Bones swallowed hard. “Teddy called me with Tyler’s license plate last night, boss. It was after midnight and I didn’t want to bother you none. See, Tyler’s car was parked last night at Rice’s mother’s house. First time Tyler come acrost our radar.”
“Humph. This puts a whole new light on Rice’s debt, Bones. Do you see that?”
“How so, boss?”
“Because Tyler is richer than Oprah Winfrey, that’s how. If we get leverage with Tyler, we make him pay off Rice’s loan. Then we loan Rice more money and milk him and Tyler like a couple of goddamn cows.”
Ngombo had heard the exchange between Moffett and Bones. “Leverage? I do not know this word.”
Moffett laughed. “That’s ‘cause you’re a goddamn African and not a freakin’ American. You talk like you’re from goddamn England, but you still got lots to learn about English, capisce?” He guffawed. “Capisce?” he said it again. “Get it, Bones?”
“Yeah, boss, pretty funny all right. He don’t know English good, so you throw some Italian at him. Good one.”
Moffett cut another wedge from the pancake stack and stuffed it into his mouth. “If Tyler was there last night, he has some connection to the old lady.” He turned back to Ngombo. “Go snatch Rice’s mother.” He turned back to Bones. “Leverage. We’ll hold her as collateral on the loan.”
Bones cleared his throat. “Uh, boss, don’t you think snatching the old lady is kind of, uh, well, extreme? I mean snatching Al Rice… well, he’s the bum what owes you the money. But his mother? She’s like, uh, a civilian.”
“Are you questioning my orders, Bones?”
“No, of course not, boss. But grabbing the old lady—that’s kidnapping. Kidnapping is a federal crime… with the death penalty.”
Moffett stared at Bones without a word.
Bones dropped his eyes. “Just saying…”
“Bones, I’m gonna cut you some slack on account of you been with me a long time, and we go way back. You know what they say: Every dog gets one bite.” He waggled his fork in Bones’s direction. Syrup dripped on the table. “You had your bite. We’re snatching the old lady.”
Ngombo cleared his throat and Moffett glanced from his breakfast. “What, you still here, Teddy?”
“Monster, the mother of Al Rice is a woman.”
“Wow, imagine that, Bones. Rice’s mother is a woman.” He turned to Ngombo. “So what?”
“She is not part of this debt. A warrior does not concern himself with women and other non-combatants.”
“What are you?” snarled Moffett. “A goddamn expert on the Geneva Convention?”
“I do not wish to attack a woman. It is not honorable for a warrior. I prefer you to send someone else.”
Moffett pulled himself ponderously to his feet and stalked toward Ngombo until he stood six inches away. He stared down at the shorter man. Ngombo smelled the pancakes and sweet syrup on his breath.
“Teddy, if you question my orders again, I will cut off your black balls and stuff them in your mouth. I will take your own knife and slit your throat from ear to fucking ear. I will dump your worthless body in the Atlantic Ocean where the sharks will eat it.” He paused and glared at Bones.
Ngombo swallowed. His mouth was dry; his palms wet. “Yes, I understand, Monster.”
Moffett returned to the table and took another bite of pancakes. He cut his eyes at Ngombo. “Why are you still here, Teddy?”
“Monster, there is a further complication.”
“What complication?”
“Tyler is not the only man connected to Rice and his mother. I reported yesterday that a second man named Carlos McCrary was looking for Rice. He might be the one in the white minivan. Now a third man is involved, Raymond Snopolski. Bones looked up his license plate. He arrived at the mother’s house before Tyler and the man in the white minivan left with Al Rice. He may be an additional bodyguard for the old woman.”
Moffett turned to Bones. “Tell me about this Snopolski.”
Bones referred to a laptop. “Raymond Snopolski… Yeah, I got him, boss. Lots of items on Google. Let’s see… Okay, he’s connected with this Carlos McCrary guy. They’re both licensed Private Eyes and Snopolski works for McCrary sometimes. Oh yeah, his nickname is ‘Snoop.’ Former detective with the Port City cops. Won the PCPD pistol competition three years in a row. He stopped competing so someone else could win.” He looked at Moffett. “Sounds like a dangerous guy, boss.”
