by Matthew Rief
MATTHEW RIEF
CORRUPTION IN THE KEYS
A LOGAN DODGE ADVENTURE
FLORIDA KEYS ADVENTURE SERIES
VOLUME 6
Copyright © 2019 by Matthew Rief
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THE END
About the Author
Logan Dodge Adventures
Gold in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 1)
Hunted in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 2)
Revenge in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 3)
Betrayed in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 4)
Redemption in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 5)
Corruption in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 6)
Predator in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 7)
Legend in the Keys
(Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 8)
If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter for updates on my upcoming books, you can sign up on my website:
matthewrief.com
PROLOGUE
Miami, Florida
April, 2009
Judge Quincy Hargrove strode down the white marble steps outside the Miami-Dade County Courthouse. The career lawman was in his early sixties, with thick gray hair and unnaturally tanned skin. His walk was strong and confident, his eyes focused and drawn forward. He glanced at his wristwatch, then picked up his pace a little. The two bodyguards at his side followed suit, staying right on his heels.
It was late afternoon, and a few pedestrians passed him by on the sidewalk as he headed along the front of the building. He cut a left, loosened his tie and headed for the parking lot closest to the courthouse. His eyes diverted momentarily to a guy wearing torn-up, dirty clothes and sitting on a flattened cardboard box on the edge of the sidewalk. The guy held out an open palm to Quincy. The judge reached into his pocket, but instead of his wallet, he grabbed his smartphone and kept his eyes glued to the screen as he walked by. He wrote a quick note to remind the courthouse security, yet again, that loitering was not permitted outside the building.
The guy sitting on the cardboard box watched the judge intently. Just seconds after the three guys walked by, he pulled off his raggedy blanket and rose silently to his feet. In his right hand, the guy held a Ruger suppressed pistol. He took one step toward the judge, raised his weapon, and sent a .22 LR round exploding into the head of the bodyguard to his left.
Quincy gasped, then whirled around. He hadn’t heard anything except the grotesque sound of lead mutilating flesh. He watched in horror as one of his bodyguards collapsed to the ground with a bloody hole in the back of his skull. Bodyguard number two reached for his weapon. Before he could grab it, a guy who only seconds earlier had been hunched over, tying his bike to a rack, leveled his weapon and sent a round through the muzzle. The .22 LR struck the bodyguard in the forehead, causing blood to spew out and his body to fall backward, slamming hard onto the pavement.
Within fractions of a second, the two big bodyguards were on the ground. Quincy could only watch in shock as the two attackers closed in on him. They grabbed him forcefully and practically dragged him toward the road. A white van with tinted windows pulled into view, its tires screeching as it braked to a stop right against the curb. The side door slid open. A black mesh bag was thrown over Quincy’s head and he was forced into the van. The door slammed shut, the driver hit the gas, and the van took off down the street.
~ ~ ~
Two hours later, Carson Richmond stepped out from the backseat of her blacked-out Maybach and into the humid evening air. Three guys walked beside her as she headed through the side door of a large industrial warehouse. It was quiet and empty. Smelled of rusted metal and oil fumes. Only the moonlight through rows of broken windows allowed her to see where she was going. The click-clack of her high heels echoed across the massive space as she moved down two flights of metal stairs, down a hallway, and into a corner room.
The room was small and dark aside from a bright work light near the back. It shone upon a man who stood with his arms bound over his head, his mouth gagged, and his body limp. He was shirtless and had jumper cables attached to his nipples; the other ends were attached to a car battery on a metal workbench.
There were three other guys in the room when Carson and her men entered. A couple of guards standing in the shadows, and a man wearing a black suit right on the edge of the light. Tall and imposing, he had dark hair with gray patches and a clean-shaven face. Despite being almost sixty years old, he was handsome and still carried himself like a much younger man.
He held a pair of needle-nosed pliers and set them on the metal bench when he saw Carson walk in.
“Miss Richmond,” he said, smiling as they made eye contact. “You have arrived just in time.”
He had an articulate and authoritative voice. His tone and mannerisms were relaxed, despite the nature of the situation.
“Always a pleasure, Richard,” Carson said in her Southern accent.
He strolled over, grabbed her by the hand, and kissed both sides of her face.
“You’re looking exquisite as always,” he said, eyeing her up and down. “A very beautiful dress.”
She was wearing an expensive red sheath dress, though it was mostly covered by a black double-breasted peacoat.
Before she could reply, he turned his head back and added, “Where are my manners? I believe you know Judge Hargrove?”
He led Carson across the room. They stood right in front of the judge. He lifted his head and stared back at them with wide, frightened eyes. He tried to speak, but the only sounds he could manage with his mouth gagged were groans.
