“Don’t do anything stupid,” I said, taking a deep breath and moving slowly, not giving her the provocation she felt she needed to shoot. “We’re not here to start trouble; we’re only here to pick up the car. If you kill us, at the very least you’ll sit in a prison cell the rest of your life. Ever been to jail?”
“I’ll make headlines, be on the six o’clock news, go out in a blaze of glory, be a household name.” She gave us a wide smile, wobbling on her feet. “If Briscoe gets his hands on me, it will be like I never sucked a breath. Not even a decent funeral; my body will never be found.”
“Apparently, Briscoe has a soft spot for you. He told Brick that he misses you and wants you back in one piece,” I said. Who knew what the man’s exact words were, but my interpretation sounded good.
“Give us the car, and we’ll give you cash.” Fab took a step back.
“Don’t move,” Corncob barked, shaking the gun in a wild gesture.
Fab held her hands out in surrender. “You can go anywhere you want. Brick doesn’t want any trouble, just his car back.”
“You’re just a little too pretty. I can remedy that.” Corncob didn’t appear drunk, but her pupils were dilated, leaving only a small ring of color around the outside. She was high all right, but on what?
Stupid girl! I’d had enough of her.
“No, she’s not; look at her. Sadly, no personality either.” I leaped in Corncob’s direction, planning to bring her to the ground. She shrieked at the top of her lungs, moving away. Fab’s long leg flew out, making contact with her arm and sending both the handgun and the woman skidding across the pavement.
I took two steps in her direction, but a muscled arm wrapped around my middle, pulling me against a hard chest. At the sound of the woofed-out growl, I stopped my elbow just before it would have made contact with Creole’s ribs.
“You get up off the ground, and I’ll shoot you,” Creole said to Corncob, loosening his grip on me only slightly.
Didier grabbed Fab, pushing her behind him and stepping on the woman’s arm. “Don’t even try it.” He pointed a gun at her.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Brick. After handing it to Fab, I rested my face against Creole’s chest until I heard him hiss. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I forgot you were wounded.”
“Ms. Corn wanted to kill me,” Fab huffed into the phone. “What do you want done now? Hurry up and decide; there’s a cop here, and he’s glaring at me.”
“Which one of you is the cop?” Corncob asked. She lifted her top, showing her small protrusions, and focused on Didier. “You’re pretty hot.” She blew him a kiss.
“Not interested,” Didier said in disgust.
Fab handed my phone back and turned to Corncob. “You’re staying right where you are until your ride gets here. And we’re babysitting the car until the flatbed gets here; I refuse to go near it.”
I walked over to the SUV and returned with a pair of cuffs looped over my finger. I held them out to Didier. “Here you go, officer.”
Fab stepped in front of him and grabbed them. “Let me,” she snarled. She flipped Ms. Corn to her stomach in a slick move and tightened the cuffs before she could get out a second yelp. Didier tugged on Fab’s arm, whispering in her ear. She helped Corncob to a sitting position. “If you’re not quiet,” Fab threatened, “instead of getting a free pass, you can go to jail.”
“You okay?” I turned and ran my hands lightly down Creole’s torso. “I don’t know where you came from, but thank goodness.”
I looked around and saw that the drama we’d created had gone unnoticed. The cars that were parked there before hadn’t gone anywhere. Scanning the beach, I saw a few people snuggled under blankets on the sand.
Instead of answering, Creole nuzzled my hair, kissing the top of my head.
“Come on. You need to sit down.” I put my arm around Creole and walked him over to the SUV. “You got to ride in the Mercedes. I’ve never been invited.”
He laughed. “I want to drive that sweet Porsche of Fab’s.”
“Good luck wrestling the keys out of her hand, and if you do, you’d better take me along for the joyride.” I smiled up at him. “I hope I didn’t add to your bruising when I banged into your chest.”
“You’re worth it.” He tightened his hold. “I’ll be milking it for more attention later.” He cocked his head. “What’s up with the Lambo?”