Moffett crammed another wad of pancakes in his mouth and took another swig of chocolate milk. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Okay, Teddy, take three guys with you. Bones, find out who’s available, but tell them Teddy’s in charge.” He sneered at Ngombo. “After all, he’s a goddamn African warrior.”
###
Ngombo drove past Doraleen’s house. He’d had no sleep the previous night. He called Bones. “No cars were parked at the old woman’s curb and none in her driveway. She is not home I think. Where could she be?” He hoped she had left town so he would not demean himself with the dishonor of attacking a woman.
“Lemme Google her. I’ll get back to you. Hang loose.”
Ngombo checked the other Jeep in his rear view mirror. He accelerated and drove to a neighborhood café. He waited until the other three men joined him. “We shall eat lunch while we wait to hear from Bones.” Ngombo needed coffee to stay awake.
The driver of the second Jeep said, “No sense kidnapping an old woman on an empty stomach.” Ngombo was not amused.
Lunches for the men had arrived when Bones called Teddy. “The old woman teaches English at Carver High School. They dismiss at 2:25 on Wednesday. She should be back home by three o’clock.”
The gods had conspired to force Ngombo to behave dishonorably. Perhaps the gods planned a larger goal for him. He sighed and finished his second cup of coffee. The gods were hard to understand.
Chapter 32
Tank showed Al into the room.
Al followed him inside and turned in a circle. “What did you do, Tank, buy your own freaking health club?”
“Pretty much. This new house has rooms I’ll never need. I turned this ballroom into a home gym.”
“I thought you worked out at Jerry’s Gym?”
“I do. I usually meet Chuck or my gym rat friends. But sometimes I’m too busy to drive to the mainland.” Tank waved a hand. “This was the answer. Now you can use it too.”
Rice spread his arms as he turned in a gesture that took in the crown molding, the Cuban tile floor covered with protective pads around the equipment, the three crystal chandeliers, and the faux-finished walls. “I don’t understand you, Tank. You pay cash for a multi-million-dollar mansion and you can’t afford to loan me a crummy two hundred thou to save my life.”
Tank sighed. “We need to talk, Al. The trainer won’t be here for another ten or fifteen minutes. Let’s go outside.”
When the two men were seated by the pool, Gregory approached. “May I get you gentlemen anything?”
“Gimme a Bloody Mary,” Al said.
Tank raised a hand. “Nothing alcoholic for my friend as long as he’s here. Nothing for me, Gregory.” He waited until the butler withdrew out of earshot. “You swore to Momma Dora and me at five o’clock this morning you had quit drinking.”
“One Bloody Mary isn’t drinking. It’s mostly tomato juice.”
Tank scoffed. He gestured Gregory over. “Bring my friend tomato juice, please. Coffee for me.”
“Very good, sir.”
Tank watched the old man go inside. “Al, I never loaned you any money after that first twenty thousand over ten years ago.”
“Of course you did, bro. You loaned me lots of money.”
“After you didn’t pay back that twenty thousand, the rest of the money hasn’t been loans; it’s been gifts. I never expected you to pay me back. I still don’t.”
“Then why cut me off this time, bro?” He waved at the swimming pool and gardens. “It’s not like you can’t affo
rd it.”
“Bro, when you approached me a few days ago and asked me to bail you out of this latest mess, I looked it up: I’ve given you $795,000 over the last thirteen years. Seven-hundred-ninety-five thousand hard-earned dollars. And what do either one of us have to show for it?”
“Not much, bro.” Rice shrugged. “I’ve had a run of bad luck.”
“Bad luck for sixteen years? That’s what you call it: bad luck?” Tank stopped when Gregory approached with a serving tray.
“Yeah, man,” Rice said, “Anyone can have—"
Tank made a cutting motion with his hand. “Wait.”
They waited while the butler served the drinks. When Gregory retreated out of earshot again, Tank continued. “Al, you exhibit what my friend Chuck calls a convenient memory. You remember facts that are convenient for you, and you forget the rest. Luck is distributed randomly. Believe me, I know; I minored in math at UAC. Everybody gets their fair share of both kinds of luck, good and bad.” He put a hand on his old friend’s arm. “You gotta face reality—the real reality; what you’ve done for the last sixteen years ain’t working, bro.”