“I told you I’d take care of it,” Richard said to Carson. He stepped toward the judge. “Now, Your Honor. Where were we? Ah yes, you were about to come to your senses, I believe.” He took a deep breath and sighed. Moving close to the judge, he spoke right into his ear. “Miss Richmond will walk free from this, do you understand?”
Ever since Carson’s illegal activity had been exposed a month earlier, she’d been consumed by a swarm of legal proceedings. The court dates were still months away, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing everything she could to keep her hands clean. As a last resort, she’d gone to her old mentor, Richard Wake, a
man far more powerful, wealthy, and corrupt than anyone she’d ever met.
The judge groaned, struggling to speak with the gag.
Richard grabbed the bundled-up cloth and pulled it from the judge’s mouth. He coughed a few times and breathed heavily.
“I…” he said, fighting to get words out. “I can’t control that.”
Richard nodded, shoved the gag back into his mouth, and stepped over to the car battery.
“Have it your way, Quincy.”
He flipped a switch, allowing current to flow through the jumper cables and course painfully through the judge’s body. His body shook and his eyes bulged. He groaned and wailed like a dying animal, his sounds echoing across the room and out into the main portions of the warehouse. Richard kept the power going longer than usual, longer than many men could handle. Watching the judge with meticulous attention, he finally flipped the switch off and watched as the man sagged forward, his body staying vertical only because of his bound hands.
“Now, Quincy,” Richard said. “I’d hate to kill you in front of a lady. But I will. You know that I will. If you don’t play ball, I’ll have you cut to pieces, and then I’ll kill you.” He paused a moment, then grabbed the judge by the tuft of his hair and looked into his weary eyes. “But not before I do the same to your wife, son, daughter, and your three grandchildren.”
He groaned, his eyes welling with tears. Richard removed the gag a second time.
“What’s it gonna be?”
“Okay,” he said, struggling with his words. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
“If Carson goes down,” Richard said, raising his voice, “you’re dead. Understand me? Dead. You do whatever you gotta do.”
The judge nodded painfully. “Yes. Yes. I understand. Just please don’t hurt my family.”
Richard nodded sadistically, then yelled at his men in the shadows, ordering them to bring the judge down. He then walked casually over to the metal workbench, grabbed his black overcoat, and threw it on. Placing a hand on Carson’s shoulder, he led her out of the room, down the hall, and into a room with a black Bugatti Veyron parked in the middle.
They climbed into the luxury sports car, and Richard roared the 1000-hp engine to life. Dim silver light poured in from the other side of the room as a garage door lifted open. Richard put the car in gear and hit the gas, flying from zero to sixty in two and a half seconds. He weaved his way expertly in between rows of warehouses, passed a security gate, and screeched onto the main road.
Two minutes later, he pulled the Bugatti into a narrow opening that led into the bowels of a skyscraper. Rolling down his window, Richard reached out, scanned his thumb on a small stand, then punched in a code. The security gate opened, and Richard rumbled the car through a pair of metal doors into a room barely bigger than the vehicle. Just as he killed the engine, the doors shut smoothly behind them. Braces locked the tires in place, a light flickered green, and metal machinery clicked. Carson felt her heart drop deep into her chest as the elevator lifted them with a low hum.
Within seconds, the elevator stopped. Richard and Carson stepped out as doors in front of them opened. The two of them strolled into an immaculately furnished living room with gold-plated appliances, marble floors, and priceless artwork hanging from the walls.
Richard led Carson into the kitchen and popped open a bottle of champagne. After filling each of them a glass, he looked out through the floor-to-ceiling window, scanning the city lights below. His penthouse was at the top of his eighty-story skyscraper, just a few floors above where the words WAKE CORPORATION shone in white neon lights.
Richard turned to Carson, holding his glass in the air. “To avoiding prison.”
They clinked glasses and each took a sip.
“Richard, I can’t thank you enough. You—”
“Shh,” he said, placing a finger on her lips. “You can thank me enough. In fact, there’s something that I want from you.” He grazed his hand down her dress, felt her curves. “Well, two things actually,” he added with a whisper.
“You think I don’t enjoy good sex?” she said with a seductive smile.
He chuckled. “No, I know you do. All too well. But I also need you for something else. Something that will require the utilization of Darkwater. I have business in the Gulf that must be executed according to plan. By whatever means necessary.”
Carson kissed his neck, loosened his tie. She slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, pulled him in close.
“You turn me on when you talk like that,” she said. “I am at your every service.”