“She completely trashed the inside, and the smell is excruciating.” I turned up my nose. “This isn’t the first car that we’ve returned thrashed. I wonder what Brick does with them?”
“It’ll be gone in a couple of days. Give it a good cleaning and discount it; he won’t lose any money,” he said in disgust. “If it smells as bad as you say, the first hot day parked in the sun and the owner will be cursing the seller. Brick’s smart enough to use a straw seller, though, so the buyer can’t come kick his teeth out. I wish you’d quit accepting jobs from that a-hole.”
“I’m thinking seriously about doing just that.”
Fab waved me over and let me know that, after a second call from Brick, Briscoe had sent word to hold Corncob until he showed and picked up his dirty-word-spewing girlfriend. She had flung herself back on the pavement, twitching around and uttering every curse word she could think of while staring at the partial moon overhead. At one point, Fab threatened to gag her if she said another word, and she went silent, but not for long.
I mouthed “Briscoe” to Fab, reminding her with a look that we didn’t want to get on the man’s bad side, and thought uncuffing her before he arrived would be a good idea. I was worried that a Miami police squad car would pull into the parking lot at any moment; Corncob wouldn’t be the only one in cuffs then. We had the legal right to repo the car, but it wasn’t just murky where Corncob was concerned; it was called kidnapping. Creole would make good on his promise to kill Brick if he had to watch his girlfriend be taken into custody.
A custom, double-sized badass black Lincoln Navigator with limo-tinted windows rolled into the parking lot, slowed, and turned in our direction. This was one drug dealer who apparently didn’t dip into his profits by snorting or sniffing his products.
A burly man exited the passenger side: the infamous Briscoe. If he hadn’t passed his football prime, any team would have welcomed him based on his sheer size.
Briscoe surveyed the scene with a menacing glare, and the scowl on his face deepened. “I said hold her here,” he barked and stomped over to where his girlfriend lay. “Not manhandle her.” He pulled her up and patted her head. “Get those off her.” He pointed to the cuffs, looking at each of us, unsure whom to direct his order at.
“He’s a cop.” Corncob tossed her head in Didier’s direction.
Fab, key in hand, whipped the cuffs off.
Corncob pouted, rubbing her wrists.
Briscoe held his arms out, and she ran into them. “I wanted to come home but was afraid you were mad at me,” she whimpered.
Didier straightened and stepped forward. “If this wasn’t being done as a favor for Brick, then your friend here would be on her way to jail for attempted murder and a handful of firearms charges. And let’s not forget that it’s a felony in this state to not return a rental car.”
I stopped myself from glancing over my shoulder. I knew Creole was sitting in the SUV, the window down so he could hear every word, probably with a gun in his hand. One of Briscoe’s men stepped out of the back of the Escalade, and the tension raised my neck hair.
Hands on my hips, thrusting out my chin, I stepped forward. “I’m going to tell my step-dad-dee that you were mean to us.” Where the whiny little-girl voice came from, I wasn’t sure, but I needed to remember it so I could trot it out again if necessary.
Briscoe sneered. “I don’t give a shit who your kin is. And who told you that you could speak anyway?”
“Ha, a dirty word.” I could feel Didier’s smile, as he was a stickler about bad language and had his work cut out for hi
m at times. Noting that Briscoe had run out of patience and thrust his hand into his pocket, I blurted out, “Jimmy Spoon,” before the man could shoot me.
Briscoe’s steely glare ran over me from head to toe. “You’re a liar; he’s not married.” He smirked, calling my bluff. “Call him.”
He looked surprised when I took out my phone. It rang twice.
“You in trouble?” Spoon asked.
“Hi, step-daddy,” I drawled. “I’m here with what I’m sure is only an acquaintance of yours—Briscoe—and he’s being mean.”
“Hand him the phone,” Spoon barked.
“Here you go.” I held it out.
He took it and turned away, grabbing Corncob’s hair and dragging her along with him.
The conversation lasted longer than the few seconds I’d imagined it would.
When he returned, Briscoe said, “We’ll put this matter behind us as though it never happened.” He handed me back my phone, then dismissed me with another once-over. He bent slightly, picking up his girlfriend and tossing her over his shoulder, and marched back to his Escalade, the other man holding the back passenger door open.