Rice lifted his tomato juice and stared at it. “Ain’t working, huh?”
“Look around, Al. You and I started square. You even had a head start of one year in school and middle-class parents. My parents were dirt poor until I made it to the NFL. You had a first-class high school education. My little bitty country school taught the Three R’s and that’s about it. You and I made different decisions on which way to go with our lives. Momma Dora always says the quality of our decisions determines the course of our lives. How does the quality of your decisions compares with the quality of mine?”
“Not very well, I suppose.” Rice set his juice glass down.
“Al, I didn’t say you should be like me. I didn’t say you ought to make the same decisions I make. You’re you, and I’m me. But your decisions to this point steered you precisely where you are. And the decisions you make today and tomorrow will determine the course of your life.” Tank leaned forward. “Wake up, bro, before it’s too late. You’re almost dead as it is. Keep going this way, and you’ll die before your time.”
Rice scoffed. “You sound like Momma.”
“I take that as a compliment.” He put a hand on Rice’s forearm. “Buddy, we both made a big mistake in college. I moved on from it; you didn’t.”
Rice’s eyes flicked to Tank. “Don’t forget: You got away clean with that mistake, and I got caught.”
Chapter 33
Snoop saw a Jeep Grand Cherokee pull to the curb fifty yards down the street. He punched Chuck’s number into his phone and stared out the window again. A black man with long dreadlocks exited the Jeep. Even from that distance, Snoop knew it was Scarface, the African Chuck had warned him about. Another Grand Cherokee jerked to a stop behind the first one. Three more men got out. Though it was a warm Florida spring day, all wore bulky jackets.
Snoop had planned for this. He spoke into his phone: “Eleven ninety-nine. Four men. Scarface is one of them.” He hit send and ran into the kitchen.
Doraleen looked up from the stove. “I’m baking a chocolate cake, Snoop. Would you prefer chocolate icing or pink strawberry?”
“Doraleen, you remember we talked about an emergency plan while we drove home from school? A plan where you would hide by the canal behind your house? The emergency is here right now. Four men just stopped up the street who are here to kill or kidnap us. We need to run now.”
Doraleen stopped dead. “But I’m wearing house shoes.”
Snoop appraised her pink fuzzy house shoes. “You don’t have time to change shoes. Those men will break down your door in ten seconds. Scarface is with them. We gotta get out of here now.” He turned off the stove and took the mixing spoon from her hand, dropped it in the sink. “Run out that back door this instant, Doraleen. Your life depends on it. Let’s move.” He grabbed her arm and led her toward the door. Two dead bolts and a security bar, like the front. I’ll say this for Tank; he’s consistent. He twisted both bolts open, slammed back the security bar, and jerked the door open. He stuck his head out. “Coast is clear, Doraleen. Let’s go. You’ll hide behind your garage while I call 9-1-1.”
He crossed the porch and unlocked the screen door. Doraleen stood in the doorway, bewildered. Civilians, he thought. He grabbed the old woman’s arm and pulled her from the kitchen. A crash sounded from inside the house. Snoop pulled the kitchen door closed and shoved Doraleen toward the screened door. “Hurry, Doraleen, or we both die here. Hide behind the garage. I’ll hold them up.”
Doraleen came around. “Right, right.” She grabbed the hand rail and descended the concrete steps from the screened porch.
A dilapidated chainlink fence stretched the six feet between the front of garage and the wooden privacy fence that separated Doraleen’s yard from the one next door. Behind the fence was an abandoned dog run that stretched to the wooden fence at the back of the lot. Doraleen tried to scrape open the gate, but it jammed against the thick St. Augustine grass.
Snoop ran over and dragged the gate open. He helped Doraleen through and shoved the gate closed behind her. “There’s a gate in the wooden fence at the back that leads to the canal. They won’t see you back there. You wait by the canal until I come get you. Don’t make a sound. I’ll hold off the bad guys until help arrives. You got your phone?”
Doraleen pulled it from a pocket of her skirt. “Right here.”
