in charge.” I gestured for thug number one to move it.

  “It’s your funeral,” the guy said, shaking his head at me like I’d done gone loco. Not that I gave a flying damn about what he thought. I had a mission, and that mission left no room for dealing with piss ants. “Boss is just through here.”

  I nodded, and the guy got slowly to his feet and moved toward a door behind him. I followed along as he pushed it open to reveal a long hallway that reminded me of those trailers full of offices I sometimes saw at job sites. I wasn’t sure what was in those rooms because aside from the first room, an unoccupied office, the rest of the doors were closed.

  The thug kept walking, heading toward the room at the far end. When he reached it, he turned toward me and gestured at it. “Mr. Ringo is through there—”

  I cut off his words with a smack from the shotgun, hitting him on the side of the chin and dropping him into an unmoving puddle. Then I kicked the door open.

  My size thirteen shattered the particleboard jam, sending bits of wood flying through the air as the door whipped around so quickly, it hit the wall with a loud smack. Sitting there behind a desk was a pretty normal looking guy wearing a mustard-stained white button up and a loosened red tie.

  He was balding and had bags under his eyes as he looked up at me through wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Interesting,” he said, unable to keep the weariness out of his voice. He looked me up and down before pushing his laptop closed and settling his hands on top of it. “Come in, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the steel folding chairs in front of his desk.

  Just seeing the smug bastard made me want to wring his neck until answers popped out. If he knew where my dad was, he was going to tell me. One way or another.

  “Are you the man in charge?” I asked, taking a step forward into the room and bringing the shotgun to bear on him. None of the doors behind me had opened, which relieved me a little, but not enough for me to keep from checking my six every couple seconds.

  “I am.” He held his hand out toward me. “Jack Ringo. At your service.”

  “Well, Mr. Ringo, I’m looking for my dad, and I’m told you’re the guy to help me with that,” I replied, ignoring his hand.

  “Your dad?” The guy laughed, shaking his head as he dropped his hand back to the desk. “What would I possibly know about your dad?”

  “I’m told your boys might have him,” I replied, whipping out my phone and playing the message. Ringo listened, completely focused on it until it ended.

  “I fail to see what that,” he gestured at my phone, “has to do with me?” He drummed his fingers on the laptop. “I’m afraid you’ve just made a load of trouble for yourself for no—”

  I cut off his words by bringing up the sketch of Tom on my phone and shoving it into his face. “This guy is one of yours, right?”

  “Oh.” His face dropped, and a sigh escaped his lips. “I see.”

  “So, I’m going to ask again. Where’s my dad?” I said, and as I did, the guy leaned back in his chair.

  “I really don’t know Mr. Ryder’s whereabouts.” The way he said it shot my heart full of ice. Clearly, he knew enough about my dad and what had happened on the message to know my dad’s last name. Maybe he knew a lot more. “And the man in your picture doesn’t work for me.” He shot me a thin-lipped smile. “He’s much higher up than I am. You think they set up bigwigs in a bait shop? Hardly.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but I didn’t care. Even if Tom didn’t work for this guy, he probably knew something that could help. He would tell me that something.

  “Who does Tom work for?” I asked, taking a thundering step forward.

  “He works for Mr. Elliott,” Ringo told me with no hesitation. “But I’m afraid that won’t help you much.”

  “Call him,” I replied, gesturing at him with the shotgun.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have Tom’s number,” Ringo said, shrugging. “Wish I could help—”

  “Not Tom,” I said, shaking my head. “Call Elliott.”

  “It’s really a bad idea. Look, you walk out of here, and I’ll forget this all happened. You go back and do whatever it is you do. Ride around in a convertible, bang some strippers, whatever.” He made a shooing motion. “But if I call Elliott, things are going to get bad for you.”

  “I am not going to repeat myself,” I said, letting the emotion drain from my voice.

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, Ringo moved toward the black phone on his desk, hit the speaker button, and then a speed dial button. It rang for a few seconds before a female voice answered.

  “Hello, you have reached the office of James Elliott. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, Nancy. I got a guy here with a shotgun pointed at me who says he wants to talk to James. I’d be much obliged if you could see if he’s got a minute.”

  “Understood. I think he’s in a meeting, but I’ll see if he can break away for a minute.” The line got quiet as Ringo turned to look at me. The whole thing struck me as incredibly businesslike, making me think there was a lot of money involved. If that was true, these thugs were nothing compared to what I’d find if I kept digging. Not that it mattered. I was going to find my dad, even if I had to beat my way to the penthouse suite.

  “Well, you done really screwed the pooch now,” Ringo said, shaking his head at me. “And it was fixing to be such a nice day. Word of advice. Make sure your will and whatnot is in order.”

  Before I could reply, the voice of a gruff, older-sounding man came on the line. “Jack? What’s this about a man with a gun?”

  “There’s a man here, Bob Ryder’s boy. Says he’s looking for his dad, and if you don’t help him, he’s going to kill me,” Ringo replied, shrugging at me.

  “I’m afraid, I’m not going to be able to help
him,” Elliott said.

  “What do you mean you can’t help?” I snarled, taking a step forward and glaring at the phone even though I knew the guy on the other end couldn’t see my face. “Why the hell is that?”

  “Look, son. I’m not in the business of helping people, especially when doing so involves helping someone find someone else I went to great pains to get rid of.” There was a pause. “But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll arrange for you to meet him real soon in the next life, okay?”

  “I’m serious. If you don’t tell me where he is, I’m really going to shoot your friend here,” I said, turning my eyes to Ringo. Anger and frustration flared inside me. These guys weren’t taking me seriously. I fixed my eyes on Ringo. “Tell him.”

  “He does seem serious,” Ringo said in a bored tone.

  “Look, son, we both know you’re not—”

  I fired the shotgun, blasting Jack Ringo full of buckshot and sending his bloody body hurtling back against the wall. He hit with a wet thud before crashing to the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the wall.

  “What was that?” Elliott cried, suddenly alarmed. The sound of it pleased me. They’d take me seriously now. “Jack, are you okay?”

  “Jack is not okay, and if you don’t help me, neither will you be? Understand?” I asked as I crossed the room and dug Jack’s cell phone after his pocket. Then I shoved it into my own pocket and scooped up the laptop from the desk, slinging it under my arm.

  “Oh, I understand. We’ll be in touch.” The line went dead, leaving me standing there with the sound of the shotgun ringing in my ears.

  10

  I sat behind the wheel of my Tahoe and stared out the windshield, trying to will my heart to stop pounding. Adrenaline was still surging through me, causing me to shake as I gripped the wheel. I’d just killed a man, and what’s more, I’d done it in cold blood.

  Worse, I had no leads. The two yahoos I’d taken on inside the place had been gone by the time I’d come back out. The only things I’d gotten out of it were Ringo’s phone and computer, but I wasn’t going to be able to hack into them or anything. I’d need an expert for that, and I knew just the guy.