To my surprise, Corncob didn’t so much as squeak, only fisted her hand in the back of his shirt. I ran to the Hummer and slid into the back next to Creole. I’d been right about the gun, which he was now shoving in the back of his pants.
I clapped when Didier climbed in. “Well done. I was impressed.”
“It was fun impersonating a cop.” He laughed.
“Technically, you never identified yourself as such; you can’t help the conclusions someone jumps to,” I said.
“That is so weasely.” Creole snorted. He’d adjusted the seat and leaned back.
Fab leaned over and kissed Didier. “Thanks, love. Really happy to see you, as always.”
“Yes,” I said, “thank you, Creole and Didier.”
“I meant him too.” Fab squealed out of the parking lot.
Chapter 9
I left the front door open for Fab, who lagged behind me, talking on her phone… to Didier, I think, which was an easy guess on my part, as she was speaking in French. We’d left the house early that morning. I’d gotten a call that the fire alarm at Jake’s was going off—luckily, it was a false alarm—and we stopped for coffee on the way back.
“Mother?” She stood on the other side of the island, a grubby thirty-something jammed against her side. An uneasy feeling swept up my spine. I didn’t appreciate the strained look on her face. I focused on the man. “Who are you?”
“Your mama’s new boyfriend,” he said in a gravelly voice, smiling at me, then at Mother, as though she were his prey.
“Congratulations,” I said with phony exuberance. “When did this happen? I feel bad I haven’t talked to you lately. Happy to meet you…”
He paused, then nodded. “Bob.” He stuck out his hand, which I didn’t take.
“The four of us should have dinner together soon.” Mother moved slightly, and Bob tugged her back to his side. She rocked on her feet, unsteady.
I glanced down, needing to wipe the glare off my face.
“Who are you?” Fab bellowed, slamming the front door.
In a subtle motion, I lifted the back of my shirt, tucking it behind the handle of my gun, certain Fab would see the movement. “This is our mama’s new boyfriend,” I said to Fab, not taking my eyes off Mother. “Hmm… Bob, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “I was just saying that we should stay in better touch.”
“I didn’t know you had two daughters, sweetheart.” Bob nuzzled Mother’s neck. He didn’t appear to notice the slight shudder that went through her.
Fab sidled up next to me, patting my gun.
Message received.
“Remember the doctor’s bag from the flea market?” Mother squirmed, and Bob tightened his hold. “I came to pick it up.”
“I haven’t gotten the lock changed for you yet,” Fab said. “I wanted to find someone with expertise in lock picking, who won’t ruin the value if it turns out to be an antique.”
I almost laughed, knowing that Fab thought it was a piece of junk and something she could open in three seconds flat; no outside expert needed. At least we’d communicated to Mother that we had her back. She appeared less frightened than when I walked in.
“That’s even better. Would you get it? We’re in a hurry,” Mother said.
“It’s out in the garage.” Fab skirted around me.
“Change of plans.” Bob whipped a gun out from behind Mother’s back, waving it between Fab and I. “You two go first; we’ll follow. Won’t we, honey?” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she jumped back.
“You can have the damn bag,” Fab said evenly and strode to the door leading out to the garage. Fab’s domain. She loved my aunt’s old tools; the first thing she’d done upon moving in was reorganize them to her liking. If you wanted something, it was better to ask her to get it than risk grouchy comments about poking around, messing things up.
If Fab didn’t use her fancy footwork on his face by the count of three, I planned to shoot him between the eyes. So much for my shoot-to-maim policy. I smiled as Fab reached for the doorknob, whirled around, and planted her foot in his chest. Bob went flying. He needed to learn you don’t bring a gun to whatever this was—a robbery? It was clear that he didn’t have any experience with firearms.
“Love you girls,” Mother said, then turned her attention to Bob, who had landed on his back, moaning. She lifted her foot and jammed it down in the vicinity of his lower friend, and from the screeching, she’d hit her mark or close enough. “You bastard.”