“Good. Call 9-1-1. Tell them we have a home invasion in progress at this address.”
A concrete turn-around apron branched at right angles to the driveway. Snoop stood on the apron and faced the house, gun at the ready. He shifted his attention between the driveway and the screened porch. He hoped they didn’t attack from both directions; he only had one pistol. He called 9-1-1 in case Doraleen was too flustered to make the call.
Chapter 34
“Call Kelly Contreras,” I yelled at my dashboard as I accelerated the minivan from the office parking lot. The Bluetooth activated the radio speaker and I heard the detective’s phone ring.
She answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Chuck?”
“Snoop texted me an 11-99. Scarface is there with three other men. I’m on my way to Doraleen Rice’s house. You know the address.”
“Dispatch received two 9-1-1 calls about a home invasion in progress at the same address. The calls came from Doraleen Rice’s number and Snoop’s. A response team is underway. I recognized the address and figured it could involve our boy Moffett. Bigs and I are on our way.”
“I’ll be there in… damn, it’s gonna take me twenty minutes.” People can get killed in a lot less than twenty minutes. I punched the accelerator harder and prayed the cops got to Doraleen’s house in time; I knew I wouldn’t.
###
An ambulance, a fire truck, three squad cars, and Kelly and Bigs’s unmarked car blocked the street in front of Doraleen’s house. Red, blue, and amber emergency lights danced across the fronts of the houses on both sides of the street. I parked three doors down and ran up the front steps. The door was open. The jamb had splintered when the invaders kicked in the two dead bolts. Two black footprints marred the door.
Bigs looked up from his phone. “House is empty. No sign of her or Snoop. Neighbors reported they heard at least a dozen gunshots.”
“Snoop’s car is in the driveway,” I said. “They’ve been kidnapped.”
Kelly entered from the bedroom. “I searched every closet, under every bed, inside every cabinet. They’re not here. I don’t see any bullet holes inside.”
“They ran out the back when Snoop saw them coming. You checked the garage?”
“Of course. There were four bullet holes in the garage, but no one inside. We found one body on the screened porch and another in the driveway. I figure Snoop got two of them. Doraleen Rice’s car is in the garage. I checked the car and even in her trunk.”
“Did you search the canal behind the ba
ck fence?”
“There’s a canal back there?” asked Kelly.
I bolted through the hallway, across the kitchen, and threw open the back door. I jerked to a halt on the back porch and stepped carefully around the body. I scanned the six-foot-tall privacy fence that enclosed the backyard. The wooden wall at the back stretched from the side fence to the back corner of the garage, unbroken by a gate. That made no sense; there had to be a back gate.
I ran down the back steps to the old fence on the right of the garage. I jerked the metal gate open and ran to the back of the old dog run. The enclosure was longer than the garage, and the extra three feet concealed a wooden gate that wasn’t visible from the back porch.
I thumbed the latch and tugged the gate open. “Oh my God.”
Snoop’s body lay half in the canal, his midsection covered in blood that made pink swirls in the tea-colored canal water. More blood covered the side of his head. Still more painted his right shoulder.
Chapter 35
I jumped in the back of the ambulance to ride with Snoop. My heart pounded like it was the engine. I squeezed Snoop’s hand as the attendant did chest compressions. With the other hand I applied pressure to Snoop’s stomach like the EMT instructed me. “Hang in there, Snoop. Don’t you dare die; you’d ruin my whole day.”
Snoop didn’t respond.
The bag of saline drip swung wildly from its hook as the ambulance swerved from lane to lane. It screamed down I-95 toward the nearest trauma center, Cedars of Lebanon Hospital. I glanced out the windshield and chewed on my lower lip as a dilapidated pickup truck drove unperturbed in the fast lane at fifty miles per hour. I yelled at the ambulance driver, “Goddammit, why don’t they move over? He hears the siren. Why the hell doesn’t he pull over?”
The driver spoke over her shoulder. “Happens more often than you’d think. Might be deaf. Might be panicked and doesn’t know what to do. Might just be an asshole. It doesn’t matter; I’ll pass him on the right.” And she did. The truck faded from view. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get your pal to Cedars inside two minutes. Hang on.”
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