ONE
Key West
One Week Later
I awoke before the sun and stepped barefoot out onto the deck of my forty-eight-foot Baia Flash. Looking out over the Conch Harbor Marina, I reached my hands high above me and stretched my body while filling my lungs with fresh ocean air. I’d always enjoyed waking up early, seeing the world while most are sleeping and taking it all in without being distracted by the activity of other people. Admiring the quiet world for what it is, and nothing more.
Scanning over the rows of boats and the opening of the harbor beyond, I let my mind drift to the rhythm of the swaying deck beneath my feet. I thought about the usual things. The things I’d done, the places I’d been, and the people I’d met along the way. I thought about my time living in the Keys and all the surprises that have come my way.
A smile materialized across my face as I thought about the past couple of days. April 23 is a special day for people living in the Florida Keys. Back in ’82, the city of Key West declared a tongue-in-cheek secession from the United States, calling their micronation the Conch Republic. Over time, other islands joined in and today the republic includes all of the Florida Keys.
In honor of their “independence,” the people of the Conch Republic celebrate every April with a weeklong festival of activities that includes a parade, a staged harbor battle, art shows, live music, and even a conch-blowing contest. It’s a wild time in paradise, and every day ends with a sunset celebration at Mallory Square, just a short stroll down the waterfront from my mooring.
The calm of the quiet morning was disturbed as a pelican splashed into the water less than fifty feet off the port bow. Raising its dripping gular pouch out of the water, it tilted its head back to swallow a fish, then rose up from the still harbor and soared gracefully along the waterfront, looking for more breakfast.
As the pelican flew out of sight, I felt an unnatural sway of the boat that was followed moments later by the salon door swinging open beside me. Angelina Fox stepped out wearing one of my long gray tee shirts and presumably nothing else. Her long blond hair was brushed behind her ears, giving me a clear view of her heart-stopping face and captivating blue eyes. She was tall, slender, and beautiful. She held a mug in each hand and smiled back at me as I tilted my head and watched her over my shoulder.
“Enjoying the calm after the storm?” she said in her sexy Swedish accent.
She was referring to the late night we’d had on the town, enjoying the live music, festivities, and local refreshments that had persisted until well past midnight.
She handed me one of the mugs, and I moved in for a long kiss. Every time I kissed her—hell, every time I looked at her—I had a hard time believing that she’d said yes. That just a month earlier, this incredible woman had agreed to be my wife. One of life’s great mysteries, I guess.
I kissed my way up the side of her face, finishing up at her forehead, then thanked her for the coffee.
She nodded, then turned her beaming face to look out over the water. I took a sip of the warm liquid, savoring the taste as it traveled across my tongue and down my throat. Wrapping an arm around Ange, we both looked out over the eastern horizon as the sun began its grand entrance. The view, even from the marina, was incredible. I could watch a tropical sunrise every morning for fifty years and still be just as mesmerized as the first time.
A moment later, I heard the familiar sound of paws
trotting up onto the deck. Atticus, my yellow Labrador retriever, moved toward us and squished his way between our bodies. I laughed when I saw his steel bowl held firmly in his mouth. He looked back and forth between us, eyes wide.
“Alright, boy,” I said, turning and grabbing the bowl from his mouth. I petted him behind the ears, then headed for the salon door. “You want something from the galley?” I added, looking back at Ange.
Ange shifted off the port gunwale and sprang over to me.
“I found a new recipe,” she said. “You can help me,” she added with a wink.
Ten minutes later, Ange and I plated a unique version of eggs Benedict. In addition to the usual poached eggs on English muffins, we added a few strips of bacon, Key West pink shrimp, and special Key lime hollandaise sauce. We ate it up on the topside dinette while the sun continued to rise and watched the marina come to life.
“This is delicious,” I said after taking my first bite.
Ange grinned.
“Got the recipe from Blue Heaven,” she said. “They sure know how to make a good breakfast.”
After we finished, we cleaned up, showered, and got dressed for the day. I sported my usual: a pair of navy-blue cargo shorts, a Salty Pete’s tee shirt, and sandals. Ange wore a long-sleeved button-up over a tank top and shorts.
Since moving to the Keys, I’ve had anything but a routine schedule. The money I made working as a gun for hire allowed me to buy my boat, Dodging Bullets, when I moved and I was fortunate enough to “stumble” upon the Aztec treasure over at Neptune’s Table near the Marquesas Keys. I, along with Ange and a few of my friends, received a substantial finder’s fee that has allowed me to be essentially unemployed for the past year. With crystal-clear water, excellent diving, great fishing, warm weather, an adventurous history, and white sandy beaches, I can’t imagine a better place in the States to live a semiretirement lifestyle.