“Watch him,” Fab ordered and tore out into the garage.
Stupid Bob must have missed that my handgun was pointed at him; rolling to his side, he pulled his body across the tile in Mother’s direction. I pulled the trigger, and he screamed like a banshee, twitching on the floor.
That was close. I smiled broadly. The bullet had whizzed past him and lodged in the door of the seldom-used pot and pan cupboard.
“You move an inch, and my next shot won’t miss.” I pointed my gun at his face. “You get over here,” I said softly to Mother, wrapping my arm around her and squeezing until she grunted. “You’re going to need a shower; he touched you.” I glared in Bob’s direction.
Fab came through the door, a gloating look on her face and a fistful of zip-ties in her hand. She shoved Bob over on his stomach and secured his hands, then his feet.
“We need a class.” Mother nodded to me, watching wide-eyed over the island.
After the success of Fab’s first seminar, which was on lock picking, we continually badgered her to teach us other useful skills.
“Really, Mother.” I caught myself from rolling my eyes. “Who are you going to practice on?”
She was actually giving the question serious thought. “Maybe we could rent someone for an hour or two.”
“Only a drunk would do that, and with our luck, he’d die,” I said.
“Get him to sign a release,” Fab said.
I flashed her a dirty look. “I’ll run it by my lawyer.”
“Killjoy.” Fab laughed at me. She jerked Bob to a sitting position, his back against the door. “Okay, you wormy little piece, let’s see what’s in the bag.” From her back pocket, she whipped out a lockpick, along with her gun.
“Bob, your big mistake? Mother would never hook up with the likes of you, even if she was desperate for a man, which she is not.” I held up my Five-SeveN and smiled at it. “This is now my favorite handgun; I’ve gotten plenty of practice time at the firing range, but I’ve yet to shoot anyone.” I frowned. “If you don’t start talking by the time my sister over there has that lock popped, you’ll be my first.”
“Look.” Fab fiddled with the lock and pulled the bag open wide.
“No, no,” Bob howled, trying to scoot away. “What do you want to know?” he asked in desperation.
“Relax, take a breath, Bob. We’ll hear Mother’s version o
f events, and then you’ll get your turn.” I pulled out a stool from the island.
“I was in the garden working on my roses this morning, when Bob here—“ She glared at him, “—snuck up behind me, poked me in the back of the head with his gun, and told me to keep the ‘F’ quiet. I had something of his, he said; he wanted it, and if I cooperated, he’d leave and no one would get hurt.”
“Are you okay?” I reached out and ran my hand gently across the back of her head.
Mother nodded. “Bob demanded the bag. I told him I didn’t have it; I’d left it at my daughter’s. He shoved me at gunpoint back into the house, where he tied me to a chair and rooted through the house. I guess he finally believed me when he couldn’t find the damn thing. He did steal the cash from my purse.”
Fab kicked him in the side, sending him sliding along the floor. “You piece of… You’re lucky my sister never lets me shoot anyone.” She flashed her evil smile at him, and he shivered.
Mother blinked and stared in awe. “He had to untie me for our ‘little car ride.’ I had planned to get away once we got out to the driveway, but he hit me in the back with that stupid gun of his and told me: ‘Don’t do anything stupid. Blood wouldn’t look good on your white pants.’” She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes.
Fab moved behind Mother, lifting her top and lightly running her hand down her back. “You’re damn lucky,” she barked at Bob, “that she doesn’t have any bruising. I’d give you a backache you’d never forget.”
Mother patted Fab’s arm. “I assured him I’d cooperate and that if anything happened to me, he’d never get his stinking bag. I was relieved when we got on the road, despite the fact that his gun remained trained on me. I knew you two would make stew of him. You both make me so proud.” She beamed at us.
Fab searched the bag on the counter and examined every corner, quickly finding what she was looking for: a secret compartment at the bottom. She removed the cover and held up a handful of cash. “How much money is here?” She retrieved several bundles of money, fanning through them; they were all hundred-dollar bills.
Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9) Page 6